There are few things that can make me physically ill from just thinking about them, but Hairspray is without a doubt one of those things. I have but to think about the title and lo and behold a larger-than-life image of John Travolta in a fatsuit appears in my (now blind) mind's eye. On top of making me want to throw up, it also manages to anger me immensely, and I mean really head-pounding mad. To illustrate the effect the mere existence of this movie has on me; It took me two days for my hands to stop shaking enough for me to write this post, and now that I've started on it I've realized my mistake in doing so, because the shaking is back and that one vein on my forehead is pounding. And the cold sweats from that creature in the header image grinning down on my soul, like a beast from... I lack words. This:
The similarity is uncanny, right down to the cold reptile stare of hunger and polyester skin. The makers of what was probably meant as a sappy, upbeat, feel-good musical have in their naivety broken the seals of madness and inadverdantly created a manifestation of primeval psychological horror. These fools have somehow reached through the mists of time, dragged monsters back with them and put them on film. Moving. Talking. Dancing. SINGING.This supposed entertainment that I've witnessed bears heavily on me now. Every key press is like a blow from a dismembered arm on the bloody glass pane of my already fragile psyche. It might be an exercise in futility to try and warn people away from this thing that mere mortal men have wrought, but if even one single soul is saved by my warning in these words, then my work is done. I hope only that I can post this before the stroke I feel coming silences me for ever.
iä iä Cthulhu fhtagn iä iä Cthulhu fhtagn iä iä Cthulhu fhtagn
Help me
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