Planet Terror
Overall Recommendation
Recommendation?
This entire movie feels greasy, and I don’t mean that in a sleazy, hair gel way. I mean it with all due reverence that is due a true Greasy Spoon diner when you’re 19 and hung over with 4 hours of sleep and 2 packs of cigarettes in the past few days, jittery on coffee, bad weed and hard liquor. This movie is greasy in the same way that the thick bacon curls and the white gravy congeals. This movie is greasy like a jukebox filled with Clinton is funky. UUUUNNHH!!! And it just feels damn good to watch. “Can you imagine some greasy in your funk?” I mean, that’s a shitty rephrasing, ‘cause his next line is “Hell no!” but I think the Doobie Brothers care more about that than I. This movie is greasy like the bottom of James Brown’s shoes. This is a zombie movie that sets out to emulate the great 35mm classics and B-reels, and in doing so, potently bottles up everything great about zombie movies and then rolls it out expertly. I know the feel is supposed to be exploitation, but it just feels good to me. Cluster-B-Sorry! This is a movie that set a goal and allocated resources and in the end, the net result is exponentially greater than the simple sum of it’s parts. Now, when I say the NET, I mean it. Because there are a couple detractors to this film, and unfortunately, or possibly fortunately, as it’s a very subjective thing- I hate Quentin Tarantino as an actor. With the sole known exception of the character he played in Pulp Fiction. That role would have also been awesome for Phil Collins, now that I think about it. Sussudio. But this… peeve of mine is my own, and I know other people look forward to his cameos and shit. I feel the same way about Clive Cussler writing his own narcissistic ass into his own novels as I do Tarantino showing up in any film. Shit like this just pisses me off. You’re strongest suit is not acting, it’s directing. You’re world famous for it. So fucking leave acting to the people who are world famous at it, and focus on making awesome movies. Which, I hear you might be done with, or something like that? I don’t know. Not important. I have to say my love for this movie built and built until it was pinging along, happily bouncing the good-meter off the redline, and then Quentin showed up, and the good-meter was still reading great, it just wasn’t in danger of blowing out a gasket anymore, and then I had to see Quentin’s wedding tackle rot off… yeah. See, I don’t want to see that. But I’m quibbling at this point. I’ll admit, it was about 4/5 of the way done before I remembered what else Rodriguez has done. My ask is that he just make one straight zombie movie. One Romero-inspired classic. One with shamblers or sprinters, but make a movie where the focus is on how many unpunctured craniums remain among the cast. He obviously can make a fucking brilliant masterpiece if he desired. I want his version of Boyle’s 28 Days… I want to see what Rodriguez can do when he really focuses in on making a simple zombie movie, with the emphasis on simple and zombies. This isn’t simple, but it does have shit-tons of zombies, and it is wonderful and amazing. Had I known this was this good, I’d have watched it before. I… Watching this movie is like eating an entire chocolate easter rabbit, and not the hollow kind, either. This is warm tomato soup bathing your feet. Is this a classic? Not of the Zombie genre, and by that, I mean the straight, square zombie genre. But of the Gonzo Zombie genre? Yes. This is not only a classic, but it is *the* defining classic sitting at the head of more than a few lists. After waiting this long and finally watching it, I happily understand why it got such great reviews when it came out.
Plot Autopsy
Plot Autopsy
- “You take my breath away…”
- Bruce shoots up a bunch of science shit and zombies run around.
- There’s a BBQ place that I want to visit, but it has zombies loitering in the parkinglot.
- So much action and shooting and red splish that I had to wipe my fevered brow and sodden pits.
- Some loopyness with a missing reel. You just have to watch the fucking movie and get it, you know… understand how movies- films, at the time, used to be stored and shown and aged. I fucking love this stuff, it reminds me of the old Golden Harvest and Shaw Brothers movies I used to watch at The Hollywood.
- Quentin shows up and does his usual “makes everything slightly less cool” but the movie has too much fucking momentum to really miss more than a half-stagger step. Fucking A.
Zombie Description
Zombie Description
These are toxic gas mutant zombies, which strangely once exposed to the gas, they have to keep huffing more of it or they start bursting with boils and their balls melt off and shit. Like, the amount of red slime that came out of zombie bodies here was unprecedented. These are Romero-ish zombies, in that they remember how to use tools and retain memory, but these zombies are much more capable than Romero’s. These zombies talk and shit, which, you know, they’re not really zombies, but then they do bite people who do turn, so those are real zombies. These were some perfectly done zombies, though. I wouldn’t change a thing.
Where the money went
Where the money went
The money went into the production- I mean, this was what the director wanted it to be. Robert Rodriguiz. I know the name, but I can’t place it. I wish he were inclined like Lucio, or Romero, because I want to keep watching zombie movies made by you. This is a top-rate cast with A-list talent, this is hallucinatory level special effects, this is top line cinema dressed up in drag for the night as a horror film. So much money went into big, pulsing blisters and red wetness to splish out of everything that gets shot or stabbed or punched or run over… so much red splish.
Best Weapon
Best Weapon
The best weapon was the zombie’s infection process with Brolin. Once he was foiled at killing him, the zombie pulled a pustule off it’s own face and broke it open, smearing it all over Brolin’s face. Brolin, for his part, plays it about as good as I’ve ever seen him. Manson level crazy-eyes. Rose’s leg? You know, it was too fantastical for me. I dig that this is an intentional over in order to be true to the originals, which went to ridiculous lengths to out-extreme each other, but… I’d have enjoyed the movie more without losing the leg and getting the automatic rifle attached. You can call me old fashioned, I don’t care.
Can I get a hand?
Can I get a hand?
I’m going to repurpose this section to talk about BBQ. I love BBQ. I love BBQ like only a man who went vegetarian for a decade can appreciate. (In comparison, in another freak-out, I only went celibate for *four* years). But this movie’s dedication to bringing BBQ into areas where there doesn’t necessaryily need to be be BBQ, but could most definitely be improved by some good BBQ… Now, the movie excels at serving up some of the meltingest burnt ends that I ever had the opportunity to yummel. (That’s when you pummel something while appreciating it’s yumminess) The fact that the “Award winning BBQ sauce has his blood in it? It makes us ask… is it not we all who are ze real zombie, non?
That was new!
That was new!
I have never seen such a hollow human head before. Texting is something that movies have been playing with showing for a while now, and some are truly pushing envelopes, but this simple, almost analog shot of him comparing the two messages on the two phones? Nice. I know I’ve talked about the feel to this movie, and the overall “weathering” of the film to achieve that throwback look, but this is also, special effects speaking, possibly one of the WETTEST movies I have seen. Every gunshot results in 2 liters of red spraying out. Every zombie attack contains geysers and fountains, and that’s before they begin flinging the organs about. I have seen weapons attached where limbs have been removed, tho. Bruce, anyone? So, that wasn’t new, and… Wasn’t the biggest fan. But I accept it.
Review Notes
Review Notes
We start off with a whole lot of gyrations. I dropped my dab shit. I almost burned myself. Very good gyrations. Did I mention how many there were?
Honestly, after working in the adult industry, stripping bores me, but… jesus. This woman is carbonating my pheromones. You’re fit, but my gosh don’t you know it.
“You know what a go-go dance is?”
“Useless talent number 12?”
“And I don’t want to fire your ass, because I like looking at your ass.”
And… the woman walks out off into the night.
And almost gets run over by… redneck military guys?
And manages to fall into trash cans along an otherwise abandoned road?
The military guys are… meeting? Some terrorist scietntists?
Weird vial of frog leg looking things?
No. Oh. Those are balls.
Abby… is really into castration and fancy scissors.
Who the fuck wants other people’s testicles? I mean, that’s… a really deviant thing to collect. Like, Dahmer level homosexual, and I think we all can agree that we don’t want more of that around.
Wait. The soldiers are breathing some special gas? Or something?
And Bruce is a soldier.
Who can Matrix like no one’s business!
Holy shootout, Batman! So much shooting they ran a guy over! Exuberance!
And… testicles again.
Bruce has lesions forming…
The testicle guy… shoots the gas…
Zombies… fucking melting everywhere!
And grabs a couple pockets full of balls…
And takes off into the night? With a zombie on his roof?
The Bone Shack; it’s as big as a whale!
I could do some BBQ.
And Fergie is a mechanic with a shitty car…
This is good.
“Now that’s a rump roast.” I knew it was good.
8:00?
Brolin… I love you.
“I’m going to eat your brains and gain your knowledge.”
I… think something is up. She’s leaving him.
Fucking loosing teeth. Still scares me.
“No dead bodies for da-da tonight.”
Oh, shit! The dancer had a huge chunk of broken glass in her leg.
Love that wrecker.
Love that synthesizer.
Got a dog eating at the counter? I like it.
25 year anniversary.
Wow. Now THAT is some sultry guitar.
“So what do you do now?”
“I’m going to be a standup comedian.” She has… the perfect poker face. I have no idea if she means it. Love this.
I can’t stand the way she flips people off. Every other finger raised to the last knuckle.
Steve-O got bit… but. Isn’t bleeding.
Fungal penis growth…
Lots more bad shit…
“You’re running a fever of 105.”
“105? Is that bad?”
“Bad would be 108. You’d run the risk of having a seizure, psychosis… you’d probably die.”
Oh, shit… that toggue is the worse I’ve seen
Oh. That may have been the grossest thing I’ve seen…
That’s AWESOME. Her To-Do list: Cereal for Tony. Crickets for Tony’s pets. Kill Bill.
And the steampunk needles with the thigh-holster… It’s a known fact; I’m an addict. I want.
He had the bite for 14 days? What the fuck?
I like her friends…
I REALLY like the red-head.
“We all react differently.” (After the guy drools on himself and passes out.)
I think my wife needs one of Fergie’s shirts.
I’m laughing, I shouldn’t be… She fell down.
Oh, shit. She… is being splashed all over the road.
No, that was not a deer.
Yes, people eat roadkill.
Uh… why can’t you brake?
And that truck is a fucking TANK. Of course you don’t have to worry about hitting a deer. Say that again driving a Geo.
Oh! Rolled the truck! Idiot!
And zombies stole the Dancer.
And ate her leg.
Fucking dog… farts stink like cat food! So bad!
Enter the cops. Exit human rights.
Ray isn’t allowed to hunt?
“You’ve got a gal in your truck with a missing leg? A missing led that’s now *missing*?”
So many people with lesions…
BBQ owner… Working on the perfect sauce for the food channel, and got two zombies down by the pumps.
Fuck, I want BBQ.
“Fucking Wednesday’s nights.”
The doc… “chews” on a thermometer? I mean, I’ve seen him take his heart rate a dozen times, but…
Oh, that sounds bad.
Ray, you’re a liar. That’s not good. But it’s ok, since you’re talking to a cop.
Yeah. I can empathize. Kinda. As much as ASPD allows, in the sense that I’d hate to take up missing a leg. My legs… I think they’re worth a lot. To me. But I understand how your legs are probably better.
Zombies at the BBQ door.
Wow. That was some special effects.
Brolin has some control issues.
Brolin has a lot of control issues.
Dude, stop jabbing her!
Wow. That was a cool shot. Not, like, a stabbing shot. A needle shot, but camera perspective.
So he DOESN’T get to kill her. Just… lock her in a closet.
The bodies are all gone?
You didn’t notice all that blood on the floor yet? Like, even just as a fall hazard to your own Darwinist safety?
Oh, shit! CHIPS had his finger bitten off!
And the zombie is out of the car. Broke… both back windows out?
Whole lot of startle!
“Where’s my finger?”
“I found your ring.”
Uh… such an awesome sequence… fighting… shooting… spurting… blurting…
There’s too much to get granular. You want to see it for yourself anyway.
Shooting, explostions, zombies, WHAT THE FUCK??
What just came out of that guy’s mouth?
“Fine, but we’re taking my car!” (Car explodes in background) “I’m riding with you.”
That hospital is not what a hospital under crisis looks like. That is what a small hallway filled with people looks like. Covid came along and showed us just how under-represented PPE is in the infectious world.
Brolin, you looking kinda ill…
Oh! Shit! I didn’t…
One less Doctor…
Run, Dude!
Oh. Yuck. Gross. That was… That was gross.
“Farting like a goddamn pack-mule!”
SHIT.
SHIT.
SHIT.
SHIT. SHIT.
This is one of the best “end of society” that I’ve ever seen.
So much going on, can’t talk now…
Uh… Parkour? Is this Underworld all of a sudden?
This guy really loves his knives. Rob. Rob has a knife thing.
Knife things are pretty pathetic.
“I was going to be a standup comedian, but who’s going to laugh now?”
“Stop crying. Some of the best jokes are about cripples.”
And we’re off! Like… her leg!
Now she’s a pirate! Some of the best jokes are about pirates! A pirate bellies up to a bar with a steering column of a car stuffed down the front of his pants, the steering wheel is against his belly, making it hart to sit, drink, or really move… after the third beer, the barman can’t help himself anymore, and he asks “Uh, sir, you do know you have a steering wheel stuck down your pants?” and the pirate begins turning the wheel back and forth and replies “ARGH!! AND IT’S DRIVING ME NUTS!” I love that joke.
Uh… spoiled kids, a spider? What?
They have so many exotic pets!
“So start doing it.” I would have thrown a couple of fists. She’s polite, even exhausted.
Yay entitled children!
“All or nothing box.” I fucking love it.
A posse heading up to the BBQ!
“Don’t shoot yourselves! Try not to shoot each other! But, especially… Don’t shoot me.”
Oh, shit. JT is down…
No, he’s not!
He cut them in half.
BBQ sauce. Blood. I’d still try it.
“We’re toothless buddies.” I… I guess I am too. Gonna have a nifty gold crown on another one soon enough though!
“You shoot them. Just like in your videogames. You shoot them. In. The. Head.”
“What if it’s dad?”
“Especially if it’s your dad.”
I fucking love this woman’s mothering style. Leaving her kid…
WHAT THE FUCK??
WHAT THE FUCK??
NO. No.
No. What the…
Kid blew his own head open. He lasted right about as long as the “Last Chance” scientist did in WWZ.
Did NOT see that coming.
Brolin and company are here to eat them.
“I’m going to eat your brains and gain your knowledge.”
FUCK THIS IS GOOD!!
Why are you lugging your kid’s corpse around?
Jesus, her dad…
A Jesse James chopper? Nice-ish?
And that tho… The More People Mover… is one gorgeous machine.
Ray has a dove tattoo.
“I’m a nobody. That’s the easiest thing to remember. So remember.”
That is the sleaziest waterbed…
Something in the jacket pocket…
Aww… unrequited love.
I would not be into sex so quickly after losing a limb. They play it up, but…
Oh.
Nice.
They freeze on some lovely flesh, then burn out the film, insert a management apology for a missing reel, and then cut to the BBQ building engulfed in flames. This is fucking genius. “It’s not a bug, it’s a feature!”
CHIPS shot the captain in the neck?
Everyone boarding the door…
And it turns out that Roy is some kind of special killer.
“That boy has the devil in him.”
Not much tactical sense though.
That’s the end of CHIPS.
So much wet red. Wet red everywhere.
That’s a picture perfect approaching hoard.
And the gimp makes a run for the wrecker.
Makes it, too! Roy does dome good shooting.
Where did the gangster with the Mac-10 come from?
The convoy takes off…
So much wet red! So much wet red!
This is awesome. Fucking pit-bike!
Well, that’s a bit of a roadblock…
And that’s a lot of red splatter…
And that’s Bruce!
L-Ray… Is down. I think his name was Roy?
Now they’re in quarantine at the old army base.
And the balls-collector is there.
Lots of science talk.
Resulting in the idea of making a run for Mexico.
Or an antidote?
Jesus, I can’t STAND Quentin Tarantino as an actor. So much.
Nice red filter.
Why are you so obsessed with being a dick… oh, it’s because you’re infected!
But he huffs the gas and the boils go away.
BBQ sauce.
Wow, that… whole lot of shooting really fast.
Bruce, I think you just fucked up.
Storytime!
Bruce killed Bin Laden?
“Science comes first, but business comes a close fucking second.”
Hella mutant…
No… I don’t want to see his… penis and balls rotting off!
Now she’s got a machine gun leg? With a M-203.
What the fuck??
Mutant tentacles!
That is one hell of a karate kick.
“Hop on the other way. No, the other way. No. The. Other. Way.”
Oh. Uh, physics calls bullshit!
Testicle-collector is leading the assault…
No, he just literally got his head split in two.
“I don’t suppose there’s any other biochemical engineers around?”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
I wish they really had a good recipe to share. I’d try it.
“Remember, you have to take this recipe to your grave.”
“I’m pretty sure I can guarantee that.” (dies)
A-ha! There was the tremendous Kaboom.
And then… rocket-assist flying!
No reloading!
Uh… breakdancing?
Shit! Ray got shot!
Helicopters…
Why the hell did she come here?
“No more dead bodies for daddy tonight.”
“As useless as the pecker on the Pope.” I… I may steal that one.
A good chopper-clearing-the-deck scene. From what I understand, those blades could actually take a person apart and still keep flying. I don’t know how many people the limit is though. All good things must come to an end.
“Motherfuckers around here eat roadkill.”
“I never miss.” PFFFFF!!!!
God, the cheese is strong. So strong. Like… her grip, evidently.
And… now, like… a Moses procession into the desert?
And they’re living in, like, an Incan ruin up against the beach?
That’s a nice paradise they have.
————End Transmission——————–
Introduction
Introduction
I’ve slowed down a lot. I haven’t showered, or looked at myself in the mirror though, if I’m thinking about it. I haven’t eaten any gummy bears either and my calcium levels are still outstanding, so; I get like what, a C+ for Adulting? What is the passing grade for adulting?
What is the result of failing at adulting? Who is the judge for the adulting evaluation, and is it a sliding scale? Do we get points for things we thought about doing but didn’t do? Do we want to get points? Or not? Are we talking about points, or are we talking about demerits, which I think are just points that move the needle to the left.
The only reason that 99% of the people who know the word “demerits” know it from Harry Potter. I don’t say that as if it’s a bad thing. Or a good thing. I… I’m pretty fucking ambivalent, or maybe there’s a better word, some other sort of type of an “Agnostic” but towards the whole J.K. Rowling thing in total, not religion. I don’t doubt that HP exists, nor do I doubt that it’s considered some people’s religion. I’m not impressed, either.
I read the first four books and watched the first 2 or three movies? And that was a long time ago when they first came out, and it really makes you feel your age when the girl you’re seeing is lying in bed reminiscing about growing up loving and learning, reading those books, the first thing they ever enjoyed reading.
I read the same books in the immediate few years after undergrad, when I was working as a bartender, or in the call center, or beginning my career in IT. Which is the wrong silo and path for me, but that’s part of the fun of being me. I don’t work now. I’m wet dynamite, or too old and unstable to be useful even if I do have any explosive left it me.
I remember reading those books lying in bed on lazy Saturdays when I’d wake up and immediately reach for the weed pipe next to the bed, reef a huge toke, and then grab the book off the bed next to me and stagger to the bathroom. A few minutes and a return stagger later, and we’re firing up another bowl as we sink into bed with the hardcover.
I only had the hardcovers because a friend would steal them for me, or rather, she’d steal them because she could, and then she’d give them to me. I recently remembered having sex with this friend. I’d forgotten about it for years. Not oppressed, nothing like that, but rather…
I wasn’t me going through those thrusting motions, it was a shit-ton of weed and alcohol (and she *did* lie in order to get me to smoke some weed laced with something hinky) and I’m not sure what else, but I think I woke up on the couch from a party the night before and her door was open and the bed had a big warm sun-patch on it.
I think that was my Are you trying to seduce me? moment, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I’d actually uttered something like that in realization as it occurred. Is that a flashback? When you remember something that has long been buried? Or does a proper flashback require some sort of narration from an inner monologue, providing aged wisdom and perspective on the younger Me’s actions? I haven’t had any of those.
I mean, I have encountered younger versions of myself. Usually, I’ve intervened to allow a stranger to continue on, along their way and unmolested, as I deal with the anger myself. Doesn’t matter what the kid looks like. I can read the shoulders and knuckles.
Parade me through your local school system like a visiting therapy dog in a respite home and I’ll pick out the school shooters for you, I just have to see the students walk around. I can also tell you who’s selling drugs, and who is a bully, and who is waiting schemingly to take that bully’s hierarchy. I can probably even pick out the potential stalkers, if that would be helpful.
Did you go high school? Do you remember it? Do you have any doubt that you could probably do the same thing as me with damn near probable equal results and accuracy? So how is it that the adults in charge of these buildings and people do not see it? Is the lack of action due to bureaucracy?
I can see that, and understand it; if you can prove to me that you’re in the process of actualizing change into a more efficient organization, I won’t insist on a random lot drawing to determine the poor soul donating the strands when I demand accountability and put some hair on the wall of improvement ideas to see if it sticks.
Hmm. Reconsidering that I’m threatening violent action against the very people tasked with preventing violence to our communities’ children for the failure to do so… (long deep sigh) Is that somewhat hypocritical of me? I mean, I acknowledge it’s not useful. But something doesn’t have to be useful to be important.
I’m not going to back that statement up though, since like before, when I blamed the sex-with-friend on the alcohol and laced weed (really!), I’m gonna admit that at the moment I have sorta ceded typing controls over to the fungal puppet strings. Weaving and bobbing here again. This, however, is a measured (plus!) dose with the whole intent of not losing my shit and spending 3 hours eating frozen blueberries and watching the first 40 seconds of YouTube videos.
I am having a bit of trouble focusing, and my face is feeling a bit numb, too, so maybe… See, it was a measured dose of what some of you might remember as “space popcorn”. Got the sudden urge to shave my head to the skin again. Same thing happened last night. My head. Not my eyebrows.
Growing up, there were cliffs outside of town, but they went up, not down, so no-one told us they were dangerous and not to go there. I guess that adults figure if you’re willing to climb all the way up something, you must be mature enough to know how to get back down again. The amount of assumptions that people make about children and gravity. It’d be heartbreaking if I wasn’t laughing so hard.
I’m texting with a friend instead of writing, talking about mushrooms. He ordered a medicinal scale- one that measures grams to the hundredth. He had it sent to his sister’s house. I’m trying to assuage his concerns about the proverbial “Them” making a documentary about our downfall called “The Mushroom Mafia”, which is a catchy name but he really was quite over-concerned about things in general.
He’s one of those people who think about the amount of asteroids hurtling through space that could hit our planet. I assume the number is a really big one, but… maybe most of them aren’t moving at all? Like, the space-ship runs into them, they’re essentially Space-Trees? “Whiskey bottle, brand new car; oak tree, you’re in my way” Rooooocket-SHIP!
Consider your ordering history online. If, or when, those databases are made public, we’re all going to be able to know anything and everything about each other. Those of us on the grid, in the machine, the ones and zeros. I’m not advocating leaving the grid. As my therapist got me to admit, there’s no point in time in my life where I would have actually stripped naked and walked off to live in the woods. Living off the grid involves wolves and no toilet paper.
I say that with a wink and a nod and we’re off to make other grand generalizations, such as “If you can’t shit in the woods *with* toilet paper, you’re fucking prey.” Prey. I watched a documentary about youth gang warfare in third world countries, and they fight solely with machetes. Old, broken, rusty ones, too. No guns. Throwing bottles or bricks if they can find one, but fighting with machetes.
Entranced, I replayed the same 40 seconds over and over- a kid charging forward, the other one leaping back but swinging his blade out to meet the attack, the one moving forward now flinging up his blade and trying to parry and cower under it, but the blow hit something. The kid makes a weird motion and then he’s on the ground. As one of his comrades swings a machete back and forth over him in cover, another throws bottles to try to drive the others away, yet they keep darting in- with the machete, and what looks like a fucking hockey stick, darting in to land blows on the fallen kid.
The guy protecting him is only committed to protecting his head and torso, so the others keep landing their attacks on the fallen’s lower legs, including a very forceful machete chop. The ranged weapons do their work, or maybe it’s the onset of reinforcements, but the winners suddenly dance away, jumping and twirling with their blades, while two drag the fallen one in the other direction.
The phone filming was poor quality, as are third word lives, and if any of the kids fighting would have seen the phone they would have quit fighting long enough to approach and steal it. A battered tablet was worth 50 euros, a fancy- to my eye- watch 5 or 10; that’s how they live. That and a third word version of methoin. I just made that up. The word and the drug.
Imagine the power of the person who creates that devil, tho? In the documentary, the users of their 3rd world version of meth get all tranquil and mellow for the day, yet then go raging through the streets at night. It made no sense. Nothing sedates you, then amps you up, and then wears off. I mean, nothing I know of. Nothing I’ve taken. Just texted with the wife a bit. Now all I can think about are Oreos. And they’re a sin. An Abomination, if you’re Terry Pratchett.
And my buddy is having his scale sent to his sister’s house because he’s afraid of government overreach coming after me for growing them and him for having them… if the government had bandwidth, I’m sure they’d love to meddle and see what’s up, but the harsh truth in the vast majority of America today is that if there’s no victim, and more importantly: No profit going untaxed- then the powers that be don’t give a shit, don’t see a shit, and wouldn’t do the paperwork on you if you turned yourself in out of misplaced guilt. They’re too overwhelmed with real criminals and real crises.
As I wrote that last word, the pitbull ripped a massive fart. Talk about a *real* crisis. I can’t wait for, well… I’m operating on faith that we’ll get the operable shell of a house up next spring or summer. I feel rigid of spine while weak of bladder considering the possibility that we’re going to have to start over with new contractors, too. For all I know, the ones we’ve been working with for a full year and more have died in a car accident in Montreal and we’re never gonna find out that the engineer is done with our house. Mein Gott!
The level of looking forward to having a building we can live- truly LIVE in and out of… The only word for what stirs in me is “covet”, and we must take the initial, most biblical interpretation literally. Jesus. The old dog up on the couch with me just ripped one too. Time to put them both out. I come back to the table with a bowl of frozen strawberries… Yeah, strawberries. Just checking to see if you’re paying attention.
As I sit down, my old dog approaches and gives me the “Hey. I get some of that?” gesture at the bowl. “No, you can’t have my strawberries!” I admonish her, instead offering her to get up on the couch with me instead of an edible treat. She gave me that look though. That really smart dogs give you and you suddenly realize that you’ve been talking to them so humanly- not humanely, but humanly, that you’re actually waiting for an answer?
I get that look from my older dog all the time, more recently, now that I’ve succeeded at home grown mycology. And all that without any caffeine. I did just freak out and try to eat three Triscuits. I forced myself to give one each to the dogs and to spit out the one I was chewing. I’m going to adhere to this liquid-ish diet if eating Triscuits is literally the, well… I was going to say last thing I do, but then, that’d imply I made it to the permanent crown and was back to solid food and ate a cracker and died. Now, that doesn’t sound very rewarding, does it? Why would you want that for me?
I deserve… I was going to say “Better” but then my inner voice screamed “MORE FOOD” and I ran into the kitchen to chug a good portion of the rest of my shake. I can smell the banana in my facial hair. Should you be more concerned about bees or monkeys if you reek of banana? Shit you never learned in school.
Ok. Gotta find a movie. Maybe I *should* have some caffeine. See? I’m willing to work with myself for drugs, but not crunchy salt. Although, salt is as important to the body as water. Salinity is the word, people! And Hydrogeologists are the wave of the future!
Grindhouse: Planet Terror. That’s the game tonight. “After an experimental bioweapon is released, turning thousands into zombie-like creatures, it’s up to a rag-tag group of survivors to stop the infected and those behind its release.” Why do we have to say “Zombie-like creatures”? Why not just… Zombies?
Also, once again I must be that bullet-counting nerd speaking the irritating squawk of reason- the world goes to zombie-shit and society crumbles… and you think I’m going to work to rebuild it? To reinstate the bullshit reality that we’re forced to genuflect to, to restart the apathy and atrocities that human corruption and nature allow us…
No. I’m going to find a fast car and a lot of highway and I’m going to burn gasoline like I’m the last person left polluting the planet. Wow. How’s that for an example of Ghandi’s “Nothing you do matters, yet it is vital that you do it” idea? If I’m the last person alive and polluting the planet, well, the planet is either going to heal or succumb regardless of me, right?
Nothing could be so precariously balanced that me yahooing a 1969 Chevelle with a big block belching carbon dioxide will actually change. But… If I’m the last person polluting the planet, and I stop, well, then… THAT’S when the planet actually turns the page for real and begins the phoenix.
How ridiculously selfish of me… to allow myself to be the last hinderance to positivity. My therapist says I need to work on the idea that I belong here, I am not an aberration, I deserve my space and oxygen and calories and bandwidth. I’m still not sure, but as long as there’s frozen fruit I’m not really going to complain.