A night of home improvement and repair is interrupted by home invasion and despair in this thrilling sequel to cult hit, Son of a Bitch.
A routine game of billiards quickly turns into a night of HELL for two unsuspecting townies.
I have just uncovered some startling new evidence in the baffling mystery of Sir Elton John’s true origins.
This side-by-side comparison of Elton John and Jack Osbourne proves, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Elton John is the son of heavy metal legend, Ozzy Osbourne.
Unfortunately, this discovery unearths more questions than answers…
Is the relation between Elton and Ozzy a joint coverup by Sony Music Entertainment and Warner Music Group to preserve the integrity of Black Sabbath? Are Elton John and Jack Osbourne the same person, or just hideous twins? If they are, in fact, the same person, is Elton’s “Jack wig” composed strictly of pubic hair, or just mostly? Whose pubes are they? Was the wig made by ventilating the pubic hair, or did he go with the “vintage” weft method? Is it also possible that he combined the two techniques, using a weft for the main part of the wig and then ventilating pubic hair at the edges and partings to give it a fine finish?
Only one thing is certain at this point…Elton John is a dangerous man and he must be executed.
If you encounter this imposter, remember, he received a knighthood from Queen Elizabeth II…and an honorable death for a knight is a swift beheading.
Lace up your Miss Piggy slippers, grab a hearty bowl of unseasoned croutons, fall into your favorite beanbag chair and enjoy a round or three of “Denim Dudes” from the upcoming, and most delayed DVD of all time, A New Low 2!
Here’s an old clip from A New Low (which you can now get for a measly $12 by clicking the banner to the right) proving once again–we’re not willing to let a good turd go to waste.
So pour yourself a thick, creamy glass of chocolate milk and enjoy!
Here’s a short presentation that Taem Jones, J.Ho, Yetti and I threw together in the summer of 2005 while shooting A New Low 2. It explores the dangerous underworld of Pog, a vicious sport banned from the United States since the late 90s. Warning: this dramatization of actual recorded events is not for the faint of heart…
It attacked me from behind, so to speak.
The buildup was fairly steady; there were no complications in the delivery, which was conveniently timed and effortlessly consummated; it had a soft, almost spongy texture and a subtle piquancy…yet, in its wake: a menacing formation…
…a bear claw.
Not to be confused with the pastry delight of the same name…this was more than some inanimate cluster with a coincidental likeness. I’d first believed this to be the gentle paw of some sort of aquatic bear, reaching out to tickle my clean-shaven ball sack…or then, perhaps lacerate it; as a savage, bloodthirsty beast would; and ostentatiously march it back to the darkened sewers of Horseheads from whence he came.
With irreplaceable (not to mention above average in both size and performance) assets dangling within his reach, I ultimately chose not to trust this unknown dweller of the deep and made a harsh, but instinctual move.
As you can see, he fought with every ounce of his life as I flushed the toilet. The claw marks left in the porcelain only hint at the potential damage that might’ve claimed my strapping (yet, given the circumstances: vulnerable) lady pleasurin’ mega machine. Looking back, however…my genitals, ravishing as they are, should’ve been the least of my worries…for I might not have made it out of that Barnes & Noble bathroom alive. I was lucky.
I don’t have any solutions to this problem, shall it surface again…as I, myself, have many questions left unanswered. My only advice for the next time you’re squirtin’ chunks is to keep one eye between the thighs…because you never know just when you’ll have a close encounter of the turd kind.
If you were somehow unaware of this, you’ve been living under a hunk a’shit the likes of which only could’ve come from a massimo Lentini. Still, I gotta mention it, because up until now it’s hasn’t been acknowledged on this website…
…the second teaser from A New Low 2 (the first being the acclaimed, and often times banned, Animation Theatre), this time an outtake entitled “Study Time,” is online…and as of my posting this, has garnered just under 20,000 views on YouTube! Hot damn, fuckface!
When I was a boy, the sound of Doug Craven’s pee stream was epic. It was loud, powerful, intimidating. It sent shivers down my spine–not to mention light splashes against my face as I tried peaking over the bowl to see what all the commotion was.
I couldn’t wait for the bathroom to shake with the impact of my golden thunder.
Now, here I am at the tender age of 27, with a cock bigger than two Christmas hams, and–though my stream has respectable width and passes at a considerable rate–the consistency of the pee itself is a bit light-bodied for my taste…it’s just too thin to make the splash I’d hoped for by this point in my life.
I’ve increased the amount of pectin, arrowroot and carrageenan in my diet, which has aided in giving my urine a velvety smooth texture…but not the rich, thick density that I’m really hoping to spank the toilet water with. I guess what I’m looking for is something to augment the viscosity of my pee without sacrificing its astringency.
I’m open to suggestions. I just want results, and I want them now. When I piss, my neighbor needs to hear it over his snowblower. The guy at the urinal next to me needs to know that my stream could cut him in half. Most importantly, without needing to press his ear against the bathroom door, Doug Craven needs to know his baby boy has grown up a man.
The menstrual cycle is a miracle of nature; much like a rainbow, the metamorphosis of a butterfly or a catastrophic hurricane. It’s truly a marvel. An act of beauty…one that shouldn’t be obstructed by a cotton rod or strapless diaper. The blood flow should be worn as a badge of honor, a coagulating symbol of independent womanhood, a crimson trophy.
Ladies, for the love of suffrage, feminism and the ongoing struggle for liberating women the world over…man up and let it leak.
Animation Theatre is a clip from the new movie, and it’s preceded by a (podcast exclusive) ‘behind-the-scenes’ account of just what it took to get this episode in the hands of the public.
Brothers Reev & Miles Jefferson are responsible for some of the most memorable music of the late 70’s. They performed in sold out arenas the world over and their songs You’ll Have To Get Through Me First, Berkowitz and New York Sunset, Milwaukee Sunrise both debuted at #1 on Billboard charts.
They parted ways in September 1984, letting international fame and fortune slip through their fingers after releasing their respective mediocre solo efforts.
The project was cancelled by record label execs soon after its completion, due to public outrage over several remarks Miles made to Rolling Stone–including claims that he enjoys physically abusing prostitutes, and an apparent racist vendetta against rising star Emmanuel Lewis.
Over a decade had passed when popular college radio act September Morn called upon Miles to produce his self titled debut album. Though September Morn was generating a huge buzz due his involvement with the soundtrack of underground cult video classic, A New Low, the album was shelved by the record label indefinitely…once again due to it’s involvement with the undeniably talented, yet controversial Miles Jefferson.
However, in our time spent with Miles during the September Morn sessions, we got our hands on a promo copy of Greatest Hits. In order to help preserve the legacy of one of the greatest, albeit underrated, bands of the 70’s, we’ve decided to share with you Jefferson Foxfire‘s hit single, You’ll Have To Get Through Me First, Berkowitz. The song, originally released in July of 1978, has been digitally remastered and sounds better than ever!
To hear the song, check out Jefferson Foxfire‘s site on purevolume.com