Connecting the Dots, Film, Psychology, Re-Views, Reality Check

“Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom” in the Two Toed World of Thoughts and Prayers

Oh my dear darlings, the fallen leaves of last year left on the ground to rot. I know you missed me, as much as I missed the stench of clogged sewer holes of New York City. I would be still quietly enjoying this gooey muck the mad, mad world is spreading around like some kind of cow shit on the fields of freedom if not for somebody finding the picture of my innocent toes (gasp!) worth of removal from the Internets. Boy, oh boy, they are going to be not sorry they stepped on my two crusty chicken fingers. They woke me up like that bear I ate last winter (long story).

You see, all would be cool and dandy and I will be still posting bare asses of celebrities on social media, but the removal of one of my personal photos from the Facethingy I love to stick around and watch how the facts disappear and opinionated flat earthers become the messiahs giving the free ranged “thoughts and prayers” was a bit too much. My two titsy-bitsy toes caught somebody’s attention. It was utterly appalling. The unimaginable happened. I looked at my toes as I have never looked at them before. Oh you naughty little things. How dare you prostitute yourself around like that. I put my feet into the crocs, two and a half sizes too small, and… damn, I needed to calm myself down, so I went to my vault of the most calming movies ever made and re-watched the delightful film of them all Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom, because, you know, that’s how I protest censorship.

Oh my dear darlings, if you just knew how this film calms me down. When the times are unsure there is nothing more enjoyable as watching some prune faced fucks (pardon for my French) torture kids. It is almost like watching a reality show shot somewhere at the Mexican border. I mean, there is a reason why raping, killing and abducting kids for prostitution and organ harvesting is so in vogue today. Just look at this film Pasolini created in 1975. He got killed before the premier of the film though, so there is no way for us to find about all these fashionable traits we are experiencing today, but the evidence he left behind in the film might reveal to us the mystery of it all.

Salo, o le 120 giornate di Sodoma (Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom). Dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini. Subject and Script: Pier Paolo Pasolini and Sergio Citti. Criterion, 1975, (that’s right, my darlings, you will need to read the subtitles, but you might be distracted by some titties, a random ass fuck or your upset stomach, so the subtitles might become the last thing you will worry about.)

The movie is divided in four parts “The Antiferno,” “The Circle of Madness (or Manias),” “The Circle of Shit,” and “The Circle of Blood.” Every circle is constructed as Dante’s “Inferno” deeper you go mushier it becomes.

In the Antiferno four men sign a paper where they decide to get married to each other’s daughters. (Oh, just look at that, the incest right from the top of the film, but there is more, no outsiders allowed to join the most exclusive club of them all!) The Duke, The Bishop, The Magistrate and The President are the rich and the powerful who will decide who will live and who will be punished during their “reign” in Salo “republic” they create. They have four libertine women to help them to achieve what their sick minds are imagining. They recruit four well endowed men as their guards (and occasional fucks) and go to the country side for…

Nine girls and nine boys are chosen during the Antiferno part. There are naked titties and penises flopping around. These “creators of jobs” are inspecting each girl and each boy. They are not interested in spending on no insurance, no. Perfect health and dental hygiene is checked on each of the teenagers who stand as some kind of cattle for sale. They are looked at, touched and otherwise humiliated by the four. It seems like there is no dental plan to be splurged on, so one of the girls is out of the picture, after it is discovered, she is missing a tooth. After the inspection is done, the boys and girls are collected into a truck and transported to their future job site. If I would not know when this film was set, I would have thought these boys and girls were taken to one of those places which name sounds like that forest in Brazil. Oh, there is one boy who jumps out of the moving car, but he finishes with a bullet in his scull. Poor lad, he thought he could escape the system.

In the Circle of Madness we see the chatto (fancy French name for the “castle”) where the victims will be living for the rest of the film (the rest of their lives). They are introduced to the rules. The four read them, as would a priest read the commandments in the church. They sounds pretty much like these agreements you must sign. If you don’t follow them, you will be punished. The first punishment drops in almost immediately. A girl who prays for God suffocates in front of His image. Poor girl, it seems like she didn’t read to the end of what she was signing for. She looked at something inappropriate on her wall. The Facething chocked her to death, thus banned her for life. (Oh my goodness!)

The first madam is introduced with her mad stories of sexual perversion. The behavior of the four is out of the proportions. Though, can you believe it, but this circle is not as bad as the circles which will follow it. In this circle an occasional rape with occasional nails in your soup or an occasional bullet in somebody’s skull are like this breakfast coffee with a croissant you might enjoy, though no coffee and no croissant is going to be served because…

In the Circle of Shit there is nothing more important than a piece of shit. It is served on a silver platter during the shit eating fiesta. The second madam tells her sexy scat stories. Nobody can poop before the party, because, hellooo, no turd can be wasted. It is the main dish on the dinner table, mind you. Of course, one of the girls could not hold it anymore. So she left a little tootsie roll in a poo-pee pot and oh my, my, she ended up with the rest of the punished girls and boys in a tub of browny delight, literally bathing in it, while the others enjoyed the shitfest with an occasional ass fuck as if that’s how you throw a party, all perfectly normal, don’t you think?

The Circle of Blood is not for the weak. The last madam is there with her blood and gore stories of pleasure. After she finishes her last tale about bloody this and bloody that, the four prepare themselves for the big bloodshed where all the punished girls and boys will be tortured and later killed. During this part the piano player silently commits suicide by jumping out the window (ups!) Two boys, after being fondled by the Duke or the Bishop, I can’t tell it now, dance a slow dance while he watches through the binoculars how a tongue, an eye, and scalp are cut by the other three on the square outside of his window, which reminds of a pigsty with the kids running around naked in the mud. All of it is performed in silence and in the distance.

The film has all the things that show how lovable the human nature is. Who could deny torturing kids while some “proper” ladies in their most expensive ballgowns tell us how they were taken advantage of by one or several “proper” gentlemen and how much they liked it. I mean, they tell first world country’s problems, but still. Oh, Pasolini, how dared you show the high society in such a light. You should had known not to step on anybody’s toes (aha, the toes!)

Not sure how far you can go watching this film? My darlings, good news, we are living in it today. Isn’t fabulous? What are these mass shootings or occasional wars we don’t even know why we fight anymore in comparison to all this fun we see in this film. There are always thoughts and prayers to be sent somewhere. It’s not like we have to go to a post office and buy a stamp or something. It’s all free and we can do that while siting on the toilet. Click click and we are done. You might feel a bit queasy after learning about some random immigrant dying somewhere at the imaginary border, very reality TV I would say, but to feel like somebody just stuck a metal rod into your brain, scalped you off and popped your eyes out of the sockets with the kitchen knife is what we are aiming for, don’t we? Besides there are always opioids to be prescribed by doctor this or doctor that, you know. These lovely rich, hard working people, will prance on your bleeding guts after they skin you and leave you to bake in the scorching sun after paying you the “minimum wage” because, well, that shit they were serving you on the silver platter was full of nails, so be happy the price for the nails was not deducted from your paycheck. My darlings, no crocs will stop you from leaping out of the window the way this piano player lady did by the end of the film, because, well, you just have no insurance to pay for all this wonderful madness. But, I mean, how dared she leave you without her piano music.

My dear darlings, after emptying my bowels quite a few times (that might actually do good for my figure!) I realized that maybe these pruned faced people who pretend to be so proper, shitting on the golden toilets, really are preparing us for a similar party. Aw, how very considered of them, don’t you think? Isn’t delightful how all is decided for us? There is no need to be a hero the way this boy at the beginning of the film was. Do you really want to escape this madness you are forced to encounter? You might finish with a bullet in your scull, if you try something stupid, like protest or some shit like that. Oh, you would be such a waste. There is so much potential in you, so much young skin to be skinned, so much torture to be experienced. The big pharma would really miss you. Many might say, you are lucky if you end up with the bullet and I say phf, they don’t know what they are talking about.

This film will be hard to swallow. If these kids can eat the actual shit while being raped and tortured by these very few who have the power, you will be just dandy. Pasolini ended up with his member out in the mud with an open fly and his scull mushed in as if it was a deflated ball. His body was ran over by a car a couple of times, because, well, with this film he stepped on those two toes he was not supposed to step on.

Is this a film you have to watch? Absolutely! Should you watch it with your date? Sure! Especially if you are trying to ditch that date and be written off in their phone book as a pervert. I tell you, every time I am around this film, I put it on. See, it saves me breakfast. (Smiley face)

Oh, and here is that picture of my two sexy fish sticks! Go ahead, get your rocks off, I don’t mind, neither do they. Tah-dah!

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Theater Farts

How Changing a Minor Key Could Become a Major Improvement or What One Could Learn about Theater While Listening to a Christmas Song

Oh my dear darlings, I know you missed me like last year’s Christmas, I know. I missed myself too. Only a few days have passed after New Year’s smashing celebrations and I am already singing Christmas songs in the shower for you. Darlings, I missed being important as much as I missed Christmas. You don’t believe me? Oh, you’re so sweet. What do you think I do on those lonely nights being away from theater and all these artistic endeavors? Well, of course, I write blogs and critique others. It helps me to get my importance back, so get ready to hear something you could use if you are as smart as I am, that is. Besides, it’s winter, what else one does but listens to SirGay’s salty balls jingle in the wind while he shines his unbelievable intelligence while living on a mountain somewhere upstate New York.

Christmas to me is like this show I am forced to watch every day every year for two months. It is like a broken record stuck on the same song. God wrote a play called Christmas and nobody can change any word or scene in it. This is precisely how I feel about some theater shows and some playwrights who are running skitters when a director or an actor wants to change a line or a scene in their written play. Playwright is God. Everyone else is just a decoration. Or is it?

Many times I would hear some playwrights complain how one or another director or actor changed something in their play. They would make it sound as if the world is just about to collapse. I don’t know why I am so concentrated on these poor playwrights. Maybe that is because I care about them and I want to prove to them that if a creative mind decides to change something in their work that change is a really good thing.

For some reason musicians are less uptight about somebody else covering and changing their music. Maybe that is the nature of music or maybe they are smoking too much MJ in studios, who knows. The point is that most musicians welcome interpretations of their music by other artists, be it another composer, a singer or a DJ. Why there is this uptightness in theater, I ask?

Before I prove my point that any change improves your work, dear playwrights, I want you to listen to two versions of the same Christmas song. I actually bought one of them to listen for my own pleasure. What the what? I am asking this myself too. I can’t believe I bought a song called “All I Want for Christmas Is You?” I must have lost my mind somewhere in my sweaty ass-crack. The song which inspired this entry is the Mariah Carey song, but here is a twist, the version of the song I purchased is Chase Holfelder’s. There is a major change in the song and the change is – the minor key. Before I go further please listen to both versions here.

Mariah Carey’s version

Chase Holfelder’s version

No, you really need to listen to them before continuing reading what I have to say about theater and playwrights. Listen! I said (smiley face).

Now, remember my rant about how some playwrights are just (insert a curse word here), because they believe that “if anything is changed in their plays they are going to be somehow destroyed and what not?” Remember that letter I wrote to them? Well, if you don’t remember it, here is a quick break down for ya.

For some reason there is this notion that if a director or actor or any creator but a playwright changes anything in a play, the play becomes like that herpes everybody is afraid to claim to have. My darlings, herpes has nothing to do with it, smell your farts. It is quite challenging to explain to today’s self proclaimed Shakespeares that Shakespeare’s works actually improved by all these cuts and different interpretations throughout these years Shakespearian plays have been performed.

But let’s not distract ourselves from the Christmas songs I presented to you here. Even though Chase Holfelder’s version of the song is almost unrecognizable and eerie as Christmas is to me, for some “weird” reason it is still the same song. The same way a Shakespearean play is still a Shakespearean play even though Romeo and Juliet are played by two boys in some productions. Well, of course, if you know the history of theater you know that there were no female actors allowed on the stage at the time Shakespeare wrote his plays. All the female roles were played by men only. To see two men play Romeo and Juliet nowadays is somehow innovative while the biggest innovation of the play happened at the time when women stormed onto the stages and the role of Juliet was given to a female actress. Do you see what I have done here, or you are still thinking about herpes?

In any case my dear theater people, especially you my darling playwrights, every time you are not sure if you like an interpretation of your play just remember Christmas and Mariah Carey, then remember that killing is not an answer ever! Enjoy those different takes of your work made by other creative minds and just let it be even if your jingle bells are up your ass and you want to vomit flowers. Believe when I say this, because of that Christmas song I forgave you all. I found my old/new love and you will find it too.

I’ll point it out to you and say it again; anybody who is inspired to give their take on your work is only improving your work? Anyone who is able to find something worth changing/interpreting in your play is giving you a great compliment. Your work could tremendously improve if you just let another creative soul to be creative with it. You could reap a major success by letting it happen. Enjoy and let it be.

Ciao-cacao and don’t forget to flush after you do your do-dos. Oh yeah and you should take care of that herpes!

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Theater Farts, Unsolicited Solicitations

Lord Has Smiled at the Orchard of Rimas Tuminas

Oh my sagging balls, why oh why is it so hard to write this next blog entry? I could put the blame on my pretentious writing genius who needs to get drunk to be able to give you all that, whatever that is that you are reading right now, but… I would be telling you lies. The bar is fully stacked. I can’t find any excuse for staying sober and for not being able to write something spectacular about the next theater director I have been having dreams about. I should tell you the truth, I forget about any need to be artificially intoxicated when I watch theater works directed by Rimas Tuminas. His works are just that good. I feel a natural buzz and my soul gets that needed je ne sais quoi to survive in this age of consumerism.

I saw his Cherry Orchard for the first time more than twenty years ago and… I became his lifetime fan. I could just write: Rimas Tuminas is perfect in what he does in theater and that would be it, so why do I need to write anything else about him while “perfect” defines everything he touches creatively? You know what? I should just put a bunch of videos with his work here and say, see this? This is how theater should be made. End of story! Plastikoff is besides himself. He is not able to say anything clever. No, no, no, no this is not me! I have to find a way to tell you about this tremendous theater director who is becoming better and better like this wine which with time turns into an expensive Cognac.

That Rimas Tuminas is one of the greatest theater directors is not even a question. The question is: how does he do it? Is there some kind of drug one needs to take to be able to release all this wonderful madness? Do I need to dip myself into some kind of magic lake and kiss a frog or something? I don’t know. This really kills me! I want to be just like him. That’s right, I said it, so deal with it.

As a young actor I grew artistically watching shows directed by Tuminas. I was broken as Ranevskaya in his Cherry Orchard. I traveled to Vilnius like Ephraim in his Smile at Us, Oh Lord. I got frozen into a statue from love while watching his Masquerade. I feel like Tania from his Eugene Onegin in the scene where she tells to her nanny how much she loves Eugene when I talk about Tuminas. I can recall almost every scene from these shows, even though I saw some of them, that’s right, more than twenty years ago.

Rimas Tuminas is able to “open” actors and their creativity. He makes them feel secure on the stage. Every single piece, directed by Rimas Tuminas I saw, has stuck into my brain like some kind of spell. As it often happens when one begins to talk about a great director one finds himself talking about ideas, feelings, emotions. One finds himself talking about meaning of life and… damn where is that port I need so much right about now? You know what? Instead of talking about Tuminas I am going to talk about his actors and their work on stage. They might be that magic potion Tuminas drinks before bed every night to become this fantastic.

A Lady Bug (Bozhya Korovka in Russian = Little Cow of Gods) just landed on my finger and Lord smiled at me (this I am going to count as my smiley face, no?)

Cherry Orchard and Sigitas Račkys

I believe we would have not known how good Sigitas Račkys is if not for Tuminas. Lopachin was his first break through role in Cherry Orchard. It seems like Cherry Orchard was a break through show for many actors of Little Theater of Vilnius whose Artistic director Rimas Tuminas still is to this day, even though he has also become the Artistic director of Vakhtangov theatre in Moscow.

A side note: it is said that Cherry Orchard almost didn’t happen. The little gossip gnomes of theater have told me that the show was literally created a day before opening. Apparently Tuminas was so unhappy with the way the show was going that he scratched almost all of it a day before opening and built a brand new version that is still running to this day. Is it true? I don’t care to know. I love stories like that. They create the needed drama and mystery. Theater loves s**t like that.

Who knew that Cherry Orchard would become the defining moment of Tuminas’ creative life as well. The show has all the elements Tuminas is famous of: a great quiet opening which turns into a large movement later, little scenes defining every character, a slow pace which builds up into a dramatic emotional explosion and, of course, a quiet ending which leaves your soul burning long after the show is over.

I decided to tell you about Tuminas’ creative genius through his actors for a reason. First, of course, you needed to be reminded about how great Plastikoff is and second… well this makes me more excited about writing and the process of connecting the dots. I know, of course, that for some of you connecting what Račkys’ acting has to do with Tuminas way of directing might be challenging, but… I believe in you. I am not going to write about each character and actor in every production Tuminas directed, no. Are you crazy? That would take me days and days with no end to finish. I decided to cherry pick (see what I have done here?) actors from some of his shows and just concentrate on their work highlighting certain specifics in Tuminas productions. Sorry, but you will need to find those dots yourself. I apologize in advance to those actors I haven’t picked. I promise to redeem myself later somehow. Maybe I will just come and put a show with you or something?

As you already have guessed from the name of this part, I am concentrating on Sigitas Račkys while talking about Cherry Orchard. It seems like Račkys really understood Tuminas and vise versa. After Cherry Orchard Sigitas became one of the leading actors of Tuminas’ productions. I am so glad that they found each other. This relationship gave birth to Galileo Galileo and Smile at Us, Oh Lord, two of Tuminas’ shows where Račkys leads the gang.

I could be clever and say that Račkys bought Tuminas’ attention the way, his created Lopachin, bought Cherry Orchard, but I digress. Nobody was buying anybody. This collaboration became one of the greatest collaborations seen on theater stage. I should say that you all are a very lucky bunch because you can watch the whole show right here:

http://www.vmt.lt/lt/video/view/?id=17

http://www.vmt.lt/lt/video/view/?id=19

Vytautas Šapranauskas and his Jewish nose

About Vytautas Šapranauskas one needs to write a book or several of them for that matter. The way this guy lived on the stage and made everything even the most tragic scenes comic is uncanny. There is no comparison to him in Inspector General and in Smile at Us, Oh Lord.

While a student I experienced this great theater moment. I got a comp to watch Smile at Us, Oh Lord. There was absolutely no space anywhere in the audience even to stand. The only way to watch the show was to stand in the sound booth on tiptoes holding your breath. Just before Šapranauskas came onto the stage I found myself surrounded by actors who just finished a scene I just watched. Later I realized that they all came to the booth to watch the mastery of Šapranauskas. One could only wish to be honored like this by their colleagues. Šapranauskas was Tuminas’ actor. It felt like Tuminas just let Šapranauskas play in his sand box called theater. You can see Šapranauskas almost in every production of Tuminas. Here I am giving you Smile at Us, Oh Lord.

http://www.lrt.lt/mediateka/irasas/15965

http://www.lrt.lt/mediateka/irasas/15970

Eglė Gabrėnaitė

There is a lot to say about Eglė Gabrėnaitė, but instead I’ll say nothing. If you already watched through Cherry Orchard you already know that this actress is one you are not going to forget. I am presenting here excerpts from Inspector General to remind you that she is as great in a comedic role as she is in a dramatic one. Enjoy! Oh yeah, watch Vytautas Šapranauskas and Arūnas Sakalauskas do their magic there too. My mouth is salivating from all of this wonderful madness.

http://www.vmt.lt/lt/video/view/?id=29

http://www.vmt.lt/lt/video/view/?id=30

I could continue writing, but I am just too lazy. Besides you have all this tremendous gorgeousness of theater to watch and connect the dots. Who knows, I might return to Tuminas some other day and tell you why I cherry picked these three specific actors, but… maybe we could discuss that in the comments section?

To end this entry I am leaving you with a link to Vilnius Little Theater. Get familiar with the place where a lot of the above mentioned magic was born.

http://www.vmt.lt/lt/video

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Re-Views, Theater Farts, Unsolicited Solicitations

Not So “Delicate Dis-Balance” of SirGay’s Salty Balls

Last weekend I had quite an event. My friends took me to see a show on Broadway. Oh my goodness, I thought, I am going to see a Broadway show. Like a good boy (in my case a man, I am not trying to kid anyone anymore) I put my fancy pants and went.

Damn it, I knew I needed to have a drink beforehand…

I sensed that there was something wrong with the show as soon as it started. After twenty minutes into the “action,” for some reason, I wanted to storm onto the stage and scream at everyone, like, and what is wrong with all of you people here? But then I realized, I was surrounded by rich white people and the exit was way too far.

Well, darlings, even though I had only thirty five cents in my pocket, I remembered that I am white too, so I blended in. My whiteness saved me from being looked at, like, and what the f*ck are you doing here watching white people talk on a couch for three hours and… oh my gog… they were drinking too.

As soon as I saw by whom I was surrounded, I put my tailbone on my seat, sat on it and patiently watched the whole damn show. I just kept thinking, my friends spent their two day’s paycheck just to have me with them, so I better behave or the next time… well there would be no next time for my tailbone on any Broadway theater’s cushioned seat if I don’t behave.

Being a true (emphasis on “true”) theater artist I kept thinking, is this what you need to put on stage if you want to be on Broadway? I thought that you need to sleep with somebody there to get a part, or… or, wait, is this what you do to get a part in Hollywood? I always mix these two. The feeling that grabbed me by my balls was not the most pleasant. (Disclaimer: SirGay’s more detailed descriptions of events involving his balls, Broadway theater seats and what not were edited out, we decided not to dilute real problems with such descriptions) I just kept thinking, what is it I am watching now? Watching a show that had a bunch of rich white people drinking around a couch and having all these drunk conversations about their, so called, “problems” was kinda… I don’t know… I just don’t know. I kept looking at the audience and the huge chandelier on the stage which probably cost more than five or six shows to mount Off-Broadway, an amount which could pay full salaries to everyone involved with these Off-Broadway shows and still have some leftovers for some Off-Off-Broadway performance to make. The chandelier mesmerized me and then something else happened… (The description about SirGay’s salty sweat dripping down his crotch was edited out. Yes, it involved his balls.)

There is a reason why I want to avoid naming actors involved in the production. Yep, like a real Broadway show there were big names attached to this show. Why have they agreed to be in this production? I don’t know. I didn’t have time to ask them that. I was too busy with my own important busyness of being appalled. I just kept thinking, would the show have the same amount of people sitting in the audience if the show would have been made with less known actors? I asked my friends, if they would see the same show if not for these stars? My friends almost in unison said, no. I knew it. It was another conspiracy against me and my art. (Where do I put my smiley face?)

What bothered me in this show was the absence of enlightenment and inspiration. Pff, no. What bothered me was that the show was built by the rich, for the rich, with the rich actors. And it was, of course, about rich people’s “problems,” like, why can’t I sleep in my room while there are at least fifteen other rooms available in the house? God damn it, I’d take any of them, as long as I don’t pay the rent. Absurd? Ummm… I don’t think they (meaning rich) thought it was absurd. You might say, maybe that was the point of the show, to show how absurd it is to be rich and not to be able to sleep in your room. Ummm… that can’t be true, but then you see the audience of predominantly white and no doubt rich and then you go, and who the f*ck if not white and rich can afford to buy tickets to Broadway shows today? Damn it. How the heck was I excluded from this VIP club? (I think I want to hug my pillow and cry myself to sleep now.)

When you see the audience of old white people in a Broadway theater, that nobody can afford to rent, with the stars, who have as much money as these people in the audience, talk and talk and talk about nothing, you might start thinking that you were abducted and were made to sit and listen how “bad” these rich people have. How absolutely terrifying it is not to know where the coffee beans are in the house, because you’ve never made a cup of coffee yourself before. I kept thinking, maybe at some point actors were going to go into a song or into something more absurd and the set would suddenly change into… well, more exciting than this piece of rich people’s house full of expensive chandeliers and furniture. I kept thinking and why the f*ck am I watching these white rich people drink expensive drinks in their expensive house when I, ze Plastikoff himself, cannot afford the cheapest Port anymore, why? And then it donned on me, I was there to see how Broadway really works. If you are not in the club of these one percent people who own everything, don’t even think to dream to have anything on Broadway. But if that is the supposed dream, I want to wake up. This terrified me more than the last year’s ass contest started by Kim Kay, yes, that’s how you supposed to say, Kim Kay.

Somewhere by the end of act two I started feeling nauseous. I could not take it anymore. The status quo of a poor artist “surviving” in the city was so obvious to me that I… wait, what did I do? Oh, I went to see act three. I understood that my nausea was also provoked by my (description about the state of sweaty balls was edited out).

Suddenly I saw Mr. Albee sitting on his couch and getting drunk to the point of oblivion and saying (maybe to himself), oh you want a play about rich people for rich people? Okay, I am going to give you that. Let me write something while I am still drunk. The play would make no sense to most of poor (who needs them on Broadway anyway?), but would absolutely tickle rich people’s egos. You see, they would say, there is a show on Broadway about us. See how important our problems are. These other (meaning poor) people will never understand what it means to be this filthy rich when you literally can start drinking whenever you like and just keep drinking, because there is nothing else more dramatic to do. And why don’t they (meaning poor) understand how hard our lives are? Thankfully we know how to squeeze fresh orange juice for an early morning drink. Screw you all, I am having a screwdriver now…

I am afraid my dear darlings that after this review I might be banned from all Broadway theaters, because how do I dare to say anything bad about rich people’s entertainment and even more, about white rich people’s entertainment, which only they are entitled to enjoy. You know what, my darlings, there is nothing for me to lose. I am going to sacrifice myself for the humanity. See how selfless and heroic Serge Plastikoff is? You haven’t heard from him for such a long time and now he is ready to put his well white being on the chopping block for you. You might want to ask me, what was happening with you our dearest SirGay? Why weren’t you sharing your wisdom with us for such a long time? Darlings, I was on a break, on a break from all these things that matter to you. I went to Broadway to find that it is so broad, this so called Broadway, that there is no place for anybody who is not rich there.

I feel like I need to put some lemon juice on my balls and spray it with pepper spray now. But talking about spraying my (edited)… so tha-dha for tonight. There is nothing else I want to tell you today.

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Connecting the Dots, Psycho-Logic-Ally [in] Correct Speaking, Reality Check

Nothing about Nipples, but I Got Your Attention: Sony Reads “The Producers,” Releases “The Interview”

Alright my dear darlings, finally I got drunk enough (again) to be able to say something (again) about something.

I am going to say three things:
Sony
The Interview
The Producers
Sonny tanks, reads The Producers, makes the film The Interview. Everybody screams in fear (ha) and flops to the “theaters” to see the above mentioned film. Bravo PR people. You need to get a raise. The world’s best publicity campaign. End of the story (smiley face).

Oh yeah, you can discuss it here.

but… I woke up on this sunny New Year’s morning and realized that I have this chocking need to elaborate on whatever f*ck I have said in this entry last year. It is quite uncomfortable to write these words right now while still in bed and having a hangover. But you know what, my darlings, I am realizing that I am less and less tolerant to some bullshit somebody else is trying to make me to believe. So I am going to give you my own bullshit so you have something to compare with. Which bullshit stinks more, you decide.

What upsets me the most is that the other bullshit is making me an angry duck. Yes, a duck who wants to nip you in your privates when that above mentioned bullshit is overflowing. Well since this is my blog, I feel like it is my duty to flush this bullshit with some “proper” English dipped in Russian vodka. Hmmm, now that I think, maybe the vodka is making me this angry? Who knows. When you have dipped your brain in it, some crazy diarrhea comes out on paper. Yes, I wrote this whole thing on a piece of paper, so bite me! Ugh, you see how angry I am and this is happening on the very first day of the New Year. What is going to happen on the tenth day, I wonder? I am a little afraid for you, my dear readers. Switching between alcohols might prove that I have become completely insane. And you know what? IDGAF. Scratch it, IDGA Duck. You already thinking that I am insane anyways so here are no surprises there but you might start believing that I completely went nuts after you read what I have to say about all this hacking business going around. My darlings, it is not a secret for you anymore that I like finding some things where they might not be. I cannot help myself, my brain, when it is swimming in alcohol does something to me and the next thing you know I find myself swimming in thousands of words about something that might prove my insanity and insanity of others like you, thank you…

Now, since I have warned you, let’s talk about all this Sony slash North Korea business.

When I heard for the first time about Sony being hacked by North Korean hackers because of some film, I was like, uh-oh, or rather my brain was like “uh-oh, hot dog.” If you know where this is from, five points for you. I don’t know why five points? It seems appropriate to give you that credit on this early morning.

So okay, “uh-oh, hot dog” happened and I found myself thinking what a brilliant idea to advertise a film which actually deals with North Korea. But then my brain got its own “uh-oh, hot dog” thing about some tax break loopholes, mind you, and I went… Wow, wow, wow, brain, stop it. This is a completely different topic, nobody is going to understand what the f*ck you are talking about… And it said, give me more vodka.

Okay, my darlings, I don’t remember what exactly I was doing when I heard this excruciating news about Sony’s privates being exposed by the good ol’ buddy North Korea. I also have absolutely no idea what is happening over there, behind that heavy curtain of Socialism and I am not going to pretend that I am not ignorant, but come on, you need a little bit more than that to convince me that North Korea suddenly saw a film which was only seen by a selective few behind closed doors and… and realized shit… yes, literally they realized that they are in a deep shit. This is how bad this film was. And it could happen that then the producers even wished that North Korea had something actually to do with the creation of this film, but… okay, brain, you need to return, you are not going to get vodka there. Liquor stores are still closed. You are out of luck. It is a New Year’s Day. Come back, my darling, and let me finish this whole… I don’t even know what to call it… thing I am writing now?

It seems my brain’s back. Talk to me, darling… My brain says, go f*ck yourself. Ups, you again, went to the wrong direction. Come back. (yeah, I know, this makes absolutely no sense)

My darlings, you see how I have to trick my brain back into thinking? Voila! The smell of “Farbreeze” I sprayed around the dirty dishes in my sink did the job.

So, where were we? Oh, that’s right, Sony realized that the film stank, ha ha! I knew that “Farbreeze” had something to do with it. The producers of The Interview were just about to lose a lot of money and… as we know, this cannot happen, because, you know, who wants to go bankrupt and start paying all these taxes as all of us do? Not Sony, no. So Sony needed a plan, a good ol’ promotional trick to trick every one (well maybe not every one) into thinking that the film is so great that even North Korea, all three people with computers there, saw it even before the boss of Sony did. Yes, I am being a complete ignorant duck saying that there are only three computers in North Korea. There might be five or maybe even six of them. Forgive my ignorance North Korea. What can I say, brain, it is still thinking that what it got was the real thing when I sprayed myself with the above mentioned “Farbreeze.”

My darlings, here comes the most exciting part in this hacky-backy story. Sony needed to have a meeting and have somebody like me who just recently watched an oldie but goody film The Producers in their camp. And Eureka! They did it. They found that somebody who brought to the table a book “How to Make Money While Making a Flop? – Producing Films for Dummies.”

Phh, to convince the media that Sony was hacked was a piece of cake. Remember this guy?

http://www.marketwatch.com/story/high-school-student-scores-72-million-playing-stock-market-2014-12-14

Alright, that’s easy. It becomes even easier when you have all these millions you set aside for the promotion of the film. So the little guy who came up with this brilliant idea to take a few pages (well maybe not so few) from The Producers and make the trick happen… and the “promotion”, brilliant as brilliant as the brains of writers who wrote the original script of The Producers, began. Sony needs to give you a cut Mr. Brooks.

So what happened next? Oh the media ate the news about North Korea’s hacking into Sony’s system. It ate it and asked for more or rather started baking “the news” themselves about a country almost nobody have visited. And what do we know; The Interview became the most talked film around the town. Listen, even I, who lives without a TV, heard about it, so machine was working and it was working oh so well. Of course there were needed some “sacrifices” made, but when you know that quite a few people are going to download the film for free anyways, you say f*ck it, let them have it. Let’s show how “generous” we are. Even after these terrible warnings the film came out to theaters and, what do you know, the threats suddenly stopped coming in. They magically disappeared till, of course, the next time another film needs some push.

Oh my darlings, I wish I knew what that next time is going to be. My brain is still high on “Farbreeze.” It could be that we will start talking about somebody’s ass again, but that’s already old news, right?

I am sure I left quite a few details here, but be my darlings, rent The Producers and have fun with it. Comedy is a powerful tool. It makes you laugh. Uh-oh, Hot Dog!

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Temperamental "T" Battles, Theater

“Deathwatch”-ing “Short Eyes”

Alright my dear darlings, I believe my port is kicking in, because I feel like I need to finish this entry somehow. Of course nobody is going to die if I don’t finish this write up, but if I don’t finish it, the world will miss on Plastikoff’s smarts. I need to move my fingers faster on those clicking buttons that make words. Let’s talk about my value at another time when I am less important to myself, alright? I can’t handle myself at the moment that’s why I decided to give you another “Temperamental “T” Battle.” Umhum thaz right Plastikoff is going to talk theater again after blabbering so much about politics and things of that nature in the previous blog entry.

Politics is theater and theater is politics or whatever, as my good friend Joe Truman would say. Eat rhubarbs if your life is too sweet, if not, there is always Donkey Donuts around the corner somewhere, and no, I haven’t misspelled that. If I eat one more donut, I will definitely turn donkey on you for sure, but about them… oh that’s right I began writing about something else… and now I am craving donuts. Ugh, this damn blog.

Okay darlings, if you were able to follow me to this point, congratulations, because now I am going to demonstrate you how I make myself to like a play which, if not for this blog, one could dismiss as not interesting enough.

Today’s battle is between two writers who spent some time behind the bars. They both loved stealing and toyed with drugs. Well who haven’t, I would ask you? If you read this entry of mine, you know what I am talking about. But this writty-shmitry is not about how to steal or how to “become” a homosexual. What it is about, I don’t know yet myself.

Most of you probably don’t even know how this whole “homo” thing works, unless you have been in jail, as my dear Jean and Miguel were. When you are trapped behind some steel, or whatever they’re called, bars, your real you comes out in all colors of the rainbow and that’s, my dears, is the time when you “become” gay. Ha, do you really believe that (smiley face)?

Okay I should cut this whole gay-shmay talk right now and go to the point. Why is that suddenly I decided to talk about these two authors and these two particular plays?

Well, first of all, they both were/are great writers and, what is even more exciting, they were/are both street smart, which could only mean they didn’t go to any fancy-shmancy university. They got their education from those flees which they collected in those unmarked, full of junkies houses. I truly am impressed by how both of them kept on writing. Even though they both were “criminals,” … f*ck I forgot what I was going to say here, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Let me dissect “Short Eyes” and “Deathwatch” for you instead.

If you have forgotten how the “Temperamental “T” Battles” go, read this entry. I find that entry pretty good, especially when I am drunk.

“Short Eyes” and “Deathwatch” are not produced very often because they deal with very particular situations in very particular places. My work here is to convince you and show you how you, my dear readers, could enjoy a work that doesn’t necessary move you at all.

God, the stuck “t” on my keyboard is driving me crazy.

Now, why would you choose to see a play about convicts? On top of it, why would you want to see a play about murderers, homosexuals, blacks, Latinos, drug addicts and pedophiles, why?

To tell you the truth, I don’t know why, but this is exactly why I decided to write this entry. I want to convince you that beauty is all around you, in all kinds of shapes and forms. Yes, you can read this last sentence sarcastically, if you wish.

No, I am not a fan of pedophilia, no. Oh god, I just imagine all these parents go crazy imagining somebody taking advantage of their children. Even I got sobered up from that thought alone, and no, there is no smiley face at the end of this sentence, no.

But, I should mention to you, that I knew somebody who was wrongfully accused of being sexually involved with a minor. He was an unbelievably talented and free spirited artist. Think Basquiat and Rimbaud in one person. Yes, on top of his free spirit and talent, he also, it happened so, was a homosexual. His story ended in a suicide. He was not able handle the accusations. He was twenty one years old, the boy was sixteen at that time. Yes, that’s true, he was a homosexual, which automatically mean in some countries that you are sick. What also is true, that that person confided in me a night before he ended his life, telling me about the people who made these accusations. He could not understand how anyone could think that he was taking advantage of a young man he was teaching at the time. He really adored his pupil as an artist. They had a very special bond.

Piñero in his play “Short Eyes” is dealing with a somewhat similar situation. There is a man who is jailed and, as later we find out, falsely accused of molesting some young girls. The play painfully reminded me of my friend. The only difference with my friend and Piñero’s character Short Eyes was that my friend was not jailed but living in a society which understood anything homosexual a crime. In my friend’s case society was the jail where being a homosexual meant being a pedophile.

Piñero is raw, Genet is poetic. To compare their writings is like comparing apples to chili peppers, so I am not going to do the comparison. Instead I want to tell you why I decided to spend my time talking about “Short Eyes” and “Deathwatch.

Let’s go to “Deathwatch” now. First of all I should mention that I love Genet, period. “Deathwatch” is not as popular as his “The Maids” is. But “Deathwatch” is worth looking into.

“Deathwatch” takes place in a single jail cell where there are three criminals “residing.” One of them Green Eyes (interesting how the word “eyes” has a huge meaning in jail slang) is waiting for a death sentence. The death happens in the play, but not to the person who is convicted.

I don’t want to go into plot details here. In “Deathwatch” there is almost no plot. What attracted me in the play were inspirations and ideas I got from it.

While I was reading and later watching a film, an adaptation of the play, I found myself thinking about Genet’s genius construction of human psyche using three different characters. I got myself involved with questions like, what and who do these characters represent? To me the jail cell represented a human psyche where there were three conflicting thoughts (three characters). Knowing that Genet was quite often in jail and dealt with situations where he was sexually attracted to other men, it made sense to me that he would write whatever was happening in his mind on paper.

In “Deathwatch” Genet, in a way, is all these three characters: gorgeous looking Green Eyes, secretly in love Lefranc and openly in love with Green Eyes Maurice. They all have their own secrets and they all could represent a jailed human psyche. So, in short, by entering the jail cell we are entering Genet’s mind.

Summing up both plays:

“Deathwatch” gave me perspective of how a play or a performance could be built using characters as representations of different parts of human psyche.

“Short Eyes” hit close to home because somebody I knew ended their life because of a similar accusation.

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Connecting the Dots, Psycho-Logic-Ally [in] Correct Speaking

Legally Allowed to Kill a Kitty

Liza Minelli’s Nipples, Anatoly Kashpirovsky and what you most likely not seeing while watching a cat video.

Oh yeah, my darlings, today Plastikoff is going to be quite political, quite politically [in]correct, I should correct.

I started writing about Liza’s nipples at the Oscars and… while dissecting the size of the above mentioned nipa-pips a video fell into my view. I realized that there is something I want to tell you about the video I watched. I decided to cut the bitch and go for it.

Now how do you go from Liza Minnelli’s nipples at the Oscars, to Anatoly Kashpirovsky’s hypnotic seances in Soviet Union, to Afghan/Iraq war, how?

Of course Plastikoff could show you how clever he is by using something clever in his writings, you know like, telling you how you could drink orange juice and eat an orange at the same time? And nipples. Nipples are always good to talk about. They heal the masses. But Plastikoff is saying no to Liza’s nipples. He is better than that. He is just going to tell you stories, true stories, I should add.

Where and when Plastikoff was growing up there was this “Diadia (Uncle) Hypnotizer” coming on TV, I believe every Tuesday around eight o’clock in the evening. Plastikoff was still a teenager then and couldn’t quite understand why his family was watching this man talk on TV. It was not a funny talk show, no, and it was not a president talking either, but that “Diadia” was somebody who could make you happy. Yes, literally, happy just by talking to you from your TV screen. People around the Soviet Union watched religiously the guy on their TV sets while going into some kind of faints or trances similar to these.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwXma6uaQvA

Well, you should be aware that at that time churches and preachers were a no-no anywhere in Soviet Union. These were the Soviet Times. Something still needed to be invented for the people to believe in. “Diadia Kashpirovsky” gave the crowds the needed opium – the happiness which was running out as fast as that water from that sea that disappeared in Kazakhstan. To become happy, you, of course, had to watch “Diadia Kashpirovsky” on TV religiously.

This whole thing was ridiculous and ended, I believe, very scandalously, because, people were falling out of their chairs, sofas and whatever things they were sitting on. There were some traumas, but not the ones you get by falling from a chair, no. As you probably guessed, money had to do something with these falls. A crook will always be a crook. How could we recognize somebody like that “Diadia?” That is another question? Well you are in good hands, my darlings. You have Plastikoff himself. He saw this video, so he knows what he is talking about (smiley face).

Should I include a few links at the end of this entry for you to send me money now? Or should I learn how to speak as the above mentioned hypno-teaser?

Okay, my darlings, since you have checked if I had inserted those above mentioned links at the end of my entry and found that there are none of them there, shall we start watching some other videos now and talk about them? I think we should.

How my mind was able to get away from Liza Minnelli’s boobs I was writing about, I have no idea, but it did. Here is a video which inspired today’s entry. I am pretty sure you are going to need some tissues, because I needed them. No, I truly did.

Ohio 8-year old turns $20 into priceless gift

Alright my darlings, I don’t need to tell you what you saw in the video, or do I?

Well okay, for those who didn’t watch the video yet, you saw a soldier who got $20 dollars from a kid who lost his father in Iraq war when he was still a baby. The kid’s action and note inspired the soldier. The note truly touched the soldier and, as he said, this experience will stay with him for the rest of his life.

Stories like that are gold mines for media moguls who want to manipulate you and get your money. Yes, that’s right, even that little kitty you see on TV or your computer screen has something to do with the money. And this is how.

Ugh, I can feel some interesting energy coming my way, but before I dissect this particular video, let me tell you another, also a true, story.

I dated somebody who went to war in Afghanistan in the late 80’s. Yes, that’s right, I still cannot understand how, after the Soviet Union’s fiasco in Afghanistan, Americans, a decade later, went there too. I am pretty sure there are American soldiers who could tell similar stories to the one I am just about to tell you.

Well it is not a secret that to survive an Afghan war you need to drug yourself somehow. No wonder Afghanistan has the biggest poppy fields in the world. They need to provide all that opium to all those poor soldiers who come to fight them on their land.

Alright so, the army base, where my dear friend was fighting, was close to a little Afghani town. That was the town where our dear soldiers went to get their drugs and things of that nature. The town people knew all the soldiers as well as Soviet soldiers knew the town people. They all were living happily just with one little detail attached to their relationship, some of them were occupying somebody else’s land and were trying to put their rules on existing ones. Well, who pays attention to these little details anyway? Whoever holds the gun is the boss with the rules, isn’t that true?

It happened so that the soldiers ran out of whatever they were smoking, so it was time for somebody to go to the town and get the needed sugar for their dreams. My love interest volunteered to go to the town and get the dope, even though it was not his turn to do so. Nobody wanted to schlep the distance, so volunteering was happily accepted…

Well let me cut the story to the chase. My lover came back and found all of his friends decapitated? He was the only one who survived this massacre. Who did the decapitations, anybody’s guess. Thankfully he had all that dope on him.

Now you would say, oh those bad bad Arabs or whatever you call the people who kill your soldiers, sons and daughters, nowadays in Middle East. Well, yeah if you are a soldier you kill people and you are ready to be killed, isn’t it so?

But let me go back to the video which really made me cry my eyes out, it truly did. The innocence and the story of the child were heartbreaking. The only thing this kid knew was that his father was a soldier who fought in a war and was killed, so now when he sees a soldier he is reminded about his father who is no longer with him.

Would you like to play a little game now?

Let’s say that Afghanistan is the United States of America and America is now Afghanistan. Would you react the same way watching the same video if, instead of an American child, there would be an Afghani kid giving the money to Afghani soldier? You probably need some time to get this picture into your head. Should I put some kitty video for you while you do that?

I don’t believe you would react the same way you did while watching the described video. Right now you only know what media wants you to know. Can you see a human being killing another human being while you watch the video?

Oh, it is hard to write this and be “funny” at the same time, but I shall continue.

Every human being is a human being and every killing is a killing. When somebody talks about a war I hear somebody talk about a legalized killing. This video above becomes even harder for me to watch because that soldier is legally allowed to kill and I just hope he hasn’t had that “chance” to do so.

So now, what are you trying to say here, you’d ask me? Are you trying to deface American soldiers? Ha, did you really ask this question?

This is what I see in most army recruit and similar videos.

There is somebody rich who needs to become richer. The rich sees the opportunity to become richer in some foreign country. The country is not stable enough, so they need us to believe that the people there need our help. The rich need to recruit soldiers who would unknowingly fight for what they want. Knowing how people react at sad stories they just need to release a video like this and most of the job is done. Everybody sees a kid who lost his father. We need other soldiers to fight for that kid. So somebody gets killed and no questions are asked. The war is “the protection” from the foreign… somebody is still getting richer.

Plastikoff is too upset to continue with this right now… Discuss…

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