For amazingly inappropriate horror-comedy magic look no further than Feast II: Sloppy Seconds.  It’s got everything: lesbian biker chicks, monster cum facials, midget tossing, baby killing, and most importantly guys in silly rubber monster suits running around and growling.  Feast I thought was kind of fun, a bouncy little movie that took joy in turning certain horror genre conventions on their ears, but the sequel feels more…unshackled, as if director John Gulager was held back by all those famous Project Greenlight people.  This one is pure, unadulterated shock value, and for someone as desensitized to horror nonsense as I to be jumping up and down in his living room and cheering after experiencing the disbelief of seeing the lengths this picture will go to offend is to say this just may be the best thing of its kind since Peter Jackson’s masterpiece Dead Alive.  If you like this kind of thing and you disagree, then you are a stupid poop-face.

Also worthy of mentioning is Dario Argento’s Mother of Tears which also features a brutal baby death (what’s going on with you people, really?)  A lot of internet reviewers have called the movie a disappointment, but as far as I can tell it is everything you’d expect from an Argento film.  It’s disgustingly violent, has lots of sex and nudity, and is clearly the end product of someone, even after making these movies for decades, who has yet to work out his mommie issues which always seem to come in the form of misogynistic exploitative sex turning into horrendous death scenes.  A lot of these same internet reviewers (and one confused reviewer at Fangoria) also complain that the movie makes no sense.  Apparently, these people have never seen an Argento movie before.  They never make any goddamn sense.  But they’re always so entertaining anyway, that’s part of the fun.  And I don’t think one review I’ve read has mentioned the completely gratuitous shower scene featuring star Asia Argento’s glorious boobies, which for me was the creepiest part of the whole damn thing given that her dad was the director.  That’s got to fall under the banner of incest somehow.  And that, my good Pigs readers, is giallo magic.