After being demoted to gravy stirrer for throwing a chicken wing at a goth, I was forced to consider both my career at KFC and the nature of aggression in the post modern state. This does not make for sick blog reading so I’m going to claim that my violent act of chicken discus led me to ponder the twentieth century space race. To commemorate the fortieth anniversary of the moon landing, I’ll be broadcasting from Jupiter, a special space blog for the next forty years.
Filmed on location in Nevada the diamond desert, the moon landing is classic Hitchcock adapted for a novel by Donna Hay in 1972. Written for VHS and scripted in the fifth person, it borrows music from my cousin’s ipod and shifts quickly across dynamic dimensions. What separates this impressive cinematography from other competitors is the bypassing and disregard for gravity, which ultimately constructs a less imposing tone. With cameos from the Olsen twins and commentary from Lewis Carroll, this film is must see.
Described by The Critics (modern indie band) as ‘cosmic, telescopic, astronomic and above all, hipster’, the moon landing v1.0 is part convincing, part American propaganda trash, part goth. Starring Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Rove, the moon landing involves a stellar cast, physically enhanced by out of this werld costumes provided by American Apparel (think metallic moon aprons and sweatshop free, integrity free designs). As envisioned by its politically glorified director John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the plot sees each astronaut returned safely to Earth. A pack of Ruskies attempted to imitate (think A Bug’s Life versus Antz) but the Soviet Unionists launched two light years too late. Perhaps Khrushchev should have focused efforts on thawing his post-Stalin Russia and maybe Brezhnev should have devised a five point five year plan to deal with the economic woes cultivating in his own backyard**
Discerning readers may think I’m subverting NASA’s space achievements. In this post, I have consistently hinted that the moon landing was staged, engineered, unreal. Admittedly, these claims are based on a hurtful transcript I received from NASA this morning based on my persistent pledge to donate myself to the international space station as a landmark study into the affects of space travel on gothic bodies.
Cinema or history, moon landing is something good, nice and great.
**Whilst blogging is considered by many Internet enthusiasts as democratic and a platform for the people, my own research indicates that this is a particularly utopian view. Whilst I concede that the Internet has the potential to democratise journalism (and increase the number of teenagers with access to Asian porn), censorship of blogging is a serious threat. If KFC discovered that I’m undermining past Soviet presidents (huge chicken market in Russia) through a blog which they sponsor (Win two goths and a limited supply of Pepsi when you purchase the Mother’s Day Feast. Valid now until never) the chances that me and my llama and my blog would be kicked back to Kentucky are higher than Mickey Avalon so durrrr I’ve gotta watch my mouth or I’ll be moving to Canberra to start my own porn business. Media is a bully of an institution: the Internet has failed to diminish the ‘us versus them’ dogma associated with journalism. Regretfully, this leads me to self censor. I stopped my rag on the Ruskies because, as avid bloggers, the Russian mafia may hunt me down and sell me to the current administration for four Rubles and a goldfingers drink card.