Want results? Try fucking.
I’d like to promise this double feature won’t cause irreversible brain damage, but not so much that I’m going to.
Come for the heroin. Stay for the, uh, the heroin? If you can find it? Maybe it’s inside a doll? Seems likely.
In which David Cronenberg’s Maps to the Stars and Sion Sono’s Why Don’t You Play in Hell? compete to see which can get cinema drunk on its own death faster.
“There ain’t no percentage in smartenin’ up a chump.”
The most horrifying depravities ever committed to Christmas-themed celluloid!
In which competitive dancing and truck-touching are given the attention they deserve.
Let’s pretend Little Red Riding Hood was born today and her mom was Courtney Love.
My faith lies with a young Val Kilmer, even though he cannot, right now, nail a six-inch spike through a board with his penis.
Two unique movies about nefarious middlemen that are the same movie but entirely different movies even though they’re precisely the same!
Zombies, ghosts, and poltergeists are (the remains of) people, too.
In which a pair of crazy writers write themselves into early graves.
You will watch these films and rock us sockless. And then you will collect all of our socks and make a shitload of sock puppets.
‘Scuse me while I whip this out.