Editor’s note – this isn’t by me, this is by my New Zealand buddy Distorted Kiwi. He wants that name because he wants to be a supervillain at some point in the future. Check him out on Twitter, he’s rather hilarious.
Hey, internet. I’m The Distorted Kiwi. I’m not English, unlike every other atom that makes up this website.
But a while back, Jenny made the mistake of asking people on Twitter to send her goofy stuff to make her day better.
So I started sending her the stupidest things I could find, and haven’t stopped since.
(Things like this. David Cronenberg apparently started moonlighting at “Toys-‘R’-ARRRGH”)
I’m expecting the restraining order any day now, once the Royal Mail figures out where New Zealand is.
Until then, let’s check out some bootleg merchandise, terrible album art and a batshit crazy movie poster. Because I’m sure you have some work you want to avoid doing right now.
Is it wrong that I want this t-shirt? And that I want to renew my wedding vows while wearing it? And that I was ecstatic to find it’s a real thing, like what you can buy?
I can’t argue with the logic of it, of course. I just want to know if anyone can hear you scream in a scream.
Only Alan can answer that one.
I know, I know… That should be Bungle to stick to this website’s raison d’être. (Which is French for.. “There’s the raisins”, I think. Beats me, I studied German. Komm damit klaar.)
But somewhere, out in the great beyond, Frankie Yankovic is counting down the days until Caroll Spinney shuffles off this mortal coil and kicks the crap out of his ghost.
I REALLY wanted to find the advertisement (as seen on TV!), but no dice. I did however find this motion-sickness-inducing YouTube video of the record being played.
It’s the Chicken Dance, of course. Repressed school memories are suddenly flooding back.
Thanks a bunch, Frankie.
Okay, let’s not look at this for too long. I suspect we’ll open some sort of portal to the netherworld if we do. Dipsy has apparently already visited it, judging by the expression. Either that or it’s the expression you make as a tiny Tinky Winky gets a MITE too close to your unprotected rear end.
Bonus points for the genuine “Dinaoeel” batteries, too.
Well, there go my plans for the weekend. Honey, tell your mother dinner is cancelled, I have a movie to watch. Repeatedly.
Seriously, how can I resist a film that promises a shark the size of the Orkney Islands eating a battleship while doing battle with the offspring of a T-800, The Iron Giant, some Barry White music and a large quantity of peach schnapps.
Fine, I know the movie will actually have special effects that look like they were pasted on screen by an AV club geek with no parental supervision, and dialogue that makes you envy the deaf, but a man can have dreams, can’t he? In my mind, there’s a movie playing right now that now direct-to-the-bargain bin production can match.
Also, Great Titan’s nipples appear to be glaring at us. Which is weird, as Angry Machine Nipples was the name of my post-punk band.
You know that feeling when you find a file full of pictures on your hard drive from five years ago, and think to yourself “Why the shit did I download this?”.
This is one of those moments. I have NO idea why this picture of the Totally Hetero Metal Band ended up saved on my computer. Why I apparently felt the need to save it from my old laptop, in a folder called “Signs” (of the Apocalypse, perhaps?)
Or why the same folder had this picture of Jackie Chan I named “Just Act Natural”.
I’d really LIKE to think he was just a lifelong fan of Basil Brush, but the t-shirt kind of dashed that faint hope.
Boom, boom. Boom, boom indeed.
To see more of Distorted Kiwi (why would you not want to after that), follow him on Twitter, where he curates the best collection of shit B-movie posters known to man.