2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

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cdnchris
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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#151 Post by cdnchris » Fri Feb 05, 2010 4:09 pm

Caged Horse wrote:Geez, what has Hanks done to get likened to Swimminghorses?! :roll:
I agree. I thought that was particularly cruel to Mr. Hanks.

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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#152 Post by domino harvey » Fri Feb 05, 2010 4:13 pm

Apparently Swimminghorses did not in fact win the Richard Cranium last year, so now my Tom Hanks reference is to him being a bad Punchline? Yeah, that's it

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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#153 Post by Dadapass » Fri Feb 05, 2010 10:26 pm

Domino, are you still working on the best non-Criterion releases?

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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#154 Post by domino harvey » Fri Feb 05, 2010 10:28 pm

Yeah, I'll get to it soon hopefully, I just wanted to post the Criterion results as soon as possible since I knew people had been eagerly awaiting their arrival

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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#155 Post by HerrSchreck » Thu Feb 11, 2010 8:37 pm

Hee hee... well it's that time again folks.... as I promised domino in PM...

****CF 2009 AWARDS CEREMONY TELECAST*************

Auditorium. Darkness. The lights suddenly come up, revealing a curtained stage before the general forum membership.

The curtain rises, revealing a podium. A traveling spot reveals CDNCHRIS walking out to the podium. General applause.

CDNCHRIS: (Squirms and scratches in rented tux, adjusts his eyesight to a wad of prepared notes) Uh, the 7th annual International Conference of Mild Psychiatrics, DVDR Buyers, CC Dabblers, and Forum For General Depersonalized Panic will now come to order! (bangs gavel on podium.)

(Podium breaks to a pile of splinters. Crowd erupts in applause.)

CDNCHRIS (To MATT, down in first row) Matt, wtf, man?

MATT: (Loosening tie, hisses in a whisper.) Don’t look at me, jack. Nobody clicks on the Amazon buttons anymore… what you expect? A budget or something?

ZEDZ: (Rhinestone tiara sags over an eyebrow as he lifts head from microscope and raises an index finger) Ah, glorious—the proverbial dead rat among the apples and oranges already! I feel… clean and fresh (sound effect of wind chimes). It's the tiara-- life shines bright when you have a tiara. (Birds chirp, chicks hatch and tweet. Bambi wobbles on new legs in a sunny meadow. A butterfly lands on Zedz' nose.)

LUBITSCH: (In parody of Prussian severity, with monocle, whip and heavy leather) And already such a nonsense is it. Und from home country so very far I have traveled to come here, is it not?

AOX: That which the eye perceiveth, is that which HD-eth. All else is broth fat.

SWO: Uh. Broth fat is where the flavor is. Otherwise water.

AOX: (Fists balling up, rises and advances threateningly towards SWO) Befoul my similes already, will you?

SWO: I think it was more tending toward metaphor. Otherwise dunno.

AOX: (Charges, and is intercepted by Tommaso, MichaelB, and Wu.Qinghua. AOX snaps out from their grip and smooths himself out and fixes bowtie) Don’t even know why I made the attempt anyway. Fucking standard def punters. On to better things. (Moments later, out in cab—stroking and planting light kisses on a BD of PLAYTIME) Mmmmmmm…(giggles) what’s that you say honey? (Tickles case)…

DOMINO HARVEY: (Raises index finger) Uh, guys? Can we uh, like—do this? I have an awful lot of online shopping to do. Could be doing. Have been doing. Am doing right now (raises iPhone, types frenetically).

MATT: (Aside) Oh, I dunno. I kind of don’t mind seeing a good roughup now and again.

CDNCHRIS: (Fishing line scribble in a thought balloon appears over head)

DOMINO: (looks up from iPhone in triumph) Just like that—(snaps fingers)—50 percent off of the PBS Nova “Horsehead Nebula: The Musicals.” Like taking a drink of water. (Turns to hi-five Nabob of Nowhere in next seat—who wasn’t expecting it—and facepalms him straight onto the floor.)

CDNCHRIS: (In front of a new podium wheeled out by Zot! and Ivy Jo Hunter, newbs pressed into stagehand service) Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ll deal with horseheads during the Richard Cranium Chorale Suite, okay?

DOMINO: Whatever.

MICHAELB: This reminds me of a story of the old arthouse days….

MICHAEL KERPAN: Pteh… A or an E for Effort, however the expression goes. But still and all I’d have to say this is nothing next to 1930’s Naruse or Ozu (or Shimizu for that matter) ;~{

MR_SAUSAGE: It’s amazing the way he gets you to see those little smilies he does, even when he’s talking out loud.

HERRSCHRECK: I see them all the time, and lots of other things too.

MR_SAUSAGE: There are special hospitals for that kind of thing.

HERRSCHRECK: (Narrows eyes suspiciously) You trying to start something here?

MR_SAUSAGE: (Raises chin) I’m merely trying to help you. Check the forum rules. It’s allowed.

AUDIENCE: War of the Vampires! Fight! Fight! Fight!

CDNCHRIS: People! Let’s keep it together! (Slams gavel onto podium, the mallet-head breaks from its handle and flies out into audience and conks SCHRECK on the head, knocking him momentarily unconscious: CONSPIRACY THEORIES immediately abound; the new podium slumps to the side, broken. SCHRECK mutters INCREDIBLY BAD POETRY in his delirium).

LUBITSCH: Jeder macht eine kleine Complete Und Total Fuckup. But this is really pushing it.

DENTI ALLIGATOR: (In broadcast control booth. Speaks into headset to DAVID HARE backstage) In pieces! It’s going to pieces awready! Cue first-half extravaganza! Pronto!

DAVID HARE: (Removing mouth from parade-float inflation nub, winded) But we’re not even near ready yet! The giant Eisenstein isn’t even half-inflated. The stagehands haven’t even readied my presentation “Tropes & Subtexts: If Only For the Rhythm.”

DENTI: (Closes eyes and exhales calmly) Dignity. Maintain it at all costs. Okay. Colin?

COLIN0380: (Working the broadcast antennae in his avatar) Ketch?

DENTI: Cut to commercial.

Jump-cut to white noise. Jump cut to The Messiest Possible Apartment. Bottles, plastic bags, food trays covered in ashes, coffee cups with cigarette butts & used condoms floating on their surface, pill bottles, old newspapers—all this and much more litter the scene. Suddenly a naked foot--seemingly floating on the surface of the slag—twitches and retracts down into the rubbish heap. A commotion of newspapers and lettuce heads which slide off of a rising body. It turns out to be a hugely hung over KNAPPEN.

KNAPPEN: Good morning, folks.

SKUHN: (from somewhere in the heap below) It’s not morning. It’s eight oclock at night.

KNAPPEN: (Looks at watch in stark panic) Holy shit I gotta appointment!!! (Rockets straight offscreen, trailing spoiled asparagus, cat hair, and a clump of something in strands caught between his toes. A female voice, buried beneath the debris, squeaks in pain, having been stomped on by the exiting SCANDINAVIAN.)

FEMALE: Owww! That was my hair extension you took with you, you bastid!

SKUHN: (Calling to the doorway) Dude, you’re not even—(sound of a slip and fall out on the street, followed by the audio of a multi-car accident)—dressed!

(SKUHN8 rises up wearily from the debris pile. He wears a topcoat with tails, a bowtie and suspenders connected to nothing. He holds a newspaper at the waist to hide his JUNK.)

SKUHN: Good evening folks. Is this, (gestures about the room like a display model) a little too familiar to you? Is this the state of your life 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year?

DIRECTOR: (offscreen) That’s not what the script says. You’re supposed to ask if this happens to you every here and there on weekends.

SKUHN: (eyes darting back and forth nervously between camera and general direction of DIRECTOR’s voice, with a clenched smile.) Bob, you’re rushing me, again. You didn’t even let me finish..

DIRECTOR: Whenever you’re ready. A-a-nnd, action!

SKUHN: ..And weekends? Every here and there? (Leans in to camera and winks) Sure you do. We all do. And that’s why we here at the International Center for Bodily Reanimation and Holographic Countenance Projection are just a phone call away. After a long night of partying, they’ll carefully shoot nitroglycerine between your discs, put a match to your ass and get your backbone moving. And that’s not all. Our seasoned expert staff of hologram projectionists will be tucked safely in the background, firing life-sized images of your face taken during better days—your healthy face, your face well-washed, a happy face, a face straight from a sun-dappled meadow of fresh mint—onto your pale, greenish countena- (sound of phone ringing). Whoops.. hold on a sec (takes phone from coat pocket.) Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh. What? What?! (Peers nervously at camera, looks closely at watch) Aw fuck—it’s the day after tomorrow awready? I thought this was only yesterday. (Accidentally drops newspaper covering his JUNK—cut to white noise and broadcast snow)

COLIN0380: (Back in broadcast booth) Well that went… unwell…

DENTI (Rubbing his temples): Ruined. We’ll all be ruined. (Slumps) Otherwise walking dead. (incoherent mumbles)…

COLIN0380 (injects DENTI in spine): And now a blast from our sponsors….

DENTI (Head snaps up, reanimated): Habedashery! Salisbury hurmp. Pithocantropus. (Bounds around the room, light as a feather, twirling, drifting, hanging impossibly in midair)

COLIN0380: Mother of god, I gave him too much. (Pulls DENTI by pantsleg down out of the air, pickets him into his seat with a railroad spike, and rolls him brusquely out into the hallway. Speaks into headset) Furchrissakes guys, are we ready with the Monologue? Cue the monologue. Otherwise Salisbury hrrmp and we all go down into the pit.

IANUNGSTAD: I’m thinking MEET THE FOCKERS. I feel this very strongly, especially with the recent licensing deals floating about the air like interesting cotton candy in No Gravity. It’s got that great thing about it makes you squiggle in your dry goods feel nice all over, it’s both serious and funny, it fits snug to your curves Here, yet it’s light sporty and breathable and full of health There… it comes in all colors and fits plunk puzzle-piece right into the collection. And since I have your attention, two words: “Bad. Santa.” (Shoots eyebrows with a naughty smile, angling in..) Eh? Eh? Nudge nudge?

(DAVID HARE walks out from behind the curtain, snips the wires on IAN’s headset, goes down into the audience, retrieves HERRSCHRECK from his muttering heap, and drags him up to the podium.)

DAVID: It’s time for our monologue dude.

SCHRECK: (From under a huge bump that has formed a wren dogearing down over one eye) Jean Epstein lived in a shoe. His sister Marie, I think she was there too. Jean shot films, Marie wrote scripts, but in the rearyard outhouse, they both took

DAVID: (Smacks SCHRECK) Schreck, furchrissakes, matey. You’re onstage. We hafta do the speech. (Smacks SCHRECK again)

SCHRECK: (Giggling) Hee hee.. Sorry honey, couldn’t help myself… hee hee.

DAVID: (Shakes SCHRECK) I’m not your girlfriend, and you’re onstage. In fronta people. We gotta do the speech. It’s the awards, mate.

SCHRECK (eyelids fluttering open.. looks down at broken podium in horror) In the name of god, somebody kill that Volkswagen. It’s the size of a roach. I mean, uh.. well you know what I mean.

DAVID: Okay.. you kill the bug, and I’ll start the speech. Do you have your notes?

SCHRECK (pats himself down, removes and unfolds a piece of paper) Hee hee. No, I don’t.

DAVID: Wot’s that, then?

SCHRECK: This? Oh, it’s a uh, (passes paper to David) compromising picture of Zedz in full Member of the Year ‘accoutrementia’.

DAVID: (Looks at photo and collapses in laughter, bonks head on crumped podium on way down; an overgrown black & blue bump matching SCHRECKs’ blobs down over an eye). Definitely hrmp.

SCHRECK (Recovering, struggles with HARE precisely as HARE just struggled with him a moment ago. Finally the two brain-damaged members, after a brief stretch of trying to kill the collapsed podium with their shoes, recover enough to begin the SPEECH. SCHRECK starts): Friends, humans, specimens of unknown species, cover-stories riding over yet-undiscerned malicious intent, lend me your ears. We come together in this great hallowed resting ground, this field of heroes, this (lipquiver) sacred place of repose for men who bowed the great violin string of the world in a way which strummed harmonious chords of response from deep within the heart of our godfearing republic. Good god, if I could but raise one of these precious souls from the earthen cradle that tenderly rocks them in their sweet sleep, if I could but kiss—and have my moistened cheeks kissed in return—by these glorious and majestic souls--men women, privates, generals, field nurses-- who stared into the silken tissued fabric of our Christian society and said “To thee, and on bended knee, doth I tender my life in solemn service,” ah! Now there’s a yearning, eh? Eh? For though it is true—it is true indeed—that our Lord YHWH von Tetragrammaton has seen fit to tender back home these, (eyes watering) the soul and substance of our better selves, these our heroes, to *sniff* His golden breast and in the command and in the fullness of His own time… yes, though this is true.. is it somehow for us not to seek to climb the golden towers of our finer tendencies? It remains for us, we here with bedewed cheek, with mist of eye, we here of the civil service, we here of gilded hall, we who hauled ass from Statuary, we who pump the drinking water, we who scream at small children while at the head of church & classroom, we forever wroth versus a foul and sinister enemy—

DAVID: (Clears throat loudly and hammers a cork into schreck’s mouth with a mallet to quiet him) He’s back in some sorta Gettysburg. (To SCHRECK) Schreck—look! The waterbug! It’s getting away!! (Schreck spits the cork and roars, removes a shoe and dives on the podium below, snarling and beating it about the four corners with heel and sole.)

DAVID: (Continuing) Folks, allow me to say a few words here, and let us meditate on their meaning. “Andre Jurieu.” “Flixy Flox Hare.” “Herr uh Schreck.” “Zedz.” (Looks down pensively, bites his bottom lip while blinking rapidly, face thick with barely contained emotion. After a pause, he looks back up, gives the audience a long searching look through watery eyes.) These aren’t ordinary names. (Pauses significantly, as though someone had raised an objection.) They’re not names you just spit out casually then go home or on to something else—like some fucking verbal one night stand—these are not names to be spoken without a twitch of the facial muscles or at least a bout of eyelid distonia. No, these are not that. (Raises chin, looking down threateningly, as though daring a disagreement.) Oh no. Not here, not now. Not this. Not today.

GREGORY: “David Hare.” And now—hee hee-- on to other things: “What’s the weather tomorrow, I wonder?” (Looks into a mirror in mock wonder.) And look at that, not even a light twitch!

DAVID HARE: (Erupts in fury) Befoul my tropes will he?! Behold The Man (Taking No Shit)!!!!! (leaps from the stage to run up the aisle towards GREGORY, but is intercepted halfway by the security staff.)

SCHRECK (Taking over, puts down a can of bug spray and combs his hair with a plastic fork): Well maybe a little bit today. But only just a little bout. Otherwise Hare on fire. We come here today to turn a corner in this hallowed assembly. What was it about these men, these Very Special Men whose portraits adorn our hallowed gilted walls?… whose busts line our venerable statuary hall? (Leans forward on podium and pounds it for emphasis.. only there is no podium to lean on or pound so SCHRECK flumps to the floor. From the floor—) Sorry. (Spits a tooth) Tho thorry.. But.. I’ll tell you what it was about these men—they… posted a lot on an internet forum. (Gets up and brushes himself off.) Yes they did. They posted long and rambling messages, giving evidence to the sacred quality of Having Nothing Better To Do In Life.

DAVID HARE (released from his handcuffs. Aside): You could have left them on a little longer, you know.. (winks at a burly guard) But anyway, this hallowed fact is why so many are insanely jealous and wish to high hell that they could win too. Very few people are so empty inside that they hafta sit around getting sniped at, harrumphing about telecine and combing whatnot, taking Tooze-attacks, and braving the Infighting & Navel Gazing frontier.

MICHAEL KERPAN: Carson McCullers, please save me ;~{

SCHRECK: (Whipping fly swatter) There go those pixies again… (stares up at sky) the nest, is it..? "Arc to Arcturus..." then...

HARE: But we are here to pass the torch to a new generation. We uh ‘seasoned men’ must yield the floor to the current generation, a generation fresh and new, a generation fresh from college but old hands at online discounts, a generation without punctuation. The time is nigh. The day is today.

SCHRECK: And let me take this occasion to state categorically that the rumors going around to the effect that ZEDZ had locked himself in his bathroom booted, vested, wearing a heavy leather strapped to the teeth with survival knives, and armed to the eyebrows with grenades & automatic weaponry are not true at all. He never said, and I quote, “I double-dare you to come in and try to to pry this bobbypinned tiara and sash offa me, which will be parted from nothing but my dead, cold, shaved-for-the-apocalypse skull….”

HARE: Ladies and gentlemen… I give you… last year’s winner….

(Silence. A shy squeaking sound… ZEDZ rolls quietly out in a motorized wheelchair that he doesn’t seem to be operating, a thin antenna wobbling from its seat rear. He appears strangely motionless, if not heavily sedated. His cheeks and jaws are stapled into a BLACK DAHLIA-like stiff permanent smile.)

ZEDZ: (In a strangely remote voice coming from somewhere, spoken over the same tight, motionless smile) Ever since I was a young boy, I played the silver ball… from Soho down toSCRRrrittchh (white noise… faint voice of the SOUND MAN’s tech assistant, “Idiot, that’s my torrent of the super bowl!”…. More white noise…)

“ZEDZ”: (resumes speaking in smooth voice over of an industrial short, with jaunty, cornball flute-muzak backing) Ever since joining our hallowed site, this year’s winner has graced our forum with style and very wide avatars, if not closing punctuation. The true king of the one-liner, and I mean that… (gesticulates with limp arm-flops.) I don’t think there’s a two sentence post in the bunch haw haw haw.

TOM HAGEN: Ah, the hazing begins…

“ZEDZ”: And what could be more lovable than loving Life of An American Fireman?

LUBITSCH: For me this is at last quite the too much... (Clutches chest and dies of rage on the spot.)

LQ: Isn’t Zedz moving strangely?

MFUNK: (Leaning forward, peering up into the stage rafters. Yells aloud:) Are those strings I see connecting to zedz’ arms?

CDNCHRIS: (Head peeking out from behind curtains, squinting suspiciously towards zedz) Whoah, ho, wait a minute. Wait just a minute. (Walks onto the stage holding his hand out at the audience like a traffic cop, goes up to zedz, snaps his fingers in front of his eyes. Nothing happens. He extends his index finger and pushes lightly on z’s shoulder. Zedz slumps all the way forward and falls out of the wheelchair onto the floor, pulling on two near-invisible fishing lines leading up to the rafters, and bringing two puppeteers down off the catwalks onto the stage with a crunching of bone and cartilage.) Drugged! Tranquilized into submission!!!

MICHAEL KERPAN: (Stands and shakes his fist) Now, even Kobayashi is better than this!!!!

(Five hundred audience members rise, brandishing sporks and sharpened plastic wine cups.)

Audience member #1: We been had!!

#2: A foul sham is what it is. Hallowed gathering my ass! Let’s rush the stage!

#3: Let’s assault the guest speakers!

#4: Let’s steal the sound and video equipment.

HARE: Let’s have that burly guard cuff me again!

(Generalized mayhem as the crowd rushes the stage. Chairs, microphones, wine glasses, hors d'oeuvres, tuxedos, undergarments fly. Pockets of deadly violence amid spontaneous orgies. The CEREMONIAL COCKRING is passed around along with a glass of isopropyl for repeat usage in various scenarios. Seeing an opportune moment, DOMINO HARVEY crawls over and under an obstacle course of sweaty and bloodied bodies, swipes the tiara, sash, and cockring, and crawls out the back door onto the street. THE COPS rush in and arrest everybody.)

ONE HOUR LATER:

KNAPPEN arrives panting and naked, to the outer door of the empty hall.

KNAPPEN: (Bursting in with his arms outstretched) “HERE I AM!!... (looks around confusedly)

KNAPPEN: Uh……….(tiny voice) guys? (Sees deflated Eisenstein float amid a pile of mayhem rubbish... turns to camera) Now that’s what I call montage!

(Exeunt al kippered herring)

Congrats to Domino Harvey*********

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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#156 Post by Tribe » Thu Feb 11, 2010 9:25 pm

Oh My God! Schreck's post is why we need a thumbs up button option!

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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#157 Post by TMDaines » Thu Feb 11, 2010 11:13 pm

HerrSchreck wrote:AOX: (Charges, and is intercepted by Tommaso, MichaelB, and Wu.Qinghua. AOX snaps out from their grip and smooths himself out and fixes bowtie) Don’t even know why I made the attempt anyway. Fucking standard def punters. On to better things. (Moments later, out in cab—stroking and planting light kisses on a BD of PLAYTIME) Mmmmmmm…(giggles) what’s that you say honey? (Tickles case)…
The most obvious joke you could have done but still genius!

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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#158 Post by NABOB OF NOWHERE » Fri Feb 12, 2010 5:54 am

Shrek to host the Oscars this year? What the fuck did I do to get bitch slapped by Domino?

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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#159 Post by skuhn8 » Fri Feb 12, 2010 7:10 am

I'm always naked--or nearly so--in H.Schreck's fantasy plays. You sure must be getting a lot of mileage out o' that Esquire spread I did awhile back.

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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#160 Post by Tommaso » Fri Feb 12, 2010 7:59 am

HerrSchreck wrote:SCHRECK (Recovering, struggles with HARE precisely as HARE just struggled with him a moment ago. Finally the two brain-damaged members, after a brief stretch of trying to kill the collapsed podium with their shoes, recover enough to begin the SPEECH. SCHRECK starts): Friends, humans, specimens of unknown species, cover-stories riding over yet-undiscerned malicious intent, lend me your ears. We come together in this great hallowed resting ground, this field of heroes, this (lipquiver) sacred place of repose for men who bowed the great violin string of the world in a way which strummed harmonious chords of response from deep within the heart of our godfearing republic. Good god, if I could but raise one of these precious souls from the earthen cradle that tenderly rocks them in their sweet sleep, if I could but kiss—and have my moistened cheeks kissed in return—by these glorious and majestic souls--men women, privates, generals, field nurses-- who stared into the silken tissued fabric of our Christian society and said “To thee, and on bended knee, doth I tender my life in solemn service,” ah! Now there’s a yearning, eh? Eh? For though it is true—it is true indeed—that our Lord YHWH von Tetragrammaton has seen fit to tender back home these, (eyes watering) the soul and substance of our better selves, these our heroes, to *sniff* His golden breast and in the command and in the fullness of His own time… yes, though this is true.. is it somehow for us not to seek to climb the golden towers of our finer tendencies? It remains for us, we here with bedewed cheek, with mist of eye, we here of the civil service, we here of gilded hall, we who hauled ass from Statuary, we who pump the drinking water, we who scream at small children while at the head of church & classroom, we forever wroth versus a foul and sinister enemy—
Apart from the more or less standard grammar and spelling, this must be the closest anyone came to "Finnegans Wake" since 1939. Great stuff.

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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#161 Post by HerrSchreck » Fri Feb 12, 2010 9:09 am

skuhn8 wrote:I'm always naked--or nearly so--in H.Schreck's fantasy plays. You sure must be getting a lot of mileage out o' that Esquire spread I did awhile back.
I confess it's probably some kind of a cleansing process meant to drain off any residual rage and jealousy resulting from the fact that my one of my former girlfriends had that big photo of you that was sorta like a centerfold-- in that it took up two whole pages in the Esquire spread-- glued to the bottom of her bottom endtable drawer and covered with clear contact paper.. that and the fact that every here & there, she would have dreams about revisiting her education... I admit they struck me as odd as she rarely talked about that subject, as she was modestly intellectual person who had reaped maximum benefit of her college education and seemingly had no reason for regret or a feeling of missing out)... what I kept hearing as sumnambulistic sleep-mutterings of "Need to go back to school," "Can't wait for my school reunion," "The first day I went to school I was so nervous my mother had to hold my hand," "This school is very very strict about lateness," etc.

As you may have guess I was mishearing phonetically was "Can't wait for my skoon (skuhn) reunion," and "The first day I went to skoon (skuhn) I was so nervous my mother had to hold my hand." etc...

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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#162 Post by LQ » Fri Feb 12, 2010 12:38 pm

More grotesqueries bobbing around Schreck's head than in a Goya sketchbook. I love it. Thanks for the deliriously entertaining read, mein Herr.

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Re: 2009 Wrapup | Criterion Forum Awards

#163 Post by zedz » Fri Feb 12, 2010 4:38 pm

HerrSchreck wrote:
skuhn8 wrote:I'm always naked--or nearly so--in H.Schreck's fantasy plays. You sure must be getting a lot of mileage out o' that Esquire spread I did awhile back.
I confess it's probably some kind of a cleansing process meant to drain off any residual rage and jealousy resulting from the fact that my one of my former girlfriends had that big photo of you that was sorta like a centerfold-- in that it took up two whole pages in the Esquire spread-- glued to the bottom of her bottom endtable drawer and covered with clear contact paper..
And I just know we're talking skuhn's old avatar here: the one, the only, the true skuhn - a face any girlfriend would fall for.

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