August 2002 Archives

This is truly the final story I wrote for Pork Pony, but it was published under an alias. Mother Nature oversees a staff of obese people who do cannonballs to create catastrophic waves in the ocean. (CL)
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I really didn't like the opening credits of this movie. They were kinda dull and had no stylistic relevance to the story. There's nothing I hate more than starting a train of thought and then dropping it for no apparent reason.

Signs is the type of film that Hollywood rarely makes anymore. It takes a simple approach to a complex issue, relying on pacing and acting rather than explosions and bootie. Not that there's anything wrong with either explosions or bootie, its just a nice change of pace.

Without ruining the ending of the film, don't go into the theater expecting The Sixth Sense. I was afraid that M. Knight Whatshisface was going to go all "queer" on us (industry term) and pull out some ridiculous ending. Instead, he relies on the subtleties of the films message to resolve the story. It may not be the ending that you want, but it's nice to know that he isn't just "yankin' your crank" (non-industry term). On a scale of 1 to Club11, Signs gets an 8.

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Kendall's last stop on the Pork Pony express is the story of demons possessing a waste-management issue recyling bin. A guest appearance by Rick Fox is included if your imagination allows. (CL)
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Are not the Welsh supposedly an educated lot? Oh, so many great talents have come to us from the isles, but for some reason I've been sent to the United Kingdom's very own purgatory, Hythe.

I did so relish being flung across the Atlantic, leaving the vast sea and America behind. If I were more of a cynic, I would have anticipated being stuck in such a dull village. I saw one lad standing outside and I shouted to him, "Dear lad, have some Keats spring from your mouth. I do yearn to hear his words come out in true English." The boy simply stared at my and then showed me a peace sign with his fingers. Only thing is, the little hippie did it backwards! Ack, such simple people.

I decided to sample the local cuisine. I warn you, dear reader, if ever stuck in Hythe, avoid the food at all costs. It is naught but sculpted lard.

At least my body's in Europe. Something good's bound to happen.

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Don't you wish a magical Scott Baio poster would sweep into your bedroom on occasion and wipe away your stress and sorrows? (CL)
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