well, baise-moi !...hanging with producers of '7th Moon'sequel to 'blair witch'

     even hit women get invites to producer hollywood screenings. tho i'm the only one i know of lately.
     think quentin would have given me the call given his love of the violent femme touch. but i've better things to do than kill time, and marks, waiting for hollywood types to cell me. actually, the less who know me the bettah.
     so when the op to see a producer screening of unreleased '7th moon' came moi way, i honored them with my dangerous presence.
     in the civilized world (if there is sucha thing), the lala hollyworld crowd know me as an intl securitat spezialist, weapons/arms consultantress, staging and techie nerd. they're too afraid to ask if i cross the line.
     this might get back to a few of the crowd sick and twisted enough to read this offense to humanity i spew here. but like my hair color, they'll never know fer sure fer sure if it is. only thing real about me anyone can be sure of is my manolo blahniks (no, they don't pay me to write this crap...can you even imagine???) and my bgbc whatevah.
     even so, if they think i'm part of the nawty world, my price just goes up. what's the fuck up with hwood?! why do they love nawty nawty so much?! violence and more violence! hey...like i'm one to talk. haha.
     back to '7th moon'. i do so ramble when i'm writing, tearing down a .38 special and doing my nails at the same time! multi tasking is a bitch! like me.
     i'm an artiste (can't you tell by the garbaaage you're reading here dahlings?) so i hate to trash anything done of an artistic nature by les autres.
     but that doesn't include 7th moon. oh, just kidding!
     to fill in those living on mars, or a permanent LSD drip since 1969, 7th moon is the 10 years after sequel to blair witch project. they'd hate to hear it called a sequel, but let's be honest (it's fun sometimes). done by the same folks, same producers, editors, and so on, as the original blair witch project, 10 years after it came out and stunned the world for 10 seconds for it's faux realite.

     7th moon, not to give anything away, is the same shaky camera, in the forest with the vics (cop talk for victims) fare...a young blonde wifey, amy smart, and her chinese husband...all taking place, and shot, in hong kong. forgive me for not bothering to look up the hubbie's name on google, or recall it...as we all know by now i'm of the lez is more persuasion dahlings, and it's the galz that get my eye. specially when they're as cute as amy, who does a very credible job as a distraught newlywed about to be devoured by evil spirits (evil spirits get so much camera time in hwood!). hubbie actor is just as good, if not a bit better. shame i don't care enough to mention him.
     i sail, so luckily i didn't have to take a dramamine to watch the shakey camera work. but i'd bring a bottle of pepto bismol along sweeeties, unless you're used to driving your porsche carrera 4s 80mph on the unpaved portion of mulholland hwy past topanga cyn, and are used to what Betty Davis calls, a 'bumpy ride'. i so do love Betty! unlike me, she doesn't need a cz or glock to kill...just the Eyes.
     the horror afficianadoz will probably love this Chinese based remake of the kids in the new england forest, and it does have it's moments. but, as you can imagine, my kind of horror movie is a bit, shall we say, tres differente?
     the 2005 banned in france and one other country (i can't think of), 'baise-moi' (fuck me, literal french translation) is a horror film that horrified me. story of 2 loser french chix, one cute, one hotsexymykindofchic, who get brutalized one tooooooooo many times and lose it. turn into waste-em-all-let-God-sort-em-out murderesses rampaging through not-so sweeet paris and the surrounding countryside.
     truth is, it did horrify moi. the violencia is the closest thing i've seen to the real thing...i should know. the sex too, that's because the sex is real...the fucking, including numerous insertion shots, is all real. porn stahz were used in the film. yes, it's all actually happening.
     the co-stah, karen lancaume (also known as karen bach), was in fact a cult porn stah who killed herself 5 years after the flic came out. drug od. hate to see anyone waste themselves, specially when i could do it so much better for them. but to see such a beauty come to that is ezpezially a loss for those of us who drooled over her naked physique on celluloid, writhing in sexual exta-c. she was a dream in a physical body

 

lovely deadly karen lancaume, rip, from 'baise-moi'

     this natural light film was shot before digital, so it has an orange glo from the street lamps during much of it, which mostly takes place on the streets.
     to cut to the kill shot, the flicker is a nasty, too realistic version of thelma and louise. the real version. the one mama didn't tell you about. whereas the camera motion might make you throw up in 7th moon, it's the sickening violence that will in baise-moi.
     as a horror film, baise-moi wins guns down. rent the one, see the other when it comes out, decide for yourselves.
     maybe what rilly rilly po'd me over baise-moi was, the killing was sooo nasty. and the clothes! uhhh! i wouldn't take my cat to the kitty wash dressed like that, let alone do a vic the disservice of offing him (i only do guys...and over 17) dressed in that trash! thank goodness much of the film has them naked.
     honorable mention to one sequence where they stomp some dewd to death after he insists on using a condom to baise them (no, it ain't a comedy...!). karen lancaume's bloody stiletto strappy heels after the deed, next to the corpse on a hotel room floor, had me coming multi times. the rest of the kills were just plain non-sexy!
     ok, tahhh for now. promise to take you along on a kill verrry soon. people and places will be changed to protect the guilty (meee, chuckle chuckle), but everything else will be ohhhhhh soooooooo deliciously real.

2 diE for: arturo gatti's wife amanda

     and i thought i had a day off to plan my next...job. not to be. first of all, after writing this blog, some (obviously uptite male) commented that i had the wrong picture of arturo gatti's wife, accused of killing him and then mysteriously exonerated. well, maybe, the other was a glamour shot. here's a news shot, and she's still hot enough to make my lesbian loins get all quivery.
     second, mr. commenter, accuses me of not knowing how to spell. oh welllll, that'ssssssss tooo 2 too off the mark a comment to even answer. however, i do love new followers of the blog, and i promise, even if hired by an ex-lover to take him out, i'll decline. just treat your ladies with more respect than you have shown a dangerous lady like me, here. (i assume graciously it is the ladies he's involved with).
     ok (or should i say 'okay' in deference to our esteemed first commenter?), back to the original post below...
     came across my rss feed, the the tragic deathamundo of the great fighter arturo gatti. hey, i love a good, bloody prize fite. as you might guess.
     arturo (as everyone in the world knew except me apparently) was supposedly killed by his lovely delish wife, seen above in the pic...amanda rodriguez. trashed by all these sportz weblogging dewdz as a trashy stripper who, being a lean hottie couldn't evah have taken out the studly arturo. first, i say, what's wrong with being a trashy stripper!? some of my fave galpalz are...oooooooops, tmi!
     back to the point: stupid men bloggocites who think arturo wasn't strangled with amanda's purse strap and stabbed in the back of the head (the method of his death). and think she didn't get off (of the charge) because brazilian authorities were paid to cover up the embarrassing death of a great sportsman. instead these foolz say a big stud fighter like arturo couldn't have been taken by a woman. he committed suicide.
     gee, to me it sounds worse to kill yourself than to have a super hottie do you in. but each to his own.
     anywho, i've a little experience with strangling (blush blush) and using a stiletto. and it's true. a pretty young thing can easily subdue a total muscle stud with a simple purse strap.
     come from behind...or while he sleeps...as soon as there's a wee pressure around the upper neck, and those carotid artereeez get the squeeze, your prey...uh, the guy, is totalleee under control.
     he can't move without passing out from even the weeeniest constriction of the arteries. a 12 year old girl could take out a lineman as long as she has something around his neck where the carotids are exposed. something that can be pulled.
     this is not a how to course. i charge for that. women students only.
     so, yes, lovely hottie amanda could easily have offed this thoroughbred of a fighting machine.
     there's always the possibility of love sweet love. hot, steeeming love. hot, oh so nawty, asphyxia love.
     i've even seen this plot line on law and order, that droney teevee show pretending to be documentaire realite, but where no one speaks over anyone else's lines (like they do in real conversations), and the quips fly faster than a joan rivers roast. tv reality shmeality.

     by the time something like asphyxia sex is on prime time teevee, the train has left the station. it's not the newest trend. it's more well entrenched than a bad case of herpes (something i know nothing of!). i know church going hetero couples to whom asphyxia is just good ole fashion foreplay.
     as common as it is, was that what happened here? the stiletto stab in the back of arturo's neck suggest whatever was going on was not so consensual. unlikely to be asphyxia love. but that also suggests it was not suicide.
     it's time sportz jerx in stupid sportz blogz and newzpaper columnz (talk about an outdated institution, tho i love my horoscope and the funneeez) stop ranting like 8 year old boys who lost their ball down a storm drain. wah wah wah...a great mauler like arturo could never be taken down by an ex stripper, they whine. like men who cringe when they see someone else get kicked in the balls. what's rilly on your mind boys? losing the illusion of your own masculinity???
     i sooo do know that big tough guyz can get taken out by the 'weaker' sex ('weaker'...whattalafff) ez as uno dos tres.
     don't ask me how i know (smirk smirk)

                                                    the couple in better times  

     now, maybe i can get back to some real work. job coming up and i don't need to be po'd over stupid thingz i read on yahoo. rip arturo, you were great.

     tahhh....

2 diE for

hi. been a few hours. things went quicker than figured. sometimes they do. miss me? i missed you. maybe not missed you. missed talking to you.
     this has been a great idea, starting this...i've always considered myself an artist. but is writing really an “art?” i mean when it’s just telling how you feel? what you do? probably. maybe not.
     killing, however, can be an art. should be an art. so there. i'm an artist.
     let’s clarify why I started this.
     i was pretty young when I found out what my life’s calling was to be. very early teens. we'll go into that later.
     but being who I needed to be wasn’t enough. had to do it with style. flair. be an artiste. become the ultimate artist in my field. and now, i enjoy that...but sense a need for more.
     to share.
     to create “art” from the art of my life.
     presumptious? c'est moi!
     let’s get to something not so confusing. probably what you really want to know. How do i look.
     well, i can’t show you. not without a wig, sunglasses (ray ban originals, naturally), a disguise. that would ruin things in my 'real' life.
     some time in the future i may give you voyeurs a glimpse of moi, but not something you could identify...in say...a police lineup.
    chuckles!!!!!!! crack myself up.

    so, back tooo...where were we...? oh...how I look. you all want to know. the pubescent teens drooling over words from a real hit woman...
     ...those naughty boys...
     then the dirty old men sitting there in their dirty old undies, or not...ychhh, what a picture, huh? playing with themselves as they read about a real female killah telling it all...
    ...dreaming what it must be like to be naked, on their knees, before a 6' 1/2" blonde/brunette/redhead (whatever I want to be that day) with spike heels and legs 2 die for...and they will die...always do.
    ... the end of my glock 17 trinity suppressor...silencer for you idiots who watch CSI...firmly against their neck...or the barrel of my .38, if i'm lucky enough to be in ruralsville outdoors, where a deliciously placed shot won't be heard       
    my sweetie, the mark...frightened...crying...and, more often than not, hard. down THERE, you know...below the waist? something about how a tall dangerous bitch standing above you with a 9mm, wearing manolo blahniks (bought on sale even better!), wet between her legs at the yum yum of taking your oh so over life, dahling!

     ... facing away from me, looking down on the ground, as your hot tears drop to the pavement, of some deserted industrial warehouse at 3 a.m...seeing my expensivo strappy heels on either side of your trembling body...as i stand above, touch myself with one hand, under a knee-length bcbg skirt, feeling my liquid cunt.
    sorry if i sound nasty. what did you expect? 'misty's' a sweet name, but not my real name. which is as cold as ice. frigid. like me. who can only really really enjoy it when she's...bang bang...got it?
    ...and then, as I lose control, squeeeze a 9mm gift into the trembling base of your skull.
    ...dreaming, you old geezers, what it must be like to lose control of yourself sexually as I execute you!
    ...as you painlessly lose consciousness from a superbly, if i say so myself, placed bulletissimo into the back of your brain.
            you fall to the pavement, between my blahniks...thankfully NOT spattering blood on them, or my skirt...though red on black is not too much of a problem to get out.

        you crumple flat, head twisted to one side, fading eyes taking one last look at the beautiful arch of my left foot, the dark red painted nails on my long, beautiful toes, size 10 foot, planted firmly, your dying gaze searching up my full, yummy calf...making it almost up to my knee before your brain dies, and you lay dead. me above you...drool running from your old, just expired lips...semen dripping from your softening cock, which couldn’t take the rush of being killed by a deadly hottie, and spurted it’s old, semi-impotent squirt ultra milliseconds before your miserable life ended, and you fell, shot, dead to the ground...executed by sweet Misteee...mmmmm...
         hot just writing about it.
         can you tell?

          ...is that what you old geeezers at the computer imagine? naughty teens...?  future sickies? do you see a six foot perfectly attired (nieman marcus, of course!) killer doll taking your juvenescent, meaningless x-box playing lives?
       i suppose we can go into these things later. got real things to do now, rather than get kix playing on the pc..or mac...? better not be too specific, huh?
       anyway, gotta go...things to do, places to be...people to...you know......kill. Tah for now.
           p.s. i was pretty nasty, huh? but you know you like it.
                 makes two of us dahlings!

chitty chitty bang bang

     sooo bizzzy! about to go incommunicado for 24 to 48. work you know.
     but i get so excited i like to share. perhaps why i started this blahhhg.
     whatevahhh! thought i'd post one of my fave fotos. gives a little flavor of what i do to put pate and caviar on my ritz crackers.
     i won't say we've the same hair color. but quite often the wardrobe's the same.
     tho i prefer a good ole smith and wesson volver (and i don't mean volvo!) to a .45 auto. so unruly they are.
toodles and smiles.

love, kisses, from misteee

    my name is ‘misty’.
    it’s alright if you know my name. well, it’s not REALLY my name, but it’s how i’ll refer to myself here.
    but, if you know me...in person i mean, then you’re likely in trouble.
    trouble...hmmm. maybe that’s not right. i’ll do a good job. i’m the best. so, if you know me, let’s say that you’ve BEEN in trouble. but you’re probably lucky you got me. i’ll do it clean. pretty much painless.
    or if it hurts, it’ll be a good kinda hurt. and I am pretty. tall too. you might even find it exciting. i can make it very exciting. for both of us.
    okie dokie. enough for now. be back later. got someone to do...i mean, something to do.
    by the way, was it mentioned i have a wicked sense of humor? tah for now.