Saturday, July 23, 2011
GAY TIME MACHINE
Days before his infamous trial, Oscar Wilde tries not only to flee his predicament, but his present spacetime. With great urgency and flamboyant hand gestures, he convincing fellow club member, H.G. Wells, to test drive the latest invention he’s been boring their writers’ workshop with – a Time Machine.
With his usual sound judgment impaired by one too many rounds of mutton and absinthe, Wells attempts to send his friend back to a less homophobic time and place – to Ancient Greece, where the ghastly Queensbury Rules never did apply. Where teachers didn’t have to sing, “Don’t stand. Don’t stand so close to me.” even if they didn't look like Sting. The olde Sting. The olde Sting before he stopped hanging out with Adam Ant and started playing the hurdy gurdy.
But, he never makes it to that fabulous ancient island of hunky goat hurders, manadtory wrestling matches and unlimited feta.
Things go hysterically awry when Wilde is accidentally sent back to the future, to an apocalyptic America run by a completely mad, former Texas Governor retrofitted by Halliburton with a Burger King Crown that should control the weather, but so far has only produced five decades worth of drought. Hilarity ensues as a Tea Posse is formed to hunt down the English dandy and throw him in the Bachmann Turner Overdrive, a strange change machine that can suck the gay (and a few feet of colon) right out of you.
Barely escaping with his life, Wilde fires the Time Machine back up, landing in 802,701 A.D where he must battle savage Morlocks, fight off the awkward advances of a sexy Yvette Mimieux and deal with the – UGH – horrible wallpaper of the future.
Gay Time Machine –Get Ready for the Rip Rearing Ride of Your Life! Putting the Fabulous back in Sci Fi!
Friday, July 1, 2011
She’s a gorgeous, English-mangling Flamenco dancer with a 12-hour layover in Atlanta. He’s the local, English-mangling Delta baggage handler with way too much time on his hands.
Execs didn’t think there could be chemistry between Penelope Cruz and Larry the Cable Guy. What do they know? When I close my eyes, all I can see is them schtupping all over those tiny tables in front of the Atlanta Bread Company.
Posted by MichaelB at 7:02 PM