Thomm Quackenbush, author

Heat Stroke In December - Movies That'll Steam Your Wintry Windows

NEW ON DVD Mr. And Mrs. Smith - Enforce Gun Control - Permits Available Only to the SEXY!

Jennifer Aniston started looking for a good divorce lawyer the moment they cast this film. Jen knew her perky bottom, fake tan, hard nipples, and trend-setting hairstyle was no match for the mighty Angelina Jolie - A woman so obscenely hot that she could sit in front of the camera with pigeons perched and crapping all over her, yet still be movie star material. In addition to her unearthly hotness, Jolie has remarkable confidence in front of a camera. The woman was born to be enjoyed and embraces it.

Next to Ang, Brad Pitt is not nearly as hot as I recalled. Then I realize it's just that his arms are clothed.

"So it speaks. But does it dance?" Ang asks, standing next to a barrel of fire holding a shot glass. She smashes the glass into burning barrel and flames rise as her gaze remains on Brad with such intensity that you expect this movie to end when she momentarily fucks then eats him. But from their first morning together to shared suburban home, Angelina reeks of sexuality like a cat in heat. In Brad's defense, he doesn't get to wear any tight-fitting sweaters or slit skirts, so Ang steals the show until one night the married couple gets similar work-related calls. Each believes the other a ho-hum breadwinner downtown and uptown, not knowing they are both... Hired assassins!

Brad shows up to watch-dog-henchman poker game and plays that ol' I'm-Drunk-and-Flashing-Money, "Let me play!" bit. Oh, Brad, that never fails! Like me, you will forget all about this scene as it interlaces with Angelina slinking into a nearby bad guy's lair where she gives your $12 ticket's worth by removing her coat to reveal ungodly pleather, fishnets and garters. Like the most delicious cherry to top a dominatrix sundae, Ang whisks down her hair as we clutch our ticket stub or the nearest thigh. In the six seconds of her disrobing, an audience can easily forgive Angelina's Gone in Sixty Seconds and succumb to the attendance of every film this raging goddess does hereafter. Like a doe-eyed black widow, Ang finishes the job and escapes by using a purse undoubtedly borrowed from Batman. It's probably a stupid escape scene, but like me, you won't know because you'll still be slightly blinded by pleather splendor.

Brad and Ang arrive home at the same time and Ang works to hide her attire as though Brad will start in with that ol' finger-shaking speech, "No wife of mine is gonna kill terrorists in an outfit like that!"

Their marital problems, however, do not stem from wardrobe, but lack of communication. The two nod, grunt, and fake-smile after six years of marriage. During these scenes one can imagine Brad and Angelina going over the script late at night in her trailer, Brad sighing, Ang coaxing, and Brad finally confessing, "My marriage is falling apart! We don't even get our highlights done together anymore! All I do is ride my motorcycle and rue the day I said, 'I do!"

Concerned Angelina sits catlike, swishing her hair as though it were a tail, then coldly points out, "Brad... You're People Magazine's Sexiest Man of The Year... And you married Rachel from Friends! What the hell did you expect?"

Just as Adam and Eve felt obligated to procreate as the only man and woman on earth, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie undoubtedly felt similar obligations as the two hottest people on earth. This film radiates as a poster child of infidelity.

After they ruthlessly kill many deserving villains in town, the couple rushes to suburban neighbors' party. I pitied every actor in this scene as Brad and Angelina glow like gods surrounded in JCPenney mediocrity. Finally, next to some homely indie actors, and away from Ang, Brad Pitt looks as though he may set the floral living room ablaze with his big-budget sex appeal.

Sticking to their gender, Angelina keeps her armory in the Jetsons-like kitchen oven, while Brad goes to the backyard, forgetting to inform Wifey, "Honey! I'll be in the tool shed fondling my guns, grenades and wads of cash!"

At work, Angelina is tressed and catered to by a hi-tech girls' club high within the Empire State Building masquerading as a temp agency, while Brad has something along the lines of an alcoholic private eye's office, complete with little, old secretary and Vince Vaughn. (Ang deserves the bigger office. After all, she's got Lara Croft on her resume and Brad's just got the sloppy punching from Fight Club.) Brad and Vince argue about Brad's marital woes. Vince Vaughn, as always, steals a bounty of scenes - A difficult task sharing screen with lump o' hotness, Brad Pitt, but that's nothing compared to them having shared Jen Aniston. Though Brad doesn't really get much to do in the beginning of this film but sulk, which he does post-argument with mama's boy, Vince, retreating to his rickety office that transforms into a non-mobile Knight Rider with the push of a button.

From the very first fight scene in which Brad jams out in the desert to Poison and Angelina unknowingly shoots at him, you'll want them to fight. Because their fighting is HOT. The whole film is just building to the make-up sex felt around the world! (I've a feeling L.A. may suffer more intense earthquakes now that Brad and Ang share home there.) Like all couples, these two let their problems build until it's explosive - Literally. I'll never believe I laughed while Brad Pitt repeatedly kicked Angelina Jolie in the stomach. But I did, along with a theater of people resisting the urge to touch ourselves, silently confused and wondering if we should seek therapy for deriving such pleasure from such a scene. This movie is carnivorous! By the time the two kiss and make up, we're all ready to light cigarettes, murmuring, "It's never been like that before!" But the comedic lines keep us giggling like post-coital ticklishness!

Brad says of the kid they've tied up wearing a Fight Club shirt, "Maybe it's not a good idea to undermine me in front of the hostage," and Ang rules the school, whacking the kid across the face with a phone as she makes the most delicious face at Brad. Fight Club finally let girls in.

Did they have to hose these two down after takes? The chemistry will make even the angriest cheated-on women nod their heads, saying, "When in Rome!"

Happy endings all around! Jen lost her sex god, but at least she got a clown. Give up the Spice Channel and buy this DVD! I'm touching myself just thinking about it!

Joaquin the Line - Joaquin Phoenix Makes Country Music (and My Libido) Burst With Flavorful Delight!

This movie is really good... I think. I was positively mesmerized the entire time, but I am biased as a Joaquin Phoenix fan/potential stalker. Walk the Line is like any other story of any other celeb from the 50s/60s - Drug addiction, married too young, bad relationship with Dad, alcoholism and divorce. Whoopty-doo, right? WRONG. Because what all of those other formulated tales were lacking was Mr. Joaquin Phoenix. (Joaquin Phoenix in dark contact lenses, no less!)

After about a year of referring to my vibrator as "My Joaquin Phoenix Action Figure" I was more than excited to see his portrayal of ANYBODY on the big screen - Even a country singer. Lord have mercy, this movie was long, but I didn't notice. I was too busy living vicariously through Reese Witherspoon who plays June Carter - A good Christian woman in really cute dresses and shoes who holds out on Johnny Cash for many years. Reese was surprisingly adorable in this role. The two had a contrast that gives us a very clear look into the actual chemistry between the real Cash and Carter. Reese and Joaquin sang their own songs as well - A brave feat. Yet both of them kicked vocal ass. When the credits role at the end and we get to sample a duet between the real Carter and Cash, I found myself craving the pipes on Reese and Joaquin. That's just crazy!

Cash married and impregnated the girl next door straight outta the Army. He goes onto cut a record with some of his morbid material written when he was stuck in the Air Force. On tour with Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis and June Carter, Cash picked up some bad habits: Cheating on his baby-stocking bride, drinking, and drug abuse.

"Elvis takes 'em!"

Elvis rubs his nose and stares down Cash. Apparently, there is no greater peer-pressure than Elvis-pressure. Cash pops some pills and the real movie begins. The actors playing these legends are great and work like an elaborate backdrop to Cash and Carter's tale. Reese is perky yet pensive. Joaquin is brooding and slow throughout the film, trying to claim the woman he loves. Everyone will be nominated for this film. No doubt!

In the meantime, I'm playing "Storm Angie's Castle" with my Joaquin Phoenix Action Figure. Oh Joaquin, you play me like a geetar!
Angie is wearing a kick-ass custom-made t-shirt. Email her for details and YOU could be wearing one too!
Angela Lovell, writer extraordinaire, can kick your ass with a well placed word. Her writing can also be found at Sugarzine, Tickingboxes and WHOREscopes. She can be seen acting (occasionally wearing very little or making out with fellow hot girls) in the web series The Fold (NSFW).

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Works by Thomm Quackenbush

The Night's Dream Series

We Shadows by Thomm Quackenbush

Danse Macabre by Thomm Quackenbush

Artificial Gods by Thomm Quackenbush