Before I get stuck into this thoroughly in-depth and informative review, I first need to tell a story from my past. We'll get to Toy Story 3 eventually. Don't you worry your pretty little head. But I have a grander point to make here and that requires some background. Setting the fuckin' scene, so to fuckin' speak. What's a romantic walk on the beach without the sumptuous orange sunset as a backdrop? Nothing more than sand between the toes and the looming spectre of melanoma. That's what. Hell, a review without intimate personal information is like flowers without chocolates. Dinner without a movie. 2 in the pink without 1 in the stink. A marriage proposal without the obligatory kneeling subservience. So bear with me. Pretend I'm on my knees, my face at your crotch level, about to place the diamond ring on your finger. If we were together in person, then you bet your ass I'd fellate/cunniling you into a screaming mess right now. Alas, I'm just words on a screen, so oral sex is out of the question. Sadly. Instead I'll regale you all with an illustrative anecdote that I hope you enjoy. What you are about to read is 100% true. Here goes...
The year was 1996. I was 17 years young. Not yet the depraved porno freak I am today, but what I lacked in knowledge, I made up for in eagerness. My cock could've split diamonds. My testicular enthusiasm was so furious that perchance a fair lass t'would merely glance my way, effluvient oceans of teenseed would gusheth forth from mine member like a tsunami of milky lust, enough to satiate the most zealous of bukkake fiends. My belly button took money shots like a champ and never once asked me if I still respected it. Great days...I lived in a crappy house with my brother and a good friend of mine named Mark. We used to get porn vids on bootleg VHS from a mate of my bro's, a real weird dude who got a kick out of showing people shitflicks. These videos would have been copied over so many times that the title on the tape would never be what you were actually watching. The label could've said 'I Love It In My Ass 8', but you may have been watching 'I Love It In My Ass 9'. The '90s were a crazy decade.
This one time, we're watching some hot peen-in-poon action and probably huffing down a grocery bag worth of bonghits, when it randomly cuts to some German dude pissing on a chick. It wasn't the first golden shower I'd ever seen, and it would be far from the last. But this, ladies and gentlemen, was the single most important golden shower of my entire fucking life.
What sets this particular golden shower apart from the rest was not any especially depraved quality. It was just all splashed on her tits with nothing in the way of bathing motions or taste testing. Nope, what this sucker had was duration. It just kept going and going. No camera cuts. Simply a continuous pour. Oh sure, it would slow down to a trickle sometimes, but only to then come back strong and forceful. We were so impressed that we timed the piss. It lasted for 2 minutes. on the dot. TWO. FUCKING. MINUTES. If you're not overwhelmed with awe right now, then you and 17 year old me could never get along. And frankly, you can go fuck yourself.This 2 minute Everest of urinary fortitude became not just a sight to be witnessed, but a goal to be achieved. A mountain to climb. We would learn to moderate our piss squirts to achieve the maximum time span. You couldn't just let it all go at once, you had to train your urethral muscles to ease it out at a steady pace. Pretty soon, we'd started taking a stopwatch to the toilet to time our pisses. Kinda like the training sequences in a Rocky movie, only with less weights being lifted and more torrents of urine pouring from dickholes. It was not uncommon to hear one of us exit the bathroom and proudly bellow throughout the house something like, "46 seconds! Not too bad!" None of us ever broke the minute mark, but we tried. We tried...
What does this have to do with Toy Story 3?? Taking a lengthy piss is all about pacing yourself. And Toy Story 3 has great pacing.
In a sense, life itself is much like a golden shower. You have to pace yourself. Restrain yourself. Keep living at a steady stream. Don't get overly excited and force things too much or it'll be over too quick and then you're just stagnant yellow toilet water. But at the same time, you can't hold everything in. You gotta relieve yourself when you need to. Maybe you're the type to just explode like a tidal wave, giving it all to the wind, spraying the world with your golden glory. But I think it's best to always save a little reserve to keep on keeping on.But you're not just giving this golden shower, you're also receiving it. So make the most of it. Let it wash over you. Taste it as often as you can. Don't be afraid to get your face in there and fully immerse yourself in the fountain. Yeah, it might sting your eyes, but that's all part of the fun. Remember, this cradle-to-grave scenario is a one-time thing. This is the only stream of piss you're ever gonna get. So please, don't let it shoot over your shoulder and don't let it just trickle down into a puddle at your feet. Get stinky, motherfuckers. Your existence is happening. Now. Don't let it piss away.
Oh and, like, watch Toy Story 3. Coz, ya know, that's the movie I just reviewed...
But what's Michael's deal? Well, I don't know, exactly. But he's not at all normal. That's established before he even says anything. Michael is being dragged by mother and her new husband out to the country to stay in an old mansion with two other couples, who all enjoy flirting with each other very much. The only thing worse than being a third wheel is being a seventh wheel, says Michael. Or I'm sure that's what he was thinkng. He doesn't seem very happy about this vacation, and it's made obvious that he feels threatened by the new step father, as he tries to horn in every chance he gets, which is usually successful. But back to how not normal this "kid" is. Little Michael's lack of normalness and his flat out creepiness is partly due to the fact that he is being portrayed by an adult. A pale, little man named Peter Bark. And his voice is dubbed in English by another adult trying in vain to sound like a child. Also, Michael looks a bit like a mini-Dario Argento. Or maybe Argento looks like a jumbo Peter Bark. There's really no way of telling. Welcome to Burial Ground!
Directed by Giallo master, Andrea Bianchi, Burial Ground is one of the first bad Horror films that I fell in love with, and to this day, still my all-time favorite Italian Horror film. And it may sound a bit excessive, but I'm proud to say that this is one of the few films I own on vhs, dvd and blu-ray. The blu-ray looks fantastic, but I seem to always find myself going back to my beloved Vestron copy whenever I feel the urge. Technically, this is a terrible way to watch the film, as it's dark, grainy and just plain awful looking. But somehow, this only adds to the nightmarish tone of it all. The gore mixed with the glorious stupidity, and of course the thick layer of sleaziness that you could cut with a knife, makes Burial Ground one of the all-time great bad/WTF movies. As a zombie film, it's not the best thing ever, but the dark atmosphere and constant sense of dread makes this not only hilarious, but a pretty decent Horror film on top of it. Best of both worlds.