Porocrom’s Crappaper

I just saw House of Wax and I want my fucking hour back. What an utter load of fucking shit. It was about a city where some brothers kill and maim and whatever, bleh. I realise films require some suspension of disbelief, but this fucking movie required suspension of brain activity in order to be enjoyed. No, not really, not even braindead people would enjoy it. In fact, they would detest it. Anyway, as I was watching it, getting ideas on how to kill the friend that suggested it, I began to identify some of the cliches of horror films. Seriously, come to think of it, all these movies are always, always the same. I will elaborate on what I mean anon:

When being chased by someone, forget to walk.

Why is it that when the killer chases someone, that dude never remembers how walking goes. I mean, how fucking often have you tripped and fell in the last 20 years of your life? Seriously, it’s right foot, left foot, it shouldn’t be that fucking hard. Also, when someone’s chasing you and you fall, don’t get up immediately, just take your fucking time, what’s he going to do anyway, kill you? Nah. Lying down and staring at him is a surefire way to scare him away, do that.

When hiding, don’t be quiet.

There’s someone after you and you manage to pick your ass up from the ground long enough to find an abandoned warehouse, conveniently placed in the middle of the desert. You get in and find a hiding place, and the killer waits patiently for you to hide and comes in, even though he was just two seconds behind you. So, now that you are safely hidden, what can you do to pass the time? That’s right, sneeze. Don’t feel obliged to be quiet, that’s rude. Sneeze, cough, play with some bones and scream when a severed head falls, whatever, it’s all good.

If you manage to injure the killer, walk away.

Picture this: You’re walking through an abandoned town, complete with everything people have in houses, and you know there is one or more killers in the vicinity. Don’t stop to take anything, and if you see knives or guns around just leave them there. If, despite what I just said, some kind of lame weapon like a baseball bat or a crossbow falls in your hands, try to injure the killer. When you do, he will invariably fall to the ground and obviously die. You don’t really need to check or make sure he’s dead in any way, because, well, you just put a dart through his fucking skin! If that’s not a fatal wound, I don’t know what is. “Hey, wanna check if the dude’s dead?” “Nah, just leave his gun and yours and let’s go to the other buildings, it’s cool.”

The killer dies.

This is an extension of the previous rule. The killer never dies, you idiot. Even if he somehow dies now, he’ll be alive in the sequel. This is actually a pretty good way to discover who the killer is, just kill everyone on the cast, whoever doesn’t die is the psychopath. Other people will die by the dozens, just smack them in the face and they die, but you can bludgeon, shoot, burn, poison, hang, maim, burn, poison, shoot, maim, maim the killer and he’ll still be alive to kill again. That’s why you see three and four sequels to a god-awful movie.

The killer can’t walk through walls.

No matter where you are, no matter how well you’ve looked around before you get in there, the killer is in there with you. I don’t care if you just jumped in a coffin and locked the lid, the killer will either be hiding under the pillow or slip in through the crack. Just when you think you’ve lost him, he’ll come and stab you in the ass with his dick. Can you say “anal rape”?

Whatever you do, don’t stick together.

Hey, you’re 12 people against one killer and you’re trying to avoid dying. Obviously, the best way to do that is to split up, because, let’s face it, noone is going to kill 12 people one by one, right? Right. So, don’t arm yourselves, don’t stick together, don’t even try to get the fuck out of wherever you are, just split up and roam around aimlessly. Statistics have shown that people who do that have a 95.7% chance of survival, and that’s a damn good chance.

So, there you have it. An unofficial guide on how to survive a (bad) horror movie. By the way, Elisha Cuthbert is quite the hotness. Nice boobs. Paris Hilton could use some face ironing, but nice body. Yes, this post has descended to boob talk, sic transit gloria mundi.

Sacrilege Alert
If you aren’t mature enough to realize that all forms of organized religion are inherently hilarious, then you should probably not read this post. I know you’re going to ANYWAY, because fundamentalists are too stupid to read disclaimers… or regulate their bowel movements (yes, I wrote a poo joke).

Despite countless (read: 2) attempts to get Poromenos to pen (read: key) a post about religious/public holidays (read: Mr. Callaghan, I had sex with your daughter and took pictures), he has refused to do so. And so it is upon me once more to bring you Porocrom’s interpretation of…

The Easter Story

From what I could research, while getting really baked and flipping through Easter specials on daytime TV, the Easter celebration is based upon the Pagan festival of Eoster, a fertility and rebirth festival. It is during this time that Christians celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, who in the spirit of killer rock bands everywhere, did a wicked encore by coming back from the dead. To honor this feat, rockers everywhere still bear his trademark hairstyle.

The story goes something like this. Jesus was chillin’ at the crib with his homies (Peter, Paul, Mary, Simon… Judas was there… some short bearded guy named Gimli I think… anyway there were like 13 of them until they convinced Bilbo to be the burglar) when he was like “Hey, it’s passover. Let’s go into town and like, eat some stuff.” Biblical scholars have cleaned up the ancient Aramaic language so now it says “Blessed are the breadmakers, for they are 30% off with in-store coupon.”

And they went to town and ate supper, posed for the now-famous painting, and had a generally wild time. At the end of dinner, Jesus (in a particularly fanciful mood) took some bread and passed it around and said to everyone “This is my body you eat.” I can only assume he said this after they ate the bread because I don’t care when in history it is, that’s pretty gross. Then, as a great followup gag, he pronounced the wine to be his blood, proving once and for all that Jesus is an ancient ancestor of the Kool-Aid man.

They went out to the garden to take a nap, when the cops showed up and busted up the Brokeback Mount of Olives reunion tour. Peter cut off some dude’s ear, proving once and for all that Mike Tyson is a biblical scholar. They took Jesus and interviewed him, but because he was lousy at producing sound-bytes, they decided to kill him in the most humane way possible: nailing him to a big fucking plank of wood.

Luckily for our hero, he was able to get his daddy to pull his ass out of trouble, proving once and for all that George W. Bush is a true Christian (or Satan incarnate, our scientologists are working round the clock…). Everyone was really bummed out, except for Caiaphas the high priest and Annus, his father in law, who are quoted in a recently discovered manuscript (the gospel according to Porocrom) thusly:

Caiaphas: OMG, we r soo kewl
Annus: LOLZ0R ^_
Caiaphas: ROFL @U
Annus: WTF?
Caiaphas: UR name iz anus, f4gz0r
Annus: STFU

But as we all know, Jesus, like disco, refused to stay dead. He rose from the grave, which was considered to be a good move by everyone except the funeral home who had to refund the disciples’ money. He then made a covenant with all mankind in perpetuity: he swore to come down the chimney every Easter and bring chocolate eggs to all the good boys and girls of the world. And to the bad boys and girls, eternal damnation.

So if you have been good this year, expect a big chocolate surprise underneath the Easter tree (if you are a dog owner, make sure it is not steaming before you eat it) (yes, two poo jokes in one post). If you have been a bad boy, go to church and confess your sins to a guy in a big dress. If you’ve been a bad girl, go to my room and await a spunking… I mean spanking… no I don’t.

Joyeux paque, tout le monde.