Episode 15 – Swimming in the new blue goo

four-arm-monsterEpisode 15 – Swimming in the new blue goo

Angus discovers his favorite B move of all time and searches for Christmas ornaments on Mars. CJ waits for the moment that blue goo and excessive nudity go hand in hand in hand in a Sci Fi movie.

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B Movie Blindness SNARK ATTACK

Invaders from Mars (1953)

Martians land and turn ‘Father knows best guys’ into raging abusive dickheads.  Oh wait, there goes mommy.
I want to show you the sand pit lobotomy studio dear.  Come with me.
Mrs. Wilson?  Is this the prequel to the Dennis the Menace series?
We’ll be having no more of this Flying Saucer Spaceship malarkey by George.
I’m going to the police…oops, they’re aliens too.  Freaking nipple neck jack-asses.
Ah, they put me in the pokey.  The start of a career I think even though I dress in wool slacks and button down shirts.
‘The honest truth’?  What’s the alternative?
Small town fifties America character reference bureau thingy.  Ancestor’s of NSA LOL.
Oh-oh, there is a General Mayberry.  Will there be an Opie?  Somebody is doing drugs.
Reach Mars within a few days (1950s).
A theory (Martians live in underground cities because humanoids can’t survive on the oxygen poor surface)
Little David motor mouth question per second…Oh no!  They’ve got General Mayberry.  Call Col. Fielding and round up Aunt Bea.
What does Strictest Confidence mean?  It means verbatim relay to the first mug you see as soon as you make the promise.  I get it.
US Army.  Load Tanks on train.  Tie down with wire and tourniquet.  Also, when being guided while driving a tank don’t look at the person doing the guiding.
Col. Fielding is realigning his hemorrhoids using the roof peak on David’s house.  Ah, a radioactive ray that can dig through the Earth.  No Butts Major.  Ah, infrared rays.  The science of ignorance abounds.
Master Sergeant Renaldi goes high crawling with his M-1.  He’ll show those stinking Martians.
Col., I think we can reproduce this, get on their wavelength and locate their point of origin.  They’re in the sand pit you dumb ass.
So…all cerebral hemorrhages are Martian behavioral control devices reaching your lifetime warrantee.  Got it.
Fucking shoot the general already.  How often will that opportunity come up Private?
C-2 charges?
Wow, they unloaded the Tank museum for this one.
Even in the 50s, Dr. Wilson works late on his chemistry experiment after his daughter dies suddenly from a cerebral hemorrhage because that’s normal.  Apparently he’s not possessed.
“Follow Me”  Iron Mike and Col. Fielding  ( Love those cookies, oh sorry, that was after the gender reassignment)
So the Col. can jump in but he needs a Platoon to haul his donut eating ass back out of there.  Somebody is going to leave him one of these days.
David now sports the vest from his JC Penny ‘dress for success’ suit.
Choirs of Angels singing = more Martian shenanigans.  Giant turd men carrying a head in a glass ball…with tentacles.  Let’s melt some shit with our IR ray gun and make some more nodules.
Can someone tell the guy with the mine detector he is supposed to check ground before he steps on it?
Dr. Blake, aka, almost topless psychologist is now about to be probed for information a freaking periscope could give them.  Time for the Intergalactic nut shot.
UMMM  Bullets no-good…Fix bayonets…charge!
Can we get some remedial marksmanship training for Col. Fielding please.  He can’t hit a giant Martian turd creature with a full drum on a tommy gun within twenty feet.  Must  be the original Imperial Storm Trooper.
6 minutes.  Really?  Move your child bearing hips there Col. Fielding.
Stand back.  David is going to use the Boring… ray gun.  Oh my, the sand pit is getting an erection.
Now David is flush with PTSD.  That’s good for four minutes of flashbacks.
Gotta love that in character back handed slap from Daddy.  Suck it Disney.
Is it a dream?  Ooooooooo!

Alien Cargo (1999)

Christopher McNeill—“This is getting a little weird.”  32 minutes in after they realize they have been in hyper-sleep for a year, almost out of fuel and the two shift mates are gone.
Space Station Gulliver and a Research ship called the Dolphin.  Okay then.
Trip wire on the ladder.  Well played sir.
Even on a space ship, which by the way has artificial gravity, nobody ever looks up.  They just dragged Ibarra’s mummified corpse back on board.  Yummy!
Oh, oh.  Hot flashes.  Must be intergalactic menopause.
Space Junk, Greed, Ignorance, Biological Vector, abusive interactions, inescapable body odors, whining…second corpse…time to attack each other.
Must have found an abandoned Meat Packing plant to film this.
I wonder why the ship computer is called Shoshone because the plot allows me the time to ponder such things.
The hunt goes on for more blunt or…sharp objects in order to kill each other.
{Simulate irrational behavior starting at scene 32, be obvious about it}  LOL
Such respect for the dead.  Let’s use Ibarra as a door stop.
Low temperatures retard its function.  Haha…hahaha…hahahaha.  I bow flexed you so there.  Have some panacide.
What a love hate relationship.  Now they’re holding hands and smirking.
Don’t have enough fuel or power for life support but we do have enough to repeatedly fire up a rail gun cargo launcher to use Newtonian physics…yeah.  I buy that.
‘What would a couple of Teamsters know about Alien anything?’ -Mr.  Icorn, Research Vessel Dolphin resident hemorrhoid.
Oh, oh.  Somebody triggered the Blame-o-rater again.  Crank up the coolant.
So we are going to cancel gravity to help move the sleepers.  Hmmm, maybe that could have helped save on the power issue.  There was something else wasn’t there?  Oh, how about that alien junk bullshit.
What do we have to do?  How about use Mr. Icorn as a physical bumper.
Fluke #2, suck it Icorn.
Okay, time for Alien show and fail…I mean tell.
An appropriate distance?  Is there a manual I missed somewhere?  Nice.  Blue pulsing shit followed by preachy crap.  Odysseus Probe?  This is fucking Viger all over again. Thank you Star Trek.
No nudity booooo

Terms of Enlistment
by Marko Kloos

Semper Mars and Luna Marine by Ian Douglas




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