“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 would be still posting bare assed 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!

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.