<b>FASTER PUSSYCAT! FUCK! FUCK!</b><br> Dear Reader, does your lifestyle require that you drink Pabst Blue Ribbon and have tattoos of anchors? Does your peer group expect you to wear Dickies or unwashed Levi’s
Photo by Chris Nieratko
Faster Pussycat! Fuck! Fuck!
Dir: Elizabeth Starr
Dear Reader, does your lifestyle require that you drink Pabst Blue Ribbon and have tattoos of anchors? Does your peer group expect you to wear Dickies or unwashed Levi’s with clever t-shirts? Is your “occupation” artist, DJ, clothing designer, or semi-professional skateboarder? Do you live in Williamsburg or Silverlake? Or worse, do you daydream of living in Williamsburg or Silverlake? Do you have a gay emo haircut? Or do you wear a mesh hat? Do you limit your shoe selection to Vans slip-ons or Italian ankle boots? Do you, your girlfriend, or your roommate have a band? Are you unsure if Vice is laughing with you or at you? Well, then this is the porno for you. Somehow this film sums up everything you are or think you are in one tiny little package. We have old cars and punk-rockmusic, an homage to Russ Meyers, which we know is as much required cinema as A Clockwork Orange and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (I’m talking about the O.G. oneI know, I know, you keeps shit real), very, very big fake tits, tattoos, butt sex, and bad haircuts. It’s almost as if someone broke into your brain while you were on vacation and put all your thoughts into a blender, made a Steez Latte, poured it into a DVD mold, then waited for a lightning storm, set it on your roof next to the pigeon coops, let it get hit with a major electrical surge, and made that shit come alive! ALIVE! ALIVE, I tell you. Sounds awesome? That’s because it is. And you know what else is awesome? The other day my nephew got naked and started coloring himself in green because he wanted to be the Hulk. He paid a great deal of attention to his nether region, which was completely shaded in. Balls. Shaft. Head. Green. “Why’s that area so green, Josh, and the rest of you just scribbled on?” I asked him. “The marker felt really good on my pork and beans.” He’s four years old. And I had no doubt in my mind that that marker probably did feel really good on his pork and beans. Sadly, I’ll never know. And for two very legitimate reasons. One, as we become adults, getting naked and coloring in your prick with a marker is frowned upon. At least while everyone is home. On your own time it’s totally kosher. The other reason, the one that matters most, is that he already did it. I’m not about to bite any ideas off a four-year-old, especially ideas that relate to my pecker. If in 30 years I couldn’t think to color my dick in green, then I just don’t deserve to have a green dick. It’s that simple. On a semirelated topic this company, Starrproductions.biz, makes a ton of great campy porn, one of which, Porn Stars From Mars! has all the chicks painted green, and when they get humped the green wears off and the guy gets green paint all over him. It’s rather silly. Unlike when they dye your beer green on St. Patrick’s Day. That’s just gay.