Whatever you do, DON’T click on Sex Furby the Extra Terrestrial’s face. Don’t do it. Don’t. Do NOT.

Comrades! I am shocked, I say. Shocked. To the very marrow of my bones. Not since that degenerate extra of indeterminate sex indulged an urge to oxygenate their crotch fruit on the bleachers during the triumphant final scene of Teen Wolf have I been so taken aback! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?! THINK OF THE CHILDREN.

Uncomprehending brainmeats… convulsing…

Desperate, hysterical tears of laughter… streaming…

Do not question why. Or what. Or how. Just… click to behold the conundrum that is Erotic Falconry.

Hurrrrr, neuTRON dance… geddit? (Via BarbieHead, reigning Coilhouse clan queen of Disney trivia/ephemera.)

It’s 1985. It’s Disneyland. It’s the Main Street Electrical Parade. It’s the Pointer Sisters performing their hit single “Neutron Dance”. It’s two dozen exuberant jazz dancers in Tron leotards. It’s a gargantuan glowing mushroom. It’s a spinning, leering, ten-foot-tall bumblebee thingummer about to annihilate the Pointer sister furthest to the right (look closely– you can see the terror in her eyes). It’s a blinking, zigzagging caterpillar conga line. It’s Pete’s friggin’ Dragon farting up the joint. It’s… it’s full of stars? No, wait, it’s just another Monday morning cultural acid flashback, and we all head off to work singin’ “I’m on fiiiiiighYAH!” (Woo hoo!)

You’ve already seen “Kittens Inspired by Kittens“, right?

NO?! YOU HAVEN’T LIVED. Just kidding. But still, watch that first. Then, watch this:

\m/

Witness the nerdy buffoonery of the trailer for Frank Miller’s commercial for the new scent from Gucci, Gucci Guilty. Certainly, this is not the first director-driven television spot we have featured on Coilhouse, Nadya having previously spotlighted David Lynch’s sixteen minute ad (Film? Vignette?) for Christian Dior. Gucci, however, is playing this one up as an event. The actual commercial hits a little under a month from now at the MTV Music Awards, no doubt preceding the long awaited Lady Gaga/M.I.A. Fish Slapping Dance Battle to the Death.

Entitled “Friendly Fires” “Frank Miller’s Gucci Guilty”, it stars Evan Rachel Wood and Chris Evans in a wire-frame world of imposing, CG skyscrapers and a distinct lack of color. Wood plays a femme fatale in a slinky outfit piloting a futuristic Jaguar XK120 on fire while Evans plays a gentleman involved with the aforementioned seductress. It is all very tried and true ground for Miller, a man whose greatest crime has been to take his credit as a director on Sin City seriously enough to convince people with money that he actually is a director. No doubt I will be accused of various degrees of hipster posturing due to this bit of nerd rage but Miller’s green screen chicanery is truly a film-making nadir — managing to take a style that produced some excellent comic books and turning it into a tired, vapid cliche. On the other hand, those same qualities might work well for pimping an over-priced, designer fragrance and indeed “Guilty” seems to share many of the same qualities that made Calvin Klein Obsession ads from the 1980s so absurd (and, some would argue, effective). It may be that Miller has finally found his niche.

Update: As BaggerMcGuirk notes in the comments, the ad’s title is not “Friendly Fires” as originally written in this post. Friendly Fires is responsible for the music in the ad.

Update the 2nd: The full trailer is online. Not much longer than the teaser, really.

Via Super Punch

Is it just me, or is an exceptionally pungent cloud of irony-infused nostalgia hanging o’er the interwub like a stale pegacorn fart today? First, three different people send me this. Also, this has resurfaced. Someone just made me watch “Falkor Gone Wild“. And now, this:

*sob*

I’m so glad Z published that Captain Eo post. A questionable antidote for the inappropriate diddling of one’s childhood, perhaps, but still. Every little bit helps.

Remember those mind-blowing Heather Parisi clips we were all gaping at a few months ago? Well, it’s time for Heather to scooch her bedazzled Mickey Mouse-clad tush over on that giant Rubik’s Cube pedestal we built for her.

Make room on the throne, and in your hearts, for another star of numerous 80s Italian television variety shows, the inexplicable Miss Sara Carlson:

I’m just gonna give your guys a minute to process that clip. Deep cleansing breaths, people. Zalright? Zalright.

The commentary on Carlson over at Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner is sharper and better than anything I can come up with at this late hour, with the fabric of my reality in tatters:

I recognize that, in the era of YouTube clips, what probably made sense in a particular time to a particular group of people is reintroduced to the world in a contextual vacuum.  Without meaning, these videos become a veritable playground for camp, a place where the indecipherable message is the first language of ironic detachment and surface aesthetics the currency of visual pleasure.  As such, perhaps I’m inherently biased towards this Fellini meets Lady Gaga pinnacle of unadulterated, uninhibited batshit insanity.

Several more clips and further spot-on commentary from Benjamin after the jump.

[via Jolie]

You’re welcome.

My original thoughts for a post today involved something about the lurking new year. This, plainly, is not that post. No, this is a clip of Ricky Gervais torturing Elmo with sleep deprivation on Sesame Street. If it wasn’t so well done it might be mistaken for a C.I.A. training video, something like “Human Intelligence for Kids!” I’m not sure what Mr. Gervais is trying to get from Elmo, but whatever it is, it is of vital importance. That, or he’s a bit miffed that Elmo didn’t know who he was.