Mr. Robot on the surface appears to be a television show about an expert hacker with social anxiety who tries to fight an evil corporation with the help of the mysterious Mr. Robot and an underground group of rebellious tech experts called Fsociety. Elliot works with them to coordinate digital attacks while going through a morphine addiction as well as complicated relationships with his longtime friend and another fling. But this is simply the surface story.
For the past few years we’ve seen him tell us with complete sincerity that he’s a football player, teenage girl, a screaming toddler, a hot babe jogging (yeah, sure), and even inanimate objects and weather elements such as a lamp and a “pleasant breeze.” He’s even told us he’s a deer as he wanders into the middle of the street only to let himself get run over by a car to prove a point about insurance. People seem to find this amusing, while I’m seemingly the only one who can see the real tragedy occurring inside this man’s mind.
I know in my last blog post entry about The Tasting Room I said my new review for Hands of Death would be two weekends ago, but of course things come up. I’ve been working on the review the past few days, though, and I will definitely have it up later this evening. By later this evening, I’m talking around midnight Central Standard Time in America (thought I’d be specific for any international readers).
I wouldn’t even bother posting about this, but I actually saw that someone searched “hands of death 1987 review” today, which probably indicates there’s an audience who might like to see this thing posted.
So, get ready for some Mike Abbott action with those perpetually psychotic eyes.
Alright, I’ll start by saying that I’m posting another review sometime this weekend, this time for Godfrey Ho’s magnum opus Hands of Death. But for now, I want to talk about wine.
Do you like wine? Does the idea of a good wine consume your every being? Is it your philosophy: the yin and yang of white and red forever intertwined? Does a five-foot bottle walk into your bedroom in the middle of the night shouting “Mommy!” even if you’re a single guy without a kid and you just want to get some sleep? Do you find yourself in the office at around 5 going completely catatonic, unable to think about anything but wine pouring over your brain and through every vein as you drool on your desk, your ears bleed red wine, and the coworker next to you thinks you’re having an aneurysm? Well, I’ve got the perfect solution to help cure all of your wine needs: get regular or semi-regular shipments of wine.
The Tasting Room is a company that figures out your tastes in wine and sends shipments of 2, 6 or 12 bottles to your door based on your selections. The way it works is you can sign up for a free membership, and get a tasting kit of 6 mini bottles (that kit is also free if you sign up through my link back there), and then you rate the wines like Netflix movies. The Tasting Room will recommend wine selections based on your ratings, and you can order a shipment anytime within the next three months to your door. You can mix whites and reds, or simply get a shipment of all whites or reds if you’re a racist. Bottles usually cost a little under $13 apiece.
Once you become a member, you can get $20 off your next wine order if you share your specific referral link and get others to become members.
It’s a great deal, and if you’re a wino who doesn’t take advantage of this, you’re probably actually a wimoron.
Hi Jeff (I hope I can call you Jeff like you’re my best bud),
I’m not your biggest fan. I like your work, and enjoy your appearances, but I wouldn’t call myself the kind of guy who just watches a film or show because you’re in it. I just thought I’d write you, a pretty cool dude, an open letter. Sometimes a man gets the itch to write to a celebrity, and you just happen to be that celeb, the guy I used to call “Jeff Dannels” when I was a child who’d never heard the name “Daniel” before.
Okay, so I’m not the kind of guy who loves to advertise a bunch, but I recently signed up for LinkShare, which is now the Rakuten Affiliate Network. I figured I could use some extra monies, and I’ve known a bit about affiliate networking for a while, so why not? So far I’m liking the layout of the Rakuten platform.
Unfortunately, WordPress.com, as you may know, doesn’t give bloggers the ability to put image ads on their blogs, and WordAds is still under development, so in the meantime, all we’ve got working in our favor are affiliate text links. I’ll just go ahead and place this thing here now to get it out of the way: Come Join the #1 Affiliate Network!
Now, it’s completely free to sign up for LinkSh––Rakuten Affiliate Network, and you can find tons of links from a variety of advertisers to put on your website, as well as image ads such as banners. It’s a great way for us useless bloggers to make money, and if your platform allows image ads, all the better. I wish I could put some Rifftrax ads up here, but I may just have to switch over to .org before that beautiful dream becomes a reality.
The Rakuten website is really easy to use, and while I’m still looking for the perfect linking opportunities (hard to do for a blog about films and nothing else… well, except for Rakuten now), it looks like I may have a bright future with this site, and figured I’d share. Plus, if you join through that link up there, I might get something, and if you share their link once you sign up, you may be able to do the same. It’s a cycle of awkward advertising, but here’s to hoping it works in our favor.
In Scott Cooper’s recent effort Black Mass, Johnny Depp is a gangster with white-blue contacts and make-up that makes him look like a balding clam with a gnarly set of teeth. If a clam were a man, he’d be James “Whitey” Bulger in this film. This man is a clam who likes to say threatening things and kill people just because. He carries guns, but he enjoys the occasional taking of life with ropes and hands, too.
So, you want to make a movie. You want to see a movie go the route you need it to, with your actions influencing the characters and each of their actions through every moment along the way. Well, here’s your chance to choose your own film adventure, right here on Horribly Amazing Films.
I don’t like this smug face, and I’ll tell you why. I know it’s a controversial opinion, believe me, but just hear me out. Try to understand why I think geniuses like Godfrey Ho and Charles Band are so much better than this worthless hack who does nothing but sit in a chair all day probably asking for Italian sandwiches (he looks like a guy I’d see in a deli all the time). I think he could quite feasibly be not only the worst living director, but also the worst in the history of cinema. I think there are perfectly valid reasons, and anybody who thinks differently is likely intellectually and morally inferior.
It’s come to my attention that what draws some people to my Ghosts of Mars review is the idea of seeing Natasha Henstridge nude, which makes no sense considering she doesn’t even show an ounce of side-boob in it (are boobs measured in ounces?). She’s been nude in a few things, though, namely the first two Species films. She was a lot younger then – 21 when she appeared in the first Species in 1995 and around 24 when the second one came out. Not that she’s aged badly, mind you. She’s a beautiful woman these days as well, but you have to keep in mind that you won’t find Natasha Henstridge nude here at all, ever, no matter how hard you search for that. Continue reading