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Black mold, because what building in N’Orleans, new or old, wouldn’t be filled with that shit? Also, Ellen Barkin, looking hawt, before she knew anything about animal kingdoms.

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At the no tell motel, the doctor is out, forcing the dingo to eat another baby.

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Daddy has a party!

It’s a rainy night in Georgia California, and Keannnu* is home alone after his wife and kids desert leave take everything and fuck off  go away for the weekend, thus leaving him with the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen on the face of this earth in California.

MUCH RAIN

Keannnu is required by the script to slowly walk towards the sound of a knock on a door. IN HIS HOUSE. KEANNNU OPENS DOOR, because it is written. Two, count’em, two, soaking wet fifteen-year-old serial killers, drenched by the rainmaker, greet him with wet clothes and nubile, shivering, scantily-clad bodies. Keannnu has no choice but to call an Uber in the hope that he will be able to leave a house that has been decorated by no human being living on the face of this earth.

Much mayhem ensues.

Will Keannnu be able to rid himself of the naughty duo in time to straighten up the house? Will Keannnu ever act? Unfortunately, we will never know. Keannnu ends up buried in his back yard, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his wife and kiddies.

* Will someone please introduce me to the only person on the planet who convinced Keannnu he can act? I want to cut the tongue out of the mouth and snip the fingers off the body so he or she can’t speak or sign, thus preventing the Keannnu from ever acting in another moving picture again.

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What people did before the ubiquitous cell phone became available – nothing, apparently – besides sex without having to sign a binding contract.

An unrecognizable Antonia Banderas Mickey Rourke as, believe it or not, an arbitrager – hey, Mickey, dat youuuuuu??? – lays siege to an undeniably beautiful Melanie Griffiths Kim Basinger before plastic surgery.

He likes to cook. Of course he does.

And, it’s the happenin’ ’80s, so we must cue boppin’ to the Walkman. Answering machines. CD players.Slide projectors. Sweaty, back-lit masturbatory fantasies. Garter belts and dark stockings. Actual dial telephones with a ring tone that can’t be changed. Phone booths..

Etchings. A taste of honey. Kinda like today’s foodie blog.

I quite enjoyed v1.0 of a seemingly happy-looking Mickey and Kim.

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Snow in the bush. What’s the big deal?

The kid has two little girls to play with on play dates. The mother needs orthodontics and a hair extensions. Oh ya, and she needs to learn how to cut a PB&J sammich into triangles with no crust. That lack in itself is a hanging offence as far as I can tell.

More snow in the bush.

Normal life in a Canadian winter for six months at a time, followed by six months of bad sledding. Like I said, what’s the big deal?

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Puppies.

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1983

Nukes launch. Nukes fall. Jason Robards arrives in the nick of time to find his house inhabited by a band of merry squatting pranksters. He manages to chase them off, only to discover it’s the wrong address. He moves on to another pile of rubble and thankfully expires. Fake news.

2018

The presidential Shitstain nukes his own country with tariffs that mostly fall on the states that supported him in his landslide to victory. No fake news there.