Among “animal rights” (for the uninitiated: animals no only do not have rights, animals by definition cannot have rights) these days is, apparently, the right to privacy.

Words fail me…

I’m adding “Words Fail Me…” as a new blog category, because I find this increasingly to be the case in the insane world in which we live.

So I see Blockbuster is going out of business down the street, and I decide, since I’m going to be starring as Harold Hill in The Music Man in a few weeks, to see if either the 1962 version, or the newer one with Matthew Broderick and Kristen Chenowyth, is for sale (they weren’t). But I happen down the horror aisle and catch one title that I had to grab from the shelf to see if it was honest-to-goodness for-real—and to my…horror…it was.

Here’s the description, from Wikipedia:

The Gingerdead Man

And so, I’m thinking, how utterly miserable must your life be, that you’d give, what, an hour-and-a-half of it up to watch this…this…this…words fail me.

But there’s more; when I Googled it, I learned, much to my…horror…that there’s a sequel:

The Ginderdead Man 2: Passion of the Crust