Seeing how such hallmark exhibitors like HBO, Showtime, Disney, Johnson & Johnson et al. are stepping forth by offering their catalogues of work—or “content” as some of you people like to call it, whatever the hell that means!—the Vampire Horses have, through sundry meetings over Zoom, Skype, Google group chat, and Bliss-Vol-View, decided to make the economically shrewd decision to not offer their 2019 masterwork, No Pizza from the Sex Place, for public view during this unpresidentidented time. I mean unprecedented. UNNN-prez-SCENT-DENTED. Okay, got it. Anyway! The Vampire Horses had all but shooed off to their quarantine ad equinotix when they were vetoed by shareholders, and No Pizza from the Sex Place is now—for however limited a time—being pulled from the archive tomb and put up for mass streaming purposes. The stone was rolled away, and alas, no print of Pizza Sex was there. It was an Easter mystery, befitting the film’s themes of resurrection and the mystery of messianic figura. What more, the film itself had found itself mysteriously uploaded onto this digital video streaming platform, as if by its own accord. Indeed, art has a life of its own, as the ancients have heretofore taught! And so, to epilogue, I, Beaufort Spurtwinny, was myself dispatched from my cozy quarantine to hastily pen this intro with a complementary message of good will and health. I will see you all, or most of you anyway—sorry to be morbid—on the other side.
Professor Beaufort Spurtwinny