Monthly Archives: August 2022

Uncharted

 

Here’s the best way to approach a popcorn movie like Uncharted: You switch off your brain and hope the film doesn’t drag, that the special effects are fun, and that the lead actors are amusing. Forget about plot and logic. The flick can be stupid; it cannot be boring.

That’s my excuse for enjoying Uncharted, starring Mark Wahlberg, Tom Holland, and Sophia Ali as squabbling, globetrotting treasure hunters.

The climax features helicopters lifting two ancient ships out of the ocean and into the air and … it’s one of the most ridiculous things I’ve seen on the screen. But it wasn’t boring.  Release: 2022  Grade: B-

 

 

The one missing element that prevents Uncharted from achieving classic guilty-pleasure status is movie-star skin. That’s a shame because Sophia Taylor Ali is in the film. As consolation, here is Sophia in a butt-revealing scene from The Wilds:

 

 

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Not sure if that’s a typo, or if Fox was describing Nancy Pelosi’s arrival at the scene of her husband’s drunk-driving accident.

 

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TV Tidbits

 

 

Fans carped about the final episode of The Sopranos, and of Lost, and a lot of viewers didn’t care for the last season of Game of Thrones. I didn’t watch any of those shows (I know, I know), but their lackluster finales were big TV news.

Thus, I suppose I should have expected the kind of endings we got this year for Ozark, Better Call Saul, and Peaky Blinders.

 

Better Call Saul

Ozark

Peaky Blinders

 

It’s not that the swan songs of those otherwise excellent series were exactly “bad” — they just weren’t particularly satisfying or memorable.

It’s tough to stick the landing, even for the best of shows.

 

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Two promising foreign shows on Netflix that I am watching:

Kleo, from Germany, which seems to be channeling Killing Eve.

A Model Family, from South Korea, which seems to be channeling Breaking Bad.

Best adjective to describe Kleo — tongue-in-cheek. Best adjective to describe Family — tense.

 

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So, what does it mean when your post receives just one reply in ten hours?

 

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I suspect that Big Brother icon Janelle Pierzina has been checking out the eye candy on this season’s edition (see below) and decided to remind everyone why she is, in fact, a Big Brother icon. Hence, her new “OnlyFans” page. According to bigbrothernsfw:

 

“This is actually pretty shocking to us, and for a couple of reasons. First off, yes Janelle did pose nude in Playboy many years ago, but after getting married and having kids, we thought the days of Janelle taking her clothes off were over.

While some say, ‘but we’ve already seen Janelle nude,’ to us, seeing Janelle naked back in the day was a different experience than seeing the current 42-year-old mom of 3 Janelle taking it all off. So far Janelle is already going topless on her OnlyFans and is opening a VIP section for even more and possibly even customs!”

 

Just in case you need a reminder, here are some of Janelle’s full-frontal (and rear) shots from her Playboy days. (We always remind you to click on pics for a larger view; trust us, this time you’ll be glad you did.)

 

 

Most of the eye candy on this season’s Big Brother has come courtesy of Taylor Hale and Alyssa Snider. Like these screen caps from the live feeds:

 

Taylor wakes up. So do we.

 

Oblivious males by the pool. Not-so-oblivious CBS cameraman.

 

Taylor lays claim to best butt in the house. Below, Alyssa’s cellulite bumps her to second place.

 

Alyssa fights back with a brief full-frontal reveal.

 

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The Grouch has penned yet another disturbing tale for your reading pleasure. Check out “Cold-Hearted Bastard,” in which Kenneth has a hot date — until things turn cold. 

Here’s a complete list of Grouch’s short stories with links (in green):

 

 

 . grouchyeditor.com Rusty   “Rusty” — Happy times in suburbia.

 

.  grouchyeditor.com revelation   “Revelation” — Unhappy times in suburbia.

 

.  grouchyeditor.com homebodies   “Homebodies” — The people next door.

 

.  grouchyeditor.com ass   “The Porthole” — Be careful what you wish for.

 

.  grouchyeditor.com the ufo   “The UFO” — Stand by me … and a UFO.

 

.  grouchyeditor.com Tales From Grouch   “Carol Comes Home” — The spirit of Norman Bates.

 

.  grouchyeditor.com thwup   “Thwup!” — The case for eating more (or less) beans.

 

.  grouchyeditor.com Wisdom   “Wisdom” — Cabin in the woods.

 

.        “Row, Row, Row Your Boat”  Thelma helps a guest.

 

.   grouchyeditor.com Americans    “The Americans”  — Kevin goes for the gold.

 

.        “Margaret” — The greatest love story of all time?

 

.   grouchyeditor.com Asmat     “The Hot Tub”  — Elites enjoy some “quality time.”

 

.   grouchyeditor.com Earl Smilius     “The Climate Changer” — Earl has a secret weapon.

 

.   grouchyeditor.com Holger     “An Overcast Day”   — The important thing in life.

 

.   grouchyeditor.com small problem     “A Small Problem” — It’s not the size of the boat?

 

.   grouchyeditor.com Tales From Grouch    “Cold-Hearted Bastard” — Ken’s date is hot. And cold.

 

 

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Cold-Hearted Bastard

by J.D.H.

 

Kenneth stared across the table at his female companion and decided that, after such a disastrous start, the date was going quite well, thank you very much.

He’d arrived at the restaurant-bar 20 minutes early so that he might scope out the place. He took an unobtrusive seat at the T-shaped bar so that he could observe his date when she walked into the establishment. That was his custom on blind dates, especially when he’d never met the girl, had only connected with her through an online dating site.

But 20 minutes had passed, then 30 minutes, and no sign of her. He left his rum and Coke on the bar and made a tour of the separate dining room, just in case she’d slithered in while he was otherwise occupied and was waiting for him at a table. But the only customers in the restaurant had been other couples, several families, and two single women who looked nothing like Jordan’s dating-profile pics. He’d gone back to his drink at the bar.

Forty-five minutes. Kenneth squirmed on his barstool and frowned at his rum and Coke. This rarely happened to him. Online, he was charming and entertaining. He posted real pictures of himself, because most girls told him he was quite handsome. He told the women that he was “comfortable” — never the word “rich” — thanks to his employment as an industrial designer. Girls were impressed by the “designer” part but generally baffled by the “industrial” part, which was fine by him.

Eventually, they would agree to meet him in person. The women would discover that, in real life, Kenneth was just as charming, amusing, handsome, and “comfortable” as he had professed in his online profile.

And then the two of them would go back to his place.

 

**

 

It was an hour now, and no sign of his date. He’d been stood up. Or perhaps she’d had some unexpected issue arise. Kenneth downed his second rum and Coke and stood up to leave.

As he headed toward the exit, he glanced into the restaurant, did not see the girl, turned toward the door, and …

… hold on. There was a blonde woman, 35-40, seated by herself at a window table. She had one hand on her purse and the other was holding a menu.

Yes, no question, it was his date. He mentally kicked himself. This had happened to him before, more than once. He should have known. The woman at the table was a good 10-15 years older than the smiling pixie in her profile photos. Also, a good 20 pounds heavier. She had wrinkles that did not appear in her photographs.

Women often “fudge the truth” on dating sites, especially truths about age and weight. He knew this, but still managed to overlook her seated alone at her table.

Nevertheless, she was attractive enough. Kenneth walked over to introduce himself.

 

**

 

Her name was Jordan, and she was fetching. She had written on her profile that she was “partial to corny jokes.” When Kenneth excused himself to go outside to “indulge my nasty habit” (smoking) and had rejoined her five minutes later, she asked about the weather.

“Partly cloudy — with a strong chance of Jordan,” he’d quipped, and she had laughed heartily. Too heartily. Kenneth himself was not partial to corny jokes, but he’d do — or he’d be — whatever it took.

She had asked about his employment and leaned forward when he described the “designer” part but grew foggy-eyed listening to the “industrial” part. He’d told another corny joke about how “nerdy” his work was and then changed the subject.

After an hour, their conversation shifted from small talk to full-on flirtation. Jordan was a professional massage therapist, and this led to no end of double-entendres and silly puns about her clients. Jordan ordered another drink and began regaling him with tales of her customers’ idiosyncrasies and … their fetishes. She found most of their kinks quite hilarious. And incomprehensible.

“I think most men have some kind of fetish,” he’d said. He began studying her body, making little attempt to disguise his male gaze. It was a good body. He planned to spend time with it. At a leisurely pace.

“I know!” she said. “What’s yours? Tell me. What is Kenneth’s fetish?”

 

**

 

From years of experience, this is what Kenneth had learned about most women’s idea of fetishes: To most of them, a “good fetish” was incredibly lame. Some older women still considered sex with the woman on top to be a fetish. Other women thought that if the female called her lover “daddy,” that was “kinky.” If a man wanted to wear the woman’s panties prior to the act, that was a fetish — but borderline close to a “perversion.”

To Kenneth, all of the above was been-there-done-that. Sex in public places? Boring.

In some ways, Kenneth was old-fashioned. He preferred fornication in a private place. He liked the missionary position. Control was very important to him.

The older the woman, the less likely she was to be experimental. Calling Kenneth “daddy” in bed was as unimaginative to him as sex with a blow-up doll.

Kenneth had studied Jordan’s dating-site profile, also her other pages on social media. And now he was studying her face-to-face. She was vanilla, in turns of kinky things. But she had a nice body. And she displayed submissive tendencies.

Perfect.

“I like to be on top,” he told her. “I like to be in charge. And I don’t like it when the girl tells me what to do. The more passive she is, the better.”

Jordan sat back in mock horror, and then flashed a coquettish smile.

Ooooh, do tell,” she purred. “Are you a cave-man?”

“Finish your drink,” he said, “and let’s go back to my place.”

 

**

 

While Jordan luxuriated on his living-room sofa, admiring the “comfortable” bachelor pad of a successful industrial designer, Kenneth fixed her another drink in the kitchen. He was thinking about what would come next. He didn’t worry about it, because the evening had been according to plan up to this point, and he saw no reason for that to change.

As with all his dates, this one had asked about his romantic past. “Do you still keep in touch with your exes?”

“Oh, yes,” he’d replied, truthfully. “I keep in touch with all of them. No worries in that department. No harassing late-night phone calls, no bitter arguments, no money disputes. Put your mind at rest about that. Besides, I have no intention of you ever becoming an ex.”

Her eyes went wide at that last comment, and then closed as she imagined a future with this handsome, charming man.

“Do any of your exes live nearby?” she inquired, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Certainly,” he said. He handed her the drink laced with a special brew of Ecstasy and other narcotic fixings. “Although the word ‘live’ is stretching the truth. A bit.”

 

**

 

Kenneth rolled off the top of Jordan’s lifeless body and examined her nude form. The sex had been good.

She would preserve well, he thought. He surveyed the other plastic-sheet-encased bodies in his freezer-room and searched for a suitable place to position this latest conquest. He thought Jordan would fit nicely between the bodies of Elizabeth and a girl whose name he had forgotten, on the cement slab near the freezer’s door.

Yes, Kenneth thought, Jordan would be quite comfortable there.

 

 

THE END

 

 

Click here for the index of short stories.

Click here to see all of the stories.

 

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We took a week off and, mentally, we are still on vacation. Looking at the news yesterday, it seemed clear that nothing has changed in our absence.

(Correction: things have changed. They’ve gotten worse. They get worse every week.)

All our institutions are corrupt — at least at the top (looking at you, FBI). All our leaders are greedy, cowardly sellouts.

If there’s going to be a civil war, I wish someone would explain how it will work. There is no Mason-Dixon Line this time. It will be blue Chicago vs. red outstate Illinois and blue Los Angeles vs. red outstate California. Neighbor vs. neighbor. That sounds like fun.

 

After a week’s break from Twitter and other nightmares, the only way to stick our feet back into the “Weekly Review’s” filth-filled waters is to ignore politics and — you guessed it — instead, concentrate on something that matters: the female ass.

Maybe it’s just us, (who am I kidding? “Us” didn’t write this post; “I” did.) butt I’m a little tired of the proliferation of muscular female derrieres in pop culture. Give me a little flab, 1980s style, on a girl’s backside. Like this (click on any picture on this page for a bigger view):

 

Above, that’s an actress named Stephanie Ann Smith in a movie called Under Lock and Key. No Peloton bike for that ass, but it doesn’t need one.

 

Or this:

 

Camille Chen, pictured above, top to bottom, in Californication (also below), Hallow’s End, and Barbershop, has the right idea. A little more flab, a little less muscle. The guy below certainly appreciates Camille’s ass:

 

 

 

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I’ve been watching a mediocre Brazilian sitcom on Netflix because, apparently, that’s what I do these days. Unsuspicious is a slapstick-heavy, unsubtle spoof of murder mysteries. But I noticed an actress-babe named Fernanda Paes Leme (above) and I thought: This is quite the hot 39-year-old actress-babe.

Turns out Leme was in Brazil’s Playboy, circa 2005. And she still looks super-hot today. Without further ado, here she is from Playboy:

 

 

Last but not least, here is some regular chick who apparently decided that a wet t-shirt contest wasn’t revealing enough:

 

She looks to me like the girl next door who had a bit too much to drink. Maybe a lot too much to drink.

 

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If you don’t recognize the old-time movie star pictured above, there’s a good reason for that. You can see his teeth.

For some reason that escapes me now, I Googled “Rex Harrison” images, and I noticed something peculiar. Out of hundreds of results, this was the only picture I could find in which Rex shows his teeth.

Strange. But now you know.

 

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Coming tomorrow: a new Tale From the Grouch called “Cold-Hearted Bastard.”

 

 

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by Oscar Wilde

 

“We should treat all trivial things in life very seriously, and all serious things of life with a sincere and studied triviality.” — Irish writer Oscar Wilde on his most famous, and enduring, stage play, The Importance of Being Earnest.

 

That sums it up. If you’re looking for something with plot, look elsewhere. If you’re seeking something with a “deep” message, ditto. On the other hand, if you want a social satire with some of the wittiest dialogue ever put to the page, here you go.

There are just five main characters in the play, two men and three women, most of them hamstrung by strict social conventions of the late 19th century, and all of them doing their best to subvert or undermine those restrictions. Their true feelings are exposed by Wilde’s dialogue, which features an endless series of contradictions, hypocrisies, and, frankly, nonsense.

It’s delightful.

 

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Brittney Whiner

 

If nothing else, maybe this will knock some sense into the heads of other young Americans who are free to trash their own country, yet somehow believe the rest of the world is more enlightened (i.e., “woke”).

But I wouldn’t bet on it.

 

Here is Griner posing for ESPN in happier times:

 

 

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And they said Trump was controlled by Russia.

 

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I hope this isn’t a trend. I can just imagine dozens of directors looking back at their work, fretting that much of it isn’t woke enough for 2022, and then going back to censor/alter classic scenes.

We will no longer see Bogart smoking cigarettes, Jane Fonda in her nude scenes, nor anything else that appeals to misogynistic dinosaurs like me.

 

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Last week’s post got about twice the number of hits as usual. Could it be because of this girl with the delicious tits?

I suspect a couple of these pics might be fake, or at least retouched, but certainly not all of them. Click on thumbnails to see a larger view:

 

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grouchyeditor.com pv nude

 

This is the kind of thing that happens when you are a child of the 1970s. That would be me in the picture above, fantasizing. Then you grow up and some girl obliges with pictures of the real thing and, well ….

That’s my excuse and I’m sticking with it.

 

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