I, Hooker

I love hookers! Back in 1982 when Vice Squad came out, I fantasized what it would be like to be a hooker in Hollywood. Growing up in New York, the idea of even visiting Hollywood seemed to be as elusive as my ever getting laid. So, nearly 20 years later, this asshole was moved out to Hollywood, mere steps from where hookers, hustlers and pimps worked their magic. A few still do, but not the kind I saw in Vice Squad and certainly not the kind of hooker portrayed by Season Hubley. Hubley’s character Princess was my hooker with a heart of…um…well, scratch that. Nothing is known of Princess except she has a kid, is hooker free-lancing and is soon leaving her tawdry LA life for glorious San Diego. Her nights on the streets are winding down but not until some pimp named Ramrod decides he want to kill her for framing him or something. Whatever. We are treated to 90 minutes of nocturnal shenanigoats as Princess turns countless tricks, unaware that this fucked-up fucker is after her. It all takes place in one night and Season Hubley parades through Vice Squad in a violet, polyester dress with a fucked-up sense of anger and pride that should have won her an Oscar but probably just served as some cathartic, about to break up with Kurt Russell, my career is ending and this fucking town has chewed me up and spit me out, experience.

It also showcases the scum of Hollywood in a way that I am sure is exactly as it would have been had I been a hooker in Hollywood, circa 1982. I know this because at the beginning of the movie they say what I am about to watch is based on true stories of the LAPD. I believe them because directly following that disclaimer is the spinning logo for Avco Embassy Pictures.

Fast forward: Season Hubley has vanished from Hollywood, Avco Embassy Pictures is gone and nail salons run by Koreans, pot dispensaries masquerading as pot dispensaries and Armenian widows haggling to buy expired beef with food stamps litter the streets of Hollywood. If anyone knows where Season Hubley is, tell her we need her bad. Warm regards, Rock Hard.

Fearless Vampire Killers...

Dear Friends,

Right now, I’m going to tell you what to do if you’re a nice young lady who’s feeling a little bored or maybe lonely, or a bit out of sorts; read closely, follow along, it’s easy, here we go:

DON’T show your titties to Ben Stiller. But, you say, you need something to help you pass away your stupid youth? Some entertainment? OK, go rub your face with potato chips. Or start a b-log. Or why not go to the movies. Just don’t see Greenberg. Or that g-d Crazy Heart, neither. It’s ditto the no titties rule for Jeff Bridges. Don’t. Do. It. Those pathetic bloodsuckers don’t deserve you. Guaranteed, there’s nothing inherently deep about mentally ill alcoholics. They’re not enigmatic, just self-obsessed smelly old shitbirds. Thinking of you, Super Glossy

Avec Tit

If you need some hardcore titty schlock, chock full of titties and guns and titties on teens with guns and bitches with guns who shoot the balls off dirty men who touch teen titty, then I’d say rent Lipstick and Eyes of a Stranger, cuddle up to your loved one and let your mind sink serenely into Hollywood’s sweet gutter. Lipstick has Oscar winner Anne Bancroft and Oscar nominee Chris Sarandon in a dirty gem that was supposed to be the breakout performance for a wooden and now quite dead Margaux Hemingway but actually paved the way for her now forgotten, once loved sister Mariel Hemingway. Both get raped by Sarandon but Margaux gets to shoot his balls off while running in the Geffin Design Center’s parking lot in a red dress. Eyes of a Stranger has so much tit, I almost went straight, except the site of Margaux Hemingway in a red dress and a rifle at the age of 11 made me gay for life. So, Stranger was supposed to be the big screen breakthrough for Lauren Tewes of Love Boat fame. Why not, right? But the big draw here is a quite young and newly titted Jennifer Jason Leigh as her deaf, blind, dumb but sexy sister who was raped as a kid and almost gets raped again by some serial rapist who’s raping everyone in this epic, blood by Tom Savini , rape/tit extravaganza. But the Love Boat lady (who did not show her tiny yams) shoots him in the head as he’s humping JJL, and during this JJL gets her hearing, sight and voice back in time to see that she, indeed, has tender breasts and proceeds to smear them with the dead guy’s blood…I got hard…With love, Rock Hard

Fuck You Errant Boners

I have a totally fucked up love for popcorn. I will go to see a movie based solely on the timing of the massive quantity of popcorn that I’m going to eat. It’s not “dinner and a movie” for me, no sir, I have dinner AT the movie, and I don’t care if I feel terrible afterwards. I ask for layers of the nuclear sauce, too. But I don’t add salt; that wouldn’t be healthy. If I can’t have the snacks, I won’t go to the movie. I’ve missed some fine films that I quote-un-quote really wanted to see, because I was full from a meal, or the movie was playing at a theater that, in my experience, has sub-par, stale corn.

I was very excited to go see Fish Tank, partly because I had heard from my esteemed colleague that it was good, partly because the place it was playing has the best popcorn/yellow sauce combo I’ve had in this area. And I can always bring in my own drink: the 17-year-old ushers couldn’t give a flying fuck. They’re too busy trying to hide their pimples and errant boners. The problem with Fish Tank was it was so riveting and unpredictable and uncomfortable that I had to pause a lot from stuffing my fat face. And I ended up bringing half a bag home with me – unheard of! And after the movie ended, my gratitude for making it out of my feral teens was increased, and I wanted to hug the little usher kids and their errant boners when I left. Yours truly, Super Glossy

Precious, or P.S. Your Baby’s Retarded...P.P.S You got the AIDS or Precious 2: The Rise of Mongo:

Is it me or should Mongo, Precious’ first-born, have gotten much more screen time? Seemed to me like this precocious, intellectually delayed wunderkind was aching to upstage an equally retarded Mo’Nique, right? Now, Mo’Nique scared the crap out of my little white ass, but I guess that was the point. She’ll win an Oscar and pretend she never made Soul Plane (my favorite movie of all time). Otherwise, I don’t know what the purpose of Precious is except to make scary black people really scary and make most of the actors who helped Precious seem white. I think most people raised in the ‘70s were “touched”; I know I was, weren’t you? Big deal. But I’m not retarded and you’ll never catch me moaning and groaning to Mariah Carey about it. And how does this spotless, inner-city “alternative” school in 1987 have nice computers in every room? I don’t think so. This ruined an otherwise shitty movie for me. And how the hell is Precious going to raise Mongo AND the new, better baby with no money, a huge appetite, no job and AIDS? Whatever...I saw Precious via a pirated Spirit Awards screener. I want a Spirit Award. You want my Precious screener? Email me and it’s yours, asshole. Until soon, Rock Hard