February 28, 2004
That's 30 minutes of my life I'll never get back
So last night while I was waiting for "South Park" to come on, I channel surfed for a bit and paused at AMC, because hey, American Movie Classics--they should usually have some good stuff on, right?
The name of that network is a LIE, a foul, deceiving, painful LIE!
I found myself looking at Nicholas Brendon and went, hey, Xander! So I watched. Never again. Not even my Xander-love could make me sit through anything like the last thirty minutes of Piñata: Survival Island (a.k.a. Demon Island, probably because they realized no one is afraid of a piñata).
Yes. You read that right. The monster in this movie was an ancient... demonic... piñata. I'll leave you to consider that for a moment.
Party Favor of EEEEVIL! (Whack! Who's got a delicious candy filling NOW, bitch? Whack! How do YOU like it?)
If I'd seen that thing coming toward me, I would've died laughing long before it ate my head, or whatever it is evil piñatas do. But for the record, in case it ever comes up, burning does not kill evil piñatas. You have to strap a Molotov cocktail to its back. And then hide from all the evil that pours out of it. Just evil. No candy. Sad.