Friday, 16 August 2013

Night of the Living Smirk

The following will be brought by an alternative trilogy of miscellaneous, rather than paranormal activity.

I hope my motion tracker will detect positive energy.

Hey, I'm about to transform into a werewolf (again) and eventually be gunned down so chill your crazy, wailing cow beans.  When the flames dance, I'll be the one to turn the music firmly up and refuse to milk your udders.
Forgive me for not sympathising, but I really couldn't give a flying fuck about your plight or opinion.  Can you imagine how it feels to instigate The House of Flying Daggers upon your own mother after you've just had a really rare night at the prom?  Yeah, thought not.
Anyway, that's the least of my problems as taking a scout below, you'll begin to understand and appreciate my pain, fear and anxiety.
Is this just an amazing coincidence, compounded with chocolate sprinklings and strawberry sauce?  Don't go jumping through hoops thinking about it, just sit back and enjoy a fiendish kebab with a healthy selection of trimmings.
Shsssh!  Let's listen in.

What kind of bullshit name is Gerard?  I mean c'mon, you're a consonant away from becoming an overpaid and arrogant footballer.
I don't know Jamie, what's the deal with the XX?  Let's discuss both mysteries over dinner with several bottles of suds because tonight, we dine in hell.
Joe, after all these years of Scorsese, gangsters, violence and profanity, no wonder you're fucking nuts.  Listen, talk to My Cousin Vinny.  It'll be a very private and discreet affair but trust me, you'll feel better for it.
Look Bobby boy, you know I respect you but listen now and listen good.  Stick your fucking advice right up where the sun doesn't dazzle.  At least I boast 8 Heads in a Duffel Bag and overall, Righteous Kill remains your bomb.  Ha ha ha!  Who's laughing now big shot?

Oh yeah, it's still you.
Del Boy's on the blower and he's made an offer that even you can't refuse.
Well c'mon on then, what's the Reliant Robin shitting from its exhaust this time?
It's a consignment of PS3's lit yellow and 360's that draw red rings.  Okay, they're fucking useless to a sober man or drunken beast, but you can
 double your money on these things.
Alright, alright, I'll ring him back in five.

In the meantime, bring me a horse's head as I never make a decision on an empty stomach.
These guys have a point to prove, but whose tip will prevail?

(Breathe), just ----, in, out and shake it all about.  Behold the blade, that lets me show rage.
Don't push it, I use this for hunting (and pulling the babes).  The only thing sharper, is wit.
PAY DAY?  YOU PROMISED NOT TO TEASE ME ABOUT FUCKING PAY DAY.  I DON'T NEED NO CHICKEN SHIT GUN!  I'M GONNA KILL YOU NOW!
Whoah dude, it was an honest mistake and trivial banking errors happen.  I don't suppose advising to let off some steam will help as he's already blown the largest of gaskets.  Or then again, maybe I will.
You know what they say about a man's personality when comparing it to his assortment of knives?  You don't?  Okay, you're a moron for not being able to even take a stab in the dark.  Hey, that's just given me a spiffing idea...
Hey Egyptian Nut, that's not a knife...
I beg to differ kangaroo steak.  THIS is a fucking knife.
A hat-trick of images that should each provoke a different reaction.

Knuckle Bash - Arcade
Karnov's Revenge - Arcade
Down Load 2 - PC Engine CD
Now you've digested and spat out such violent pixels, what the fuck is going on here?

a) body builder's orgasm;
b) stupid beard, ridiculous moustache and a trilogy of shaved vaginas; and
c) the eyes are inflated, the teeth grind but sanity has long since departed. 

Two films that boast 'real' selling points. 



Yeah, there's no 'real' incentive to purchase either.  What bizarre marketing ploys.


Meet Annie Hawkins-Turner and/or Norma Stitz.  In this day and age, it doesn't take much to become famous.
However, in your face bitch as the lady in red ensures there is no contest in boobage warfare.
Women can make us men feel so loved as these fair maidens proudly demonstrate.


The sky...
...and the argument.
Synchronised...


...smoking and,
gun comfort.
I think Carol Anne is wasting her time as white noise will never warm one's cockles.
Who quickly decimated the supply of food faster than fast?  Meet the usual suspects.

Charles is a pretty posh name for a zombie.  His claw marks suggest he pissed a tiger off during his audition for The House of the Dead III.
The whites of this salad dodger's eyes from Doom 3 indicate that he's got more on his mind then where the next meal is coming from.
Malefactors in The Suffering come in all kinds of gruesome guises and Doctor Frankenstein's handy work saved Fester's guts (and those pies), from literally spilling out.
My name is Bear Hugger and contrary to what those 8 bit assholes from Elite say, Canadian Crusher is plagiarism fuelled violence.
Mike Myers became a Fat Bastard by indulging on a diet of haggis, kippers and dumplings in preparation to provide the voice talent of Shrek. 
Here is a fat lady from 2006 comedy horror Slither.  She'd make a wonderful punching bag and if you felt the need to become a cannibal, be her guest as there'll be enough for seconds, thirds and fourths...
Data East's mascot Karnov shakes tits, rather than booty. 
Rufus's waterbed tummy is fascinating to watch as it ripples in HD heaven. 
The only hope that Jack from Art of Fighting has in achieving the dream of fastening his waistcoat is to have a gastric bypass.
Now for my ultimate pork pies.

In third place:

Terry Jones's morbidly obese restaurant regular's downfall from Monty Python's The Meaning of Life is failing to resist a wafer thin mint... 
Second prize is claimed by:

The House of the Dead 4 represent Temperance as a monstrous mountain of lard. 
"I eat because I'm unhappy."
The unfortunate winner is:


Already fantacizing about his next meal, this is Pearl - the Record Keeper from Blade.
Victoria Beckham is the luckiest skeleton alive.  Her Spice Girl legacy will not live forever and when Beckham eventually gets rid, sex tapes will appear and pollute like an epidemic.

If there's an expression of interest, I'll guarantee she'll have all bases covered.



Down and up.


Belloq - Hey hot stuff, what the fuck are you doing down there?  Get up you lazy bastard as you're making the place look untidy.  One more thing, IT'S BEAUTIFUL.
Anton - Er, pot calling kettle and a certain shade of black.  Anyway, don't think me rude but may I ask what the fuck are YOU doing up there?  I'm entitled to a break, which incidentally, is what you'll be getting in several places.
I scratch Bond's back and he sticks a knife in mine.  Bastard!
The receiving end of a sharp situation.

Motherfucker, give us yer' motherfuckin' briefcase.
Hmmm, after deciphering gangland language, it appears that a threat has been issued due to the appalling inconvenience of trespassing on fucking private property, no fucking trespassing, this means fucking me.  While I dig that he's took offence of my presence, I believe that the finger of blame should be firmly pointed in the direction of 'maybe if it was wrote in fucking English, I could fucking understand it'.  Despite this glaring oversight, I must relent as I can't allow this ghastly grotesque the satisfaction of sticking me with a blunt instrument.  Okay, here's a memento for your precious piece of shit hill as I can always pick up another from Asda on rollback.
What would you do Joesph, if somebody told you to go fuck yourself?  Would you, cut one of their eyes out?
No!
No.  What would you do?
I'd cut their dick off, remove their balls and fry all concerned in fucking garlic.
You think you're so fucking cool don't you?  You think you're so fucking cool.  This once, I would like to hear you scream, in pain.
Play some mainstream music?
NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

I hide behind Con Air and Leaving Las Vegas and as for The Wicker Man, I'm sorry, I'm really fucking sorry.  Regardless, women should still flock and right on cue, who's this?
Mamma Mia, here I go again.  My my, how can you resist me?
(Well on this evidence love, very fucking easily).
Arrrrggggghhhhh!!!!  Could I possibly look any dumber in Elm Street?  Miss Mop, Miss Mop from Florida, sitting in a rocking chair, watching rugby....  Hey, get with it or you'll ruin it.
Patty cake will not work from this angle you stupid hysterical bitch.  Stormy spire, pull me out the mire and while you're at it, I demand you do me a favour, my cheesy quaver.
On seeing the outcome of his wife's new melons, Mr Donald Sutherland was understandably horrified.

Did those incompetent bastards actually give an explanation as to how they managed to fuck things up so badly?
The Farrelly Brothers.
Dawn will break, when light feels the need to push through...

No comments:

Post a Comment

Copyright © 2012-2017 Nukes and Knives™ All rights reserved.