Junkfood Cinema

Junkfood Cinema Podcast

Junkfood Cinema. You’ve heard plenty of cyber banter on the “true classics,” on what’s popular in film now, and about projections for movies yet-to-come. Junkfood Cinema is a shame-free celebration of those films that have managed to slip through the cracks of time; the lost children of the medium.

These are films relegated to mainstream obscurity, and most even erroneously dubbed as “terrible.” To ravenous genre consumers like Brian Salisbury and screenwriter/novelist C. Robert Cargill, there is nothing more satisfying than gorging on cult and exploitation gems with the mad gluttony of a pre-dawn fourth meal.

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; the only thing we haunt is casino breakfast buffets. You’ve arrived at the most unsettling of bad movie columns on the perfidious den of wickedness known as the interwebs. Every week we present for your viewing displeasure a particularly ghastly piece of cinematic schlock unearthed from the vaults of unspeakable horror (alias the Rubbermaid trash can full of VHS in the garage). As we force your unsuspecting eyes to behold the nightmarish horrors of the movie’s shortcomings, we cackle with sinister delight. We go so far as to then reveal our morbid appreciation for said filmic abomination. To top off the torture, we will force a fiendishly tasty snack food, themed to the film, down your cowering gullets. This boys and ghouls, is Junkfood Horror. October is the month that everyone watches horror movies. From the hardcore weirdos to the sissiest of sissy babies, for at least a few weeks, we all enjoy a good scare. As we sit on the front porch of Junkfood Labs, devouring bag after bag of “fun”-sized Snickers because the trick-or-treaters apparently won’t be showing up for several hours, and several days, it occurred to us that there is really no getting away from the horror genre. When November 1st arrives, you can lock away all your copies of The Exoricist and Amityville and Maid in Manhattan, but the irrepressible evil there contained will not relent. “Oh wait,” you say interrupting my column with your smelly internal monologue, “I can […]

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; send in the Mounds, or at least the Almond Joy. This is the weekly internet column that may appear as any other, but go in for a closer whiff and get sprayed in the face with our hilarious lack of taste; wholly evident in the phrasing of that last sentence alone. Every week we bring a bad movie to the middle of the center ring. We mock it, we roast it, we hit it repeatedly in the face with a lemon harangue pie. But then, we bring out the giant seltzer bottle of whacked appreciation, which is a totally real thing. Once the foolish movie feels only slightly less foolish, we offer a reprieve from this metaphorical circus in the form of a decadently unwise snack food item themed to that movie. October is here, and that can mean only one thing…the end of voter registration! Actually, that wasn’t what we were thinking, but it is an important reminder and we implore you to do your civic duty. Hehe, doody. No, for those of me here at Junkfood Cinema October means a month-long celebration of the greatest holiday this side of the annual return of the McRib: Halloween. In an ongoing effort to keep our wanton mediocrity at least on theme, we’re once again instituting Junkfood Horror. We begin this year’s slate with a hilarious bit of federal mail fraud. We maybe kinda definitely don’t worry about it intercepted a letter to the Chiodo brothers […]

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; they don’t make buns like this down at the bakery…well they do, we just bought them all. This is the weekly bad movie column that makes all other bad movie columns look far better by comparison. Every week we serve up a delightfully terrible movie with every intention of ripping it to shreds. But then, as we are forced to spend two hours with that celluloid terror, a funny thing happens. We begin to fall in love. The film engenders a genuine feeling of adoration within us that we can’t always fully articulate even as we articulate it. So yes, Junkfood Cinema has officially been reclassified as a form of Stockholm Syndrome. To wash down the deeply disturbing breakthrough we’ve just had, we will offer a disgustingly awesome snack food themed to the film. Fantastic Fest may be over, but its effects linger like the hangover we may or may not but totally are experiencing as we/I write this. One of those effects is the scorched Earth where once stood the Drafthouse theater that showcased a repertory screening of 1987′s Miami Connection. Now I know what you’re thinking, “Junkerford, isn’t Miami Connection a little too mainstream for this column?” Perhaps you’re right, but my name is Junkseph. However, despite the fact that everyone and their sister, Everywina, has seen this masterpiece, it somehow managed to go unreleased on anything but VHS. Drafthouse films, the harbingers of international genre fare of spectacular quality, as well as […]

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; we caught a bad case of Mr. T-Virus after watching D.C. Cab. You’ve shambled your way into the Internet’s most desolate landscape. We have survived the apocalypse of taste and logic and what remains are ravenous hordes of slack-jawed goons hellbent on consuming as much garbage as inhumanly possible. These monsters tear apart the tasty flesh of bad movies, devouring the flaws with growls of snark. But then, out of nowhere and completely scoffing at the laws of physics, the flaxen haired heroine of irrepressible adoration somersaults through the air and puts a bullet in the heads of all those undead jabs. Once the horde has been beaten back, we will celebrate with a themed snack food that will do to our stomachs what Alice does to the infected. You may have noticed references in that previous paragraph to the Resident Evil franchise. Well, we laid them on pretty thick so don’t go patting yourself on the back too hard there, A.O. Scott. This week, we’re getting the sixteenth…or eighth…or possibly just fifth Resident Evil movie. So in honor of the release of Resident Evil: Redundancy, we thought we’d shine a blinding spotlight on the franchise’s misunderstood, admittedly dastardly, Umbrella Corporation. Surely, they can’t be as bad as they are, right? True, they are in fact THE resident evil of Resident Evil, but what did they really do beyond create a virus that destroyed the world and then continued to make worse and worse monsters […]

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; the only thing we shamelessly rip-off is the wrapper from our Arby’s Big Beef ‘n Cheddar. This is the weekly Internet movie column that shatters the crystalline standards of good taste. We lambast a bad movie and scatter the shards of its dignity across the floor. Then, like a senile geriatric rodeo clown, we scream yippee-ki-yay Mister Tucker and run barefoot over those shards, a testament to our troubling affinity for said bad movies, an affinity that does not die with ease. Have you ever noticed how good Die Hard is? If your answer is anything other than “indubitably” or “shit yeah it is,” please give me your address so I can mail you one hundred dollars…that will probably look and feel like face punches but I promise are totally dollars. If you are among those whose faces are  not currently in danger of postal pummeling, then you recognize the sheer awesomeness of John McTiernan’s violent ode to both Hitchcock’s wrong man theme and receding hairlines. For those of you who haven’t seen it, welcome to our planet and please give my regards to Lord Zoonax. It’s the story of a sweaty, tender-footed cop who goes to visit his estranged wife during a party in the tallest building in all of Die Hard. This unfortunately timed reunion occurs just before evil crime boss Severus Snape invades the party with an veritable food court of international terrorists. John McCop must sneak through air vents, eat Twinkies, […]

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; death wish, thy name is Baconator. You’ve wandered foolishly down the back alleys of the internet, and arrived in a really bad neighborhood. By that, I of course mean a neighborhood full of reprobates with a predilection toward criminally bad movies. Sure, the denizens of the dilapidated JFC tenements will surround the movie and stomp it liberally with mockery, but that’s simply the initiation. Surviving the onslaught of snark indoctrinates said bad movie into the gang, and much streetwise love is subsequently lavished upon it. That’s when we crack open a six-pack of Twinkies, or some other disgustingly tasty food themed to the movie, and chase away all semblance of respectable taste. This week, we strap on a Kevlar vest we know won’t at all save us and prepare to stand toe-to-toe with Paul Kersey. Who’s Paul Kersey? If you don’t know his name it only means you haven’t crossed him yet…or that you haven’t seen any of the Death Wish movies. Paul Kersey is Charles Bronson, and Charles Bronson is the soft-spoken angel of mustachioed death. He has had arguably the worst luck as a husband and father. First, his wife and daughter are sexually assaulted by a gang of Jeff Goldblum-led punks, which are the worst type of punks, then his wife is murdered and his daughter goes catatonic. But wait, there’s so, so much more. He moves to a new town and, wouldn’t you know it, his daughter (just out of the […]

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; training wheels are sexy, dammit. You cycled your way through all the worthwhile content on the Internet, and fifteen minutes later you wound up here. Every week we examine movies so bad, watching them is like riding a bicycle without an overused simile. We kick the tires so hard they go spinning off the frame and irrevocably disrupt the game of ultimate Frisbee going on in the park we’re apparently in for this scenario. But then, just as we’re about to reach the highest gear of snark, we hit the brakes and admit that we’re head-over-handlebars in love with said bad film. To help ease the resulting bloody wounds, we will indulge in a delicious themed snack food item to tide us over until the ambulance arrives. Bikes! As we all know, any films made after  1989 are inherently inferior to the inferior movies of the years prior. However, there are miraculously rare occurrences when inferior movies from the inferior inferior movie era, i.e. right now times, are the type of inferior we find superior. In these instances, the movies playing in the multiplexes actually manage to exemplify the highly low standards we demand from our schlock. This week, one such glorious failure is Premium Rush. Starring that little Chinese girl from 3rd Rock from the Sun, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Premium Rush is about a group of people who ride bicycles for a living. No they don’t wear fancy yellow jerseys nor, disappointingly, are they circus […]

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; every bit as important as Time Cop. This is the Film School Rejects column celebrating movies that are damme stupid, damme shallow, and damme awesome! Every week we tear into a lovably bad film like it was a Belgian waffle, which by the way was the nickname of our indecisive foreign exchange roommate in college. We will roundhouse a cinematic stinky cheese in the face with mockery, making plenty of surprise sex faces in slow motion as we do so. But as we are kicking it, we are simultaneously revealing our fondness for these flicks; kicking in the face with the other foot the notion that they are without merit. It’s actually a very difficult maneuver that has us executing a groin-punishing mid-air split. As we ice down our tender bits, we will gorge ourselves on a nauseatingly tasty snack themed to the movie we just watched. This week, the Alamo Drafthouse played host to one of the most epic showcases of epic film epicness to ever be epic. In celebration of the impending/now(ish) release of The Expendables 2, a tribute to one of its newest cast members was conceived. Three classic Jean-Claude Van Damme films, at least as classic as that combination of words allows, would serve as the appetizer for the bloody bullet feast that was sure to be The Expendables 2.

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; the only type of kicking we advocate is kicking back…and also roundhouse. You’ve just smoke-bombed your way into the Internet’s most ninja-based bad movie column. Every week we knuckle down (or up) and punch apart a mega mountain of a terrible film. We’ll throw shurikens of snark at the movie’s faults in a sneak attack of thinly-masked adoration. Just when the movie is beaten down to the point of committing seppuku, we will distract it by offering it a disgustingly delicious themed snack. This week marks the twentieth anniversary of one of the most important films ever made. A film that challenges convention and plumbs the very depths of the human soul. It also features ninjas. I’m referring of course to Lawrence of Arabia, or possibly 3 Ninjas. Yeah, no I definitely mean 3 Ninjas. This 1992 film asks the difficult, thought-provoking questions. Can kids be ninjas? Are they only permitted to do so in odd-numbered groups? Did Home Alone suffer from a karate deficiency? In it, a trio kick-happy fighty-tikes are taught the martial arts by Sensei Inexplicably Asian Grandpa. They then use their kid’s-table-Bruce-Lee skills to take on Diet Steven Segal and Not Quite Odd Job aboard their drug ship. In honor of the anniversary of this masterpiece, we gathered together our go-to focus group, a.k.a Mrs. Tobias’ third-grade class, to engage in a vital scientific experiment. We gave them a series of mad libs designed to construct the perfect title for the […]

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; Mr. McDonald, tear up this restraining order. You’ve marched into the most patriotic bad movie column since the dramatic toppling of Lee Greenwood’s Stars and Schlock Forever. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that not all movies are created equal. Some are endowed by their creators with certain inexplicable faults. We here at JFC are dedicated to the proposition that perhaps despite these faults, these films have elements that come together to form a more enjoyable union…than most would have the patience to endure. Then, in the last course of human descent, it will be become necessary for you to ingest a sugary themed food item week keep in the cupboard by the pebbles, Fruity Pebbles and Cocoa Pebbles. Communism, after consulting a dictionary recently and rectifying a longstanding misunderstanding, is not in fact that cracker-and-juice portion of church. It is a set of political and social ideologies with but one goal: destroy America. It was founded by John Lennon, the red walrus, and fear of this growing movement would later be spread in America by Senator Paul McCartney; a scare tactic known as McCartneyism. The Beatles were quite divided as it turns out. But how is it that we finally defeated this great threat? If there is one thing the movies have taught me, it’s that they are easily the best possible source for historical truth and all films essentially exist within the same universe…even if that universe is my fry-grease-and-Nintendo-addled brain. So […]

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Welcome back to Junfood Cinema. We break laws for meat. Column-owner Brian Salisbury is currently further North than the Northest of the Dakotas covering the Fantasia Film Fest in Montreal. If he knew what Canadians really did he might have rethought his trip. The most I know is that he was alive and well two days ago. Or do I? Canadians are weird and they harbor weird things. I know that because I’ve seen today’s movie that’s set in Calgary, directed by a famous author who writes famously weird stories and starring a famous director who directs famously weird movies in Canada and that makes me a certifiable expert on 1990 Canada. Everything else I learned about Canada I got from Dear Zachary and dammit things just got real and now I’m crying. But back to Canada being South of normal and North of Dakota, if today’s film is any indication as to the happenings of what goes on with the dead in that region of the world then, well, free healthcare is making a ton of sense. I know I’m supposed to plug something clever about how we integrate food in with the movie that we write about, but I just finished re-watching this movie and there is a big pile of man-poo-blob-cyst-slobber creature thing that resembles a Pod fusion between the Brundle Fly and a bowl of clam chowder. So, thank you Clive Barker and David Cronenberg, because appetite destructed. Now about this movie Nightbreed…

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Welcome back to to Junkfood Cinema…never drum on a white lady’s boobies at a big redneck dance, got it. Our fearless leader has traveled deep into the heart of the Great White North to sample their delicacies, like the mysterious pooty-tine, and determine what foods and films are fit to bring to ‘Merica and feature on the best bad movie column on this website. Or at least that’s what I’m telling people, in point of fact he’s actually in Montreal attending the Fantasia Film Festival. But in his absence we soldier on, bringing you the finest in truly terrible cinema and the fattiest, most sodium and sugar laden tasty treats we can possibly conceive. Brian’s been trying a new formula here at JFC but I’m going to mix a bit of the old “why it’s bad” and “why we love it” in with a list of potential sequel ideas for this week’s selection. Prepare yourselves adventurous movie-lovers, as we look back on Barry Sonnenfeld’s undisputed amateur-piece, Wild Wild West.

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Since Junkfood Cinema‘s regular master is off Comic-Con-ing this weekend, I’ve been handed the keys and have been told to treat his property with respect, dignity and care. Instead, I plan to smoke pot in the living room, throw wild sex parties in the bedroom and boil microwaveable dinners in the hot tub, leaving the water smelling vaguely of teriyaki sauce. You see, there are few films as disrespectful toward the human race as Werewolf Woman and the mere fact that it is my selection for this Very Special Guest Episode of Junkfood Cinema is proof that I hate this column and all that it stands for. Anyway…

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Editor’s Note: This week, Brian is busy shoving hotdogs into his mouth to prepare for Comic-Con. We asked how that would help, but he hung up on us, so I’m writing this week’s entry. Enjoy! Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema. You’re welcome. Our weekly dive into the gluttonous, saturated fat-saturated world of questionable movies has taken a detour into the educational this week, but it won’t be boring like a high school calculus class. It’ll be far worse than that. Why? Because we’ll be dissecting to death a piece of trash blowing about the graffiti-lined streets of some big city in the 1980s. We’ll rip out its guts, toss its sexual organs under a microscope, but then, yes then, we’ll get to its heart. And at its heart, we’ll learn the true meaning of dance. Or something. We will lift it up on the highest pedestal possible because Lorenzo Lamas will have taught us what it really means to keep it real. That’s right. This week’s unhealthy portion is the sweaty, 1984 breakdancing opus known as Body Rock.

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; even our coach potatoes are fried and covered in gravy. You have flopped yourself down on to the Internet’s second most comfy food-based movie column; damn you, Lay-Z-Boy’s Overstuffed Film Blog. Every week, while barely moving at all, we rerun another bad movie that always manages to get low ratings…everywhere…from everyone. We will flip through all the reasons for its poor reception and then, interrupting our regularly scheduled snark, we turn the volume way up on our irrepressible love for said movie; hoping to make you laugh until it megahertz. Then we bring you a message from our sponsors, morbid obesity, and offer a junkfood item paired to the film. This week’s episode features a lost gem of a middling early 90s comedy: Stay Tuned. The film stars John Ritter (damn you for taking him from us, god) and Pam Dawber as a married couple whose relationship is on the rocks thanks to Ritter’s obsession with television. He literally can’t turn himself away from the TV long enough to notice he’s married to 90s-hot Pam Dawber for crying out loud. One night a terrifying figure appears at his doorstep, and not just because he’s played by Jeffery Jones. Spike, as he is called, is an agent of Satan and offers Ritter a satellite TV package so affordable it’s criminal…in fact it’s pure evil. In short order, the unhappy couple is sucked into the diabolical broadcasting system known as Hellvision through their satellite dish; sort of […]

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; always four-scored…on a scale of 100. You’ve cannonballed into the Internet’s second best antebellum bad movie column; unable to compete with Prospector Pappy’s Dagnab Bad Opera Hootenanny, but still way ahead of hopelessly post-bellum Dandy Dan’s Vaudeville Flawedville. Every week, we are torn apart by an internal civil war. On the one hand, we have the taste and fortitude of reason to understand that certain movies are categorically terrible. Unfortunately, a rebellious faction of our brain seeks to secede from our senses and declare the film entertaining and worthy of praise. When we finally reach our figurative Appomattox, we celebrate the retention of mental union by enjoying a disgustingly tasty treat themed to the movie in question. This week, a film appeared in the theaters of America that dared to challenge our perceptions of narrative cohesiveness as well as our elementary school text books. A movie that dared to prove the old maxim that it is better to remain silent and be thought a crappy movie by the poster, than to begin reel one and remove all doubt. That movie was Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Demonstrating all the commitment to truth and fact as routinely does The History Channel, the film, based on the novel of the same name,  supposes a world in which our sixteenth president, The Great Emancipator, was also a  great decapitator of the bloodsucking undead. This willful abandon of all got-damn sense sparked our imaginations, and our wanton desire for copious […]

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; always out of order. Every week, we throw the book at an especially, unlawfully bad movie. But just when it seems the movie has absolutely no case, we sweep in as champion defenders and get the charges against it dismissed on a few rose-colored technicalities. We then take everybody out for ice cream…or 3lb cinnamon rolls…or whatever we can wrangle. The last few weeks, we’ve thrown the book out (seriously, we are gonna lose that damn book if we keep throwing it) and abandoned our usual format. This week is no exception…nor is it exceptional…which is also no exception. Recently, we were able to get our hands on the stenographer’s report from one of the most landmark cases in American history. No, we’re not talking about some white collar stockbroker who shorted millions from the poor, nor are we talking about some drunk driving celebrity who may or may not have gotten wasted and careened into a roadside shark tank. We are in fact talking about a heated trial in the court of public opinion against a 2004 film which melded two beloved franchises. Here now is the recap of case #LV426-PRD; The People vs. Alien vs. Predator. 

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema…bitches leave. Can you smell that? If you’re reading this column, it’s probably not fresh air. Our fearless leader is off fighting healthy eating in parts unknown and thus it falls to me to continue this tasty treat. You may have noticed we’ve been mixing things up recently here at JFC, throwing out the old formula of why it’s bad and why we love it anyway and instead selecting a specific topic to examine. This week’s full-flavored film choice is none other than JFC alum Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Raw Deal. Direct from 1986 to your eyeballs, Raw Deal is everything you’d hope for in an over-the-top action flick. But one of the greatest aspects of the movie is it’s tagline. Emblazoned across the cover art are the words, “The system gave him a Raw Deal. Nobody gives him a Raw Deal.” And so without further ado, here are the 7 other things noboby gives Arnie S!

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; the Riddle of Steel…is that Shaq should not play superheroes. You’ve entered a mythic realm of swords and sorcery, of Tangos and Cashes, of Mikes and Ikes. Every week, our hero (read: pudgy misanthrope) battles a tremendous schlock monster – as well as the sinister threat of early onset heart failure. With his sharp words, he slices the beast open, spilling its flaws upon the ground before hoisting the entrails aloft in celebration. To commemorate this all-too-violent metaphor, a feast of one tasty snack food item will be prepared and set before you. A couple weeks ago, the Alamo Drafthouse launched its Summer of 1982 series; a celebration of arguably the greatest season of the greatest year to ever…fall two years before I was born. Dozens of iconic films, both real people legit and JFC-approved, are being screened, including a certain sword and sandal epic that redefined swords, sandals, and indiscernible Austrian meat piles: Conan the Barbarian. We all remember Conan, he was the gentle oaf-beast who solved most of his problems by cleaving said problem’s head in twain while he struggled with words far less complicated than twain. He battled the Snake Cult and it’s malevolent leader Thulsa Doom (which translated into English from the ancient text means, “This is CNN”). We all remember that classic moment in which Conan is seated in the center of the banquet table, like a roided-up centerpiece, while his masters make him recite what is best in life. […]

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Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; we’re always a hit…with elderly mimes and people whose favorite band is The Jerky Boys. This is the Internet’s best place to wait around for articles on the sites you like to load – sort of a cyberspace truckstop. And like a truckstop, we celebrate things that most people cast off as “trivial” or “base” or “seriously detrimental to one’s memory and critical thinking skills.” We are too! Wait, what was I saying? Anyway, this week we’ve had the very rare privilege of stumbling across a little gem of a rotten turd that will be playing a limited engagement of roughly ten shows a day in every single theater across the country. The arthouse maestro Peter Berg has taken the board game Battleship, that wonderful tool for teaching children all the necessary tenets of blind, desperate warfare, and extrapolated its meager mechanics into a two-hour cinematic testament to the struggle between Hollywood and your brain. Incomprehensibly bad as Battleship may be (read: totally is), I couldn’t help but wonder if the “plot” on the screen wasn’t merely a smoke screen for something that, like the invading alien ships, lurked just below the surface. So I gathered all the best minds in the Junkfood Cinema war room, which may or may not be my pet name for the corner booth at my local TGI Friday’s, and formulated some theories on just what the hell was going on here. My hope was to come up with a […]

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