Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Based on a true story...

A new movie is out, another horror story with ridiculous paranormal shit going on with the subtext: Based on a true story. I believe it was called 'Haunting in Connecticut'.

Let me tell you a tale, one based on a true story...

This one time I met a guy asking for money out side of Bogart's down on Vine St. in Cincinnati. He asked me if I liked Bob Marley, and after I answered in the affirmative, he started to play his rendition of 'Redemption Song'. This man appeared to be cracked out on something, maybe even crack, his eyes sunken and his face withdrawn. I noticed the line getting longer and longer but this dude just kept blowin away on his flute-o-phone thingy he probably tried to pawn off but couldn't. Then the skies grew dark and the crack head let out a shriek. He fell to the ground. I wanted to help but the line was getting even longer, and I really didn't wanna be standing out on Vine St. any longer than I had to. My friends and I left the crack head writhing in the gravel parking lot.

I got into line, and I immediately thanked my lucky stars that the crackhead had stopped me and delayed my progress towards the line, because there standing before me were three sets of triplets, all hot! Nine girls wearing next to nothing standing right in front of me that liked the same sort of music I liked! They were of varying heights and complexions, as much as three sets of triplets can be at least, and a rainbow of different colored hair sat atop nine smiling and lip licking faces. A few were blonde, some redheads, one brunette, but two, which made rather lasting impressions, had blue and pink hair. I needn’t get into the details, as I’m sure you know where this is going, but they latched onto me, as, let’s face it, any trifecta of sultry buxom triplets would. They suggested, no pleaded, no begged, no DEMANDED that I go back with them to their apartment. I said my farewells to my understanding friends and went along with the nine nymphomaniacal nymphets, skipping out on the concert and leaving my ticket with my friends to do with as they pleased.

The evening was beyond words. As soon as one was content the next would help herself to my body, often fighting one another for a chance and it wasn’t long before the recently pleased were craving more. I thought I had lasted all night, quite proud of myself, before they all fell into a slumber only the sexually satisfied can attain, some purring, others sighing like the sough of a cool spring night breeze through freshly leaved trees. As I lay smothered in the flesh of ripe young women, I could swear I heard their heartbeats softly thumping in some strange sequence, and then it finally dawned on me that the series of varying pitches was that of ‘Redemption Song’. I snickered slightly to myself, careful not to wake the appeased beauties wrapped about me, thinking it a strange coincidence brought on by my dehydrated and otherwise drained state. What I remember surprising me most was when I learned that I had been engaged in the aforementioned activities not one night, not two nights, but three nights straight! Such were the pleasures experienced that I completely lost track of time and had no time to think of water, food, or any of the necessities of daily life. This took place another three times and I can’t claim to know how long each of those bouts lasted beyond the first. When I could quench their concupiscence no longer I was told to leave and that was the last I ever saw of the succubi numbering nine.

The daylight seemed a bright burden pushing me down, forcing me to the ground, my weakened body unable to convince my feet to keep moving. For some time I crawled along on the ground, not recalling whither I went, but I do remember finding some shelter, for it had begun to rain, and slept for how long I don’t know, the entire time ‘Redemption Song’ stuck in my head.

When I awoke I found a flute-o-phone there beside me and it all came back to me! The crackhead, the concert, and my friends! My life! I had people who undoubtedly were troubled by my prolonged absence! Then I remembered that I had given my friends my keys as well, since I had been the one who drove there that night. I decided to play the flute-o-phone to pass the time until I could think of a plan, but the only song I could think of was ‘Redemption Song’. I learned what I could and took to panhandling concert-goers in that same parking lot I had been accosted some time before in order to raise enough money for a taxi or bus ride back home. I was playing the most perfect version of the song for a group of four or five late-teens when the skies grew dark and I heard the giggles of those same seductive sirens. I shrieked and collapsed to the ground, the dust from the gravel stinging my eyes and nose. I died shortly thereafter. Honest to God, Scout’s Honor, and on my mother’s grave. It’s all based on a true story!

Now, why does everyone in the world know that never happened, but people will tell one another, “Did you see that movie? Yeah, wasn’t that fucked up? It was based on a true story you know. Really? You don’t say! Yeah! Something similar happened…” blah-de-fucking-blah. Given the state of the economy, I’m guessing studios are only investing in things they think will give a nice return. This means those that pump out all that sort of shit think there are enough dumb fucks out there to go see the film. I reckon they may be on to something.

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