Hello again OMGJ readers — or at least whoever has stuck around during the less-than-active first half of 2012. If we’re going to keep this site open, then I’m bringing back Netflix Friday — a chance for me to write about movies without doing a 5,000 word scene-by-scene breakdown that in the past had caused me to lose my mind and light my belongings on fire.
For close to six or so years now, we here at OMGJ have had a strange fascination with Shaye St. John. The above clip should go a long way in showing you why. While we rarely delve into the dark, demented parts of the Internets anymore, there’s something about the sheer craziness that Shaye St John exposes you to that makes you keep coming back with a confused – but terrified – look on your face. And I’m not so much even talking about the videos by themselves (which are pretty damn crazy). But you honestly haven’t experienced full-bore craziness until you actually take a look at her site. It’s literally a treasure trove of crazy. Every single page is so completely strange that it’s hard not to keep browsing it, no matter how much your brain keeps telling you to stop before it gets worse. And yes, it will usually get worse on a regular basis. If you wanna check more of the videos out, I’ve put a few more of my favorites in after the break.
It had been a regular sort of day. I was embroiled in creating and then completing a To Do List, pretending to be a functional, productive adult. Then I took one of my frequent breaks which I must take every few minutes in order to make sure my Quality of Life doesn’t take a nosedive. It tends to really take it out of me, you see, when I make myself do domestic chores. But that is really neither here nor there I suppose. I just felt I needed to set the scene for you, so you could imagine how unprepared I was for this link that my friend, Kevin, showed me.
If we can use his songs as a true basis for the kind of man he was, Conway Twitty fucked around a lot. In his various works (gospel excluded) he was either running around on what seemed to be a steady girlfriend/wife, or he was caught and crawling on back to her. Conway Twitty was a man always moving. He was a man never afraid to take chances. He did what he wanted with no regard for anyone else… except for when he got caught and he dragged his sad ass back on his knees bawling for forgiveness.
Many would wonder what motivations Conway had to be a man like this. What insatiable lust for for women, power, and sex caused him to work his way through more than likely ALL of Tennessee’s ladies? It wasn’t lust, nor power, or a sense of great arrogance that pushed him to do these things. As we find out, Conway was a man who did what he did because he was driven by fear.
How do I know this? Because I’ve damned listened to “The Rose.”
With a little Johnny Cash.
As we have already seen with many of the holidays lately, Johnny Cash has at some point paid the proper kind of tribute as only he can: by bringing the mood down and perhaps inspiring a few open tears among some of us. Tears of sorrow or of pride, I cannot predict, but SOMETHING’S gonna set at least one of us off, and it will be because Johnny Cash is that kinda guy.
All right. This may be the very first article about Stephen Chow featured on this site, but it’s not the first time he has been featured IN MY HEART. And by heart I might mean pants, but why start off all creepy and weird? We’ll just agree to leave it at heart and move along as if nothing happened.
If you’re even able to read this, I’m impressed. After stuffing your fat fucking face, shooting off a bunch of ghetto-assed fireworks, and drinking so much that even your many alcoholic friends start saying such deep things as, “Not cool, man”, you surely are considering this a very happy Memorial Day indeed. You are on top of the world.
Why the hell are you happy?
.. with additional content by Amanda..
Hello dear friends, dear readers. A Merry Christmas to you. We are bringing you a little gift today, because we are NOT afraid to put in a little work on the Baby Jesus’ birthday. We may be godless wretches. We ARE, however, definitely pretty lazy, so we generally take any excuse we can to not write a thing.. This will let it be known then that this video must be Pretty Incredible for us to get off of our slack ponies and mosey on over here.
We bring you Johnny Cash.
I know everyone is pretty done with zombies by this point in time, myself included (I can’t believe I’ve said that two times this week alone), but I can’t just let this movie go by without saying something. Survival of the Dead is the newest George A. Romero zombie movie. If you’re asking who that is, basically he’s the father of the modern zombie movie. His Night of the Living Dead is still one of the scariest movies of all-time to me. It was low-budget, shot in black and white, and introduced the world to the brain-eating zombies who in-turn can make you into a zombie via their bite. They’re an unfeeling army of destruction who have no other reason for coming for you than the urge to feed. Night of the Living Dead followed a group of people who walled themselves up in a house to fend of these creatures, and started Romero’s recurring theme– distilled down, it’s “Man’s worst enemy is itself.”
I’ll be bringing you a little yuletide cheer this week by talking a little bit about Nestor the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey. Oh, wait. Did I say “cheer” because cheer is basically the opposite of what I meant to say. What I have dredged from my soup of far distant childhood memories is a Christmas special that I saw when I was maybe eight or nine that was SO DEPRESSING that I only saw it once, and it made me cry like an inconsolable teen who was just left orphaned by a fiery automobile crash on her birthday. This animation AGED ME far beyond my years and I will never forgive it.
