Exciting two part article on what failed to "fuck up" your friend Behr due to website imposing communist style limitations on posting length of important articles. Part One is located under date of February 11, 2007 for sake of convenience and order.

Each night on my way home from working at a company that was attempting to manufacture and distribute a line of action figures under the name of "Kaiser Wilhelm and Friends," I would stop by at mother's place and see that things were hunky dory with her situation. Well I don't have to tell you, even if you are of low average intelligence, that the day she decided to dissolve herself in the bathtub by filling it with acid of one kind or another, things were hardly hunky dory.

Coming into the house I noticed that she was playing some favorites by Richard Wagner on the hi-fi. This was not unusual as she preferred intense and correct German choral and opera works to lame American "tunes" as she called them. What was unusual was she had decided to dissolve herself in the bathtub by filling the bathtub with acid of one kind or another and herself.

My arrival found her to have completely dissolved her body but her head had rolled onto the edge of the tub into the wide edge area where shampoo, soap and items such as rubber ducks are often kept in a sort of holding pen when the tub is empty of its correct filling which is not acid of one kind or another but warm water and sometimes bubble bath.

Your good friend Behr who in the long run was not "fucked up" by these events, stood in shock and awe for quite some time, taking in the scene. It was clear that the acid bath had disconnected her head from now non-existent neck moorings. This became even more clear when her eyes, wild with knowledge of her horrific deed, and staring at son Behr as if expecting him to do more than was possible given the extreme nature of the situation, would not break away from being locked onto son Behr. As Behr stared back, mother's head fell onto the tile or perhaps linoleum floor (knowing which it was is really not germane to the story so I cannot be fauled for not remembering which it was) and began rolling towards son Behr who was still son of the head of his mother despite the now complete absence of the womb from which Behr had once sprung. Horrific indeed.

Behr ran as a sensible person would do as the head closed in, going for the stairs and down to the first floor of the house and seeking a place to hide from headly wrath. Many remembrances of mother's teachings came to Behr at this time. Behr did remember how mother would fashion an instrument of heavy rope that would split into five or six frays of robe with imbedded shards of glass and use this instrument to teach Behr of how the Christ did suffer for Behr's sins, such as playing in yard after dark and eating chocolate covered raisens in bed. The lessons were learned well in Behr's mind but your friend Behr could now see by the look in mother's eyes they had not been learned as well as they might have been. Behr would rectify this in later years.

Mother's head continued to stare wildly at Behr, son of head, and follow him about until your friend Behr, unable to continue running, smashed the head of his mother with a golf club that belonged mostly to his absent, beer slut loving father.

And that was the end of it.

My stepfather of 12 years leaves when I am 16-years-old. Confronted with the enormity of this event, I decide to go home and calmly watch my father pack. I am not angry and I do not judge. The mild surprise I first felt has faded into acceptance. I chat with my father as though this may not be the last time I ever see him. I've changed my programming drastically since this happened the first time.

I am the zen-master of denial. Instead of peace-through-discipline I take shortcuts. I haven't cleaned up the room but instead shove everything into the closet and lock the door. I've long since lost the key.

It is now a week since my father left. The first and last contact I have with him is a casual lunch. He offers the invite when he stops by the house to pick up some forgotten belongings. Father and son say their goodbyes with few words between mouthfuls of sandwich. When we are finished I attempt to pay for my meal and my father seems offended.

But of course he is father to me no more. I have already turned that switch off and he is now nothing more than some man to me.

A cast off piece of the past strewn across a closet-room floor.

9 inexplicably popular movies, in no particular order, which I hate
In which I detail why I hate them, and why anyone who likes them is a fucking retard

1. Forrest Gump

Perhaps I’m wrong about this one. Perhaps it’s only the first two hours of this movie that totally suck ass, and the last hour is really great. I can’t say for sure, because on all three of my attempts to watch this movie, I’ve ejected the disc half-way through, dug a big hole in my garden, dropped the disc in and then filled the whole using just my own faeces. The incredibly fascist message of this movie is the main thing that upsets me – question your government, and you deserve to end up dead, or in a wheel chair, or having group sex with the leadership committee of the Black Panthers. Also, Tom Hanks’s performance set back the cause of Disabled Rights by twenty years, cause when I think of him as Forrest, it makes me want to punch a retard

WHEN I THINK OF THIS MOVIE, I CHEER MYSELF UP BY: Reading Winston Groom’s excellent novel of the same name.

2.Requiem For A Dream

A movie which a deep, meaningful exploration of the struggle with addiction in an uncaring society. But enough about The Man With The Golden Arm. In Requiem for a Dream, Aranovsky creates a new genre – drug porn. Come watch two hours of junkies wallowing in their own filth! Look, she wants coke so bad, she’s got a vibrator up her ass! He’s so hooked on smack, his fucking arm fucking falls fucking off! Doesn’t it make you glad you’re not like that, that you’re a good connoisseur of middle-brow art movies, sitting on sofa with a glass of wine, a bag of Doritos and half a jar of prozac, you worthless, muesli-eating, Chuck Palahniuk-reading piece of shit.


3. Life Is Beautiful

In which Roberto Benigni correctly identifies the problem with most World War II movies: they’re just not up enough, you know. So we have a screwball romance centering around Auschwitz, and the a group of concentration camp inmates who look like they’re at a middle management team-building excerise. And why do we mourn the six million people who died in the holocaust anyway? If a young child could survive it, obviously only idiots died there.

WHEN I THINK OF THIS MOVIE, I CHEER MYSELF UP BY: Watching Duck Soup. Duck Soup is The Bible, Life Is Beautiful is The Da Vinci Code.

4. Igby Goes Down

Not an entirely unenjoyable movie. There is the bit where Kieran Culkin gets punched in the face. Something which I longed to do while watching this self-indulgent portrait of spoilt upper-class babies whining about how hard it is to be rich and interesting. If you enjoyed this movie, talk a long hard look at your wall. You will be the first against it when the revolution comes.

WHEN I THINK OF THIS MOVIE, I CHEER MYSELF UP BY: Watching This Sporting Life and thanking god that I was born working class.

5. Braveheart

Slightly less authentic in it’s documentation of historical fact than Monty Python And The Holy Grail. It’s just a big excuse to get people to hate the English, and by the English, we mean the Jews. Don’t we, Mel Gibson, you rabid, drunk-driving, anti-semitic prick. You’re probably a fucking closet Scientologist, and we all hope you die of ass cancer.

WHEN I THINK OF THIS MOVIE, I CHEER MYSELF UP BY: Watching In The Name Of The Father, which makes me hate the English for far better reasons.

6. A Beautiful Mind

Depressed? Paranoid? Mentally Ill? It’s okay – you can get better just by wishing hard enough. It’s like watching Snow White and the Seven Schizophrenics, directed in the capable hands of Ron Howard. Ron is an absolute fuck, and probably the only person in the world who jerked off during Beaches. He took the genuinely tragic and fascinating story of John Nash and turned into a Hollywood corn-fest. He makes Steven Spielberg look like Ken Loach and deserves to be buggered to death by Mel Gibson.

WHEN I THINK OF THIS MOVIE, I CHEER MYSELF UP BY: Counting to 8, which is something that Russell Crowe’s John Nash doesn’t seem capable of

7. American Beauty

When I first saw this movie, I hated it, but lacked the vocabulary to describe it’s failings. Fortunately, I now know the words I was looking for – they are “SOME FUCKING EMO CUNT”. So now I can say that American Beauty is a stupid movie in which Kevin Spacey is rescued from the hell of his upper-middle-class existence by SOME FUCKING EMO CUNT”.. Cause that’s the reason grown-ups feel sad, you know. It’s our failure to listen to pot-smoking Emos. If we listened to the useless Emo wanker teenager next door, we would, like, totally realise the futility of searching for materialistic gratification and just, like, be, man. Strangely, people over the age of 17 were involved in the making of this movie.

WHEN I THINK OF THIS MOVIE, I CHEER MYSELF UP BY: Watching The Good Girl. Same plot, done better. Features the eternally amazing John C Riley, however, and the FUCKING EMO CUNT”. turns out to be just another FUCKING EMO CUNT”..

8. The Shawshank Redemption

The men mill about in the prison courtyard, behaving manly and convict-ey. Suddenly, the prison is filled with the beautiful sound of an opera aria, and silently they stand, appreciating the bitter-sweet joy of the soprano’s voice. Because Shawshank is the only prison in the world filled with caring aesthetes, all innocent of their crimes. Any other prision in the history of the world would have been full of mono-browed criminals who who have yelled “TURN THAT FUCKING SCREEHING OFF!!!”. A prison movie for people who hate criminals.

WHEN I THINK OF THIS MOVIE, I CHEER MYSELF UP BY: Talking to guys who’ve actually done time, and hearing about the incredible mix of brutality and boredom provided by the penal system.

9. Blade Runner

I’ve watched this movie five times now, and tried desperately to find something to like about it. I’ve finally come to the conclusion that this is a piece of shit, and that the people who worship it are fucking morons, much like the people who think that Red Hot Chili Peppers are at the cutting edge of a musical something or other. You could have left the script on a table, and the delivery would have been less wooden than Harrison Ford’s. And Rutger Hauer’s allegedly–amazing “I’ve seen shit near Jupiter you wouldn’t fucking believe, man” speech sounds like a Christmas card poem written by Robert Heinlein. Dullest fucking movie ever.

WHEN I THINK OF THIS MOVIE, I CHEER MYSELF UP BY: Watching Brazil, to remember that sci-fi can be really, really smart.

Bite my glorious golden ass

Hi E2,

I just called to say I met someone; he's wise, funny, and oh so interesting more than I ever imagined someone could be.

I'm sorry it couldn't be you. I hope you understand.

Maybe we can still be friends.

Talk to you later, take care!


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