Touche, John Waters, touche

Ok, John Waters. You win.

That's right, you managed to actually genuinely gross me out. I thought you used your powers of campyness for good, not evil! Why, I loved Hairspray! It was a sweet movie about dancing and desegregation. What's not to like? And Crybaby! Very strange, but still oddly sweet. Even A Dirty Shame, which seemed to touch on every strange kink and fetish known to man, was ultimately endearing. But this last movie of yours I watched? My brain simply feels violated and afraid.

Congratulations.

I thought I had seen everything, I thought I was pretty non-squeamish, I thought South Park, Kevin Smith, and Shortbus had desensitized me. But I was sadly mistaken.

Pink Flamingos really took the cake. I was prepared for the shit-eating, I could even get past the way Divine carried steaks around town. Even the keeping women in a dungeon, getting them pregnant, and then selling the babies I could stomach because it's so over-the-top anyway. The chicken-fucking scene was uncomfortable, but it was really the incestuous blow-job that got to me. And good god, at the party scene, what one man did with his asshole was absolutely unholy. I shudder to think about it.

In any case, gentle readers, if you want to be thoroughly grossed out to the point of no return, watch mid-night movie classic Pink Flamingos. But don't say I didn't warn you.