Porocrom’s Crappaper

I went to see a movie yesterday to this new multiplex movie theatre thing which boasted a screen the size of the equator, a sound system that plays even sounds you can’t hear and seats that give you orgasms. By the way, if you watch Ong Bak, there’s some chalk writing on a wall somewhere that says “Hi, Speilberg. Let do it together.” I wonder if they are going to “do it together”… But yes, the theatre.

I don’t understand the point of larger and larger screens. They have gotten so large that I always have to turn my head from side to side to catch the entire frame. Whenever conversation scenes come on I get spinal injuries, I have watched tennis games with less pain than that. I can only blame the stupid people that go to whatever theatre has the largest screen. Here’s a tip, Einstein: If you want a big screen, stick your nose up to your TV and watch, it’s much better that way.

Also, what is up with the sound systems? People seem to have mistaken “better quality” for “higher volume”. Hey, owner guy, I would prefer gunshots not to cause my ear drums to bleed. On romantic scenes it feels like I’m in a club and on action scenes it feels like I’m strapped to the bottom of the space shuttle during takeoff. Digital sound is great as long as it doesn’t cause deafness, and soon my insurance company will stop covering cinema-related injuries so a movie will cost about $1300.

Needless to say, the seats didn’t give me an orgasm (or if they did it was when I was unconscious), my pants were clean. Seriously though, how can each row of seats be a foot higher than the next one and I still get some guy’s head right where Kate Beckinsale’s genitalia is supposed to be? Damn you, tall guy. Maybe it would help if they didn’t make the fucking screen larger than a football field and then lower it right in front of the first row.

And don’t get me started about the popcorn and soda. Since when do they cost more than the actual fucking ticket? A bucket of popcorn costs like $6, and last time I checked it took two cobs of corn and some salt to make it. We grow that shit by the ton, what the fuck caused a worldwide shortage of corn these days? And since when did a medium Coke cost $3? Where am I, Africa?

The thing that pisses me off the most is that almost every movie is a piece of shit. I remember watching Ecks vs. Sever a few years ago, it was the most expensive nap I ever took. I slept through 90% of the movie and I still know the plot. It was like “doze off, explosion, wake up, Antonio Banderas. Doze off, explosion, wake up, Antonio Banderas”. What an original concept, and Lucy Liu wasn’t even naked in any scene (or maybe I missed it, but I doubt it, I would have woken up if anyone was moaning). At least there’s not much else to do in the theatre so my ADD isn’t a problem, but it takes me 3 days to watch a DVD when I rent one. Late fees are a bitch.

In summation, they should give you a complimentary blowjob with each movie, and with all the darkness in the cinema I wouldn’t even take that, you never know who’s doing the sucking. Also, I just finished watching Saw II, and it’s not as horrible as the first one, but a bit more stupid. Imagine, you’re in a house full of traps and you just rush to grab everything you see. “Oops, I died.” That’s Saw II.

P.S. Best movie ever: The Shawshank Redemption (Disclaimer: I haven’t watched any one of the Godfathers)

Ladies and gentlemen, it is not often I am able to astound the scientific community and bring never-before-seen material to light, but I have conclusive PROOF that aliens live and work among us… my research design prof.

This specimen, which I have called Biological Replicon KR-Alpha (BRKR) appears at first glance to be a normal human person. Well, maybe ‘normal’ is stretching it a bit. However, upon closer and repeated inspection, it is clear to even the most skeptical of people that this is not a human as we know them.

Physical appearance, while very peculiar, is not the basis of this pronouncement. Despite the bizarre structure of the human costume that BRKR wears, the most damning evidence is in the specimen’s unorthodox behaviour. I make a few observations about its species:

The people of BRKR’s planet seem to communicate through the backs of their heads. This becomes increasingly evident as one compares the amount of time BRKR spends staring at the overhead with its back to the class, while continuing to talk. This is possibly due to the extreme aversion BRKR’s people have to seeing empty chairs. When faced with this situation, BRKR becomes highly agitated and will lose track of its thought patterns.

BRKR’s people display displeasure by moistening their upper lip repeatedly. To the untrained eye, this action would appear much like an eerie attempt at seducing an entire lecture hall. However, being the scientist I am, I conclude that this is a means of expelling waste chemicals. Another waste removal site is what we humans would call the ‘belly button’. As a consequence of this, BRKR is careful never to wear clothes that conceal this aperture, opting instead for belly-toppers without undershirts, or wearing a jacket as a shirt.

We can tell that despite their advanced ways, BRKR’s people are technologically behind, since BRKR’s translation module only works one way. As a consequence, BRKR is able to speak fluent English. However, when confronted with even a simple question, BRKR becomes flummoxed and resorts to staring intently at any nearby bright object (i.e. computer screen, projection screen) as a calming technique as the translators in the mothership work frantically to produce an answer (with varying success).

However, the most compelling evidence I can provide for my theory is the following: the presence of antennae on the head. In an attempt to disguise these telltale appendages, BRKR wears a disheveled hairdo, hoping to prevent detection while simultaneously providing ample space for transmission to continue unimpeded. Upon closer reflection, however, one will remember that NO woman lets her hair go THAT crazy unless she is trying to hide something.

To the untrained eye, all these occurrences may seem to be just the profile of a highly-eccentric person. When we look at the facts all gathered together however, we see a much more startling reality: aliens are attempting to destroy the human population by boring us to death. Beware – no one is safe.

It’s that time of year again… when there’s a crisp chill in the air, and a spring in your step. Where the only force stronger than the love that unites all of mankind is the force urging shoppers to trample each other in order to save 50 cents on a dented DVD player. It’s that magical time of year that we tell children to follow in the example of the baby Jesus and DEMAND another fucking Furby doll from parents too kid-whipped to stop and think what long-term damage mindless commercialism could do to their progeny. It’s the one time of year that the voices in your head telling you to pull out an AK and spray death all over your local mall are drowned out by the sickening pablum of

Christmas Music.

In true Porocrom style, I’m here to take a closer look at the songs that warm our hearts as we empty our pockets. Maybe some of the insanity that accompanies this season can be explained by the drivel that we play ad nauseam year in and out.

White Christmas

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten and children listen
To hear sleighbells in the snow…

Now I am not sure when this song was written, but I would have to guess it was some time in the 18th century, when it was still fashionable to own and operate a sleigh. This song doesn’t get a lot of air-time in places south of the Canadian border, since snow to most non-Canucks is either a crappy white rapper or a slang for cocaine. Maybe the latter definition would explain why the treetops are glistening. To my memory, the only time I’ve ever seen treetops ‘glisten’ is during the Quebec ice storm of 2000, and I really doubt that’s the kind of nostalgia we really want.

Winter Wonderland

Sleighbells ring, are you listening?
In the lane snow is glistening.
A beatiful sight, we’re happy tonight
Walking in a winter wonderland.

Seems harmless enough, doesn’t it? That’s how the blasted Ruskies infiltrate your mind. Before too long, you’re getting a common-law marriage presided by a snowman that you built yourself in the lane. Then, if the laudanum-induced winter “wonderland” isn’t enough for you, you and your comrades will “conspire” indoors to overthrow the snowperson empire, facing your evil designs “unafraid”. It’s always the nice Christmas songs that end up going so terribly wrong.

The Little Drummer Boy

Come they told me, pa-rumpupum-pum
A newborn king to see, pa-rumpupum-pum
Our finest gifts we bring, pa-rumpupum-pum
To lay before the king, pa-rumpupum-pum, rumpupum-pum, rumpupum-pum
So to honour him, pa-rumpupum-pum, when we come.

I tried this with my baby cousin. Free piece of advice: babies do NOT like drum solos at close proximity. I tried to throw in some Neil Peart with a Travis Barker twist and all I got for my trouble was loud wailing and a ticket for noise violation. To top it all off, my aunt threatened to break her foot off in my rumpupum-pum…

The 12 Days of Christmas

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me:
12 drummers drumming, 11 pipers piping
10 lords a-leaping, 9 ladies dancing
8 maids a-milking, 7 swans a-swimming
6 geese a-laying…
5 GOLDEN RINGS (pause for emphasis)
4 colly (calling? nobody seems to agree on this one) birds
3 French hens, 2 turtledoves
And a patridge in a pear tree.

It must be nice to have a true love whose portfolio includes both forays into animal husbandry and the slave trade. It’s a good thing there are only 12 days of Christmas (although last time I checked, it was only the one…) otherwise the narrator in this story would have to request a warehouse to store all this shit. If it were me in this story, I’d tell my true love to skip the drummers, pipers and leaping lords (why the HELL would anyone want a bunch of riverdancers?), leave me the 17 bitches and the bling, and trade the livestock in for a decent-looking car. Then again, I’m a man of much more refined tastes.

Also it would be funny if you served your true love a dish of partridge with pear stuffing…

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night
They didn’t hear me creep downstairs to have a peep
They thought that I was tucked up in my bedroom fast asleep.

It’s a good thing that the kid didn’t walk in on the second half of the performance when mommy begins pumping on Santa’s North Pole, trying to get some presents out of his sack. It makes me wonder why this perverted song still gets played every year. The lost verses include mommy tying up Santa and making him beg her in German not to take a dookie in his mouth. Heart-warming stuff.

Santa Claus is coming to town

You’d better watch out, you’d better not cry
You’d better not pout I’m telling you why:
Santa Claus is coming to town
…
He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake
He knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness’ sake!

Wow… just wow. If any child wasn’t already petrified by the prospect of a fat white dude dressed in blood red and leather who enters the house by the chimney, they can now talk to their therapists about the fact that he sees them when they’re sleeping. One wonders where he finds time to monitor every child in the world in between sexually molesting his army of elves and whipping the crap out of his eight tiny reindeer.

So if you’re flummoxed trying to pinpoint the origin of the holiday madness, look no further than your friendly Christmas songbook. Our team of songwriters is working around the clock to come up with some less intimidating holiday hits such as

- I’m Dreaming of a non-race-specific Holiday gathering – All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth… and a PSP – Silent Night, holy shit buy me a Tickle Me Elmo NOW – It’s Beginning to Look a lot like another crappy sweater from grandma

And many other instant Christmas favourites. If you don’t buy them, the baby Jesus will come down your chimney and burn your fucking house down.

Yes children, uncle Crommunist is back with another edition of…

This issue, we examine a Canadian band that is poised to take off like gangbusters. I recently had the immense pleasure of seeing these guys live as part of a beer promotion that came to my school. I got into the show for free because a friend of mine snagged me a ticket (you rule, Jeff). I had heard a bit of this band, and I wasn’t really super-excited about them, but the show changed all of that. I have been to a few rock shows in my time, but nothing I’ve ever seen or heard even comes close to the hard rockin’ show put forth by:

The Trews

My first exposure to the Trews was their single Not Ready to Go from their second album “House of Ill Fame”. It’s a pretty hard-rockin’ but straightforward song, and I wasn’t particularly impressed until I heard the second single Tired of Waiting

I am wired and fading
Looking blind and blaming
Following and trailing
Words you might be saying

I am tired of waiting,
I’m tired of waiting, I am tired

I grabbed a few tracks of theirs and was suitably impressed. They kind of sat in the back of my brain for a while until I heard they were playing at UW, so I thought I would give them a listen. My life was changed that night.

Touring on the strength of their recent disc “Den of Thieves” the Trews brought a rock show that blew away anything else I’ve seen live. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any band put that much into a live show before. I don’t know what these Nova Scotia lads are having for breakfast, but I’ll imagine their wives/girlfriends/groupies are very well satisfied. Just when you think they can’t possibly have any more energy, they bust out into a face-melting guitar solo.

Despite the fact (or perhaps in addition to it) that these guys can rock, they are incredibly skilled at what they do. Colin MacDonald has an incredible voice. It’s warm, full, throaty, and he has amazing range. For an example of what I mean, check out a song called “Hopeless”. John-Angus MacDonald has killer guitar skills as well. He busted out all the great tricks: playing between the legs, playing behind the back, rolling around on the floor. He did everything but make it sit up and beg. Not to be neglected is Sean Dalton, who threw in a great 10-minute drum solo amidst strobe lighting.

Their older stuff is a bit more provincial, but their latest release has more mainstream appeal, as evinced by the first single from that album, So She’s Leaving. I seriously recommend checking these guys out.

As is my habit, I will also discuss the opening band. Boy, a Toronto band, was mediocre, had little stage presence, and got kicked out for bringing shots on the stage. Seeing them get booted from the hall was my favourite part of their show.

Songs to Check Out

- So She’s Leaving – Stray – Confessions – Hopeless ******* OMG LISTEN TO THIS SONG – Tired of Waiting – Fleeting Trust

A recent critical look at the child’s prayer (you know, the really morbid bedtime prayer that comes from the days when the plague could kill you overnight) sparked my thoughts about what other things we are teaching our children. Is it any wonder they are so messed up when we teach them such BIZARRE shit from an early age? For your consideration…

A Porocrom Look at Nursery Rhymes

The old woman and the shoe

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children, she didn’t know what to do.
She gave them some broth without any bread,
Whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed.

While I am all for teaching our children the realities of the world in which we live, is it really necessary to expose them to the brutality of single motherhood, child abuse and neglect at such a tender age? This woman needs a social worker or something. Getting past the deplorable state of her children, let’s ask a practical question, shall we? Why the heck does she live in a shoe? Are we to believe that this woman and all her children live in an ordinary sneaker (or perhaps a disarded loafer, M. Goose is not specific)? Or perhaps it is, as many fanciful illustrations would have us think, they live together in a humongous boot? If that is the case, where on Earth would one find such a dwelling? Are we to then conclude that a moster shoe is available for a more moderate price than an ordinary house? I want to meet the Real Estate Agent who managed to trick this dumb bitch into putting a down payment on a place like this (“Aluminum siding? That’s so passe! This place has STEEL TOES!”) Also, here’s some advice for you lady. Keep your damn legs closed.

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men,
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

Classical illustration depicts Mr. Dumpty as an egg. I am confused by this, as nowhere in the rhyme does it specify what manner of person/thing this Humpty character is (For those of you who are going to be parents, please don’t give your kids rhyming names. It isn’t cute, it’s frightening). As far as we know, Humpty could have been a 500-piece puzzle, some furniture from Ikea, or a delicious 7-bean casserole. Here’s the second head-scratcher. Why would you ask the king’s horses to put him back together? Horses, as my research indicates, do not have thumbs. It is, therefore, very difficult for them to manipulate broken pieces of anything in such a way as to reconstruct them. They should have called in all the king’s chickens, since they are the egg experts. Also, why not give the women a go? Women are often quite skilled at putting things back together! At least they could have brought sewing kits or something. While I am not a blind optimist, is it really necessary to introduce children to a suicidal egg? I think not…

Peter Pumpkin Eater

Peter Peter, pumpkin eater
Had a wife and couldn’t keep her.
He put her in a pumpkin shell,
And there he kept her, very well.

How sad that we make light of battered wife syndrome. This woman is clearly not able to flee her husband, who is so poor that he must eat pumpkins and nothing else. Then again, maybe Mrs. Peter was a constant source of nagging: “Why can’t our relationship be more like the Spratts? They are always doing things betwixt the both of them!” Clearly he is concerned with her welfare, since he keeps her “very well”. This rhyme is probably designed to desensitize children to the way their parents like to beat the fuck out of each other all the time.

Jack and Jill

Jack and Jill went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down, and broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.

This one is so messed up that it doesn’t even rhyme. What are we saying to our children? “It’s okay to be lazy if you can’t find a rhyme for water.” Anyway, no mention of what they need the water for, nor is there any mention of why anyone in their right mind would construct a well on top of a hill, since water is below the ground. It seems that this rhyme is designed to put women in their place, since Jill dutifully “tumbles after” Jack, despite the fact that she could have just stayed at the top of the hill and maybe called an ambulance for Jack… or at least scooped his brains back into his head.

Jack be Nimble

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.
Jack jumped over the candlestick.

This rhyme is clearly written by a pirate, since it employs the infinitive form of the verb ‘to be’ (as pirates are wont to do: “Yarr, I be a pirate!”). There’s only one question to be asked about this very short rhyme: Why? Why not just walk around it? We will never know, as Jack went on to die falling down that hill. I guess he wasn’t quite as nimble as this verse would have us believe.

So, Mother Goose, we can only assume that in between penning rhymes you were grooming parasites from underneath your feathers and taking wicked bong hits. As a society, it is encumbant upon us to analyze carefully what message we are sending to our children, lest they grow up to produce unoriginal and unfunny websites…