Before I get stuck into this thoroughly in-depth and informative review, I first need to tell a story from my past. We'll get to Toy Story 3 eventually. Don't you worry your pretty little head. But I have a grander point to make here and that requires some background. Setting the fuckin' scene, so to fuckin' speak. What's a romantic walk on the beach without the sumptuous orange sunset as a backdrop? Nothing more than sand between the toes and the looming spectre of melanoma. That's what. Hell, a review without intimate personal information is like flowers without chocolates. Dinner without a movie. 2 in the pink without 1 in the stink. A marriage proposal without the obligatory kneeling subservience. So bear with me. Pretend I'm on my knees, my face at your crotch level, about to place the diamond ring on your finger. If we were together in person, then you bet your ass I'd fellate/cunniling you into a screaming mess right now. Alas, I'm just words on a screen, so oral sex is out of the question. Sadly. Instead I'll regale you all with an illustrative anecdote that I hope you enjoy. What you are about to read is 100% true. Here goes...
The year was 1996. I was 17 years young. Not yet the depraved porno freak I am today, but what I lacked in knowledge, I made up for in eagerness. My cock could've split diamonds. My testicular enthusiasm was so furious that perchance a fair lass t'would merely glance my way, effluvient oceans of teenseed would gusheth forth from mine member like a tsunami of milky lust, enough to satiate the most zealous of bukkake fiends. My belly button took money shots like a champ and never once asked me if I still respected it. Great days...
I lived in a crappy house with my brother and a good friend of mine named Mark. We used to get porn vids on bootleg VHS from a mate of my bro's, a real weird dude who got a kick out of showing people shitflicks. These videos would have been copied over so many times that the title on the tape would never be what you were actually watching. The label could've said 'I Love It In My Ass 8', but you may have been watching 'I Love It In My Ass 9'. The '90s were a crazy decade.
This one time, we're watching some hot peen-in-poon action and probably huffing down a grocery bag worth of bonghits, when it randomly cuts to some German dude pissing on a chick. It wasn't the first golden shower I'd ever seen, and it would be far from the last. But this, ladies and gentlemen, was the single most important golden shower of my entire fucking life.
What sets this particular golden shower apart from the rest was not any especially depraved quality. It was just all splashed on her tits with nothing in the way of bathing motions or taste testing. Nope, what this sucker had was duration. It just kept going and going. No camera cuts. Simply a continuous pour. Oh sure, it would slow down to a trickle sometimes, but only to then come back strong and forceful. We were so impressed that we timed the piss. It lasted for 2 minutes. on the dot. TWO. FUCKING. MINUTES. If you're not overwhelmed with awe right now, then you and 17 year old me could never get along. And frankly, you can go fuck yourself.
This 2 minute Everest of urinary fortitude became not just a sight to be witnessed, but a goal to be achieved. A mountain to climb. We would learn to moderate our piss squirts to achieve the maximum time span. You couldn't just let it all go at once, you had to train your urethral muscles to ease it out at a steady pace. Pretty soon, we'd started taking a stopwatch to the toilet to time our pisses. Kinda like the training sequences in a Rocky movie, only with less weights being lifted and more torrents of urine pouring from dickholes. It was not uncommon to hear one of us exit the bathroom and proudly bellow throughout the house something like, "46 seconds! Not too bad!" None of us ver broke the minute mark, but we tried. We tried...
What does this have to do with
Toy Story 3?? Taking a lengthy piss is all about pacing yourself. And
Toy Story 3 has great pacing.
In a sense, life itself is much like a golden shower. You have to pace yourself. Restrain yourself. Keep living at a steady stream. Don't get overly excited and force things too much or it'll be over too quick and then you're just stagnant yellow toilet water. But at the same time, you can't hold everything in. You gotta relieve yourself when you need to. Maybe you're the type to just explode like a tidal wave, giving it all to the wind, spraying the world with your golden glory. But I think it's best to always save a little reserve to keep on keeping on.
But you're not just giving this golden shower, you're also receiving it. So make the most of it. Let it wash over you. Taste it as often as you can. Don't be afraid to get your face in there and fully immerse yourself in the fountain. Yeah, it might sting your eyes, but that's all part of the fun. Remember, this cradle-to-grave scenario is a one-time thing. This is the only stream of piss you're ever gonna get. So please, don't let it shoot over your shoulder and don't let it just trickle down into a puddle at your feet. Get stinky, motherfuckers. Your existence is happening. Now. Don't let it piss away.
Oh and, like, watch Toy Story 3. Coz, ya know, that's the movie I just reviewed...
Of all the strange and icky fetishes out there, bugchasing is certainly one of the more horrifying. Otherwise known as 'the fuck of death' or 'getting pozzed up', bugchasing is the practise whereby gay men deliberately and knowingly have unprotected sex with HIV-positive partners in order to become infected with the disease themselves. In the small bugchasing subculture, HIV+ men are highly prized and known as 'gift-givers'. I'm guessing you knew all of this already... or you're currently staring aghast at your computer screen, with your jaw hung open and a small sliver of your hope for humanity flying out the nearest window, never to be seen again. Don't worry, we all react like that the first time.
Bugchasing has received only minimal attention from the media, outside of the occasional documentary like the BBC programme I Love Being HIV+ (2006). More recently, Todd Verow's controversial doco Bottom (2012) followed a young gay man's personal challenge to take 1000 unprotected jizzloads up his ass over the course of a single year. Although not strictly a bugchaser, at one point he describes sex with an obviously HIV+ partner as extremely hot. Gay porn began to cater for the highly niche market of bugchasing with the 1998 launch of the controversial San Francisco production company Treasure Island Media. Known among some gay circles as basically AIDS porn, Treasure Island's all-bareback output usually involves disease-riddled manwhores sharing their sickness with each other.
But as far as fiction goes, Bug Chaser might be the first ever cinematic work centred around this truly bizarre and unsavoury kink. Though that's a little unfairly misleading on my part, because there's no homos ravenously drooling over immunodefiency viruses here. Instead, what we got here is a nifty and demented body horror short, disturbing enough on a directly visual level, but even more disturbing if you pick up on the layer of subtext. That's why I gave the unnecessary intro on the in-and-outs of bugchasing, because I want you to get the most out of this film. Also because I delight in introducing y'all to odious sexual concepts that you'd probably prefer to not know about. I'm kind of a dick like that. :)
We start with 2 dudes arriving at a fancy apartment for a night of vigorous, anonymous sex. Tongues are thrust in mouths. Shirts come off. Pectoral muscles are sensuously caressed. Penises are released from the strains of their undergarmentary prisons. It's all pretty darn gay. But when one of our donut-punchers drops down for some salad-tossing action, he discovers a rather revolting, bulbous growth on the other shirt-lifter's poop chute. If that weren't gross enough, the anal growth becomes increasingly larger and more painful over the following day. And that's all the plot you're getting from me.
Special mention must go to Brendan Shucart in the main role. His performance as the hapless butt-tumour bearing homo is shameless and fearless. Barely a single scene passes without him providing some full-frontal or full-dorsal nudity. I would say that homophobes will find this movie unappealing, but considering most shots of Shucart's bum involve a giant bulbous, pustulous boil on his chocolate starfish, I'd say even the most ass-crazy women and gay dudes will struggle to find anything appealing. Make no mistake, despite the rampant nudity, there is some pretty damn sick shit here. Enough to make even extreme horror fiends say to themselves, "Damn, that's some pretty sick shit!"
Of the small handful of reviews I've read for this short, the main complaint seems to be the ending, some calling it lousy and trite. I couldn't disagree more. The quiet finale is where it goes from being a mere grossout to fully embracing the extent of Cronenbergian body horror. Where bodily mutations are merely a physical manifestation of dark psychological trauma. Where the visceral and cerebral combine.
So if you wanna see bugchasing, then... well, you should probaly skip this and go straight for Dawson's 50 Load Weekend (2005), The 1000 Load Fuck (2009) or Viral Loads (2014). But if you're keen for a good horror short with brains, guts and plenty of cock, then this sucker is more than worth the 19 minutes you'll spend watching it. Believe it or not, it's even more entertaining than letting an HIV+ dude blast a load of pathogenic spunk up your shithole.
Check it out here - http://bugchasermovie.com/watch.html.
The year was 1996. I was 17 years young. Not yet the depraved porno freak I am today, but what I lacked in knowledge, I made up for in eagerness. My cock could've split diamonds. My testicular enthusiasm was so furious that perchance a fair lass t'would merely glance my way, effluvient oceans of teenseed would gusheth forth from mine member like a tsunami of milky lust, enough to satiate the most zealous of bukkake fiends. My belly button took money shots like a champ and never once asked me if I still respected it. Great days...
In a sense, life itself is much like a golden shower. You have to pace yourself. Restrain yourself. Keep living at a steady stream. Don't get overly excited and force things too much or it'll be over too quick and then you're just stagnant yellow toilet water. But at the same time, you can't hold everything in. You gotta relieve yourself when you need to. Maybe you're the type to just explode like a tidal wave, giving it all to the wind, spraying the world with your golden glory. But I think it's best to always save a little reserve to keep on keeping on.
