Melting Plot

Look at this absurd asscrackery. I heard the sequel to "The Snowman" is gonna be "Gingerbread Man: You Can Run But You Can't Hide."

Look at this absurd asscrackery. I heard the sequel to “The Snowman” is gonna be “The Gingerbread Man: You Can Run But You Can’t Hide.”

 

Hollywood’s latest example in their never-ending quest to re-capture the inexplicable hysteria and success of the terribly overrated “Saw” franchise phenomenon has produced perhaps the lamest attempt yet, as the alleged horror movie “The Snowman” is set to hit theaters.  At least they didn’t release it in the summer.

From what I can gather after being force-fed an endless bombardment of trailers for this foolishness, some Eskimo “Jigsaw” or something is apparently hell bent on murdering tons of people for a typically secretive reason but in particularly snowy ways.  It seems the cold-hearted killer’s big calling card is to leave what else but a snowman near the victim, or I guess like build a snowman on the lawn of some guy he’s trying to intimidate.  Real fuckin spooky stuff.  I wonder if there’s any scenes of the psychotic monster looking menacing while searching for a carrot to make a nose.

Wow that sure is some bone-chilling shit.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up in a cold sweat from nightmares about inanimate children’s creations whose arch enemy is the sun.  What the fuck?  Snowmen are hardly frightening.  Remember what a faggot Frosty was?  Happy birthday my balls.

And the cold hard facts behind the logistics of avoiding the villain of the film aren’t exactly “Freddy”-esque.  All you have to do to give the cold shoulder to this frost bitten Mike Myers is move to a fuckin warm climate and you’re safe.  And tan.  It’s like being chased by “Jaws” and just moving to Iowa.  Pretty sure you won’t be getting a murderous knock at your door anytime soon.

But all this snowman slop does remind me of the finest real-life artistic snow sculpture to ever grace the pot-holed streets of East Taunton—referred to by locals as the “Paris” of Taunton and long renowned for its needlepoint prowess.  Many moons ago in my early teens me and a chum noticed with glee that since his lawn was situated at a certain angle on a prominent road, we could position a snow structure of some kind in such a way as to be unavoidable for passing drivers to see.  But what to build, what to build…

So about two minutes later we got to work on a giant dick and balls.  And it was magnificent.  Or should I say, they were magnificent.  Building from memory and occasional peeks down my pants, the cock piece was at least ten feet tall, and the balls were the size of monster truck tires, complete with twigs for pubes.  I have a photograph of my Penis de Milo somewhere in my dad’s house, because much like the elusive Bigfoot there are many skeptics who doubt the existence of such a wonderous legend.  But let me tell you: it’s true.  That endless series of either angry or aroused honks we proceeded to get from passing motorists don’t lie.

But enough of my artistic endeavors and back to this pile of piss.  Or would that be pile of yellow snow?  This “Snowman” garbage is like if “Seven” took place on a skating rink.  I’m obviously not going to watch it til hell freezes over, but I’ll bet they make it all politically correct by building “snow women” too, to repudiate the well-known patriarchal structure of snowmen society.  Sheeeit, they might even make snow trannys while they’re at it.  But whatever the film’s elaborate snow creations, even with all the millions of dollars for special effects, one thing is for certain:

Nothing beats my dick.

 

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