Nick Gazin missed his comics column last week because he was at Art Basel. Not apologizing, just bragging.
Dir: Axel Braun
As I write this review with heavy heart, the tragic shootings in Aurora, Colorado, by James Holmes at the opening of The Dark Knight Rises are barely a week behind us. I stare at the Wikipedia page for the Aurora shootings to make sure I’m spelling “Aurora” correctly, and I can’t help but wonder what ever happened to that short, big-titted Puerto Rican chick named Aurora I knew when I was 18 who worked at that weird science store, Star Magic, in the Newport Centre mall in Jersey City.
I don’t remember much about her other than her rack was enormous and she always wore low-cut shirts to work (the reason, I assumed, that a store that sold crystals and bags of astronaut ice cream was so busy). She also had the token Robert Crumb-drawing Puerto Rican ass and was barely four feet tall—perfect for standing blowjobs, I imagined. The best way I can describe her is as a bald, sexual Ewok. (Side note: When I was 18 I sent a pitch to Star Wars Insider, via US mail as was customary at the time, and it was accepted! I have the acceptance letter written on Star Wars letterhead to prove it! I was so excited and proud that I smoked all the weed that was available on earth that night. I got so high that I never wrote the article. God, weed sucks.)
If only there was a way to track down that fuckable Ewok and see what she’s up to and what she looks like… oh, right. Facebook. Let’s see. Why do private detectives exist in 2012? I found her in less than three minutes thanks to her being a friend of a friend of mine. Looks like she had a kid a while back and eventually wound up cheating on the dad with a black-belt neighbor who was also married with child. Her baby daddy dropped her like shells from a gun in a movie theater, and she ran off with the married dude.
It seems as if they’re living happily ever after in Harrison, New Jersey. But it appears that her tits are now located a lot lower than I recall, and they don’t really fill out her shirt the way they did in 1994. Just as hip-hop died outside the Petersen Automotive Museum in Los Angeles, so did her big beautiful breasts in 1997. I’m no Columbo but I’ve seen a lot of episodes of Law & Order, and I can’t help but wonder if the two crimes are somehow related. Perhaps her baby daddy killed Biggie? Or maybe, just maybe, her baby daddy isn’t the baby daddy. Maybe the father is Biggie Smalls, and his soul was transferred into the fetus at the time of his death. In which case, fuck her tits.
I never actually saw them unsheathed in person, so if her tits had to go to shit so that the world could witness the resurrection of the greatest rapper of all time then that’s a sacrifice worth making. Let’s say the kid was born when Biggie died in 1997. That would make him 15, which means it should just be a few more years before he looses that Chi-Ali kiddie voice and starts rapping like a man. I wonder if he has a Facebook page? I want to be the first to friend Biggie II.
And while I’m stalking MILFs, what ever happened to Charli Baltimore?
Previously - Panty Pops
“While I get pretty annoyed at people who like to claim between giggles that Batman and Robin are a gay couple, these cards are pretty fucking sexual. It’s not just the obvious BDSM-ness of the whole thing. Look at how Robin’s arching his back. You want to rip him apart worse than that propellor ever could.”