They're All Gonna Laugh At You

Margaret White: "Carrie, you haven't touched your apple cake."
Carrie: "It gives me pimples, Mama."
Margaret White: "Pimples are the Lord's way of chastising you."
Carrie: "Mama?
Margaret White: "Yeah."
Carrie: "Mama, please say that I've got t-to try and get along with people better."
Margaret White: "What are you going on about, Carrie?"
Carrie: "I've been invited to the prom."
Margaret White: "Prom?"
Carrie: "Yeah, the prom. Everyone's goin ..."
Margaret White: "It was that teacher that called, wasn't it?"
Carrie: "Please see that I'm not like you, Mama, I'm funny I mean, all the kids think I'm funny, and I don't wanna be. I wanna be normal, I wanna start to try me, a whole person, before it's too late for me to..."

Bring The Hammer, Daddy.

My new obsession of the week, the one thing I cannot get out of my head, is seeing a music video of Katy Perry's Firework (an amazingly irritating song that refuses to dislodge itself from my brain pan ) re-cut with nothing but "inspirational" scenes of Robin McLeavy (aka Lola aka Princess) from Sean Byrne's flat-out stellar The Loved Ones. Not since Angela Bettis' classic turn in Lucky McKee's May, has a young horror starlet been at once so bone chilling and heartbreakingly sympathetic . Me thinks all poor Lola really needed was a nurturing, dignifying ballad to curve her swath of bloodshed. As it is, our beloved Princess is already given to flights of pink infused girly sentiment, albeit imbued with the screams of her would be suitors. So it's not to hard for me to imagine her swirling about her bedroom, putting on a show for Daddy's leering eyes, accompanied by Perry's groan inducing song of self empowerment. Who knows, a few minutes of this mushy, effervescent tune and Princess may have gone on to be the black horse queen of her prom wherein she would no doubt rule over the proceedings with an iron fist (and rightfully so, girl is capable). Or maybe all she needed was a gay bestie (I mean, certainly we understood the pangs of adolescent longing better than anybody, amirite boys and girls?) "Boom boom boom" indeed. Anyway, my birthday is next week, so somebody with more enterprising editing skills than I should cut this baby together and make me a very happy boy.

Do you ever feel like a plastic bag
Drifting through the wind
Wanting to start again

Do you ever feel already buried deep

Six feet under scream
But no one seems to hear a thing

You just gotta ignite the light And let it shine
Just own the night
Like the Fourth of July

Cause baby you're a firework

Come on show 'em what you're worth

Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"

As you shoot across the sky-y-y

Baby you're a firework Come on let your colors burst

Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"

You're gunna leave 'em fallin' down-own-own

You don't have to feel like a waste of space

You're original, cannot be replaced

If you only knew what the future holds After a hurricane comes a rainbow

Cause baby you're a firework

Come on show 'em what you're worth Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"

As you shoot across the sky-y-y

Baby you're a firework

Come on let your colors burst

Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"

You're gonna leave 'em all in awe-awe-awe"

Now, let us never speak of Katy Perry (or any other auto tuned pop princess masquerading as an "artist" for that matter) on this blog ever again.
Ever. Again.