An unfortunate part of being part of the Brotherhood is
watching bad movies. Perhaps I should be more specific. I
don’t mean the bad movies we love to watch, I mean skin-
withering, orifice irritating ass floggings that cause
physical pain and discomfort. Sure, lots of movies make you
wish you could be put out of your misery but, to go one step
further, there are some movies that make you want to hurt
other people. I Spit On Your Grave is a good example of that.
My anti-redneck venom was at an all-time high after ass
pillaged by that movie and if I would have run across someone
listening to Charlie Daniels I would be writing this from a
maximum security facility. Even more diabolical than movies
that make you want to hurt specific groups of people are
movies that make you want to spill the blood of any poor soul
that crosses your field of vision. That sweet old woman
trying to step over that mud puddle, the little kid enjoying
his first kiss, the homely couple on their first date, any
one of them is a danger after a certain type of movie.
Pinocchio’s Revenge is such of movie.
The story begins with a hard-working single mom who is
working her yuppie ass off to defend a man on trial for
murdering his own child. Back home she has a young daughter
named Zoe who is having a hard time at school with bullies
and doesn’t get to see her mother enough. You see, Mom is
busy juggling Zoe, a boyfriend, and her busy work schedule
so she leaves Zoe in the car of a foreign housekeeper most
of the time. Zoe’s birthday is coming up, and in an amazing
coincidence, this is the same time Mom is bringing home a
giant marionette which the killer made for his son before
he killed him (I guess I’d better say “allegedly” killed
him or I’ll have Johnny Cochrine barking down my snorkel).
Zoe mistakes the dummy for a birthday present and becomes
inordinately attached to the little wooden bastard before
Mom takes it back to the office. Zoe loves Pinocchio, though.
It seems Pinocchio is attentive, sensitive, and supportive,
all the things you usually get stereotypically gay friends
for. Before you can say “which one of you bastards turned it
to the Lifetime Network?” Zoe’s tormentors begin to suffer
horrible accidents. First the girl picking on Zoe almost
gets run over by a school bus, then the boyfriend takes a
pleasure leap down the basement stairs. Zoe tells her
therapist that Pinocchio is killing them, which of course he
chalks up to inner demons borne of whatever she happened to
be suffering from. All this time Pinocchio (in a fucking
irritating voice that ruins any chance of the dummy being
scary) is filling Zoe’s head with ideas that if they get rid
of mom’s distractions Mom will have more time for them. Has
Pinocchio been possessd by the soul of the executed murderer?
The soul of his dead son?
This is where the movie goes from irritating to infuriating.
In the climax of the movie Pinocchio goes after Mom, who
throws it through a glass coffee table. Keep in mind that it’s
dark. When Mom goes over to survey the carnage she finds the
fallen body of Zoe, who’s been doing it the whole time.
Pinocchio was what a C- freshman psych student would call a
front for her hurting insides which have been scarred by not
being hugged enough by her mom. So there we are. The loathesome
pricks tricked us into watching a Lifetime Original Movie by
disguising it as a shitty Child’s Play ripoff. The movie’s
message for us: children are being harmed psychologically by
single mothers spending too much time in the work force and not
enough time listening to their children. All Zoe needed was
a kiss and a hug and for someone to be there for her. Now,
movie, I’ve got a message for you:
I fucking hate this movie and everybody that had anything
to do with it. To illustrate, here’s a list of things I’d
rather do than watch Pinocchio’s Revenge:
1. Be donkey punched by Mike Tyson and have him wake
me up to listen to his dirty talk.
2. Dust my weiner in powdered sugar and present it to
Rosie O’Donnell.
3. Drop my wedding ring in Joe Don Baker’s underpants
and have to go after it at the same time he put
in his favorite porno.
4. Drink every drop of urine (from the tap) of an average
college frat party after a triple keg.
5. Have my dick slammed repeatedly in my car’s hood and
then rub the poor thing in the acid leaking from
the battery.
6. Be jackhammer raped while being forced to orally
pleasure every construction worker in the state of
New Jersey.
7. Have the Dolphins be excluded from the playoffs by
a bullshit pass interference call, oh wait, that
already happened and I’m still very bitter. Is
it just me or are the New England Patriots on some
sort of sexual pleasure for good calls exchange
program. Do you Raiders fans out there get the
Snow Job last year? Tom Brady must suck a mean dick.
Get the picture? That said, I want the producers to know
that their pathetic attempt at making a indemnification on
society through art failed completely. If I ever meet the
director, yes I’m talking to you Kevin Tenney, I’m going to
jam Meredith Baxter Birney straight up your ass and rain blows
upon your face with every ounce of energy I have. You fucking
arthouse pussy; you deserve to die horribly and to have your
immediate family watch for this movie alone, and making
Witchboard isn’t helping your case (I took Night of the Demons
into consideration but you still deserve to die). After the
last breath of wretched existence is pounded from you I’m
going to tie strings to your arms and legs and drag you down
Wall Street from a low-flying airplane. Consider that my
little statement through art. Isn’t it ironic, don’t you
think? Let this be a warning to any aspiring arthouse directors
out there planning to make a social commentary and disguise
it as a horror movie. Direct that bullshit at a audience I’m
not a part of or I’ll come looking for you.
FEEDBACK
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