My copy of If Footmen Tire You, What Will Horses Do? arrived yesterday, and much like its non-spiritual cousin The Star Wars Holiday Special, it's far worse than I remembered it being from my childhood viewing. Everything about it, from Rev. Estus Pirkle's demented, toneless narrative to the communist death squads who can't afford cars or matching uniforms to the Moscow-on-the-Mississippi accents of the commisars to the absurdly overdone (and underbudgeted) torture scenes to the grade-ZZZ production values, is delightfully crappy, and it's without question my "Watch It High" pick of the month. I intend to grow out my sideburns and tell my girlfriend "Count me out, baby, I'm a lover, not a Christian" at the soonest opportunity. (If, by the way, anyone has other suggestions for extremely inept, goofy Christian scare films, please sound off: I smell an article a-brewin'.)
Don't forget that tonight, I will be reppin' Pindeldyboz at Poetry Magazine's first annual Printer's Ball. If you're looking for some low-key, high-brow good times, stop by (free!), pick up some literary journals, and read what the writers of America are up to when you're not paying attention.
And now, I ask you to consider a supergroup made up of Robert Plant, Yngwie J. Malmsteen, Les Claypool, Rick Wakeman, and Ginger Baker. How long would one of their songs last, you may ask? The answer, arrived at by precise calculus, is one furdillion minutes. THE END.
*: Oh ho ho! The only thing more funnierer than topical humor is DATED topical humor! Coming up next, I take up the Pac-Man craze that's sweeping the nation, and note how in Russia, things do things to you instead of the other way around.