Isaacs Picture Conclusions

RAMBO (2008) FOUR TOP HATS

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Well, my Most Beloveds, I have really been struggling with how to go about this thing. I think, while I am a big dummy, I think that most of You-Who-Return like to come here because we can have some yucks at something stupid and then occasionally come across something that I liked like EUROPA REPORT and then have our beer, cigars (we all know you pound down cigars, Dark Cara) and martini induced chuckles about Muckers and the Fucking Octopus (which has yet to be fleshed out) (as well as another new feature Mark and I are going to do that might break WordPress), but I can’t really find a funny road to go down on this one. I TOTES loved it but it’s all grim and filled with machismo and beefy dudes shooting everything, but I think this is the best one of the Rambo Bunch. So, since I don’t really have much to say, and since this story I wrote was IMMEDIATELY rejected by a number of publications when I submitted it, let’s reprint it here now – my take on an episode of The Brady Bunch, written around 2010: PORK CHOPS AND APPLESAUCE.

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Underneath his blanket, he shone his penlight on a glossy set of tits; the next page a wonderfully round, tanned, set of ass cheeks calling his name. “God damn I’m horny…” he thought, feeling his weenus tighten up. As he reached into his Spiderman screen print briefs, he heard his little brother shuffle around in the bunk above him. “Little fucker better not wake up…” he threatened as he turned another page, starting his very first ever ‘Batin’ session.

Earlier in the week he had been hiding in his parent’s closet, spying on his oldest step-sister make it with her latest boyfriend, Warren, the class president and first string baller for our protagonist’s district’s high school BB squad. He wasn’t good enough to make the football squad, but he was sure making some moves with her bra.

As our hero Peter had worked himself silently backwards further into the safe cloister of the clothes-cubby, behind the light blue, one piece robes, the suit coats and rolled up design diagrams, he had accidentally stuck his hand into a slightly opened hat box, containing something other than a sequined sun bonnet. He removed what he fully expected to be a lame-ass architecture trade magazine but, using the small sliver of light from the crack in the sliding doors, he discovered that he held in his hand the honey pot of all things a young man his age could discover – a slightly wrinkled (with pages stuck together) November 1971 Easyriders skin mag.

“Son of a bitch, pops…” he had mused, stuffing it down the front of his slacks and covering the rest of it with his shirt.

It hadn’t been too long after that, that the neckers had heard the vacuum cleaner start up on the shag in front of the master bedroom, and quickly put their clothes back together. It was that time of day, already, when the housekeeper would be tidying up this part of the house, and picking up dirty argyles and streaked underwear would be next on the list before the man of the house got home.

“Man… I’m gonna have blue balls all night!” Warren had griped, tucking his Izod into his cords.

“Oh stop it, Warren!” his step-sister had teased, brushing her long, golden hair back into place, “go home and take care of yourself like every other boy in this city does.”

“Everybody does it?” Peter wondered to himself, feeling that rush of anxiety spread throughout his chest; his heart beating like the Pete Rose baseball card in his bike spokes. His buddies at school were talking about it this year – making fun of each other about going blind and having hairy palms – but didn’t the Bible tell men not to do this? Or was that his preacher? In the anxious state he was in, he couldn’t quite remember who had told him how he would go to hell for jacking off, but he knew he couldn’t risk it.

Then he remembered that time after the public pool, when his brother and Alice, the housekeeper, had picked himself and one of his other step-sisters up and they were dropping by the local 7-11 for some Icy-s. There was a car full of teenage chicks next to them, in their little bikinis and he had gotten out of the car in his damp swim trunks sporting a boner, sticking out like a hitchhiker looking for a ride. Needless to say, his older brother had cracked up, pointed it out to the girls, which caused Alice to jump out of the car waving a towel and screaming for Jesus. Mortified, he was shoved, crying, back in the wagon to a humiliating cacophony of laughter and cries of “filthy boy” accosting him. He had damn near shit himself.

Later that night, when he was brushing his teeth like a good boy, his brother had told him of the nature of the beast. “Bro… the ladies don’t groove to a kid with a stiff one, they want cooooooool, my man. Take it calm and easy, like me. I gots no problem scoring with foxes, I just take it nice and slow and then smooth it right up in there.

“At this point in your life, you need to get that tension out of there, make it so you’re not so excited. If you can’t get some stinky pinky, just take matters into your own hand.”

Sitting there in the closet, huddled among his mom’s leisure wear, he resolved to try it on out… seeing as how he probably wasn’t going to get fucking laid any time soon…

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The next day, in 3rd hour World History, he was eyeballing a pouch of Gina Brandt’s ass poking out through the back of her desk/chair. She was wearing some groovy hip huggers and he could see that sweet, sweet crack and her angel wing tattoo staring right back at him. Daydreaming of afternoon delight, he missed being called on to answer just who had shot the Archduke of Something that had triggered WWI.

“Peter?” Mrs. Higginson asked again. “Did you do your reading last night?”

“Oh GEE, sorry Ma’am!” He squeaked. “Gosh no… my brothers and sisters and I were up building a dunking booth for the carnival all night last night. Shoot I was so tired I could barely make it to bed.” He felt guilty for lying, felt even worse, paranoid, when he noticed Gina looking at him suspiciously, adjusting her waistline, but felt the suck of terror when everyone started giggling – god dammit, they knew!

“Well,” the old bag leaned and made a note in her ledger, “I’ll expect a full 3000 word detailed thesis on my desk tomorrow describing the political atmosphere of the first twenty years of the 20th century, and how this came about related to the rise of Socialism.”

{“Crap…” Peter thought, his mind instantly gauging this terrible twist of fate against the party tonight over at Charlie Drake’s house. Jerry had told him about it a week ago, after 6th hour P.E. (baseball).

“Dude!” Jerry said, clasping his red lock together. “You gonna be at Chuckie Fuckie’s next week? His parents are going to a produce convention in El Cajon. I guess his Aunt’s gonna come down and keep an eye on him, but he sez she’s a total swinger and she’ll be gone by 8. Sez everyone on the block’s coming over to hang…. Even Hillis’ sister!”

Shit, Peter had had the bone for her since 6th grade when he had accidentally caught a shot between her short shorts as she was sitting behind the back stop while they practiced flys. She had caught him peeping and started smiling, so he knew damn well she liked him. Since then, he’d see her in the hallways every now and then, pumping her hair, swinging that ass; every guy checking her out. Maybe he hadn’t hung with her in a year or so, but, MAN – this could finally be it.

“Hell yeah, Chocolate.” He responded. “Greg just got some new wheels; I’ll have him bring me by.” His heart was racing at the thought of what was going on in those pink panties.

 “Cool deal, Black,” his buddy slapped hands. “Check you tomorrow.”}

“Yes ma’am…” he whimpered back to Old Crotch Higginson as the class giggled.

As he wrote himself a note, his peripheral vision caught Gina shaking her head. And… he noticed she was sitting pelvis pointing forward.

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“Does anyone have a fucking joint??” Someone asked.

Peter was sitting on the shag carpeted floor, watching the 9th graders drinking Ouzo and free-basing, scared to death the cops would be called and he’s spend the rest of his life in the joint, shitting his pants doing squat thrusts in the yard, or being some ass-bitch for a Cholo from Tijuana

***

You know what… this story is nineteen pages long… way too long for a post out here. Does anyone want another installment?? Let me know : ) When I originally conceived of this review, this was going to end with something like: Julie Benz isn’t a very good actor but she sure is cute. In any case, RAMBO is kick ass and bad ass and bloody and all of that but you’re probably only going to like it if you’re a dude or just like to see dozens and dozens of people get blown up by high powered machine guns.

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57 comments

  1. I’ll read another installment.

    Oh and Julie Benz. She’s quite good in Dexter. Truth be told, I don’t even remember her being in Rambo, so she mustn’t have registered much.

    Like

      • I have. She’s not bad in it, but she isn’t memorable, either. Have you seen it?

        As to Dexter: watch Seasons 1, 2, 3. I’d tell you to skip 4, except that so many important plot points happen you really can’t. It isn’t a good season of television, though. Then, watch season 5 (which in my opinion is the second best season in the show’s run). After that, quit. Do not watch seasons 6 or 7. (I finally quit after season 7, but I hear 8 is the worst of the bunch.)

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      • theipc

        I have : ) At first I was pissed that it was going to suck but once I got over myself I really liked it and Benz was smokin’ hot : )

        Sounds good on Dexter!

        Like

      • Benz is definitely smoking hot in that flick.

        I think Boondock Saints 2 was okay, but it wasn’t precisely good. Mostly because it didn’t have the first’s sense of satire, or really, even, it’s humor. Don’t get me wrong, though, I still had a good time watching it.

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  2. Julie Benz is amazing in Angel and Buffy. I loved how the story was broken up by irrelevant photos of Rambo.

    And you can’t start a story and then not finish it. That is just mean.

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  3. Btw – Peter was the hottie. : ) The one brown-eyed member of a family where even the maid had blue eyes. What was that all about? God that was cute when his voice was changing… I think you’ve tainted Peter for me now! ; )

    Like

  4. Ha, I’d read another instalment, even though I’ve never seen The Brady Bunch. Don’t think it ever aired over here in the UK. You should absolutely place random photographs of violent action movies in the stories as well. I wish Expendables had been as violent as Rambo, which was made at a time when Stallone didn’t have much to lose, and just thought, “Fuck it!”. The final battle is fucking insane. And Julie Benz is hot. Yes.

    Like

    • theipc

      You know – we may be on to something here. When I wrote that it was immediately rejected this is what happened:

      Me: oh shit (wife)! It’s (whatever date)!! I can go submit my story!!

      *runs upstairs, nervously submits

      Me: I can’t believe I actually did it!!

      Wife: I’m proud of you!!!

      *receives rejection email – Sorry, No Thanks.

      Maybe if I had littered it with violent images of Rambo murdering hundreds of people it would have made it two minutes.

      Like

  5. GaryLee828

    1. Keep your reviews and short stories separate; no installments. You post the whole thing!!

    2. Put your entire short story on a blog page, so we can read the whole thing at once; then we can comment specifically about it on that board.

    3. Rambo 4 was the best of the series. I loved this one! 1 was good. 2 was average. 3 sucked. 4 was awesome!

    4. Hurry up and post the short story so we can see what happens to Bobby next! 🙂

    5. Pretty good writing. It feels like a coming of age story, like something from an 80’s movie. You should scrap the Brady Bunch spoof and make these original characters. Bobby his big brother and step sister. I think it’s past due for you to write a screenplay. Develop your short stories and knock out a screenplay. THAT’S AN ORDER! 🙂

    Like

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