Sex Detective reviews video affonts to God

Youtube has a Christian Film Trailer channel.  If you visit it you get to see hundreds of trailers for films you'll never actually see.  There are countless straight-to-dvd production companies in North America making such atrocious crap that only international quarantine laws save us every day from their taint.  Some folks think I give God-fearing followers of the White Christ a hard time, but that's simply not true.  I just scrutinise some of their horrible products, starting with their Bible and ending with the kind of shit I'm about to share with you.  Shit like:

Sybil Ludington


Okay, so I have very little knowledge of the American Revolutionary War, other than that America obviously won, otherwise it would be the War Where Nothing Really Changed.  As for Sybil Ludington, I can't even bring myself to google the bitch.  What I do know, from the above trailer, is that she spent most of her life indoors with a bunch of dudes stressing about something.  The only external shot is of her sitting on an inert horse, which doesn't strike me as particularly revolutionary.  Horses have been sat on for a long time, I know this because I read it in a book once.  As for war stuff, we get a brief glimpse of a British soldier through a window.

Oh no, he's firing an old timey flintlock pistol at fuck knows what, and it sounds more like a wet Christmas cracker than a projectile weapon.  Most war flicks like to highlight action scenes into their trailers, but if that's all Sybil Ludisomething has to offer you're in for 90 minutes of whiny, fully clothed conversation inside a mudbrick shack.


Snitched
One thing you notice if you're so lonely that you have to subscribe to christianfilmtrailers to get through the night is that the view rates of these teasers tend to be in the low double digits.  I'm sorry, Christian movie-makers, but when a third of your subscribers is me (a mocking atheist in a hockey mask) you sorely need to revise your marketing plan.  Of course, it would also help if you actually took the time to inspect some of this dross before dumping it online.



I dare anyone to tell me what the fuck I just watched.  Some chick on a monochrome computer, fading title overlays spouting stoned speculation about historical confidentiality, and... and what exactly is this meant to be?

An eaves-dropping time machine?  A space toilet catching fire?  Is it even a plot device or just some kid's science fair entry?  We'll never know.  Or care.


Long Distance Princess
Hey, do you know what the kids love these days?  Romantic comedies about kids.  As opposed to this audio-visual miscarriage.



That's not a trailer, people, it's just a mash up of disjointed micro-clips with a couple of antagonistic lines from a clearly over-aged cheerleader.  And what's with the title cards at the beginning?  "lisa will win todd's heart..." [insert 5 seconds of kids doing unrelated crap] "...or does she?"  That's not even grammatically correct, assholes.  But rather than waste time in the Youtube comments section reminding people how verbs work, I followed a link to the plot summary of this film to get a handle on what was really going on.  Here it is, copied and pasted verbatim.

Lisa, a high school sophomore, has been hiding her hopeless crush on todd, the irresistibly likable junior in her art class. her life starts to unravel when he asks her to help him get to know the beautiful ellie, her longtime friend living in england.



All the while cindy, todd’s ruthless ex, resorts to sinister schemes to stop lisa and ellie, so she can win him back, and todd’s image-conscious friends try to discourage him from befriending the ordinary-looking lisa.


Supporting her through it all, theo–lisa’s Christian friend from school–encourages her to tackle her problems with a biblical mindset, but mitzy, her opportunistic bff, has other ideas.

One of the mentioned characters (Ellie) apparently doesn't even appear in the film.  But that's okay, because capital letters don't even appear in the synopsis.  The only capital letter used when not starting a paragraph is the 'C' in the word 'Christian'.  Well done.  And if your plot relies on using a 'biblical mindset' to overcome the baffling array of stupid problems about very mundane things then prepared to be underwhelmed.  There won't even be a karmic revenge fantasy element because I already know that this sort of vanilla-style christianity means everyone wins in the end and becomes a better person.  You know, just like the opposite of real life.

Shadowlands


Yep, it's kinda like Star Wars and the protagonist is definitely Space Jesus.  The producer wasn't allowed to borrow his daugher's iPhone so he had to render the CGI on his grandfather's fax machine.  Laser ships and medieval swords abound in some sort of backwater desert place.  Desert places are vital when you're trying to use the premise of sci-fi to retell a messiah myth.  'Only this stranger from the heavens, with his shiny sword and stupid beard can save us from the status quo!  He must truly be the Chosen One as foretold in the vague prophecy of our ancestors!'

The obvious drawcard for this flick, though, is the antagonist - none other than Gary 'batshit insane' Busey, one time popular actor/musician and now born-again creep.  Gary's mere mention makes children cry, women flinch and men reach for blunt objects.  His filmography claim to fame was becoming an Oscar loser nominee in 1978 by playing Buddy Holly.  From there he scored a string of pretty kick-ass second tier roles in the '80's and early '90's.  Then he became an alcoholic, joined AA, and turned into a Godoholic instead.  Now anyone who isn't a backwater, homemade christian production company avoids him like the cringey, crazy bag of douche that he is.

Not pictured: sanity.

Footprints
Trailers are brief snippets of pivotal scenes that inform the viewer what to expect in the plot of a movie.  Or not.

I can safely say that having seen this trailer I now know less than I did before knowing this film existed.  A lonely, whining guy whining about being a lonely, whining guy does not tell me anything I didn't already know about lonely, whining guys.  Oh, and he finds God's love in the form of a dog, I think, or maybe half the script was written by dyslexia.

Soul Surfer
Ever wondered what happened to '90s star Helen Hunt?  Me neither, so imagine my unsurprise when I found her playing a supporting part in this 'based on a true piece of crap' movie about a teenage surfer girl who gets her arm eaten off by a shark but manages to return to surfing after learning how to compensate for this amputation.



Pretty amazing, right?  Oh, no it's not, because upper limb amputees learn how to compensate every fucking day provided they are prepared to complete rehab and stick to their training regimes.  I kinow it's admirable to see someone do that, but it's hardly a damn miracle when you do so surrounded by wealth, privilege and the best medical care available.  It's like when patronising, ignorant cunts praise kiddy cancer sufferers for being 'brave'.  They're not brave, you idiots, they're just kids perservering through some horrible shit, and most are actually pretty upset by the whole deal so try to show a little compassion instead of heaping meaningless adult terms on them.


127 Hours
Okay, if you want to see something truly awesome watch this film:



It's the story of Aron "Fuck you, universe" Ralston, the most kick-ass rock climber you'll ever learn about.  It tells the events and experiences of a man facing a horrible death after a climbing accident.  It's moving shit, showing how a man will fight to the last using nothing but will power and a cheap multi-tool.  After getting his arm pinned by a wedged rock and drinking his own piss to survive for 5 days, he gets sick of waiting for rescue or God or whatever and amputates his own lower arm with pliers and a blunt knife.  Then he strolls across miles of stinking desert until he finds some help, all the while never losing his sense of humour.  This is a 100% true story.  Mr Ralston now tours around the place delivering very matter-of-fact speeches to fans, but only when he's not still climbing the fuck out of mountains.

Sex Detective vs My Smooth Legs hairless men bullshit

Like most real men whose genetic legacy originates from Northern Europe, my body grows hair.  My torso, legs, pelvis, head, face, even my nostrils.  Body hair is as natural as testicles when it comes to manhood characteristics.  Hell, even plenty of gay men agree, especially now that many of them carry on the manly legacy of the moustache.  To my gay, facially furred brothers: I salute you!

But in this age of androgeny and Spartan-style fitness regimes, body hair is under attack, by online ordering companies who dare to defy the natural order that has existed ever since cave-people labelled their public toilets 'hairy' and 'not-so-hairy'.

My Smooth Legs
Seriously, just typing that heading earned me divorce papers from my testicles.

I give you the My Smooth Legs product company, or the Death of Manly Hair Incorporated as I like to call them.  So, the product name is 'My Smooth Legs', even though it's not what the name suggests!  Because that would be transexually gay if it was.  No, this wantonly misnamed product removes hair from that other part of your body known as "all the rest".

But how does this miraculous, puberty-reversal thing work?  Follicle cancer?  Space alchemy?  Nano-bots?

Nope, micro-crystal particles, just like the ones you find on a Micro-Crystal Pad, apparently.  Just buff your hair off with the pad, and enjoy the bonus of exfoliation in the process.  You'll find that exfoliation is not an uncommon side-effect when trying to abrade your hair off with glorified sand-paper.

That's right, 100% more effective and 61% more gay then before.  All thanks to some new formula that was "*Tested and Proven USA". 

But what the hell does any of that mean?  If it's flecks of crystal glued to a pad, how is that an improved formula?  It's just more bits of crystal, surely.  And why are there twinkles on the buffed buff body of the Old Dominic Uni's Athletics Director pictured there?  Do the crystals get embedded in your skin?  And what's with his recommendation - a pic of 5 stars in quotation marks.  You can't quote pictograms, that's not how quoting works.

Now this is how quoting works:

No offence, Kaymennathan, USA, but your wife sounds like a horrible bitch if she makes you feel ashamed for producing testosterone.  If she prefers hairless lovers buy her a donkey with alopecia, or order some mould remover for her dildo.  No man should ever have to apologise for body hair, dammit, unless it's clogging a drain.

Hang on, it turns out that My Smooth Legs isn't just about aesthetics, it's designed to make your lifestyle more practical...

... provided your lifestyle involves international diving and not much else.  Kirsten and James insist that hairlessness is essential if you spend all your time in sea water due to hygiene issues.  That's why you don't see many hairy fish, because they all died from being unclean.  That's pretty much all the logic I can garner from their argument here.

I fucking love it when companies produce lines like "Research has shown that 92% of the female respondents surveyed said they prefer male partners to be less hairy..."  That's not research, assholes, it's a two question electronic spam survey that asked:

1. "Would you like your male partner to be more hairy?" and

2. "If you answered 'no' to question 1, is it because of hygiene or a fear of lycanthropy?" 

And the most common of reasons was 'sighted'?  Really?  I'm pretty sure you mean 'cited', because reasons are abstract nouns that can't be physically viewed, dickwads.

Lastly, we have all the bullshit reasons why scouring yourself with magic particles is preferable to every other option on the planet. 

The first tick assumes that you're already the sort of smooth-loving girlie-man who can't stand the thought of natural hair on your body, in which case you'll give this crap a go anyway as part of your daily, oiled up workout.

The second tick mentions exfoliation again.  Before this article I didn't know what that word even meant - peeling off dead skin, apparently.  Sounds charming.
 
Tick number 3 assures us that you can buff yourself anywhere you happen to be: at work, in the car, a prison shower block, where-ever the urge takes you.

Number four says you can do so without any nasty ouchies, because men who want baby smooth skin have the pain threshold of a flayed foetus.

Finally we get the dumbest reassurance of all: the old regrowth myth.  Ever been told that shaven hair grows back coarser while waxed hair regrows finer?  Ever been told that there is absolutely no evidence to back that up?  Waxed/zapped hair does take longer to grow back because the follicle has been destroyed and needs to regrow first, but after that all hair just grows like hair.  If the coarse hair shaving myth was true I would have to use a razor-coated belt sander on my chin by now.

Look, anything you can buy online for under $30 that claims to be superior to thousands of dollars of fricking laser treatment is bound to be fucked up on some level.  Remember the supposedly painless Epi-Lady hair puller-outerer?  Last time my girlfriend tried that she reflexively punched me out while I was applying bandages to her legs.

Fuck My Smooth Legs, and anyone else's for that matter.

7 More Things I Fucking Hate

I got bored of being in love years ago. Anyone can fall in love and get all dewy eyed watching The Notebook or similar gay shit. Falling in hate, now that's a fucking achievement. I'm not talking about being hateful in general: I'm no hate monger and I've never committed a hate crime. What I'm talking about is devoting a reasonable balance of my time and effort to hating certain things so as to even out all those lovey-dovey feelings. It doesn't mean I'm depressed or stressed or psychotic, I just believe all emotions should be valued equally, even the negative ones.
Luckily there seems to be an endless supply of things to piss me off about the world, allowing me to maintain an optimal level of healthy hatred. 

"HATE": it may be a strong word, but it's also the right one.

PMS

No, I don't suffer from it, but I sure as hell seem to suffer for it an awful lot.  The number of times in my working or social life where I suddenly have to deal with women's mood swings, cramping symptoms, crazy accusations, chocolate cravings and general douche-baggery is huge.  I know you can't prevent that shit without major surgery or the experimental menopause causing drug I'm currently working on ("Dry-Haven: for women who know when to just give up!"), but at least have the courtesy to warn the world when it strikes so I can wear ear-plugs and ignore every emotional outburst about how I think you're fat or something.  Please send me a copy of your menstrual calendar so I can arrange to be out to lunch or on a hunting trip when cotton-pony express approaches.

Facebook

I'm only going to say this once: Facebook is not real.  Any digital communication medium is just a tool, not a lifestyle.  You can lie and deceive and exploit FB just as much as you can express heart-felt truths and opinions.  Either way you're asking for trouble if you take any of that crap seriously.  Just look at that guy who murdered his wife somewhere after she changed her relationship status.  Or like the time I changed mine to "...in a relationship with Miffy the Goat," then had to upgrade the status to "It's complicated" after she died but before she got too cold.

Canned Sitcoms

Yes, all canned sit-coms suck.  Anything with canned laugh tracks or a canned studio audience sucks.  It's like being sent to a 'how to laugh' school for comedy with special needs.  Anyway, the funniest shit you'll ever see are the organic variety, stuff like Arrested Development and The Office - they require hard work and real acting to pay off.  I once got to sit in a studio audience for some kids' show.  Yes, I was a kid at the time, perverts!  It was called The Channel Niners (after the station that spawned it) or something equally creative.  The show ran after school and starred a couple of who-gives-a-fuck grown ups, and a pink, fluffy duck puppet.

His name was Winky Dink

It was while sitting in this drafty studio with 200 other 7 year olds that I first discovered that studio audiences were given great big, glowing cues tewlling them when to laugh or applaud.  Even at the time I thought "Fuck you, I'll only laugh or clap if I feel this shit is actually entertaining."

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: the death of comedy.

Blowjobs with teeth

Which is why I ask my lovers to remove theirs first.

Being rude to service staff

I don't care how hot you look, if I'm on a date with you and you're rude to a waitress I will go out of my way to fuck that waitress right in front of you because you're being a bitch. 

The same goes double for my caddy!

Don't try to apply some sort of superiority/dominanting power dynamic with the people serving you.  They're already servants, it says so in their job spec.  Plus there's the added risk they'll associate me with your crappy attitude and I'll end up with a pubic garnish on my meal.

Conspiracy theorists

I agree that 9-11 was a conspiracy: a conspiracy orchestrated by fucking terrorists.  Not the Government or Big Business or the Illuminati.  You losers just dream that shady men in secret bunkers plot to oppress the world because it's easier than taking responsibility for your own shit-boring, fucked up lives.

And, as you can clearly see in the encircled areads of this grainy image, the

CIA have used microwaves to - fuck it, just sleep with me already!?!

 
And, yes, we did land on the Moon a few times.  I'm sick of people who insist that 'The Moon Landing' was a hoax, mainly because they're too dumb to use the plural term - we had people land up there 6 times, idiots.  That's 6 moon landings, not one, so which 'The Moon Landing' are you referring to?  And as to why do we no longer visit the Moon?  Because there's nothing fucking there!

Serious, they drove all over the place and still didn't find any stage props 

or even the studio door.

Irrational radiation cancer scares
Every few years some dickwad communications engineering company will stir up the 'cell phones cause cancer' scare so they can sell their shitty shielding products to guillible consumers.  Yes, cell phones produce radiation - radio waves are how they fucking work.  But before you assume that your phone will tumourise your brain, take the 2 minutes necessary to check the difference between ionic and non-ionic radiation.  Same goes for micro-wave ovens, you ignoramuses  (especially you ignoramuses who thought the plural of 'ignoramus' was 'ignorami' - in Latin it's a verb, not a masculine noun, bitches!).  Just because you don't understand the fundamental science behind something doesn't make it evil.  Or maybe you'd like to go back to burning witches, huh?

Number of evidenced cancer cases from

cell phones + microwaves = 0

In fact, have a good, hard look at what you think is 'dangerous science stuff', you guillible fucks - power lines, nuclear reactors, stem cell research, petrol-driven cars.  Less than 10% of you know how any of that shit actually works, let alone what, if anything, makes it dangerous.  No, you just trust in whatever whack-job or con-man comes along and convinces you that it's bad for you somehow by playing on your ignorant fears.  Kinda like how Conquistadors scammed then fucked the Aztecs.  Yes, that guillible.

Grrr!  Aargh!  Just try to fucking think before you believe what you hear already!