The Video Dead
Overall Recommendation
Recommendation?
I didn’t think this was going to be this good, but it’s great! If you’re into the whole “Gonzo” sort of thing. This is like Night of the Comet or The Creeps (is that what I mean?) Or… Slither? There’s a genre for these movies- they’re one-off experimental forays into social commentary and fantasy, as well as zombie movies. They’re period time capsules. These are movies that when Romero ruled the land, people had enough faith in the non-Romero DIYers who wanted to take zombies to stranger places. This has a punk rock flair- especially Jeff, who is great. Zoe is fine, Hat is fine, April, well… It makes sense that Jeff would fall for a platinum idiot. He’s young, after-all. And he can’t roll a joint to save his life. But he’s on the right path. So are you if you’re feeling like getting obliterated to the point of incomprehension and then laughing your way down this alternate reality of Shaun of the Dead meets Repo Man meets Poltergeist. This is such a period piece that Jeff delivering his lines could be an audition for Goonies. Fuck. I can’t really recommend this on the strength of it’s Zombie-ism. There’s really nothing hard-core or groundbreaking about them. Jeff was played by Rocky Duvall, who as far as IMDB is concerned, never went on to do anything further. I think this is bullshit. He is easily Keanu level in terms of flat stupidity working as his character. I can see him in the backseat of the “Alright alright alright” car. Have you seen that awesome documentary about the out of control Winnebago salesman “Winnebago Man”? Rocky Duvall could be the camera assistant kid who fucks with him all the time. What was that movie about the space vampires with the woman who didn’t speak English but walked around naked making things explode? Minus the naked lady walking around, this was that good, and although nothing like each other, both belong in that strange zone where zombies meet fantasy meets space meets… weird. But all of that ranting aside, because I just tried to read it and it made no sense to me, aside from all that filler crap, this is a really fun, really dumb, pretty fucking original zombie movie that’s limited on zombie variety but still keeps it fresh and fun until the end. Yes, it pokes it’s tongue out at some conventions. Yes, it pokes fun at itself. But overall, while it’s doing all this, you’re sitting back (hopefully with snax) grinning and guffawing.
Plot Autopsy
Plot Autopsy
Totally forgot to do this section. Whoops.
Zombie Description
Zombie Description
Literally? The zombies- all 6 of them in total, come out of the television and then, well, wander around in the woods until the house is occupied again. If you count the sexy tauntress, then 7 zombies? But there’s Bloodface, The Bride, David Bowie, plus a couple less interesting looking ones. How do you kill them? Massive trauma to the brain doesn’t cut it here. Instead, you have to trap them someplace they can’t get out of, and then they’ll eat themselves out of insanity, or you can, like, treat them as if they were alive, until they’ve been through things that an alive person couldn’t survive though, so then they realize they’re dead and fade away? See how that sentence ended in a question mark? It’s cause I’ve got that little confidence in my understanding of any of this. Partially because the zombies react to mirrors like vampires. There’s a strange attempt to bring philosophy into the reason-de-zombie and it must have looked great on paper, because shit, it’s a muddled mess on film. It’s sort of like the director wanted zombies, so they used zombies, and then 2/3 of the way through, they gave a character a 40 second monologue about how they came to be. And honestly, what they could have said instead was “We had enough money for 6 highly detailed prosthetic suits, so those were the zombies that we used.” You know what? As… in your face as this repetition is, they try to build it into the plot, as well as simply accept: 6 well done zombies will always beat a horde of facepaint-only or smurfed or other similar cost cutting zombie fuck-ups. There’s a thousand examples of bad zombies out there. I’ll take a limited number of great zombies. This works.
Where the money went
Where the money went
This was well written. The plot itself may have simply been a scrawling of a zombie climbing out of a TV and a bullet-point list of characters and events, but when it came time to flush things out and give the characters soul and words and conversations, they came in far, far above the average zombie fare. This isn’t Shaun level, but it’s… it’s fucking close, mate. The money went to making the zombie costumes, since these look like full on prosthetics. A bit of money went into an overlarge hat. Some money went towards the electric-blue special effect from the 80’s. This is really a lot like House 2, I think. If that’s the movie that I’m thinking of. Everything was well done here, and you can tell that they aimed cautiously and carefully to ensure that they were able to maintain a professional consistency that held the movie coherently together even when the plot consisted of Hat sweating and rambling and mirrors taped to doors.
Best Weapon
Best Weapon
A basement, evidently. Because if you lock a bunch of zombies in a basement, no matter how many times you’ve unsuccessfully tried to kill them with guns, a bow and arrow, and a chainsaw, locking them in the basement activates the dry-ice-filmed-in-reverse television which in conjuncture with at least one of the zombies in attendance swelling up like a watermelon and bursting all over the place for the other zombies to eat as the dry ice consumes them all and they… go back into the television for a reset? A rewinding? I loved that the zombies were jabbing jeff with sticks like a pinata. I liked the little chainsaw, especially once the bride got ahold of it.
Can I get a hand?
Can I get a hand?
There is a breach here, and it’s one hell of a breach. The first 2nd hand breach that I’ve ever seen. A breach in a movie within this movie. That’s the good stuff. And then there’s literally a severed hand, too! We think it’s down the food disposal, but?? Zoe has a dream about David Bowie eating her hand. It’s… well… I mean, once you get to that point in your movie; “The zombie David Bowie is eating Zoe’s hand while she watches”, you’re kinda committed. Or ought to be.
That was new!
That was new!
I didn’t expect the writing to be so good. Not in a plot sense. I mean, “FEAR TV!!” kinda sums it up, but the dialogue and one-offs in this are really good and funny, and they come off the way national lampoon or ghost-busters lines come off. It’s not forced or over-emphasized; rather, it’s delivered in such a “normal” way that the humor is increased by an order of magnitude.
Review Notes
Review Notes
Jesus, I can’t stop coughing.
They got the 80’s synth/penis guitar soundtrack down perfect.
Jesus, I can’t stop coughing.
Written, Directed, Produced… All Scott. If this sucks, it’s his fault.
Well, it starts off with a Van. That’s a good thing.
Kinda sketchy delivery guys tho.
This was filmed in New England, I bet you whatever you want. I know those dead leaves and those ferns.
Some sleeping dude.
A dead goldfish?
“Sorry buddy, but I’m a CHEWER!” (SPLURT!!)
“I haven’t ordered anything other than a pizza for the past six months.”
So he got a delivery he’s not expecting. And it’s full of crumpled paper!
Oh. And a TV.
He’s a Cubs fan? Blech.
The TV turned itself on… It’s showing “Zombie Blood Nightmare”. I don’t know this one. Is it real?
Oh! We have… 2nd hand breech! And some good, gross old zombies!
Keeps turning off the tv, but it’s turning itself back on.
Now the TV is back on, even though the plug is out.
The zombies… are aware of the… 3rd wall.
And we’ve got use of the “blue electricity” effect so prevalent in the 80’s!
Well, the TV has fallen over, and it’s screen up, and a zombie head is poking out of it like a gopher.
We see the zombie feet shuffling by of all the zombies that were in the movie that wouldn’t stop playing as they walk through the guy’s house
Oh! The van! These guys look like convicts.
“Institute for the study of the occult.”
I would shoot a Russian for a sense of identity or a Twix bar right now. I mean, two Twix. A package of Twix. I’m not callously indifferent to the value of human life or anything like that.
Oh, shit! The dude is… uh… bloody-clown-i-fied. There’s so much to not go into. But… WTF??
Three months later?? The house is now for sale.
It’s sold!
Some kid has a key. And a Walkman. At one point this meant you were rich.
“Actually, it’s my parent’s place. But they haven’t been here either.”
She looks… like her head was once a bucket.
Who the hell has the shutters on the inside of the window?
Sign on line 11? LINE 11??
Newspapers got Regan in the headline.
Oh! There’s a zombie or something lurking in the woods. All we can see are feet.
A sign? I threw it on the ground!
No, that’s just the younger brother.
Parents are in Saudi Arabia?
“You can’t major in Aerobics!”
I like Jeff.
Nice little Chevy Luv…
From Texas!
Joshua Daniels? You have a 40 gallon hat.
“He was trying to talk us into buying a TV or something.”
Wait, what the… the TV has a sexy lady on it talking to Jeff!
He’s got an Adam Ant poster on his wall. Nice.
The kids are doing all the decorating?
Jeff sucks at raking.
Oh, sha-la-la.
April? Ok, we’ve got a love interest already.
April, you can’t act.
“But I don’t count poodles as animals.”
Little poodle making a run for it…
But there is one of the zombies! In the woods!
I had to rewind for this one… “You don’t understand! He likes to chase skunks in the woods and when he finds them he tries to mate with them but skunks don’t like to mate with poodles so they spray him and then he REALLY gets turned on!” Yes. That may be the best line in cinematic history.
“Well, if it’s so important, they should have it stuffed and mounted.”
Got a zombie watching them…
Following them…
“That is *really sick*! Do you think it will work??”
Oh shit! She got him in trouble! And she’s promising him naughties to make up for it! Don’t trust her!
“And you’re not going to believe this! My dad is sleeping with the maid! It’s SO gross!”
Oh, boy… he’s fucking with the TV now! And there’s a zombie- the one from the hill… on!
And he’s (Jeff, not the zombie) is rolling up a joint!
The zombies are busting into a house on the TV!
“Ha! Go for it, Dude!” (A joint-toking Jeff to the zombie on TV about to attack a house-wife)
You know, Jeff’s character here is almost a study in Emilio Estevez’s Repo Man.
The TV comes back on with the sexy lady. She and Jeff smoke/toke in unison.
Oh! The woman has materialized in the room where the TV was!
And… she? Looks unsettlingly like Marilyn Manson.
Even while naked.
Oh, this is not going to end well. Jeff, you’re making a mistake!
And now she’s back in the TV!
Oh. What the fuck. She’s taunting him and laughing from inside the tv and then some burly grizzled man runs up on her six and cuts her throat!
Lectures Jeff about leaving it alone!
The camera cuts to the corpse and… it’s a real old, fucked up zombie corpse.
“They look just like you and I. But inside, inside… they’re different. They have no soul. They call me the garbage. I get rid of human garbage.”
One last warning… “A mir-or”
Dude! Jeff just flushed his stash! What an idiot!
Que The Goats! Wake and Bake! Oh, wait, we can’t! We flushed the stash!
Got the tv down in the basement…
It’s starting to fog out with dry ice…
An arm grabs Jeff!
Jeff grabs a hatchet and curt the hand off! It won’t let go of him!
And when he gets it free, he throws it off into a corner. Bad idea.
And then he strips his shirt off.
The hand is still moving.
He’s got it in a paper bag… Clearing out the sink… I think he thinks he just sent the hand down the garbage disposal.
“That’s the way I am! I’m a strange person!”
So, I got three main zombies. Blood face, the bride, and David Bowie. Ok, there’s suit coat, hat, and checkered jacket. Six main zombies.
The bride… has put on a wig. No doesn’t look good.
David Bowie… likes what he sees.
Blood face can’t figure out Cheerios.
The Bride is playing with the blender.
And she and Blood Face are chortling zombie chortles about it.
Here comes the Maid.
The Bride.
Checkered coat got her in the choke-lift.
Knitting needle… no.
Iron? Point first into the zombie’s skull.
Doesn’t do much. Zombie 1, Maid Dead
HA!! That cooking show!!
“What about the coconut? What do I do with the coconut?”
The bride… was hiding in the dryer?
And now they’re running the lady’s corpse in the washing machine. Face down.
“I wish you’d let me wear the pants in this house.”
The bride just spun the guys head in a circle. Crunch.
April… Jeff to the rescue!
April… you cannot act.
40 gallon hat is back.
Here comes David Bowie…
“You look the wrong way, you just might find yourself with a bite sized chunk taken out of your rear end!”
Oh, jesus! Huge phobia trigger! April is freaking out brushing her teeth and goes until she’s bleeding! I hate gums!
Bowie comes through the door, and she faints! She’s almost as Darwinistic as my wife!
Bowie is pulling a Frankenstein with April!
And going back for… Lou? Whatever her name is.
Zoe.
Mirrors. Taped up all over the door.
Wow. Big hat got a lot of explanatory mumbo-jumbo about the how and why of this all.
Zoe wakes up (She’s obviously still dreaming, and David Bowie is sitting next to her eating her hand.)
Jeff has the bow and arrows. He and Hat are going zombie hunting.
I think I just heard monkeys in the forest sounds.
“Does everybody in Texas wear a hat like that?”
There’s a zombie tracking them. They must be blind not to see it.
Jeff, don’t lag behind.
There’s some good discussion about naming conventions based on age and geographical agricultural defecation.
Never go off by yourself.
I hope he remembered to zip up.
Three arrows to the chest and the zombie is down?
He’s got an Oregon chainsaw.
“My all time favorite horror movie is the Texas Chainsaw Massacre! I’ve seen it 6 times!” I’ve seen some of my favorite movies 30+ times.
Jeff is cutting the zombie in half and it’s got rats in it…
I can’t believe that they’re not decapitating or splitting it’s head or anything.
“There’s a bear trap in there too. Put that some place where it will do some good.”
Oh, shit. April is dead!!
A swing for bait? Jeff is… tied up… suspended in the air. Like in an improvised climbing harness.
“You wouldn’t talk to me that way if I were down on the ground!”
These two are pretty weasonable guys when they take the time to talk it through.
I have played Jeff’s spitting game quite often myself.
The bells are going off!
The bride is coming! In fact, they all are!
Oh shit! Zombies using jabby sticks!
Hat finally wakes up and drops all the zombies with a couple of arrows to the torso.
Except for the bride, who he chases away with a mirror.
Now that Jeff is back on the ground, they’re going to track down the bride.
I hear jungle noises again.
There’s the chainsaw. But it’s a ruse, you big dumb idiot!
The bride sneaks up and stabs hat with the arrow!
And now she’s chasing Jeff with the Chainsaw. Oh, sweet irony.
Jeff was doing so good until he fell and somehow got a stick impaled in his ankle!
No! Jeff! Don’t go in there with April! Who, I just saw breathe.
What the fuck? Jeff sheathes the chainsaw while decapitating the bride?
And now all the zombies are waking each other up? Pulling out the arrows?
Zoe? You’re still alive? What’s the point? Jeff was way better of a character than you.
I do like your handwriting.
Zoe is trapped in the house! Zombies are everywhere outside! And ripping out the phone cords!
David Bowie can’t stand the way he looks.
Iron head is pretending to drive.
Blood face is coming in through the kitchen window.
Smart zombie use tool.
She’s doing the same doorknob-rope trick that we used to use in undergrad to trap people in their rooms.
And waving around a knife. They’re going to end up with Zoe on the cupboards.
Now she’s going to try the “not showing fear” thing?
She’s invited them all in.
And I think she’s serving them dog food? Or is that chili? Either way, I’m repulsed. In fact, I haven’t felt good about food since that last mushroom trip.
Oh, blood-face is coming onto her. There’s a whole lot of hand stroking going on.
You have nothing to offer them as drinks.
David Bowie… in the kitchen aprons.
The zombies are fixated by the idea of dancing.
“The best place for dancing is in the basement. Or didn’t you know that?”
That was the worst “Foot slip” in history.
So, looks like she’s got them trapped in the basement for a while.
But what about April and Jeff? Are they going to come back?
Iron-head is exploding and they’re all eating him? And being sucked back into the television. Sure. Makes sense.
Looks like it’s all over, now.
The bird makes her want to vomit?
Here come her parents… “Just pray it’s not drugs, dear.”
Shit. She’s in a sanitarium. Her parents are useless.
Oh shit! They brought her the TV!!
And the movie is starting over again!
That is a great ending scream fade-out.
————End Transmission——————–
Introduction
Introduction
“I’m bored, entertain me.” I can’t think of words that piss me off more. What am I, an animatronic toy? That was said to me once, when I was 16, and I still can’t not get angry when I think about it.
Aside from that, I have no idea what to write about. I’ve developed a new term “Contemplatively Suicidal”. It’s meant to describe that quiet, tired period where you’re trying to understand why and where you’re here, but you’re not actively looking to off yourself.
More like, you’ve realized that unless you find a reason for being here, there’s really no point in continuing it, since it’s fucking difficultly tiring and ultimately lonely. You can’t claim to have gone through this state unless you have compiled some lists, T-graphs, tried some new hobbies, had long talks with your loved ones, gotten an education that allows you to understand your place in the world and universe- in as subjectively as is possible.
At this point, you’re not really even planning anything. You’re trying to determine if it’s worth the effort to plan anything. I think I’d hate to go out without ever killing anyone. I don’t know why that’s a priority, or rather, a potential bucket list item, but I believe that “Some people should die, it’s just unconscious knowledge”, and that those of us with the capacity should be doing the removing.
ClusterBeeSorry, but I haven’t been good at anything since… Shit. I was going to make a joke about sexual prowess, but if so, in doing so, you become the joke. The thing that comes to mind is “Lacrosse”. I last played when I was 17. I can swim real good. I can kind of teach people how to swim, if they don’t mind being yelled at.
I can teach people how to kick real good, but I’m so far out of shape that anything resembling martial arts would probably leave me clenched teeth and shivering on the ground with a pulled groin. I’m trying to grow mushrooms, but so far, we’re batting about .250 for mycelium and .250 for green mold and the other .500 is just sitting on it’s ass doing nothing.
We think we know where we fucked up with the mold though; re-using a needle. What do you think would happen to someone if they shot up mushroom spores? I mean, aside from killing them dead. I can only picture Will the Pirate turning into kelp. But we got 4 more poop bags that we’re gonna make sweet sweet Barry White love to and the wife came up with even stricter protocols for inoculations. So anyway, I think we’re learning where I’m good at (optimism and picking out dope jams) and what she’s good at (following the scientific method and improving our operational environmental hygiene beyond that of a civil war battlefield triage tent.)
Oh. And a really old friend of mine- meaning, a friend that I’ve known for a very long time. Without actually ever getting to know her at all, if I’m being honest- A person from my early 20’s, the person who said “If you want to purchase a motorcycle, purchase a motorcycle.” thus blowing my mind and freeing my soul…
Someone I dated for a couple years even, as in, living together a good chunk of time, talk of the town co-dependent drunks either making out or screaming at each other, but guaranteed to be in the middle of the street…
Well, there’s $500 that I doubt I’ll be seeing again. I shouldn’t even say *I*, considering it’s my wife’s money. So yes, my wife gave me $500 to give to an ex-girlfriend from 20 years ago. And that’s the kind of far-out, cat-glitching shit my life is comprised of.
But she listened to the ask and looked within at her values and her first response was “We have the money.” I think the only way I’ll ever really be of use to my wife is if she signs us up for one of those “amazing race” or “couples volcano-dinosaur survivor retreat” reality shows, I’m really good at eating bugs. Seriously. I’ve probably eaten a larger bug than you or 99% of the people you know.
Unless you’re first generation Asian immigrant, in which case, hats off to you- I once accidently ate something my Master’s father gave to me. Mind you, this is a non-English speaking elderly Vietnamese man handing me something akin to a heavy, oily pork rind…
I popped it in my mouth and had to turn away instantly, the taste was like low tide if all the shellfish have the flu and are shitting and puking continuously in your mouth. (I asked some of the younger students later about it and they laughed at me for eating anything the 1st generation eats; that specific item I’d tried was the leather of the body of a squid that’s been left to dry out on wood boards in the backyard uncovered for weeks.
So as it’s absorbing all that UV and turning into squid jerky, it’s also slowly decomposing, or maybe it’s more along the lines of as it’s decomposing, it’s also taking on a slightly jerky-like effect due to the sun’s UV rays. What else is new?
I’ve now spent two weekends in a row out in the desert on mushrooms. My wife and I went out last weekend and desert camped and spent a day working our way through damn near a quarter ounce of mushrooms in some nice tea. This is fucked to hear myself saying, since I generally look back on those high school and undergrad days of hedonistic pharmaceutical experimentation in horror at the weird shit I and others did, and wondering if there’s a body somewhere that years from now I’ll remember while under hypnosis at some cheap nightclub act with my inlaws.
(Who I’ve never spoken to. I’ve exchanged one texting salvo with my Father in Law in which I explained that I already had his daughter, so it didn’t matter to me if he lived or died. My Mother in Law has not spoken to me. I doubt she ever will. My wife has been estranged from them for years though, so it doesn’t really mean anything.)
Here’s the thing that kinda sucks. I had a great time with my wife. It was one of the best trips I’ve ever been on. We went hiking, and played with cameras, and napped, and snuggled with the dogs… it was a lovely time that I wouldn’t change a thing about. Yet, throughout the entire time, I was constantly being bombarded with internal bulletins that I could be rolling harder, that I was no-where near the known or objectively experienced limits.
Like, example having a seizure after a night of cocaine and IPA. You kinda feel it coming on, your fingers start cramping shut into fists, your lips go numb, you barely get the truck pulled over and out of gear before your shoulders and legs begin crabbing in, trying to withdraw further into your body, as you’re upheaving yellow bile onto your lap and the seatbelt buckle while trying to keep an eye on the rearview mirror, hoping desperately for a cop to pull up, bollocks-fuck the jail term you got in your truck in terms of baggies and scales.
I don’t want to go back to those days again, but I don’t know how to enjoy 3rd gear.
If I could stand rooted in the middle of a tornado, I’d come out of the experience saying “That was cool, but next time, I’m gonna take acid and we’ll play Motorhead over a PA System while we do it. And I wanna try it naked.” “Caution is a word that I can’t understand.” I think I’m going to get a ladybug tattoo on my left pointing finger.
I was very worried going into the trip with my wife, because as I’ve sort of indicated, I came from a “grab handfuls of the drug and consume as much as quickly as possible because there may not be enough to go around” communal sort of friend circle through high school and college. A 4th person wants to trip but we could only get 3 hits? Everyone cuts a little sliver off their tab to chip into the pot. I’m not saying anything was perfect or that communal shit works.
In undergrad, my 3 closest friends and I would all trip without telling anyone, not even our girlfriends, because other people ruined it for us. I have no idea how much acid or mushrooms I’ve taken. I’ve had bad trips on both. I like playing guitar on both. I don’t think I’ll do acid again though.
But hell, I never thought I’d be back using mushrooms again and here I am traipsing along in 3rd gear while the demon quietly whispers- quite correctly- that I *could* be running in 5th gear, screaming into the wind, shaking an albatross corpse buy the foot, daring the gods to smite me.
I’ve seen them. Not real gods. But Odin stood outside my friend M____ house for hours, watching me from his cloud-self. This is a big Positive on the T-graph of sticking around or throwing in the towel. There’s always new shit to try. And I still haven’t killed anyone. There’s always new shit to try.
I was a few twitches away from being a school shooter. I’m a sociopath with a history of recklessness and destruction. There’s a part of me that thinks “When your dog dies, go to the Ukrainian front and remain until you’re dead or you’ve lived through killing; then figure out who you really are.”
I don’t want to wait until I’m in my 80’s, trapped in some nursing home, sneak-shuffling from room to room with a special velvet Elvis pillow that I use to ceremoniously smother women who have resisted my advances and men who beat me at poker.
I have a Russian friend, or rather, I am still in contact with a man in Russia that I went to graduate school with. I would like you to ask him if I’m his friend. If he says yes, then I’m happy to be so. If he says no, I understand. Overall, it’s more frustrating to not understand shit like this.
How long does a friendship last if there never was a formal declaration of one? Does that declaration matter? I’ve got more shit to go into in detail later, in upcoming reviews. The night my wife and I tripped, I had horrible nightmares, one involving Kanye West.
Also, and I’d like to think that the mushrooms helped, I finally wrote down aims and goals to share with the therapist lady who gave me this ASPD sticker.
The house plans are still at the engineer, but we’re answering questions about windows and garage doors and they want to know our budget and I’m like “You talked me into building a fucking concrete house, now can you please give me a fucking estimate on the concrete building itself?” and they’re like “You can’t put steel on anything” which doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, since I’m prone to believing that properly engineered and supported concrete could easily hold up a limited amount of engineered steel span.
But what the fuck do I know? I know that my dogs were just fine until someone reported that they’d been abandoned- while they sat on their chair in the living room, and the subsequent interaction with the police following up on the call lead to them informing me I needed to get licenses. So now my dogs are licensed. And nothing else in the fucking world has changed.
I wonder if they sell .68 caliber ice-cube sphere molds. I’m sure a temple shot would kill someone. And then it’s just like Agatha Christie all over again. Given my druthers, I’d prefer John Cleese goose-stepping through the dining room, but that’s the kind of mood I’m in.
We got the jeep back- transmission is shifting great. And now she’s just stalling if you try to idle in drive with your foot on the brake. I swear to god, I can’t wait for the van thing to start. Have I talked about my new van? New as in, 22 years old? And needs a head-gasket?
I don’t know what to watch tonight. I watched A Bridge Too Far last night and it fucking rules. I forgot how good those old late-70’s WW2 movies were. The cast! So good! Which is sort of another way of saying I have no idea what I’m gonna do about a movie for tonight.
Imagine being the Grinch. That’s what ASPD feels like. Not sure where that came from. But it’s one of those things that falls in the “Negatives” category of the T-graph. Found something for this evening. The Video Dead. “Gruesome killings and the walking dead don’t always stay on the television as Jeff and his sister Zoe discover. Horror movies are all fun and games until the monsters start coming out of the TV into the real world”
My first thought is that this was initially written as one sentence, and then the world’s laziest editor added a period and capitalized an H. Tells me the Director is a Robert Scott. Doesn’t even list any actors. Ok. Let’s… well… there is no coffee. Except the instant camping stuff. Which I think I’m gonna go get into.
Milk, hot chocolate, and a Starbucks instant sleeve. No idea what to call the resultant mix, but I bet it keeps me up long enough to finish this review. Please note for accountabilities sake that I have not yet managed to make it to a fighting class yet. I think I want to fail at everything to prove everyone wrong and to push them back from ever expecting anything from me. I’m already the space between two items of significance, why shouldn’t I be the darkness between two points of light?