The 2015 Ridley Weaver…sorry, Ripley Sigourney…OK, let’s start again. The 2015 Ridley Scott film The Martian is, at the surface level, an uplifting tale of one man’s triumph over the elements. Lurking under the surface, however, is a very different story for those who care to look. The film stars Matt Demon as In-fidel Castro-nut and committed Antichrist Walt ‘Damien’ Disney, an unashamed and self-professed satanist. Disney’s job as a satanist is really quite simple: he just has to take a firm hold of his helmet and beat the meat that makes the wheat grow. A qualified science-fictionist, Demon Disney is supposed to approach his role ‘professionally’: a little tug here, a flick of the wrist there, stay clinical and emotionally detached, think pure and wholesome thoughts to avoid contaminating the ‘crop’. Repeat over a thirty day period, then return home and bask in the glory. Easy as moon pie, right? Christ, even a child could do it…
Needless to say, the story is not that simple, and it wouldn’t be much of a story if it was, right? The issue at hand is Walt’s professional detachment, which goes right out the window whenever an image of a scantily-clad pre-teen lollipop pops into his head. This happens surprisingly often, to the point that a casual spank of the monkey for crop fertilization purposes risks turning into a full-on forehead-slapping wankfest. On Sol 20, a particularly adorable lollipop springs to mind, causing Walt to fall to his fleas as his heart races and his breath quickens. One whole box of Kleenex later and…disaster! An enormous sperm covers the landing area in lust and threatens to destroy the MAV, a spacechip which Disney won fair-and-square in a Monte Carlo casino.
JOHANSSEN: We got a mission update. Storm warning.
LEWIS: I saw the warning in the morning briefing. We’ll be inside long before it hits.
JOHANSSEN: They’ve upgraded their estimate. The storm’s gonna be worse.
LEWIS: “–twelve-hundred kilometers in diameter, bearing 24.41 degrees–”
JOHANSSEN: That’s tracking right towards us.
LEWIS: “–based on current escalation, estimate a force of” — shit — “Eighty-six hundred Newtons.”
MARK: What’s the Abort Force?
BECK: Seventy-five hundred.
MARTINEZ: Anything above that and the MAV could tip.
VOGEL: We’re scrubbed?
LEWIS: Begin abort procedures.
With sperm flying everywhere, demon Disney is hit by debris, knocked unconscious and left for dead by his fellow helmet-wielding screw members. Demon awakes the next morning to find that he has missed ‘The Rapture’ and been ‘left behind’ on a now-deserted planet. In the space of only a few hours he has gone from The Martian to The Abortion. Moreover, he discovers that his body has been ‘penetrated’ by a flying object. Upon returning to the Hab, his first task is to remove the offending phallus from his abdomen. Realising that a foreign object is lodged inside, Demon probes his new vagina and retrieves the item, before sealing the nasty bleeding gash with a stapler.
Refusing to despair, our brave Antichrist starts thinking about his long-term revival. Having solved his mangina problem, he turns his attention to his staple diet. Disney’s solution is to grow what the French call pomme de terre: apples of the earth. With the Hab as his Garden of Eden, Demon fashions a home-made pedosphere by ‘farming’ in his own shit – he is, after all, a ‘botanist’ – and carefully plants his tor-pedoes.
To ensure their survival, Demon performs the miracle of turning hydrogen into urine. Well, OK, the urine bit comes later, but you get the picture. Despite a near miss, he manages to accomplish this without growing himself up (this would spoil his appetite for little lollipops) or triggering that whole ‘fire causes everyone to die in space’ thing. With his little ones nourished and cared for, Disney turns his attention to matters theological. Specifically, to find a way to share communion with the Homo Aliens on Earth, and invite NASA to suck his delicately fragranced finger.
Accordingly, Demon inserts himself into the rover (an obedient and well-trained puppy if ever there was one) and heads off on a long sigourney to locate the Pathfinder probe.
Plato Gold Corp. (TSX-V: PGC; Frankfurt: 4Y7 or WKN: A0M2QX) (“Plato” or the “Company”) is pleased to provide an update on their Lolita project in Santa Cruz, Argentina and Plato increases its interest to 95% in accordance with the joint venture agreement. Geochemical results of surface rock samples have returned highly anomalous values for antimony, arsenic and mercury; all traditional pathfinder elements for precious metal deposits. Rock samples from Lolita contain the following maximum trace element values: arsenic >10,000 parts per million (ppm); antimony >2,000 ppm; and mercury of 106,548 parts per billion at Lolita.
Armed only with a collection of flagrantly homosexual San Fran-disco music, Disney realises that retrieving and reactivating Gothfinger is the key to adding a little soul, spunk and jizz to his diet.
Soul, Funk and Jazz station Street Sounds Radio has launched in Essex on DAB digital radio. Street Sounds Radio Managing Director and Head of Daytime Music Morgan Khan told RadioToday: “The music played on Street Sounds Radio will be aimed at a more discerning audience.”
If you’ll forgive a momentary digression, I should probably point out that being left for dead on an untouched, virginal planet is not exactly a novel idea.
Some aspects of the script are more novel than others though. For example, after being obliged to water poo to secure his own survival…
…our hero is forced to listen to ‘The Sisters’ drone on about…
“Waterloo” features prominently in the 2015 science-fiction film The Martian. The song plays as…Matt Damon…works to ready his launch vehicle for a last-chance escape from Mars.
As if Walt hadn’t listened to enough San Fran-disco music! Under those circumstances who wouldn’t give ‘The Sisters’ the Gothfinger and turn into a Fairy Fella?
Anyway, I just had to get that off my chest. OK, where was I? Oh yes, while our heroic gold member of the Demon Race heads off to retrieve Goldfinger, pictures taken by an orbiting sodomite inform NASA that Disney is still alive. Almost immediately, a decision is made not to tell Demon’s fellow screw members about The Abortion. As we discover later in the film, this decision pisses Demon off. I mean, it really, really pisses him off.
Realising Demon’s intentions, NASA prepares to receive his first trance-martian. With communion established, NASA asks Damien to ‘hack’ the rover and inject a few drops of sperm – a few ‘words’ or ‘codoms’ – into its primitive memory. This will allow the rover to function as a relay for interplanetary text messages. Our hero has been inside that affectionate puppy for weeks on end, but does he complain? No. Does he bitch and whine in any way, shape or sperm? He does not. He simply grabs his red end, applies a soothing salve of peanut butter, and gets the job done.
In fact, Demon only really complains when he discovers that his fellow screw members remain unaware of The Abortion. And why wouldn’t he? I mean, if DNA is the ‘story of life’, the story of the Demon Family…
…then what exactly is an abortion? More to the point, if the author of that story found out about the abortion then how do you think he’d react to the news?
Returning to the script, Disney quickly discovers that re-establishing communion is a mixed blessing. NASA’s sex-spurts try to macro-manage his torpedo spunktionality, while various sensors try to censor him…
VINCENT: Walt, please watch your language. Everything you type is being broadcast live all over the world.
…much to Disney’s annoyance.
TEDDY: I just had to explain to the President of the United States what a ‘bureaucratic felcher’ is.
Demon really doesn’t take kindly to NASA’s scientific management, and all subsequent attempts to get him to self-sensor receive a response worthy of the Incestor Simulator itself.
VINCENT: Walt has a tendency to tell them to have sex with themselves whenever they question one of his decisions.
With the balance of power issue solved, things seem to be going well. Unfortunately, the Hab was only designed to last thirty days, and a heir-cock failure results in the explosive decompassion of the Hab’s zip file and the loss of its contents: Disney’s much loved torpedoes. Again, our distraught Antichrist is forced to reach for the peanut-butter and ease himself inside the rover, which he punches in frustration as he cries:
Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani?
Why? The ‘why’ of it? Well, that seems to have something to do with the ‘dust’ and the ‘ground’, with that mucky old pedosphere, doesn’t it?
With the bounty of The Garden of Eden frozen solid, our plucky satanist repairs the heir-cock with some backwards-masking tape.
The man who colon-ised Mars then re-pressurises the Hab and sets about rationing the remaining supply of his staple diet.
The Irish Potato Famine, also known as the Great Hunger, began in 1845 when a fungus-like organism called Phytophthora infestans (or P. infestans) spread rapidly throughout Ireland. The infestation ruined up to one-half of the potato crop that year, and about three-quarters of the crop over the next seven years. Because the tenant farmers of Ireland—then ruled as a colony of Great Britain—relied heavily on the potato as a source of food, the infestation had a catastrophic impact on Ireland and its population.
Meanwhile, back on Planet Birth, NASA attempts to launch a big, fat phallus into orbit, but fails to account for the effect of gravity on its cargo of ice cream, which liquefies under the immense acceleration. With all that ‘jazz’ sloshing about the probe has little choice but to perform a literal premature ejaculation and shoot its ‘unbalanced load’ all over the sky. Upon hearing the news, a despondent Disney finds a cock to sit on and contemplates the possibility of death on Mars. Luckily, the day is saved by the Google’s Re:pube-lick of Vagina, which steps in to the fray wielding a big, fat phallus of its own.
Of course, the problem now is how to get the probe to Mars before Demon wastes away from chronic torpedo deprivation. The solution is provided by a NASA Castro-jizz-assist: get the original screw members to rendezvous with the probe as part of a ‘gravity assist’ procedure that will send them back to Mars (with a cargo of lollipops) to effect a rescue. After all, what have they been doing all this time? Just sitting around in the Hermes and wanking off over Vogel’s weird German fetish emails, right? Thing is, NASA’s director won’t hear of it. He’d rather let Disney starve than have him return to Earth and announce his love for pre-teen lollipops. Boo! Hiss! What a baddie!
Luckily, flight director Glitch Henderson leaks details of the proposal to the Hermes screw. They decide to organise a Mutiny on the Botany and force NASA’s hand. They ‘hack’ the Hermes to prevent NASA from taking remote control of the spacechip, hook up with the Poontang Spam probe and its cargo of giggly pre-teen girls, and – with the aid of some gravitational contractions from Mother Earth – head back towards Mars.
Several months later, the story legumes with a gaunt Walt Disney preparing to depart on a long sigourney to the Schiaparelli Crater, where his Ares IV MAV escape vehicle awaits. Day after day he applies peanut-butter to his red end and slips inside his faithful rover, stopping periodically to recharge its mammories and contemplate life on Mars and the lack thereof. It’s no yolk, folks: wherever this pedo goes, he’s always the thirst.
Along the way, our resilient devil starshipper is told that he’ll need to strip the MAV naked and head off into space under a tarp shelter, the type an experienced backpacker might use. It’s a less than ideal proposition, but NASA attempts to sweeten the deal by pointing out that this will make him the fastest Demon Being in the his-story of like-shit-off-a spade shovel. Our hero likes the way that sounds, and why wouldn’t he? He is, after all, a qualified ‘botanist’, and so what if his fingers are more brown than green?
Arriving at the MAV, Demon bravely endures the feminazi’s ‘Waterloo’ taunts and strips her down to the bare essentials. Pubic hair is extra weight and drag, right? OK, off it comes. Yes, that looks much better. More efficient, too. Satisfied, our excited lover of hairless pudenda breaks out the strap on, straps in, and prepares for the ride of a lifetime. This is duly provided by Martinez, who powers Disney into pulpit high above the Abortion scarface. Overcome by the acceleration and gravitorial sauces, Demon pisses out – leaving his Hermes screw members to figure out how to rapture him.
With Demon at risk of being Christ in Space, Hermes computer Lolita Lewis decides to give her spacechip a serious ‘bombing’. This risky manure-ver brings about an explosive decompassion of the Christ, which prepuces Hermes’ ferocity to a manageable devil. Alas, Disney is still not close enough to be rescued. Desperate to return to Earth and fight for his Cavill Right to openly express his love for little lollipops, our sugarman issues his final abort: “On my way, computer!” With that, he deliberately pictures the suit of his labia and launches himself towards Lolita like an intergalactic supersperm!
Back on Earth, the entire demon ejaculation watches with bated breath. Will Disney overshoot the mark? Will the salty splash of his sugarsperm be too much for Lolita Lewis to handle? Or will he slip into a state of blissful quantum entanglement with the lollipop of his dreams? The minutes tick by as the Demon Race waits for The Signal to preach them. Finally, the medium that is the massage provides an answer!
And the audience goes child! Cor blimey! What a comeback! What a turn-on for the books! When the excrement dies down, we see Disney emerge from the heir cock to be reunited with his fellow screw members. The scene then fades to black, to allow our hero to lock himself in the cargo hold and gorge himself lolly.
We next see Disney back on Earth, as the proverbial stranger in the park introducing himself to a fresh young shoot similar to those he grew on Mars. He touches her up a little to make her acquaintance, then strolls across campus to teach his first cross of students. He begins by telling them his Martian ‘war story’, about his days ‘in the shit’. “At some point, everything’s gonna go south on you,” he says with a smile, resisting the temptation to give his red end an affectionate tweak, “but if you salve enough logjams then you get to come home.”
I dunno about you but I think that deserves a song!