All Gravel Roads. . . . . Lead to “El Duce”

 

 

If all gravel roads lead somewhere, you wouldn’t be surprised to pass old, broken-down trailers in the neighborhood. And a fixture of riff-raffery, some of Beetlejuice’s low-down neighbors poking around a grill like a whiskey-guzzling musk-rat.

Brutal, lordly. NSFW– (“Not safe for work) as if a dude like this even worked.

It’s “El Duce” from the shock-rock beer-belly set. You’ll recognize him for his sadomasochist stylings, concealing his objectionable identity with a black hood and guttural offensive charms as he fronted “The Mentors” like THE KINGS OF SLEAZE festering on the Pacific Coast.

Langouring trailer-park women in leather and garters, his presumed harem as he bulges out his eyes like bonk-headed, glazed space mutants in foam-rubber monster costumes “demanding to be gratified”.

Indeed, “a threat to health, wealth, and morals” whose raunchy lyrics were presented before Congress in hearings by “The Washington Wives”, calling for restraint and decency in the music industry. Good luck with that– the only thing they succeeded in doing was getting “Parental Advisory: Explicit Lyrics” stickers on tapes & CD’s and probably just making the offending music THAT MUCH MORE ENTICING.

No matter what, you’ll always have the bottom-feeders like ole’ El Duce putting on shows and selling underground records out of a car trunk, a slap on your shoulder and an ice-cold beer in the other hand as he yuks it up like an unsubtle statement about America.

Just another misfit in the world of Beetlejuice “who fits”.

Call him “Uncle Perv”. . . . . though I think Lydia would remain wary to the proposition of returning to a motel with his guy. After all, she broke-off the marriage contract with Beetlejuice in the movie, spared from obscene fate, an X-rated boast.

If even from El Duce– who once sensationally claimed that Courtney Love offered him money to whack Kurt Cobain. Maybe a nugget of some off-color joke “grows with the telling” but watch as everyone attempts to cash in.

Like a dubious character witness, I wouldn’t trust him either as you can’t forget Beetlejuice “selling used cars” at the cemetery lot with the giant lit sign– the giant arrow pointing to “dirt-low” credibility, the rotten truth in all “the fine print”.

A foul trickster, free speech for the dumb as you can’t “outlaw evil”. Keep this movie PG-rated, IF YOU DARE. Or else my name is Jerry Springer. . . . .

 

Don’t “Shake Hands with SNAKE”

All Gravel Roads. . . . . Lead to “El Duce”

A Rambunctious April Fool’s Day. . . . .

Though understated in the original movie, there’s nothing like white trash/low class mayhem as a picture is forming where Beetlejuice comes from.

One way to understand it is watching Texas metal barbarians, Pantera “tear shit up” back stage with drinking and drawling depravity unto the home jack-off session of tour pranks.

There was something about the ’90s. . . . . maybe it was wider communication or the plethora of Wal-Mart knock-off merchandising for dollar-store value, but you could see the endless novelty of things as the underbelly burbled-up in full view on “Jerry Springer” t.v.

From standing in a garage in the middle-of-the-night with all the gear plugged in, too hip-hopping around a bunch of neighbors by a magazine of exploding fire-crackers, you just know Beetlejuice is somewhere in the neighborhood.

Action, excitement– as things are otherwise “very slow” as the cinder-block liquor store full of goodies is a couple of blocks, over. Be 21 or be gone. . . . . or have enough holes in your brain development to go off “and get crazy” anyway.

Just watch it go. . . . . and we make no disclaimers otherwise to tell you–

DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Rambunctious April Fool’s Day. . . . .