Post by siamesesin on Sept 19, 2010 21:15:09 GMT -5
I cannot stop. It is a melange of spicy insanity, hyper joy masking bizarre horror and twisted desires. Each one is like a glorious five-layer puzzle ball, intricate and detailed, but as it is carved from ivory it makes one feel a bit guilty enjoying it.
I present them to you as a gift, to spread the beauty and joy. First up, a classic. "Kalluri Vaanil" has become better known as "Benny Lava", but I find its original presentation just as enthralling.
Okay, we start off with a chesty chick in white dancing in the hills. Maria Von Trapp-Gone-Mocha flips her hair, and the bearded man in the leather jacket appears through the mist to join her in song. Now, all kidding aside, the dude looks like an extra from Dolemite. But you are apparently supposed to forget that the minute he is joined by his speed-freak cult of Teletubbies.
It's good to know Epilepsy has made such strides in awareness it is now consider appropriate to use sufferers as back-up dancers. But I digress.
Being attacked by a horde of headless jacket beasts, the songbirds proceed to knock out stiff necks with a bit of Eskimo frenching, which apparently leads to magic costume changes. Now everyone switch to valet! Wait, no, lime green hicks! And more Grand Mal fun!
Okay, what the HELL is with the ass play at 2:12? And why does it have to descend into a Bob Fosse gangbang? Didn't you people invent the Karma Sutra?
Thank Shiva, now we have tangerine boob-rubbing and barefoot air-sitar en masse. The world makes sense again. Go, plow dance! But why must the men carry giant cell phones? Is this double-timed with their tech support jobs? Complicated choreography would explain the vague assistance one receives.
From there it descends into more Tourettes, neck blerts, misty crane kicks, and an awful lot of cheap taffeta. Talk about a car wash. Oh look, he's miming eating her bottom to top! If that happened on MTV there would be a public outcry, though to be fair most of our pop singers are so skanky the man munching on them would get hit with botulism.
Our finale combines all of the elements in a blur of tight pants and big blue asses. The Tinky-Winkettes rejoin our hero in massive disturbing gyrations before the final shot of two hands clasping, bodies aligned button-fly to button-fly. Ah, sweet release, like a curry fart in spring.
And all this is without the benefit of translation. That would REALLY blow your mind!
So chug some Mylanta and pray Ganesh won't be on my side tomorrow as I enthrall you with a new clip.
I present them to you as a gift, to spread the beauty and joy. First up, a classic. "Kalluri Vaanil" has become better known as "Benny Lava", but I find its original presentation just as enthralling.
Okay, we start off with a chesty chick in white dancing in the hills. Maria Von Trapp-Gone-Mocha flips her hair, and the bearded man in the leather jacket appears through the mist to join her in song. Now, all kidding aside, the dude looks like an extra from Dolemite. But you are apparently supposed to forget that the minute he is joined by his speed-freak cult of Teletubbies.
It's good to know Epilepsy has made such strides in awareness it is now consider appropriate to use sufferers as back-up dancers. But I digress.
Being attacked by a horde of headless jacket beasts, the songbirds proceed to knock out stiff necks with a bit of Eskimo frenching, which apparently leads to magic costume changes. Now everyone switch to valet! Wait, no, lime green hicks! And more Grand Mal fun!
Okay, what the HELL is with the ass play at 2:12? And why does it have to descend into a Bob Fosse gangbang? Didn't you people invent the Karma Sutra?
Thank Shiva, now we have tangerine boob-rubbing and barefoot air-sitar en masse. The world makes sense again. Go, plow dance! But why must the men carry giant cell phones? Is this double-timed with their tech support jobs? Complicated choreography would explain the vague assistance one receives.
From there it descends into more Tourettes, neck blerts, misty crane kicks, and an awful lot of cheap taffeta. Talk about a car wash. Oh look, he's miming eating her bottom to top! If that happened on MTV there would be a public outcry, though to be fair most of our pop singers are so skanky the man munching on them would get hit with botulism.
Our finale combines all of the elements in a blur of tight pants and big blue asses. The Tinky-Winkettes rejoin our hero in massive disturbing gyrations before the final shot of two hands clasping, bodies aligned button-fly to button-fly. Ah, sweet release, like a curry fart in spring.
And all this is without the benefit of translation. That would REALLY blow your mind!
So chug some Mylanta and pray Ganesh won't be on my side tomorrow as I enthrall you with a new clip.
