*blows party horn* *shoots confetti cannon* Ahhh…Happy New Year, dearest Filthy Dreams readers! Get ready for that champagne hangover after battling the hoards of amateur drinkers on these final days of 2019! Yes, I know, the end of the year is the time when we’re supposed to reflect on these last 12 months or at … Continue reading
Why hello there, faithful Filthy Dreams denizens! The beautiful people who keep our humble tribute to trash alive! The fuel that keeps our fanatical fires burning! Yes, that’s right–where and what would we be without YOU?! You should really give yourself a round of applause, treat yourself to some terribly ill-advised shot of well liquor … Continue reading
Ho Ho HooooooooWHOAA! Hello there, cheeriest Filthy Dreams Christmas cookies! What’s that? What am I doing? Well, I’m just making a list and checking it twice. No, not my shopping list! Planning is for fools! And who wants to plot too far in advance about the gifts you’re giving to OTHER people this holiday season?! … Continue reading
Are our idols destined to inevitably disappoint us? Are our role models preordained to fall short of our astronomical expectations? While some of our role models are known for their, at times, offensive outbursts (and we love them all the more for it), others have been so formative to our pathological world view that when … Continue reading
Why hello there, dearest Filthy Dreams munchers, nibblers, grazers, finicky pickers, and gobblers! It’s that time of year again–tell the world…let them know…it’s HALLOWREEN! No wait…sorry….THANKSGIVING!! Yes, that’s right. I just got confused because I’ve been guzzling our World Famous Pumpkin Punch ever since the leaves began to turn. And as I’m sure you know, … Continue reading
Ugh! We have had it all the way up to our chinny-chin-chin with Trumpy Bear’s capitalization of what once belonged to us: SLEAZE! First there was the whole pussy grabbing–or was it pussy ass bitch–thing. Then, Stormy. Melania’s outfits. Don Jr.’s beard. Kavanaugh’s boozy meltdown. Jerry Falwell Jr.’s pictures. Religious leaders laying hands on Trump’s … Continue reading
Few cinematic sequences signify the dawn of postmodernism and all its attendant schizoid unknowability beneath its constructed surface veneer better than the final scene of Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation. In that scene, the audio tapping specialist Harry, portrayed with quiet and contemplative everyman rage by the great Gene Hackman, rips his apartment up with … Continue reading
