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    Whores on the Run

    Recently, I attended a screening of the movie From Hell and I must say that it’s probably one of the better whore murdering movies I’ve seen this year. It stars Johnny Depp, some sexy redhead whore, this sexy French whore, and a bunch of miscellaneous whores. It chronicles the comedic misadventures of Jack the Ripper as he trounces about Whitechapel, England, stealing female whore-genitals.

    Only a few things bothered me about this movie. One being that Johnny Depp wouldn’t actually be born for another 70 years or so. His presence seemed to throw off the otherwise historical flow of the movie. Normally, I’d think Johnny Depp’s sudden appearance in an opium den in 19th century England would require some explaining. Nevertheless, I did find it quite refreshing that this was never entirely explained. The possibility that Johnny Depp is a time traveler of some sort was briefly hinted at by his presence. Perhaps he’s actually an alien, some immortal creature, or even God Himself. In any case, my suspension of disbelief was only momentarily thrown off by this historical faux pas.

    Assuming the name “Inspector Something-or-other” Johnny Depp proceeds to investigate a string of whore murders that has England baffled. It’s pretty obvious which whores are about to be murdered because they’re all friends. This connection shows up pretty early on in the movie, and everyone from the audience to Johnny Depp makes this observation. Nevertheless, being the keen and insightful investigator that he is, he decides not to follow the whores or let them stay in any manner of protective custody. Rather, he realizes that they’re probably much safer off walking the streets of Whitechapel, England, soliciting prostitution from Jack the Ripper. On the one hand, they know he’s going to kill them. But, then again, that is a lot of money he’s holding out, and they are whores.

    Another odd thing I noticed in the movie was when somebody said something about “I went to Dr. Someone today and he says I’m going to have your baby”. I’m pretty certain people didn’t go to doctors to find out they were pregnant back then. My guess is a baby just popped out one day and they’d be like: “Wow! Would you look at that!” What would really be helpful is if girls had some way of telling that they were pregnant back then, without a doctor. Some internal device or mechanism like a babytron that would indicate a pregnant, or conversely non-pregnant, state. Maybe some sort of biological or electronic monitoring gizmo that would periodically signify one’s current state of potential motherhood. Some indisputable manner of internal pregnancy indicator that would monitor a woman’s sexual activities (on a daily, weekly, or even monthly basis) and give a nearly definitive answer without having to consult anyone else, period. This manner of pregnancy detection would seem to be far more reliable than consulting a gypsy or peeing on Mandrake root, and far safer than a doctor’s autopsy.

    I certainly don’t want to give too much of the surprise away, but the film developed wonderfully, moving toward its inevitable climax. And, in a twist ending that no one could have expected, Papa Smurf turned out to be Jack the Ripper. Since the film attempted to render the situation as historically accurate as possible, the surprise itself would have only been diffused in the minds of those who are ardent examiners of the case. As far as Papa Smurf’s involvement in the film, anyone can glean as much from the movie credits: Starring: Papa Smurf as Jack the Ripper.

    Despite some questionably handled moments, the movie itself was quite entertaining. I enjoyed it immensely. Examining the framework of the film, one immediately recognizes the high quality of its key ingredients and the inherent strengths they bring with them to the project. Such successful components include: Johnny Depp, 19th century whores, opium, Papa Smurf, and pre-Wings Paul McCartney.

    Papa Smurf: When men look back on this, they will realize that I gave birth to the 20th century.

    Johnny Depp: You won’t live to see the 20th century Papa Smurf.

    As Johnny Depp pursues a murderous Papa Smurf through 19th century England, the tension mounts in this gothic whore-thriller. The brilliance of the movie resides in the fact that, upon further viewings of it, it continues to reveal deeper and deeper layers; beautiful in their subtlety.

    A vagina a day keeps Papa Smurf away.

    As the viewer is initially led down this darkly artistic path, it suddenly becomes quite obvious, at the appropriate moment, that Papa Smurf is indeed the killer. Not only obvious, but inevitable. The murderer could have been none other than Papa Smurf. He was, of course, in retrospect, the only one with enough surgical expertise to commit the crimes. But the movie itself is artistically mindful enough to not divulge this fact until the shocking moment of truth.

    On the whole, investing your time in From Hell would probably make more sense than either opium, post-Wings Paul McCartney, or a 19th century whore who looks like Heather Graham. Unless, of course, you have coupons or don’t have to pay her the equivalent of evening ticket prices, in which case the 19th century whore who looks like Heather Graham would probably make a lot more sense.

    I will not stop until I have Heather Graham’s vagina in my vagina collection!

    Is the 20th century much farther Papa Smurf? No, my little smurflings. Just three more whores to go.
    -In a letter sent to Scotland Yard by Jack the Ripper, 1888.

    *

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