An Ironic Consumer review by J.R. Antrim
When last we met, I joked about wasp stings.* But wasp stings are no laughing matter. Just yesterday, my mom was stung on her foot no less than six hundred times.
* The stings were done in Photoshop. The black eye was done with my fist.
Stupid wasps. I hate those no-good wannabees. Yellow Jackets? Yeah, more like asshats. I needed to find a nice big fly swatter. But first I needed a cure for the redness and swelling afflicting my mom's tender toes.
I drove to K-Mart, siezed the arms of the elderly creature behind the counter and yelled, "Quickly, you fool! Direct me to the health and beauty asile!"
Perhaps that was going too far. Or perhaps I went too far when I thanked her for being such a small, decaying husk of ineptitude. Whatevere the reason, she lead me not to the health and beauty asile... but down the path of SHEER MADNESS!
The Dead Sea Mud Pac is manufactured by a company named Montagne Jeanesse, which translates roughly into English as "Monstrous Jellyface." The thing was pandeaemic in origin. That much was certain. The ooze smeared over her face like cold fish guts could only have hailed from the abyss.
Although it's marketed as "anti-stress," the look of complacence on her face goes beyond mere relaxation and stumbles down the bloodsplattered hallways of LOBOTOMAL INSANITY. (Which is just two asiles down from the asile of SHEER MADNESS, if you're keeping notes.)
And those eyes... those eyes! Those impossible growths of coral and bone, jutting from her brain like fungus bursting from the eyes of a host slug. Surely they were harvested from the depths of the dead sea, wrenched from the hide of some ancient nemesis and placed upon a soft bed of, um, well it appears to be ivy, or some kind of mint. (But a mint that was no doubt plucked from... the GARDENS OF INFINITE LUNACY!)
This had nothing to do with beauty. It went... deeper than that. Only a madman would allow this on his face. And I was that madman.
Wish me luck, guys. I'm going in.
J.R. Antrim was never seen again.
No one knows what became of that poor lost soul... but there are clues. Clues in the footage found on a blood-splattered compact disc.
The Ironic Consumer Film Lab spent three weeks reconstructing the footage. And what they saw chilled them to the bone. For what started as a short comedy sketch turned into something dark and sinister. Something... evil.
Witness the chilling last minutes of J.R.'s life.
Medium (1.55MB .WMV) Large (3.81MB .WMV)
- J.R. Antrim died as he lived: Covered in mud.
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