Sick, Shallow America

Associated Press, 14 January 2019: The man who shot and killed a rookie California police officer left a letter on the bed in the home where he lived claiming police bombarded him with ultrasonic waves, officials said. Police in the college town of Davis near Sacramento on Saturday made public the one-paragraph letter they said was written by Kevin Douglas Limbaugh, 48. He killed himself Thursday after fatally shooting Officer Natalie Corona. Police spokesman Lt. Paul Doroshov said the paper was found face up on the gunman's bed. "The Davis Police department has been hitting me with ultra sonic (sic) waves meant to keep dogs from barking," the letter said. "I notified the press, internal affairs, and even the FBI about it. I am highly sensitive to its affect (sic) on my inner ear. I did my best to appease them, but they have continued for years and I can't live this way anymore." The handwritten note was signed "Citizen Kevin Limbaugh."

The shooting devastated the Davis Police Department, which has about 60 sworn officers and about 30 other employees. Flowers filled the entrance of the Davis Police Department on Friday morning. The American and California flags were at half-staff in front of the building at 2600 5th St. indicating it was a day of mourning for not just Davis, but all of California.

As the community tries to come to terms with the death of Officer Corona, a candlelight vigil will be held on Saturday at Central Park located at 401 C St. from 6 to 9 p.m. to remember her. Residents of Davis and Yolo County trickled in and out of the Police Department parking lot on Friday, leaving offerings and paying respects. They all had different reasons for stopping by. Krista DeZerega-Thomson of Davis couldn’t help but tear up talking about the incident. She was at a community meeting in the downtown area when the shooting occurred, and while she didn’t hear gunshots, she was still shaken.

“For us it’s heartbreaking that she lost her life and we want to help the police department,” she said of Corona. “I felt affected, I felt my family was affected and I want the department and her family to feel love and support.”

I can only shake my head. . .

This was a *Big Story* for sick, shallow America, America which fetishizes cops, soldiers, etc.  Hahaha!  Anybody who carries a weapon among largely defenseless people is considered *brave,* and a *hero!*  Absurd!  It's the exact opposite of bravery and heroism!

What we have here is ritual weeping for a totem police officer. . .

Prefabricated grief from a conditioned, boot-licking populace. . .

The Media branch of the the Military/Police Media Complex made sure the sheeple were made aware one of their *Finest* was attacked, and that wailing and gnashing of teeth for the fallen *First Responder* was the one and only correct response.  

Yes, it's too bad this cop was killed.  For those directly touched by the killing, family and friends, those with a real connection to the dead cop, it is a troubling moment, and we hope they find solace.  

But for the vast majority who reacted to the story, they, with their flowers at the memorial, their syrupy cliche comments on social media, their Pavlovian response to Media's *Thin Blue Line* iconography, they reflect America's sickness and shallowness, for they don't even see the story's other dead body, the misfit who killed the cop, then killed himself.  

It would never occur to the typical mindless idiot American who lays a flower at the cop's grave to also leave a flower for the lunatick cop killer.

America used to take care of her misfits, there were actual mental hospitals for the mentally ill. . .now there is the only the county jail, where misfits pass through when they make a disturbance to the selfish social order.

Among a sea of news articles sacralizing the dead cop, where are the stories lamenting the suicidal cop killer?  The poor mental defective left untreated, uncared for, neglected to the point of his final madness, when he felt compelled to murder the flesh-and-blood representative of the phantom plaguing his mind, and then turn the gun to himself, finalizing his outcast status? 

Amid all the rituals for the dead cop, the nauseating glorification of the uniformed, nobody seems to give a shit for the cop killer.  Well, that would require a little thought, an empathy that goes a little deeper than post-9/11 American *we are good, they are evil*-ism.  

Only a sick, shallow society celebrates a dead cop and ignores a dead lunatick.  That's the truth.  It cannot be denied.  It also cannot be denied that the vast majority of Americans are completely comfortable in their sickness and shallowness, and will never repent, will never be healthy enough to care for all, and not just those they have been conditioned to believe are worthy of their care.

Media, and the idiot Americans who consume it, pretend to puzzle over the root of American violence, mass-shootings, fast-food brawls, Black Friday riots, etc., etc.  It's simply the fruit of a sick, selfish, simple-minded people, a people who lost their way long ago, and now smilingly invest their treasure in war and corporate welfare, instead of their neighbors.

If America is an ugly country, it can only be because Americans are an ugly people.  As the Lord Jesus Christ observed:

For a good tree bringeth not forth corrupt fruit; neither doth a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. For every tree is known by his own fruit.

The sick act of cop killing cannot be cut out from its cloth and run up idolatry's flagpole. . .sorry. . .it can only be the sign of a sick and shallow people.

The Florida Project

Back in the late '70s and '80s Woody Allen made a bunch of lame movies about, I can only suppose, *chic* New York pantywaists.  These movies were critical and somewhat commercial successes, but I thought while watching them: what fucking country are these movies taking place in?  Allen's New York seemed like a foreign country, populated by a horde of four-eyed simpering navel-gazers dressed in Faggot Life clothes and eating in anorexic restaurants where the food covered about 1/4 of the plate. . .

They weren't movies about people who got paid by the hour and ate Stouffer's frozen lasagna. . .

But back then white America had a middle class, and I guess enough of them figured that Woody Allen's soft pantywaist lifestyle was their future, that's what their expected upward mobility would lead to, so they bought just enough tickets to keep Allen in a director's chair while he was molesting his wife's kids.  

But, in truth, Allen's movies were just Fairy Tales for 99% of Americans.  The future for them was economic decline, and for their children the kind of derelict lifestyles first glimpsed in Larry Clark's late '90s gothic crypto-kiddie porn flicks.  Reagan-era movies that depicted America and Americans as repellent and pitiable were few and far between.   

But now in 21st century America most white Americans are broke, and their children's souls have been polluted by the so-called *rap* or *hip-hop* culture, leaving them with black America's disdain for education, work and proper English. Back in the day, Marshall Mathers tried to put a Happy Face on white ruin with 8 Mile, a syrupy, wigger's Rocky.  

Fifteen lean years later, we have The Florida Project, an honest and thorough-going cinematic depiction of white American decline, the gutter drop to the no-melting-pot-to-piss-in America, where whites have fallen to the Motel Hell lifestyle of raggedy-ass browns and blacks.

They say the current unemployment rate in America is 4%, as if all the millions of whites who lost jobs in the late '00s suddenly found gainful employment. . .but no, they just gave up looking for work.  Do you ever wonder what the new white deadbeats do, how they manage to scrape along without decent jobs?  Defrauding an Innkeeper, Defrauding the System, Defrauding Each Other.  In the New America of The Florida Project, waiting tables full-time at a waffle house is a career capstone. 

In telling the story of six-year-old Moonee and her barely more mature 20-something wigger mother Halley's squalid life on the wrong side of the tacky tracks of Disney World, The Florida Project is masterpiece of truthful cinema featuring a near-tedious compendium of scenes of contemporary American domestic dysfunction.  What keeps this grim look at red, white and blue poverty and child neglect from being a soul-wearying journey is the rhapsodical spirit of Moonee and her little motel rat pals.  They're fetal alcohol syndrome Little Rascals causing mischief up-and-down a decaying tourist town strip.  From the opening scene, when Moonee calls a fat slovenly woman a ratchet bitch, the viewer is treated to two hours of Extended Stay punk hijinks.   The grubby brats torment Twistee Treat ice cream girls, taunt sunbathing exhibitionists, burn down abandoned time shares and cause countless headaches for motel manager Bobby (played by veteran heavy Willem Dafoe, about the only *professional* actor in the cast, and the only one whose performance looks false, despite the critics' fawning reviews).

Moonee's mom Halley is one of those sad ugly pretty white girls raised to fail on the so-called *rap* or *hip-hop* culture, a potty-mouth loser with an African-American's disrespect for everybody even moderately more successful, with success for her meaning getting over on the next loser, a Courtney Love without Kurt Cobain's money.  She's more buddy than mother to Moonee, not nearly as concerned about the effect the sight of her sucking cock in their motel room might have on her daughter as she is about keeping her entertained.

You know from the get-go that Halley's *life choices* are doomed to end in tragedy for this half-nuclear disaster of a family, and the tears in Moonee's eyes are the predictable-but-necessary ending to keep this tale of broken-down America grounded in truth.  A searching and fearless moral inventory of the nouveau American skid row, The Florida Project is a resounding refutation to the current Make America Great Again fantasy. 

The True Sodomite

7 June 2018, America: Following the Supreme Court’s 7-2 ruling in favor of a Colorado baker who refused to make a wedding cake for a gay couple, an East Tennessee business owner is celebrating by reposting a sign that reads, “No Gays Allowed.” Jeff Amyx, a Baptist minister and owner of Amyx Hardware & Roofing Supplies, originally posted the sign in 2015 when SCOTUS ruled to permit same-sex marriage across the country.

Amyx claims that gay and lesbian couples are against his religion. Following the ensuing backlash, Amyx took the “No Gays Allowed” sign down and replaced it with a sign reading, “We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone who would violate our rights of freedom of speech & freedom of religion,” according to USA Today. The business owner told WBIR that he was celebrating a “win” following the recent court ruling and hung the sign again. He has no plans to take it down.

“Christianity is under attack. This is a great win, don’t get me wrong, but this is not the end, this is just the beginning,” Amyx said. “Right now we’re seeing a ray of sunshine. This is happy days for Christians all over America, but dark days will come.”

Ha ha ha ha!

This is happy days for Christians all over America. . .

Is that the spirit of one called by Jesus to enter into His kingdom?

Or is it the spirit of the True Sodomite?

Behold, this was the iniquity of thy sister Sodom, pride, fulness of bread, and abundance of idleness was in her and in her daughters, neither did she strengthen the hand of the poor and needy. And they were haughty, and committed abomination before me: therefore I took them away as I saw good.

Proud and Haughty, that's the baptist minister and hardware peddler. . .

No Gays Allowed?

Who the fuck is this man to claim Christianity and then deny faggots into his shop?

Can you imagine the Lord Jesus Christ posting a sign over His kingdom 'No Lepers Allowed, No Adulterers Allowed?'

Here's a baptist minister, who ought to know the Word of God, rejoicing his happy day, a day delivered to him by the Supreme Court, the Court of abortion and pornography.

Look how little of a crumb it took for this baptist minister to bend his knee before Satan!

Ha ha ha ha!

Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of My Father which is in heaven. Many will say to Me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Thy name? and in Thy name have cast out devils? and in Thy name done many wonderful works And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from Me, ye that work iniquity.

Woe unto these anti-Christ Americans who hang crosses in their homes and shops wailing about faggotry, abortion and their other little pet peeve sins, as if they didn't need the blood of Christ to cleanse them from their own sin.

These counterfeit saints, foaming out their shame, err in the same manner as cocksuckers who speak of Gays and Straights. There is no distinction in the human race. All are condemned by sin.

There are only sinners. Anyone who sees beyond this lacks understanding of the gospel of Jesus.

A sinner, claiming cleansing by the blood of Jesus, refusing another sinner? Such a one as that cannot be a Christian, let alone a minister. Such a one as that is a True Sodomite, proud and haughty, denying his own sin nature.

Christianity dies in the West because it is no longer home to sinners. It has been corrupted from within by True Sodomites, proud and haughty, who mark themselves off from other sinners.

Chrisitanity dies in the West because it has become the church of unforgivable sins.

These True Sodomites, like the so-called baptist minister Amyx, do not want faggots, do not want immigrants, Hell, they don't even want poor people to have health care! They would have stoned Christ for healing the uninsured blind and crippled!

Only sinners are welcome into Christ's kingdom, and anyone who would deny a faggot will face the same. The baptist minister was right about one thing, dark days are coming for American *Christians,* the days when Jesus tells them depart from Me, ye that work iniquity.

Billy Graham: True, To A Certain Extent?

IS THE WAY NARROW? OR WIDE?

I marvel that ye are so soon removed from him that called you into the grace of Christ unto another gospel. . .

But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved. . .

Black Panther

The nicest thing you can say about Black Panther is it's a typical Marvel movie: shallow, boring heroes fighting against shallow, gOOfball villains in a war to see who will control the nameless, faceless mass of drab human underlings in a series of tedious, hard to follow (due to being shot in shaky hyper-speed) *action* scenes.  Marvel movies are a chore to sit through, utterly predictable and completely lacking in tension.  The *best* (least painful) Marvel flicks are the ones which cut the tedium with humor (the Ant-Man, Thor movies) or have quirky, deranged villains the viewer hopes-against-hope will somehow best the bland, self-righteous superhero (Mickey Rourke's Ivan Vanko in Iron Man 2).  Unfortunately, there's no humor in Black Panther, unless you think the sassy, smart ass black girl *'tude* of  Black Panther T'Challa's kid sister Shuri is funny, instead of an unpleasant reminder of headache-inducing bus ride or check-out line encounters with real-life black *'tude* gals.  Black Panther does have one quirky villain, Andy Serkis' Ulysses Klaue, but, alas, his breath of fresh air is quickly extinguished, and the movie lapses back into suffocating, stale Marveldumb.

What makes Black Panther an atypical Marvel movie, of course, is its monumental self-importance. The simplest way to explain it is to say Black Panther is SchwarzeVolk.  Here's the comic book movie which lets black folk join Hollywood's artistic decline.  Now black folk have their own simple-minded mass entert(r)ainment!  Yowza!  

But Black Panther is an artificial cultural touchstone, a Hollywood flash mob of robo-critics offering it to the illiterate masses as the Holy Grail of Diversity. But does Diversity really just mean having black folk write/direct/act for the benefit of Comic Book Guy?  If all the black actors in Black Panther performed in white face, you would see what Black Panther really is: artificial diversity, faker than vibranium, the fictional magic metal that fuels Black Panther's fairy tale Kingdom of Wakanda.

I have to wonder if all the black folk flocking to Black Panther are going to be disappointed, or if they will dutifully believe what they were told to believe before the movie's release:

I live in a country that only looks to demean people like me and our places or origin, and seeing a movie like this will give us all a sense of empowerment that black people truly need and deserve. These are African people who haven’t had their identity tarnished by colonisation. This is a movie that we need.

While it's true Black Panther's Wakanda is an African Canaan, a white-devil-free homeland flowing with rhino milk, honey, flying saucers and an endless supply of vibranium-fueled gadgets that make white folks' iPhone Xs seem primitive, it's also true Black Panther depicts African Americans as pitiful ghetto urchins, loitering on basketball courts all day waiting for someone or something to lift them up.  How empowering can it really be to African Americans to be told they need to be mentally resurrected?  Though this may be the movie the Nation of Islam has waited for, I wonder if Joe 40-Ouncer is gonna like being told he still needs welfare, just Wakanda's instead of Uncle Sam's?  Or does the movie's 22nd Century National Geographic African veneer spread far enough to cover the cracks in African American pride?

If Black Panther truly was a black cultural touchstone meant to promote black empowerment, wouldn't the Jewish-American created story be changed, with the Kilmonger character, a 'hood Wakandan who learns the violent tactics of caucasian manifest destiny as an American war machine mole, reigning as the genuine Black Panther and eliminating world-wide white oppression of colored people, instead of Marvel's hired help produced T'Challa, a saintly oreo (black on the outside, Woodrow Wilson on the inside)?

Ha!  All you really need to know about Black Panther being some kind of black The Turner Diaries is white folk love it, too!  White folk are very comfortable with T'Challa, he's a reasonable negro whites can invite into their homes for dinner. . .

The Black Panther cast adequately perform their roles, though veteran Hollywood black tokens Angela Bassett and lazy eye Forest Whitaker seem a little too *important movie* dramatic, and annoyingly pompous Walking Dead black warrioress Danai Gurira is just as annoyingly pompous in her black warrioress role here.

In the end, I would wager the true legacy of Black Panther will not be some blather about diversity or inclusion, but that black movie audiences are just as easily amused as white movie audiences. 

The Sin of Judge Roy Moore

16 November 2017: Two more women have come forward to accuse Roy Moore of sexual assault. They join a growing list of women who have alleged sexual misconduct by Moore, a former judge seeking to fill the Alabama Senate seat vacated by the US attorney general, Jeff Sessions. The controversy has roiled the Senate race one month before the state’s special election, with top Republicans in Washington calling on the embattled candidate to drop out of the race. The scandal began when the Washington Post reported that Leigh Corfman said that when she was 14 in 1979, Moore kissed and touched her and made her touch his crotch. Beverly Young Nelson then came forward to claim Moore physically attacked her in a car when she was 16, grabbing her breasts and trying to force her head down on to his crotch. A Washington Post report published late on Wednesday detailed the accounts of Becky Gray and Gena Richardson, who in the late 1970s worked at the same mall from which Moore was rumored to have been banned after local talk that he had been bothering young women there. Moore’s campaign did not address the new allegations, but has vehemently denied the claims made by his other accusers, and told TV talking head Sean Hannity 'I don't ever remember dating any girl without permission from her mother.'  Mr. Moore has long courted controversy, making incendiary comments about gays, Islam and race, and portraying himself as a defender of Christianity under siege in America.

Nobody has yet claimed Roy Moore forced his adult cock into unwilling jail-bait pussy, or pried open barely legal thighs to commit unsolicited cunnilingus--no, the allegations seem to top out at the level of *mall creeper.*  Moore was a thirty-something nerd loitering in the malls of Gadsden, Alabama, pestering junior high and high school girls.  In today's malls, with today's technologies, Moore probably would have been snatching up-skirt shots of teen snatch with a cell phone, but back in his day, Moore had to actually try to *sweet talk* Dixie Lolitas into car rides and movie dates where he could then fumble his way through his awkward molestations:

From The Life and Times of Judge Roy Moore:
Roy picked her up around the corner from her house in Gadsden, drove her about 30 minutes to his home in the woods, told her how pretty she was and kissed her. On a second visit, she says, he took off her shirt and pants and removed his clothes. He touched her over her bra and underpants, she says, and guided her hand to touch him over his underwear.

Moore denies these amateurish sex crimes, which probably ended with him shifting uncomfortably in his own sticky underpants, but in these cases of *they said/he said,* the single biggest proof of Moore's guilt may be his own marriage certificate. At age 38, Moore married a 24 year old, thus offering concrete evidence the thirty-something Moore did, indeed, have a taste for the young stuff.

Not to dismiss the anguish the mall creeper caused his victims, but in the Grand Cosmic Scheme, Moore has a bigger sin choking his soul. . .

Moore is, at best, a self-proclaimed Christian, and views his political ministry as sanctioned by God. This is why Moore will not confess his mall creeping ways. Moore sees himself as the victim, persecuted as Jesus said His followers would.

Sin is missing the mark God sets for us. And Roy Moore as self-proclaimed Christian has missed the mark much more badly in presenting the gospel of Jesus Christ than he ever did when groping at a little girl's panties.

Jesus said "My Kingdom is not of this world." The ways of the Kingdom and the ways of the world are in opposition. Jesus came to call people out of the world and into His Kingdom, but Roy Moore tries to drag Jesus from the Kingdom into the world. His political platform is nothing but the heresy of dominionism. In fact, Moore is the kind of bewitcher Paul warns about in Galatians. Roy Moore, dragging his 10 Commandments wherever he goes, would put the stony heart of the law back into Christianity and have men justified by the law rather than the faith of Christ. And that's a damnable heresy:

But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed. As we said before, so say I now again, If any man preach any other gospel unto you than that ye have received, let him be accursed.

When we look upon Roy Moore we see one who loves the praise of man more than the praise of God. Moore uses his false doctrine to seduce brain-dead Christians into giving him a seat of authority in the world.

Roy Moore can't do a God damn thing for the Kingdom from the U.S. Senate. . .anybody who believes Christianity can be advanced through legislation is a fool, and doesn't know the first thing about Christian doctrine. The Law that Roy Moore drags around was set aside by Jesus and replaced by the Sermon on the Mount. The Law that Roy Moore drags around was a dead stone that could be circumvented by the wicked midrash halacha. Indeed, when Roy Moore acquits himself of girl molesting, he sounds like nothing so much as a talmudic rabbi:

I don't remember ever dating any girl without the permission of her mother. . .

So even if Roy Moore did finger-fuck a fourteen-year-old or two, he asked mom first, so. . .it's all good.

But that kind of legal pussy hair-splitting can't be excused if one follows the Sermon on the Mount, which convicts man to his innermost heart:

Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not commit adultery: but I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.

That's why Jesus didn't come to save Israel from Rome, and it's why Jesus doesn't give a good God damn about saving the USA from whatever Roy Moore thinks it needs saving from. Jesus' mission, and it remains the church's mission, is to call repentant sinners into His Kingdom.

It is not the church's mission to call Jesus Law-Giver into the World, for if righteousness comes by the Law, then Jesus died for nothing.

Is Roy Moore a con man using his false gospel to fleece baby Christians, or just an idiot self-proclaimed Christian so blinded by dominionism he's lost his way? Unknown. But what is known is that Moore's Senate campaign and his desire to call Christ into the world is an act of vanity that should scandalize Christians, and the fact that no church leader has called for Moore to be delivered to Satan for the destruction of his flesh tells us the church is as pathetic in its mission as Moore was in his finger-fucking.

Stranger Things, Season 2

Stranger Things, Season 2: There's such a huge drop-off from Season 1 to Season 2, I now wonder if Season 1 was actually any good?  Maybe if I went back and watched Season 1 again, I wouldn't overlook the things that bothered me about it (Winona Ryder's screeching acting, the mostly ugly cast, including the repulsively anorexic chick who played Nancy, the deliberately overly abstruse story meant to hide the fact even the writers didn't know what the Hell any of it meant)?  Was Season 1 really a decent spooky paranoid cosmic mystery unraveled by a mostly-amusing gang of nerdy D&D kids and loser adults?

The main problem with Season 2?  There is no mystery for the nerdy kids/loser adults/ugly cast to figure out, it's the Upside Down Redux, and since we already know, more-or-less, all we're ever gonna know about the Upside Down, the writers have nine hours to fill before Eleven concentrates real hard for the two nostril nose bleed required to close the dimensional gate between the UD and Hawkins, Indiana.  

And that's a long nine hours, believe me. . .

With no mystery to tease, the writers try to fill the episodes with humor (the negro nerdy boy Lucas now has a wise-cracking little sister, think Wanda Sykes as an 8-year-old), new characters (a Jewy-iooking gOOfball conspiracy theorist, a Jewy-looking new Hawkins Lab doctor, played by a bloated-almost-beyond-recognition [if, like me, you haven't seen him since Aliens] Paul Reiser, a fat schlub boyfriend for Winona Ryder and Billy and Max, two angry new-kids-on-the-block step siblings from an über-dysfunctional family {in fact, the 'what's with this family?' question is the only real mystery of ST2}), a lame subplot (Eleven finds Eight, another Hawkins Lab experiment girl, and joins her laughably un-punk punk gang just long enough to learn about hair gel and eye shadow before realizing she's more Jack-and-Diane than Sid-and-Nancy), lame product placement (Three Musketeers and more of Season One's Eggos) and sex, lots of sex (though, thankfully, given the ugly cast, it's off-screen sex).  

And some of the sex is a little creepy.  In one uncomfortable scene, the Jewy-looking conspiracy theorist seems more Harvey Weinstein than Sherman Skolnick as he practically demands that anorexic Nancy and pasty-faced Jonathan fuck right in front of him.  And there's a troubling stink of pedophilia to the Hopper - Eleven relationship, as the unkempt cop baits Eleven with her cherished Eggos, then locks her away in a cabin in the woods to watch TV all day, before returning at night to play an unhealthy-looking game of house with her. 

Almost as disturbing is the interracial tween romance between negro Lucas and new-girl-on-the-block Max.  1984 redneck Indiana hardly seems a breeding ground for tween race mixing, so one must wonder why the writers decided to shove this mud couple in the audience's face?  In fact, one of the charms of Season 1, in our hyper-sexualized American culture, was how unsexualized the nerdy D&D kids were.  Now in Season 2, they all seem to have pussy fever (except the terminally faggy Will, who spends most of the season being raped in an Exorcist-like possession by the Upside Down's Dark Shadow. . .speaking of which, after 13 seasons of Supernatural's much-copied demon's black smoke jet-streaming in and out of the mouths of the possessed, can't horror shows and movies find a new way to depict possession?).  And Mike is so blue-balled over Eleven, he acts like a girl on the rag as he brattily wet dreams his way through the 7 or 8 episodes until they are reunited. 

The only tit-ill-ating scene that isn't off-putting is also one of the few comic interludes that actually works, when Mike's sexually frustrated mom has her sexy time (romance novel in candle-lit bubble bath) interrupted by new-boy-on-the-block Billy, a normally-roid-raging imitation Leif Garrett who manages to control his temper just long enough to honey-trap some info out of the dripping wet milf.

No mystery, unpleasant character development, ill-fitting subplots: unforunately, Stranger Things Season 2 is an Upside Down version of Season 1.