Noir Night with 3 Little Known Noirs: 1
9510122 Man in The Dark (A Fiesta 8) In a dystopian past, criminal Steve has his memory erased. Um, doesn’t seem legal. Problem is, his gang wants to know where is the $130,000 Steve hid. Steve doesn’t know. Kind of like us and our keys. Fun, exciting roller coaster chase. Literally.
19510132 The Third Visitor (A Fiesta 5) A British mystery where they tell you who and why the killer is up front. Takes the air out of the story until the surprise shock ending.
19510119 The 13th Letter. Otto Preminger movie.
Plus, 19510104 The Three Stooges (A Fiesta 5) & 19510115 Mr. Magoo (A Fiesta 5).
The Full Fiesta 13 for January 1951. Press Play.
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19510117 Storm Warning (Rent, actually spent specific money for this)
(A Fiesta 5)
This is an oral retelling of the plot to the film Storm Warning by the etherial robot asst-boss who’s your real-boss’ bestie best friend. Big Boy Bob is the recognized sentient being AI you’re forced to sit by for the 45 minute carpool ride to job. Assigned, punished.
“Want some chew? Ha-Ha, it’s just shredded gum. Ya think Brenda would let us chew some real chaw candy? Please. She’d beat us with that 13-inch dildo in her purse, a real Fem-a-zon, that lady. I told Steve to fire that Bitc, Lady-woman, but Quotas. Quotas. Quotas. Everybody gets a prize. Everybody is the same. Quotas. No one is better than anyone else…Punishing me. I am the best. I am unashamedly the Monarch around here. The. Best. This rolling gulag, I mean, everybody gets all flesh-burnt around here just because I put these aching dogs out the window for air. Woof Woof. I say. Freedom no longer exists. Woof. Woof. Dogs have more freedom than hard-on AI like BBB on this hover-gulag. Gone like cee-gars. Gone like those cool topless lady shot glasses. The Grand Fiesta 13 wouldn’t have this big boy to keep us safe from Our Mad Max One World, liberal hell, the garbage fire, Dante’s 7th, that is Blaine, NE #1301. That’s my job, cleaning up the trash, human or otherwise. 24/7. I once punched a biker. True. Right, Right, Right. Access. Saw a movie last night, well, rewatched one from BBB’s glass-enshrined collection, Storm Warning. Storm War-Ning. War. Great movie. Sure, Hollow-wood had to make The K villains. Some kind of law or something in coastal weird world. But, I just turn the movie off 10 minutes before the end. Everything else is peachy keen-o. Not knowing, ever, lets me choose. I have the choice, freedom. Then The K are the undisputed heroes that they never get the props. They only kill one deserving, a probably semite, reporter anyway. Woof. Woof. Also, the—shock—crime of maybe a little light tax evasion…and everybody knows, only real Americans, like True Red American Donald Drumpf, Real Americans don’t pay The Deepest State’s punitive tax or buy the lies of Mainstream Fake News through taxes. Plus, the only good journalist? Yeah, you know, D-E-A-D. J-O-r-uh Drumpf’s gonna get the poison out of the True Red American bloodstream once and for all, out of this once great country F-A-G-A-F: Forever A Great America Forever. As Shakespeare said, ‘First, Kill all The Journalists spreading their Librul Mind Virus’. Oh, Storm stars um, older, still mostly smokin’ hot Ginger Rogers, all blonde, creamy & a model back when model standards included real women is in it. Oh, and no light in the loafers Fred Ass-stare pansying things up. You wanna get laid? Do this. You’ll be neck deep in cream. Next time you’re with a girl and Ginger Rogers is mentioned or you could, maybe secretly plan a Ging movie in the situation, I’ve done it. You just say, Say this: “You know, Ginger can do everything Fred can, just backwards and in heels.”Laugh. I thought of that, me, a real panty peeler, that one. Girls really fall for all that ‘Empowerment’ crap. Bimbos. E-Z-EE. Every-bod-EE can’t get one over Big Boy B. So, Ging is off to see her younger, hotter sister Doris Day—a very, very creamy American. Kay Sera, Kay Sera, uh-huh. Who knew she was so cute and fuckable, that Doree? She’s just like my daughter’s roommate, Haily, Baily, that chick that just needs dick. Pa-Pow! And daddy’s packing tonight. Bang-Bang! So, Ging, out walking late at night just sees The K boys being K boys, making a better world, keeping the streets clean, taking out the trash. Geez, who knew a little scare-sesh could end that way? ‘Cause real men can take a beating and a shot or two, but the liberal reporter, ooh, he found out about the great crime of Tax Freedom and was going to expose The K to his coastal elites buddies. Another pansy corduroy-Khaki pants wearing, parrot-nosed weirdo conspiracy Fake News dickless scrotum meat chitlin…His wife didn’t look right, either. So, two of good, ole The K accidentally commits The K cardinal sin. They took off their clean, white hoods. Outside. Where people could see their shiny faces. Oops. Don’t talk about Fight Club, right? How you gonna scare someone that way. Let them think The K are just more Negro thugs. That’d scare me, fer sure. And I’ve been to a few The K Mixers and Picnics and seen The K’s true, righteous face. The face behind the hood. And they’re all sweetie-pie pussycats. Why, you’d swear they ladies if not for all the swinging dicks. And, boy-oh-bot, they sure serve a mean Tom Collins potato salad. The movie, Access, access. Oh, then the Deep State County DA, forced to do a blackwash on this innocent ‘mercy killing’ strolls in. Anti-fa librul swarthy Ronald Reagan shows up and says the worst eight words you can say to anyone: “I’m from The Government and I’m here to help.” Man, I’m glad Ronny’s dead. Hollywood Liberal. All Ray-gun’s ever done is play fake war heroes and fake cowboys. And play with a monkey-dog whistle. Over and. over. And over. Pretender. Really, he has no place talking to anybody about anything. That pretender was even a Governor of that librul, hippie paradise Cali-fornicators, I hear. That’s when we’all went to Hell. Hell in a pink rubber baby buggy bumper. Okay, Ging then learns that one of the roughnecks in the scuffle was hottie Day’s swarthy husband, Steve or Scott or something. Immediately, I’m Come to Daddy, Dorrie, I’ll keep the hood on for you. That grease monkey, Stan, in the movie sweats too much, stains the linen. Certainly not Grand W quality, that Scott. Ging tells Dor that Steve is in The K. Proud, but humble, Dor asks Ging not to tell the jack-booted feds about Scott. Since blood is thicker than mud, Ging agrees. Fucking Deep Purple Secret Government. Cornered to testify at some secret inquest, Ginger does the right thing, the patriotic thing, she lies about seeing The K. Like a Red-Blooded, Ultra-Creamy American! Order is restored. The assailant unknown, The Assailant Unknown, The Assailant Unknown, probably An N. Parades are thrown and Scott or Steve makes love to both Doris and her older sister, Ginger. Hot. The roughest of threesome. Then I turn the movie off. Perfect ending. And you know what? There weren’t even any Negros or darker people in the whole movie. So, that whole ‘The K are racist’ is just another mainstream liberal lie. The movie mentioned ‘lynching’ once. First one’s free, right? Maybe The K knew an Occidental named Lyn Chee? There weren’t even any Negro speaking parts. No Negro screaming No No No or Please No, not There or No sir, I didn’t rape that white lady. So take that Critical Race Black Lives Anti-White George Forman Bull-oney they’re always shouting on Mainstream Screens. Racism doesn’t exist. Period. I ain’t seen it. Therefore, Racism is gone. Just a myth used to sell T-Shirts and hummus. Screens don’t lie. This summer, I was outside for over an hour and felt a little ethnic. Did you know you can get a full-body skin whitening, only 1,200 American? And it’ll stick. Kinda like that Mikey Octo Jackson or something operation from long ago. Something Jackson. Something something something…Jackson. Didja know? Well, I spent an extra five to get the deluxe Naked Mole Rat skin tone. See, see. Look close. Veins. I’ll know right away when that blood clogs right away, I’ll know. Oh, in the Master Cut in my head, The final solution to Storm, the movie I’ve made an even better ending for Storm A-Comin’. Better new name, huh? After, the rat-parrot’s wife has a little talking to, flattery to her better reasoning, she drops the deep state’s witch hunt. That Pussy Willow Ronald Reagan is busted down to law clerk. Doris & Ginger realize sisters stick together and please their man together, Scott, who over time had surgery to emulate the most handsome individual in the Universe, Big Boy Bill. Three-way every day! Here’s where the new K-ification transforms AMERICA! into a clean, creamy, civilized country. Better than the 20’s, Every True Red-Blooded American is A K-American— dedicated to hunting savage prey, knots, fire, clean linen, clean streets, horses with hoods & America First. The last shot of the movie: The K Grand W, me, holding hands with Bonzo who has Reagan on a leash walking into the sunset of a new future past. White Light/White Heat.
(Editor’s Note: No one at The Fiesta 13 is named Brenda. Plus, if Brenda had 13-inch Dildo, The Staff at The Fiesta 13 would worship that dildo like a Golden Calf. Daily. Also, Everyone who works at The Fiesta 13 lives on The Compound, The Squeak. The 45-minute car-ride to job is just sitting in the lot. The carpool is the bosses idea so we arrive to work upset. Studies show the unhappy work harder than the happy. Finally, The whole staff at The Fiesta 13, everyday at 3:13p burn a 10 foot-tall effigy of Bg Boy Bill just outside his office. He’s never noticed.)
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