THE FOOK on THE ROOM


 

THE FOOK

THE FOOK

 

 

 

THE ROOM

 “Wait … what the hell is this?”. I kept watching. “Oh, it’s Euro 
 porn. I mean … it must be, just look at that guy.”. Something still 
 wasn’t sitting well with me. “Hang on. It’s been over 15 minutes, and 
 no explicit fucking.”
 A few more minutes pass. “Wow. What’s with this dialog. It sounds like 
 someone ran a Telemundo soap through translate dot google dot com.”
 Finally, I had to laugh. “At least the chicks on Telemundo are hot. 
 What’s with this bitch? She’s fucking crazy.” Somehow I got sucked in. 
 Despite the horrible acting, despite *chocolate is the symbol of 
 love*, I kept watching. “Really? Oh hi Johnny, I didn’t know it was 
 you.” I cracked up. The old Tarzan in sunglasses gag! Hell, he kinda 
 looks like some kind of freaky Tarzan. Me Tarzan, you crazy fucked up 
 bitch who’s hot for that Kenny Loggins looking dude. The enigma that 
 is *The Room* continued to entertain me, and horrify me. It was like 
 the combination of driving by a car crash, and an open mic poetry 
 slam. Morbid fascination, funny at times, hard to watch … yet I 
 can’t look away.
 “He’s trashing the place in slow motion. Is this guy on smack?” It’s 
 hysterical. Should it be? This bitch is driving him crazy. He humps 
 the dress. He eats the gun.
 
 Back at the menu. I hit play again.

THE  FOOK  is a native of wonderful Westwego. He spends his spare time solving mysteries and driving his 1973 Lincoln Continental. In the 80’s he managed a Wild Pair where he fired Cousin Giacomo for deeply smelling a woman’s foot.
 

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