Oh, hi. I'm just sitting here with Linnea Quigley and her friends. We're having a slasher marathon. I feel confident that a pillow fight will break out. Anywho, I'm currently working on a non-site writing project, but I'll have another review cooked up in the near future. Gotta go...looks like a lesbian orgy is in the cards. Let's see, where did I leave my penis?
I've always been interested in cryptozoology, the study of mythical creatures whose existence has yet to be scientifically proven (yes, I may have pillaged that definition from a dictionary, but you have no proof...ha!). It's baffling that there are no grade-A Nessie flicks on the market. Sasquatch has received generous exposure. Even The Jersey Devil has graced video shelves with its fallacious, imponderable presence. But Nessie? The pickings are slim and not that hot. Putting aside CGI routs, 1981's The Loch Ness Horror is your best bet. It was directed by cult maestro Larry Buchanan, which should clue you in on the film's virtues. If you desire historical context, he was the man behind The Eye Creatures and Mars Needs Women. Normally, low-budget creature features send cataracts of blood to my pulsating member. And while Loch Ness is tantalizing in spots, the end result is a subfuse headache. Are you into talky expositions with vague political undertones? Well, this is your lucky day! We open in California, but California is standing in for Scotland. Basically, we open in Scotland. Amateur cryptozoologists rub shoulders with Nessie and vamoose with an egg resting at the bottom of the lake. The Baddest Bitch in Europe (I submit that everyone adopts my proposed nickname for the apocryphal sea monster) is pissed off. Awkward shots of the titular beast stalking teenagers in a timbered locale ensue. That's not a joke. "Scientists" deduce that Nessie is an amphibian, so we get a few scenes where she eats campers on dry land. I wish those bits were as AMAZING as they sound, but they aren't. Don't get me wrong. The idea alone is entertaining, and I'm grateful that Buchanan isn't bashful with his mechanical puppet. We catch an eyeful of Nessie's static face in the first fifteen minutes. However, the effects technicians were limited to the point where they could only build a torso. Once you see that elongated neck and those stripper-vacant peepers, you've seen all there is to see. In my youth, I dated a stripper who was dead inside. "How dead inside was she???" She was so dead inside, she had a miscarriage the day before her scheduled abortion. That, my friends, is a textbook example of reader participation. You're welcome. The kills are bereft of red stuff. On the whole, the pace clinks along at a stifled snore. The cast is...comprised of people. Honestly, I can't remember character details, nor can I be bothered to single out a noteworthy performance. Trying to stay awake during the third act was a taxing ordeal. There is a preposterous twist involving Nazis, but it adds absolutely nothing to The Loch Ness Horror. In related news, I appreciated the scenery. Meh. I'm calling a spade a fucking spade. If not for the laughable Nessie dummy, this film would be a one-Z'Dar cowplop. What a waste of a wicked poster. I have a Scottish friend named Lee, and somehow, this is his fault.
So it looks like we'll actually move over the weekend. I won't have access to the Internet for awhile. If you don't know what I'm talking about, my mother and I are moving into a cushy apartment. I'm starting a new chapter in my life, and I want this site to evolve. Now, I can't be too sure of when exactly I'll disconnect from the webz, nor can I be too sure of when I'll reconnect. I'll be able to post content every day this week, though. Stay tuned, dearhearts. PS-Why the Rawhead Rex cameo? Motherfucker, do I need a reason?
I was randomly awake this morning and happened to catch Saturday Morning Slam. There was only one real match and not much else, so I'm going to use this column as an animadversion on the current landscape of the WWE. The show opened with immaterial backstage footage setting up Jey Uso versus Darren Young. If you haven't been keeping tabs on Slam, it has its own general manager now. Why? Beats me. Whatever the reason, Mick Foley is the grand poobah. I can't tell if that's a demotion or a way to show courtesy to an elder statesman by creating a role for him. I don't think Mick cares. The people still pop for him, even though most of the attendees probably don't remember his wild-eyed run as Cactus Jack. Hell, his pre-debut vignettes as Mankind would scare the fuck out of today's "WWE Universe." For better or worse, he seems content to play the lovable oaf. Anyway, the singles match ends in a disqualification. Mick's entrance riff impregnates the auditorium as he pulls a Teddy Long and makes it a tag team match, playa. I distinctly recall reading the results for this episode a few weeks ago. They knew when it would air, so I'm praying to several disparate gods that The Uso's will see television time in the near future. Rikishi's pups picked up a clean win. The contest was tendered a solid 10-15 minutes, and believe it or not, the crowd was into it. They responded to the comedic spots, made noise for the hot tag and gave The Primetime Players well-deserved heat. I say they deserved heat because they're good heels. They antagonize the marks at just the right junctures. I wasn't sold on Darren Young during his Nexus days, but I'm beginning to warm up to John Cena's spray-tanned doppelganger. You can tell that he's having fun out there. I want PTP to succeed, but my Uso's are due for a push. They have quietly aggregated a string of victories, which should...should be a positive sign. The Shield are next in line for the tag titles, and that's cool. They'll need a long reign. That should...should give creative enough of a headstart to build The Uso's up as the top babyface team. It sounds implausible, I know. We're talking months, though. If I'm being honest, I wouldn't be opposed to The Shield surpassing Demolition's record-setting reign. That's a wrap on Saturday Morning Slam. I genuinely believe that Raw is going to be miserable until CM Punk's inevitable return. Where the hell is the star power? If the part-timers aren't willing to be full-timers, that leaves Cena and...yeah. We'll be watching a lot of Sheamus/Orton/Del Rio matches in May and June. They're proficient workers, sure, but they're goddamn boring. As much as I dig Ziggler, he's nowhere near the bright lights. The Big Show? Jack Swagger? Kofi Kingston? More wrestlers I like, but again, they're boring. Luckily, I have a solution. Vince has to find a way to book The Undertaker and Dean Ambrose into every match. Problem solved!
My name is Dom Coccaro. I'm an established freelance writer. I like to write reviews, but I find that it's hard to find review-writing gigs on the Internet that pay more than $0.00. I don't like being boxed in and I don't like to constantly give my writing away for free, especially if it's not on my own website. So I created this blog. I'm free to review anything I want to, though I'll be mainly focusing on horror, metal and wrestling. Often times, my review selections will seem incredibly random. Randomness is underrated. Thus, Random Reviews has been birthed from my cavernous vagina.
PS-This blog is rated R for profane language.