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I like to pee and poo.

No not in sexual situations…unless, you know…you’re cool with that…CALL ME!

I didn’t mean that (unless you’re gonna do it), what I DID mean is sometimes nature calls and I will stumble upon a restroom I think is funny and I’ll write about it.

You read it, think its funny too, we all get a few yucks, BUT DEEP DOWN INSIDE YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO FEEL MY SWEET SWEET TEE TEE DRIPPING DOWN—no NO!!! TOO SEXY!

So this weekend I went with my parents to a really large and fairly well known antique/flea market in Atlanta. The place is HUUUGE. Two buildings with a shuttle bus that takes you back and forth. Most of the interior is the usual overpriced crap, but the outside on the second location has some AMAZING stuff! I mean big ass church doors from the 1800′s, Old Stained Glass Windows, Pinball Machines from the ’60′s…it was great.

But you didn’t not-pay me to hear about going antiquing in a perfectly heterosexual and manly way…you came here for scat fetish—um Bathroom tales….So we’re in building 1 and I gotta take a leak, so I walk into the Men’s room and this is what I see…

My first thought is “I’m not sure what the purpose is of this waist level mirror across from the urinals….but I AM sure that I don’t like it…”

Then I notice this…

Probably the more interesting thing was the “Handicapped ONLY” stall with the saloon doors…there was NO toilet in there…meaning there was no toilet in THE WHOLE RESTROOM!  So if you had to poop…you best do it in a urinal…What WAS in the stall you ask?  Handrails.  So you can lift yourself out of the wheelchair and pee (or poop) in the urinal behind the saloon doors…..you know, with dignity.

Oh Atlanta…ya’lls Antique Malls be Cray Cray!!!

I can remember it like it was yesterday, even though it wasn’t.  I was an 11-year-old boy strolling around my local Mom & Pop video store looking at all of the latest VHS covers in the horror section while occasionally peeking over to the ADULTS ONLY section that was blocked off with a classy shower curtain.  My eyes did their best to remain focused on the horror section though, and they locked in on a movie called The Mutilator.  Ok, one point for the title alone, but more points would be received because of the actual artwork and awesome tagline.

Now that’s a VHS cover!  The classic ‘dripping blood’ title.  The four victims hung on hooks, most notably the hot chick with the 80′s hair in the bikini.  And of course, that tagline.  ’By sword, by pick, by axe….bye bye.’  I was positive the movie would be just as amazing as what I was looking at on the box! Snagged it up and took it to the counter and was rewarded with a VHS tape in a big ass plastic case. Took it home, popped it in my rusty VCR and this is what I saw:

Yeah.  That just happened.  A song called “Fall Break” (the original title to the movie btw) starts to play in the opening credits while the previously mentioned ‘dripping blood’ title card pops on the screen.  And then the saxophones come in.  That’s when an 11-year-old boy got worried, because he felt he was about to be a victim of the dreaded false advertising machine.  Would there be a lot of mutilating by the hand of a hairy-knuckled guy with a meat hook?  Would someone actually die by way of a sword, a pick, and an axe?  And where the hell was the hot chick with the 80′s hair in the bikini??  Who cares….just watch this clip for the most exaggerated death scene ever by a boat motor:

So was the VHS cover for The Mutilator better than the actual movie?  Let’s remember what dealing with here people:  80′s horror movies, which were being spit out onto video store shelves in spades every week.  For every good one, there were five bad ones, but those bad ones all had their own redeeming qualities.  And in the case of The Mutilator, there are some pretty sweet death scenes (the meat hook through the vagina was a winner) and of course the laughable, but enjoyable, dialogue and the horrible dark lighting.  The verdict is in:  The Mutilator is slightly better than it’s VHS cover.  Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but you could spend 90 minutes in worse ways. And to reward you for sticking around, I’m giving you the closing credits too, which of course have the “Fall Break” song attached and some random outtakes.  Because if any horror movie needs outtakes at the end, it’s one that has a meat hook going through a vagina.

Dear Flesh Eating Mothers,

Hey there.  How have you been?  I know I said I wouldn’t contact you, but I couldn’t help myself.  I was sitting here reminiscing about our first date.  Remember that?  It was way back in 1988 on USA’s Up All Night, and we had a double date with Rhonda Shear and her giant breasts.  As far as first impressions go, you really blew me away.  You were extra cheesy, brought a few good practical gore efx with you, and your sense of humor definitely was a plus.  I will say though, that the random things you did sometime on that first date would kind of make me nervous…..like dropping potato chips on the head of that poor exhausted dog?  I mean seriously – what was the point of that shit?

And speaking of food, your manners weren’t always exactly the best.  I get the fact that you had a venereal disease that turned you into a cannibalistic rabid bitch, but you ate like a pig and the sound effects that were used while you ate were questionable at best.  Crunching sounds while eating mashed potatoes?  Whatever.  I still loved you.  Even though you were usually accompanied by that horrible be-bop jazz soundtrack or the random jungle music that made absolutely no fucking sense at all. But like I said, you were my everything at that time and I would always find myself bragging to my friends about you.  I hadn’t seen you since that night in 1988, that was until the other week when fate intervened, and we crossed paths again.  And that’s when I finally realized just what you were.

You’re terrible Flesh Eating Mothers.  I’m not sure what I ever saw in you.  And I need to get this off my chest once and for all and you’re going to listen to me!  Your acting was on a level of awfulness that I had never seen before.  I honestly can’t believe I let you use those lines on me.  You know the ones I’m talking about, so don’t act like you don’t.  The great Rinaldi supplied most of them, like: “What are we supposed to do?  Stay here and have our asses chewed out by our mothers?”  Or this classic:  ”My mother told me to never deck a lady, but she never said shit about a cannibal.”  And how could I forget this gem, “My mother’s on the rag again.”  I’ll admit, back then, your smooth talking was a bit of a turn on, but now my eyes are wide fucking open.  Kind of like your mouth that time when you bit through that steel (plastic) chain.

I’ve exposed you Flesh Eating Mothers.  Exposed you for the religious agenda that you tried to spread insinuating that if you commit adultery, bad things would happen.  Like getting your arm torn off in the woods or having your hand chewed off by an obvious big-mouthed puppet version of yourself.  Nice try.  You couldn’t even put together a decent scene involving science. Granted, you did have that hot assistant Felicia Dodd, who looked like she got lost on her way to an 80′s porn set.  And I get that science is supposed to be “fun”, at least that’s what my high school science teacher Mr. Beeching always taught me.  But the last time I looked under a microscope, I don’t recall seeing a cartoon that looked like something from an old 80′s Crest toothpaste commercial involving cavity monsters.

You’re worthless and an embarrassment and I can’t believe I wasted any tears on you when we parted ways in 1988.  My brain hurt just thinking about the 90 minutes I spent with you the other week.  Fuck off and die you piece of shit!  Ok, that was a little harsh.  I’m sorry baby.  It’s just that you know how I get sometime.  I take back all of the bad things I said sweetie.  I didn’t mean it.  I love you Flesh Eating Mothers!  You were a huge part of my childhood and I’ll always cherish that. Please forgive me!  Now what do you say we meet up again, grab a glass or two of milk, have some make up sex to some of that be-bop jazz music, then go find a cat in a dumpster and tear it apart for old time’s sake, huh?

Love,

Dirty Horror