The Gonzo Journals
March 30th, 2023
OK, let’s talk really random. I hate the movie Grease. I don’t care if it’s “the word” or not. It can officially fuck right off. I haven’t watched it in twenty years now, but I don’t have to. It’s stuck in my head for all eternity. Damn you, Greased Lightning. Damn you.
First of all, doesn’t that movie have an abortion sub plot? Not that I’m against abortion, I just think it’s strange for a movie from the seventies about kids from the fifties aimed at teenagers could’ve skipped that part. Also, it seems to me like the most unfuckable cast member was the one who got impregnated. That’s some typical small-town shit if you ask me, and you’re not, but I’m saying it anyway. I recall a couple of girls from my high school getting pregnant. Under normal circumstances, they couldn’t have gotten laid if they crawled up a chicken’s ass and waited. Willingness to toss away your hymen like a spent cigarette helps. Chances are, they lost it to a dude who didn’t know how to screw them right in the first place. They have my deepest sympathies thirty years later. Balls deep. Let’s hope that dildo store repeat customer card is paying off…in the end. Pun intended.
Also, the dirty, yet fun, sax music played during the “I’m not pregnant” reveal felt a little off. “Hey guys! My twat’s bleeding! Let’s party!”
If you look past the “fun” facade of this movie and remove your nostalgia glasses, the whole film is about sex from beginning to end. Not that I have a problem with this, but it’s that giggly, “touch my boobies”, almost innocent sex. Ack! Church sex, we’ll call it. I mean, that’s totally a thing, isn’t it? Should I ask the Alter Boys?
I remember my mother having the soundtrack on 8 Track Cassette and she would listen to it constantly as we made the rounds in her beige Chevy Malibu Classic. We’re talking about pre-seatbelt law days. I could stand up in the back seat, jump around, or take a nap beneath the back windshield atop the speaker housing. Safety comes second, but Grease is the word. Wasn’t there a song on the soundtrack called “Hand Job”? Maybe my ears just heard what they wanted to hear.
Something else that stands out in this film are the leather jacket dudes who’ve failed their classes so many times that they qualify as adults. They’re obviously in their twenties, still in high school, and chasing illegal tail the whole time. I knew a squad of dudes like this when I was in the seventh grade. These guys introduced me to every type of teenage debauchery imaginable during my impressionable youth and even drove to school. I’m one hundred percent serious! They were in the seventh grade and had a driver license! The kicker about all of this is that none of them were complete idiots. They were just lazy. Thugs, they called them in the eighties, for lack of a better term. Long haired metal heads with holes in their jeans who always smelled like a pack of Marlboros. I mimicked their every move! Now look at me. I’m pseudo-fucking famous in small circles in select countries. It’s all I ever wanted.
Finally, we get to the most blatant sin of them all during this film’s runtime. Why in the French-fried fuck would any school in the world anchor carnival rides to their goddamn football field??? I mean, I’m not a fan of football. To be honest, it was forced upon me in my youth, and I tossed it aside when I reached the age of reason aka my very first professional hockey game, but American schools pride themselves on their football programs. You mean to tell me they’re going to dig a shit ton of deep holes in the ground to tie down heavy rides, all the while a thousand adult/kids drenched in drive in movie semen film from two nights ago run all over the place singing and dancing like a Disney Channel wet dream? Yes, I know that is the longest sentence in history – if you exclude some Biblical bullshit. Whoever wrote that thing was missing some punctuation keys on his typewriter – but it was necessary to get my point across. Those “MAGA before MAGA was as uncool as it is now” townsfolk would’ve raised shit at a school board meeting, not to mention the dirty looks and hushed whispers from the town’s wrinkle city cafe. In my hometown, we called that The Royal. It’s been bulldozed and has absolutely nothing to do with the fact my second wife used to blow all the cooks at that place. Order’s up, skank!
I know this all seems to come out of left field, especially if you’re someone who reads my posts daily, but this was weighing heavily on my mind while walking from the truck to my front door. A total of ten seconds. I didn’t hear any songs from the movie and none of the actors involved were mentioned during the morning news. With that being said, I’m going to blame years upon years of forced viewing at the hands of my torturous ex wives and girlfriends. They prayed to this movie every night and sometimes fed it a prisoner or two to keep it locked away inside its DVD case. If this film was released thirty years earlier, Hitler would’ve had a brain fart, and Germany could’ve won World War II. Ten to one Donald Trump sticks his tiny pecker through the hole on the disk and spins it in his down time. Technically, wiener water is “greasy” in a sense. Maybe Grease is truly “The Word” after all?
Hell, I wrote like this daily during the beginning of my career, but someone convinced me it was narcissistic gibberish. She had no problem asking for 30% of my royalties from that narcissistic gibberish during the divorce, though. Get a prenuptial agreement, authors. That shit is real, and the judge agreed to it.
Make America Greasy Again.
Leave a Reply