(the player below takes a second to load. here’s a direct link to the file.)
This week’s Frotcast was largely dominated by our two new favorite games, Lindy Explains the Plot (this week: The Rite, The Eagle), and “Paul Blart Presents”, where we provide the genre and you give us a Kevin James vehicle. We read your wonderful submissions starting at the 58-minute mark. Before that, we talk Chet Haze, Lindy discusses an encounter with Gallagher (9:30), and we play Lindy Explains the Plot. Oh, and we trick Lindy into discussing her love life.
WINNERS: I’ve got FilmDrunk shirts set aside for Marielle, for “Paul Blart Presents: Total Fecall.” For Paul, for his Signs parody, “Paul Blart Presents: Sharts,” and for Grant, for “Paul Blart Presents: Flatulent Green.” (“It’s farts. YOU’RE EATING FARTS!!!”) Additionally, Ben has an Automatik shirt of your choice for Chris, for F.I.: Fartificial Intelligence. NEXT WEEK: We’re taking your submissions for Paul Blart Presents: Westerns. Frotcast@gmail.com
I’m also including Chareth Cutestory’s submission, “Mooned”, after the jump, because I don’t think my sick voice did it justice.
Paul Blart Presents: Moon(ed)
All Barry Turdberg ever wanted was to be the universe’s greatest astronaut, but life had other ideas. Barry appears destined to remain an astroNOT after a poorly-timed fart at MoonCo’s corporate sensitivity training threatens to derail his career. Barry is summarily banished to Moon Base for a year of sulfur mining by MoonCo’s Vice President of Moons, Zip Flexington, a square-jawed Space Hero whose lust for precious sulfur is surpassed only by his lust for Barry’s wife, a bafflingly miscast woman whose raw sexual dynamism stands in starkly confusing contrast to Barry’s bloated visage.
As the sole employee on Moon Base, Barry spends his days futilely harvesting an ever-diminishing supply of sulfur and his nights interacting with his only connection to the outside world, the Fuel Analysis Robot Terminal, a sentient computer whose sassy, black-sounding repartee slowly drives Barry to the brink of madness.
Farting into the abyss, Barry wills himself to survive with thoughts of his incredulously hot wife and the prospect of one day returning home to her. Can he maintain his sanity long enough to design a fart-powered escape pod, or is he destined to die alone amidst F.A.R.T.’s distinctly urban witticisms?
(Insanely well done, but Chareth already has a FilmDrunk shirt).
Thanks to Jesse and Tuck for the fake posters, respectively.