Friday, March 30, 2012

How People Find Bunched Undies Part 2

Recent searches that have led folks to the blog.....

adultery in movies
 Bet that returned a hit or two.

space ghost porn.
C’mon, is nothing sacred?

boy touch girl body part
A shy porn surfer

what is that lipstick on the glass he is upset in the restaurant

bunchie eats stuff.
Same to you buster!

Slave mistress knees
Sorry, only got Claire’s Knee

grandmother naked
How does that lead here??

black emanuelle betamax
Time to upgrade Dude.

freakin shit
Kids and computers, nothing but trouble

nude bunching jumping
Sounds painful

movie stars that are democrats
and Google melted...

pornographic Oscar Award.
This year they certainly were.

robin wright breaking and entering thong.
I don’t remember that scene…

purple vomit.
Wasn’t that a Hendrix song?

 porno naked boode
Good grief, everyone knows how to spell booty….

adolescent egocentrism
Can you say redundant?

beer vomiting.
Should be an Olympic sport…

hot undies guy
Yep, that’s me.

incest mature.

wilford brimley on a bunchie.
Words fail me….

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

No One Expects the Spanish Inquisition!: The Mill and the Cross (2011)****

The Mill and the Cross is an attempt to get deeply into the creative mind by removing the boundaries between artistic vision and objective reality. The film shows us the world – 16th century Flanders to be precise – through the eyes of painter Pieter Bruegel (Rutger Hauer), and gives a flavor of the harsh realities depicted in his allegorical extravaganza The Procession to Calvary, completed in 1564. By means that alternate between mesmerizing and clumsy, director Lech Majewski fills in the painting’s backstory, and creates a bleakly intriguing glimpse into Bruegel’s life and times. Along with an informative art history lesson, viewers will get a vivid reminder that maybe the 21st Century isn’t so bad after all.

Working extensively with mattes, Majewski imposes Brugel’s visual stylistics on rustic scenes of daily life. This “living painting” technique is tricky – Eric Rohmer tried a similar approach in 2000 with The Lady and Duke, and achieved unwatchable results -  but generally it’s quite successful here, and at times the composites are breathtaking. But Majewski goes a step further, and presents the objective sights and sounds that served as Bruegel’s inspiration. These scenes are among the film’s most effective, and eventually make a few of the complex green screens seem stiff and self conscious. A sequence filmed in a giant grist mill features extraordinary images of early belt and gear engineering, accompanied by subwoofer friendly sound effects that evoke the hellish grinding of condemned souls.

Like life in the 1500s, The Mill and the Cross moves at its own lugubrious pace, offering the space to savor its best moments. Its depiction of daily routines is rooted in stark realism, bringing to mind Olmi’s lumbering agrarian opus The Tree of Wooden Clogs from 1978. In Majewski’s unhurried exposition, we see Bruegel rising at dawn to begin his day of preliminary sketches, soon followed by an impossible number of tow-headed little Bruegels, all rolling out of the crowded bed like clowns from a Volkswagen. Before Mom can begin the breakfast preparations, a flock of squalling geese must first be cleared from the warm kitchen, and they’re not too happy about it. Grim humor, intentional or not, abounds early in the film, as a young couple drag their prized calf up a hillside for a foggy picnic while a musician, in the broadest sense of the word, accompanies them on a rumbling early version of the saxophone.

But the imagery is the thing, and Majewski serves up a visual feast not soon to be forgotten. Elements of Bruegel’s vision dominate the film’s second half, and take it beyond a medieval slice of life and into the realm of splendor. Not all the ideas work; the composites of Bruegel discussing the painting with his patron (Michael York) come off as surprisingly flat and studio bound, while a re-imagining of the Passion with Charlotte Rampling as Mary seems more like a producer’s idea than part of Majewski’s larger vision. And ultimately Pieter Bruegel the Elder remains a cipher. In a career laced with eccentric characters, Hauer’s dreamy wandering, sketch pad in hand, ranks as one of his oddest performances. While Majewski was clearly not interested in a standard bio-pic, the later reels lack human interest and the change in narrative scale make the film less approachable; like the stanchions that guard The Procession to Calvary today at Vienna’s Kunsthistorisches Museum. Hidden within the optical wonders of The Mill and the Cross is a great film. It doesn’t quite reach the screen intact, but what’s there is pretty darn amazing.

Friday, March 23, 2012

News and Notes: TGIF Edition

The weekend is almost upon us, and I've got my recreational beverages on the chill. I'm beginning a major renovation project next week, so if posting is light you'll know I've fallen off a ladder or shot a nail through my finger or something. At any rate, here's some pleasant thoughts for this beautiful Friday afternoon....

Emilie Dequenne Stars in Joachim Lafosse's Loving Without Reason, due to premiere this year at Cannes.

Cannes will be happening soon, and Alt Film Guide has some interesting tidbits about the films that should be ready in time. It's a heavyweight slate, with offerings from Malick, Haneke, Reygadas and Resnais to name a few. Check it out! Exciting stuff for any film snob: Part One and Part Two

And don't forget, Mad Men returns this Sunday. It's been awhile but I'm sure Don Draper has adjusted to being a good family man, with a new marriage and all. He said sarcastically. At any rate, the preview looks amazing...

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

The Fire This Time: Letter Never Sent (1960) ****

Bergman and Nykvist, Bertolucci and Storaro, Welles and Toland; the history of cinema is replete with great partnerships between directors and cinematographers. Through potent mixtures of chemistry and vision, these collaborations created works of iconic visual style, endowing the world with a lexicon of cinematic reference. Films like The Seventh Seal, The Last Emperor and Citizen Kane are so deeply entrenched in the canon they can usually be identified from one mere frame. While not as well known to westerners, director Mikhail Kalatozov and cameraman Sergei Urusevsky comprised an equally impressive artistic symbiosis in the Soviet Union during the early years of the cold war.

Hopefully Kalatozov and Urusevsky’s days of obscurity will come to an end with Criterion’s stunning blu-ray edition of Letter Never Sent, a chilling adventure from 1960 built from the whole cloth of nihilist nightmares. Like Russian dolls, the film presents reflections of Man’s relationship with the natural world in strata that lead ever deeper into the primal. Soviet society is on the verge of a historic technological breakthrough, but the means of achieving it lay buried deep in Mother Earth, and she does not dispense her spoils easily. As a small band of geologists will discover, the race to conquer the unknowns of outer space is infused with irony; for within the Soviet Union’s own borders exists a realm as untamed and remote as the moons of Saturn, and equally perilous.

Four Soviet scientists are dispatched to an unpopulated, sketchily charted region of Siberia in search of a long rumored lode of diamonds; a rich vein the Kremlin hopes will pay for its ambitious space program. The expedition is led by Sabinin (Innokenti Smoktunovsky), a laconic explorer of steely resolve who has attempted this search before only to come up empty. Accompanying him are the brawny Sergei (Yevgeny Urbansky) and a soon to be married couple: enthusiastic young Andrei (Vasili Livanov) and the beautiful Tanya (Tatyana Samoilova), who are head-over-heels in love. The first half of the film is devoted to the party’s trudge into the forbidding taiga, where weeks of rough living and back-breaking labor await them. But just as it appears the intrepid band will be rewarded for their efforts, a raging forest fire threatens to engulf them. With acres of towering spruce igniting like tinder, Sabinin and his associates realize that survival will require a herculean and heroic fight, a fight that must be successful to insure Russia’s reach for the stars.

Criterion’s previous Kalatozov/Urushevsky release – 1957’s The Cranes are Flying - was a spectacular showcase for the pair’s visual wizardry and Letter Never Sent continues their tradition of exquisite imagery. Gone are the complex, highly coordinated long takes involving thousands of extras that made Cranes such a bravura piece of filmmaking. Letter Never Sent is a more personal and philosophical work, although it too eventually radiates into grandiose scale. The film’s sudden shifting from internal monologue to a natural world gone mad is shocking and stunning, like the intrusion of a terrifying dream on quiet meditation. Urushevsky’s camera captures the brutal beauty of the smoldering taiga with stark compositions reminiscent of Ansel Adams’ brooding vistas of Yosemite. His rock steady handheld from Cranes is equally impressive here, tracking the exhausted explorers over miles of rugged terrain with the precision of motion control.

Letter Never Sent is a film that manages to transcend an overbearing score and an underdeveloped script to deliver a cinematic experience that triumphs on sheer visual aesthetics. Despite enormous physical challenges, Kalatozov and Urusevsky created a nightmarish wilderness journey, pitting the resilience of the human spirit against nature’s dark and deadly forces. Its attempts at profound commentary may be lacking, but Letter Never Sent remains a marvelous and harrowing spectacle, and this hi-def offering is a worthy addition to any cinephile’s library. We can only hope that 1964's I Am Cuba, considered by many to be Kalatozov and Urusevsky’s finest achievement, will one day get the deluxe Criterion treatment.

Monday, March 19, 2012

Waitin' Downtown in a Railway Station: 35 Shots of Rum (2009) ****1/2

35 Shots of Rum is a remarkable existential drama about the intersection of some thoroughly unremarkable lives. Loosely based on Ozu’s Late Spring, director Claire Denis plops us into the middle of the daily doings of a family of immigrants – what’s left of the family anyway – in a grimy outer suburb of Paris. What follows is a series of snapshots that, at first blush, depict the quiet desperation and common banalities of everyday life. But through her unique directorial prism, Denis is able to illuminate nuggets of bravery buried deep within. As a narrative, 35 Shots of Rum doesn’t advance so much as infect, and while ultimately there’s little in the way of catharsis, viewers will find the film a satisfying and haunting sojourn.

Interweaving train tracks serve as an introductory metaphor, and while the steel strands present a confusing selection of paths, they eventually all end up in same place. Along these mesmerizing rails travels the alert and focused Lionel (Alex Descas), a middle-aged RER driver of African descent. Returning home is his 20-ish daughter Josephine (Mati Diop), an attractive young woman who has her heart set on an electric rice cooker for her birthday. Josephine’s mother died years ago, and she and Lionel evoke the tender silences of family members who have survived a shared trauma. Gabrielle (Nicole Doque), a mature lady cab driver is folded into the narrative mix without a word of explanation, along with a businessman named Noé (Gregoire Colin).

Denis allows us to flounder with these relationships for awhile, creating in viewers an intriguing sense of a departure into the strangely familiar. 35 Shots of Rum manages to link worlds of dreams with complacency, forging a scenario that seems almost too real to be real. Slender, fragile threads define reality for Denis’ characters, and when those strings are severed new possibilities – both good and bad – soon emerge. When Noé’s ancient cat dies, he realizes he can finally move to accept a lucrative job offer, while Lionel’s former co-worker (Julieth Mars Toussaint) will find retirement an untenable adjustment. Meanwhile, another passage looms as Lionel prepares for Josephine’s past due departure from the nest, but the shy attentions of a café owner (Adele Ado) offers a glimpse of the possibilities for his new life.

Despite momentary flights of fancy, for Denis’ characters the routine of life proceeds at a desensitizing rhythm, just as passenger trains travel their scheduled routes in a hypnotic clatter. The most revealing moments of backstory occur near the end of the film during a road trip to a German village, where details of Lionel’s life are given bittersweet clarity. Descas and Diop shine in this sequence, projecting a mix of deep respect and mortal awareness through poignant and gentle moments. Their long voyage as parent and child is drawing to end, and soon they must separate under the thick gray skies of Parisian winter. Like the windows of a speeding train, Claire Denis has made us appreciate, understand and see a bit of ourselves in 35 Shots of Rum’s passing reflections. And if we look past the nearby blur, the quiet wonders of the human landscape are revealed in the distance.

Friday, March 16, 2012

Columbia Record and Tape Club, November 1973

I stumbled on this while sorting through papers at my parents' house. It's a magazine/catalog for the Columbia Record and Tape Club from November 1973. Club members received these in the mail every month.

Right click on the image, then left click on "Open Link in New Window" to get a zoomable enlargement big enough to read...

In those days, albums were available in LP, 8-Track, cassette or ubersexy reel-to-reel. And if you wanted that month's selection you need do nothing!

The theme that month was famous musical duos, including Ferrante and Teicher who appear to have had special toupees made for the occasion.

Next were the rock selections.  I wonder whatever happened to Blue Mink?

Then we get into Pop and Easy Listening. Imagine being the writer that had to come up with these album blurbs. It must have been difficult to find fresh ways to say basically the same thing over and over.

More Pop, including the great Lawrence Welk. I can hear him now: "Wunnerful, wunnerful! Now da boys are gonna play dat great Duke Ellington hit, Take A Train!"

Here's some Country selections. It's surprising to see Jimmy Buffet in this category. And weren't Redd Foxx albums a little risque for Columbia?

Then we have a sort of genre free-for-all. Seiji Ozawa only recently had to cut back his schedule due to age and health. He's been conducting a long time.

And here we have a belly dancer and Boot Randolph side by side with Beethoven and Bach. Boots had a great career as a country-western sax player, of all things. If you ever watched Benny Hill, you've heard Boots.

Here we have the entire Jazz and show tune selection, pretty pathetic. One of the soundtrack albums even features the N-word. Amazing. Columbia Record and Tape Club was definitely not geared to the musical tastes of urbane sophisticates.
On the right is an offer for a gizmo to store your 8-Tracks. Even in today's dollars 14 bucks plus shipping seems a little pricey for a box that only holds 24 tapes.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Tuesday Shout Outs!

Former Village Voice critic J. Hoberman (whose untimely dismissal was discussed here) is back at the keyboard and busier than ever, writing about film for a number of publications. Visit his website to keep up with his latest work.

Mary Birdsong, who played the hilariously androgynous redneck Officer Kimball on Reno 911 - oh, and she had a supporting role in the Oscar nominated The Descendants - has a delightful new blog that will disabuse you of any notion that the movie biz is all tinsel and glamour. Visit Big Mama's Honeymoon Underpants today and click the follow button. (And follow this blog while you're at it.)

Speaking of followers, our friend Hana Gomoláková has a beautifully written review of Four Suns, the new film by Bohdan Sláma (the creator of Something Like Happiness and The Country Teacher).  Hana's article includes an interview with the director. Check it out...

Sunday, March 11, 2012

And We Knew It Was Entertaining: He Knew He Was Right (2004)****

Reviewed by Shu Zin
One forgets what an old softy Anthony Trollope is in the end...HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT reminds us. A tale of psychotic mistrust fired by insecurity and inconvenient coincidences that mislead, this British television effort is a lushly produced, well acted, smartly scripted drama: dark, but enchanting and humorful from beginning to end. And speaking of never heard it from me, but did Hollywood study Trollope's version of the ending that sells? This is an understated but turgid tale of English Victorian manners, love, jealousy, mischief and redemption, and these themes dance through misteps and leaps to a very satisfying ending. The women are engaging and appealing, but my very favorite character is the no-nonsense uncle from Gloucester. Bill Nighy as a rascally godfather is a close second. There's a moral to the story, but I'll let you figure that out. Lovely entertainment all round. Highly recommended.

Reviewed by Shu Zin

Friday, March 9, 2012

As Usual, Bunched Undies Leads The Way!

The Film Society Lincoln Center is finally getting around to showing Extérieur, nuit as part of Rendez-vous with French Cinema.

Of course, we reviewed the film almost a year ago and predicted it would finally get the recognition it deserves.

Bunched Undies, leading the way for film snobs since 2008....

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Downfall Abbey: Rebecca on Blu-ray (1940)****1/2

Winner of the Oscar for best picture in 1941, Rebecca was director Alfred Hitchcock’s first Hollywood film. It also continued producer David O. Selznick’s amazing hot streak, coming on the heels of his Oscar win for Gone with the Wind in 1940. The two films cemented Selznick’s reputation as the world’s leading purveyor of gothic chick flicks, while Rebecca proved that Hitchcock, already considered Britain’s top director, could function just fine on American soil. Gone with the Wind and Rebecca nearly shared another key similarity. Selznick had penciled in Vivian Leigh to star in both pictures, but changed his mind after filming the Civil War epic. Officially, Sleznick’s reason was fear of over-exposing Leigh due to Gone with the Wind’s tremendous success. But in truth, Hitchcock strongly preferred another actress; a pretty young starlet from Santa Clara County - whose early career had been so disappointing she’d recently been fired by RKO – named Joan Fontaine.

Based on Daphne du Maurier's breathless bodice ripper, Rebecca is the type of film that’s difficult to take seriously today, steeped as it is in the passions and privileges of a refined world that no longer exists. But to the audience of 1940, with conflicts in Europe and Asia threatening to engulf the entire planet, this tale of tortured gentry was a welcome escape. Over the years the film has remained a popular property, enjoying a theatrical re-release in 2006 in the UK, and there are reports of a remake in the pipeline from DreamWorks. Hitchcock aficionados generally consider Rebecca among the director’s finest achievements, complete with unforgettable imagery, superb performances and a hypnotic, foreboding atmosphere. In addition, Rebecca pushed the standard thriller envelope with subtle but undeniable hints of sexual dysfunction, incest and lesbianism.

The story is familiar one; its lineage tracing back to the likes of Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre. A young, naïve personal assistant (Joan Fontaine) accompanies her frumpy boss (Florence Bates) on a vacation to Monte Carlo. There she encounters the mysterious Maxim de Winter (Laurence Olivier), a well-heeled widower more interested in staring wistfully at the sea than the roulette table. After a brief romance and hastily arranged marriage, the couple arrives at de Winter’s estate called Manderley; a sprawling country mansion that makes stately Wayne Manor look like a tool shed. But Manderley is no smoothly run Downton Abbey, for awaiting the new Mrs. de Winter is an icy reception from chief servant Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson, before she was a Dame) and some puzzling hints from boathouse idiot Ben (Leonard Carey). Before long, Fontaine realizes that a ghost roams Manderley’s cavernous halls: the memory of the late Rebecca de Winter, and her gloomy shade has infiltrated every soul and stone with guilt, longing and dread.

 Physically, Rebecca was the type of movie David O. Selznick knew how to produce. Manderley’s sumptuous sets are a study in obsessive overstatement; each surface such an architectural wonder actors often seem lost and vulnerable amid the splendors. Perhaps this competition brought out the best in Rebecca’s cast, for they weave a tapestry of brilliance and conviction. Young Olivier is a marvel here, his mastery of elegant minimalism a joy to watch; each line reading a jewel in a satin lined box. The stiffly menacing Anderson shoots electric daggers out of her eyes while George Sanders, as Rebecca’s cousin Jack, shows once again why he’s enshrined in the Despicable Sleazeball Hall of Fame.

But most impressive is Fontaine, her delicate edges creating profound empathy in a challenging, and at times thankless role. Viewers will feel an immediate transference as Fontaine gracefully commands our attention and nurtures our sympathies. She would win an Oscar the following year for Suspicion; surprisingly the only Hitchcock directed performance to ever take the Best Actress award. But it was this turn in Rebecca that salvaged her stalled career, and put her back on the track to stardom. As of this writing, Miss Fontaine, now in her 90s, is still active and reportedly happily tending to her gardens in Carmel. We wish her all the best, she’s earned it.


Sunday, March 4, 2012

When America Had Her Ears On: Smokey and the Bandit (1977)****

Smokey and the Bandit, 1977’s pastiche of redneck popular culture, remains an unfailing entertainment; its musty and dated narrative arc only adding to its fascinations. Written and directed by Hal Needham, a former stuntman whose recklessness earned him high paychecks and long hospital stays, Smokey and the Bandit is a road picture brimming with flash and crash and loud noises, and is refreshingly unapologetic about it. While some films grapple for a theme, Needham’s Dixie Decalogue is a triumph of rustic clarity; the motion picture equivalent of pork barbeque on a paper plate.

Two truckers named The Bandit (Burt Reynolds) and Cletus (Jerry Reed) are approached at the Georgia State Fair by a couple of early versions of today’s pampered one-per- centers (Pat McCormick and Paul Williams), seeking to have a truckload of Coors beer delivered from Texas in 28 hours. If the Bandit and Cletus are successful, the pair will be paid $80,000. If the delivery is late, the beer will spoil and they’ll get nothing. With Reed and his faithful basset hound Fred following in an 18 wheeler; Reynolds leads the way in a speedy sportscar, distracting doughnut munching traffic cops while the truck and its forbidden cargo slide by unnoticed. All goes smoothly until Reynolds picks up a hitchhiker: a runaway bride with a case of icy feet (Sally Field) fleeing her impending nuptials to the son of a cantankerous Texas sheriff (Jackie Gleason). Taking Field’s flight as a personal offense, Gleason will doggedly pursue the Bandit across the steamy Southeast in a performance that hilariously chews every acre of kudzu along the way. And that’s the movie my friends; those seeking Kieslowski style complexity will have to look elsewhere.

Smokey and the Bandit offers humor aplenty, much of it provided by colorful trucker slang. Roadside diners are called “Choke and Pukes” while motorcycle cops are known as “Evel Kneivels”. The late Jerry Reed appears to be having the time of his life as an outsized caricature and he also composed the film’s hit theme song. Not bad for an erstwhile guitar picker who grew up in foster homes. The comedic possibilities of unsafe driving are exploited to the extreme, with Reynolds’ flashy conveyance breaking the bounds of gravity on several occasions. Despite the film’s copious displays of confederate flags, Needham takes great pains to compensate for America’s original sin. As the saying goes, some of the Bandit’s best friends are black. An African American undertaker leading a lengthy procession gleefully provides cover for one of the Bandit’s narrow escapes, while a small town sheriff (George Reynolds) is the film’s most professional and virtuous lawman.

But it's Gleason’s turn as Sheriff Buford T. Justice that gives the film its signature style and lifts it beyond its B movie roots. Here, Gleason’s unique, indeed baffling, ability to retain his personality while dead-center nailing his characters is a source of wonder. He was a sort of Meryl Streep in reverse, not sublimating his native persona, but using it as a counterpoint to enrich his performances. Whether it’s the elegant, taciturn Minnesota Fats from The Hustler, or this role as a overblown egomaniacal abstraction, Jackie Gleason delivered with chops born of unstoppable force. In Smokey and the Bandit Gleason has the southern-fried speech patterns and drawling body english down so perfectly it seems impossible he was the product of a broken home in Bedford-Stuyvesant.

Despite its simplicity, remaking Smokey and The Bandit would require colossal tweaking today, although I’m sure reboot-happy Hollywood has considered it. With Coors Beer joining the ranks of nationally distributed swill, the idea of traveling 1200 miles for a cold one is the height of absurdity. Frankly, most folks I know wouldn’t go across the street for it. The CB would be replaced by the iPhone and text messaging, and the Bandit’s Garmin would likely have a meltdown trying to recalculate the route after his plethora of wildly evasive maneuvers. Atlanta TV stations would fill the air with helicopters; their hi-def cameras trained on Reynolds’ every move. And cable news crews would be stationed at every rest stop, with Jim Cantore predicting fine weather for the rest of the journey, although severe storms are always a possibility this time of year.

Woody Allen’s Annie Hall was also released in 1977, and in many ways the two films are cultural doppelgangers. While Allen’s whiny protagonists obsessively navel-gaze in midtown, 900 miles away the Bandit was knocking down mailboxes and jumping over washed out bridges in his speeding Trans-Am. While Allen and Diane Keaton attempt to corral lobsters at a million dollar Hamptons beach house, Reynolds and Field retreat to a roadside creek for some alfresco whoopee amid the weeds. The two movies starkly established the red state/blue state schism – although those terms had yet to be coined. And American politics is still driven by this regional divide; fanned to a fever pitch in subsequent decades by unscrupulous politicians and talk radio blowhards. 

All art forms are capable of entertaining, amusing and elevating us, but cinema has a unique ability to be a living form of archeology. Deeply rooted in the CB radio craze of the 1970s, Smokey and the Bandit captures a specific zeitgeist, even if no character in the film knew the meaning of the word. Finally breaking from chains of poverty, the American south was on its way to becoming The New South, a powerful and influential economic engine based on banking, non union labor and relocating New Deal retirees. There was a newly elected liberal President from Georgia, and while the nation would eventually sour on him, the early days of the Carter administration were bright with optimism. Smokey and the Bandit is a straightforward pleasure with flashes of meaningful subtext. 35 years ago, it depicted a Dixie of unity, fair dealing and respect.  Let’s hope the cynical leaders who have sought to divide our nation along lines of fear have not rendered that dream as dead as the CB radio.

Friday, March 2, 2012

My Crazy Dream

I had a crazy dream last night.
I could fly like Superman...


I flew to Weeki Wachee Springs, where mermaids mingled with sharks..

There was Christina Hendricks, looking distraught. She's been fired as a mermaid because she kept floating to the top...


Then Don Draper drove by with a shag hairdo singing "Brandy" ...

He honked his horn at my Grandmother, who was taking a walk with a twin sister I never knew she had...

Some of the Cool Kids from high school were there. They still snubbed me....

But Julie Newmar invited me to a picnic, so I felt better 

Nearby, a couple of strange guys were wrestling. And their undies weren't bunched in the slightest.

I tried to return to Earth....but uh oh....


 I woke up in a cold sweat

And vowed never again to have Skyline Chili before bedtime....

Superman GIFs courtesy George Reeves Forever

Christina Hendricks Black Book pictorial HERE