Technically Support~

     They tell me that in our society today we’re losing our human connection with each other. They tell me that it’s all the fault of the interwebs or the smart phones and we should really be pining for those days when we used carrier pigeons to get a message over to the neighboring town and we thought that solar eclipses were a sign that God was angry with us. To be fair, they also tell me that I need to cut all the protein out of my diet. No, actually protein is good and carbs are bad. No, actually some carbs are ok, but some are bad carbs.  Wait, I was wrong. Now those are actually good carbs and the good carbs cause cancer. So you’ll pardon me if I don’t pay a lot of attention to what they say. One way in which I wish the human connection would return is on the phone. It’s rare for all my carrier pigeons to be down with the bird flu, but when I make a call I want to hear a human voice. The last conversation I had on the phone was with the automated system for Am-Trak, and why it couldn’t understand the destination, “Chicago, shut up I’m on the phone” is honestly beyond me. Maybe I wasn’t cursing enough? Oh, what you think I should have just driven to Chicago? Have you seen the traffic in that city? It’s insane. When the apocalypse hits and everyone goes mad with fear they literally will not know the difference in Chicago.

     Now I normally avoid human contact as much as I can, but sometimes even I crave the soft caress of a human voice. Normally around the time something has broken or I need to call a company to ask a question about what exactly the loud beeping noise my coffee machine is making, and should I be worried about that, but when I do this I want to reach an actual human being on the phone. When I try talking about my problems to an automated system, I can’t threaten to ask for a supervisor because I just get transferred to the suicide hotline again, and they have my numbers blocked. Automated voice answering machines aren’t even in the uncanny valley are they? The closer a machine or a robot gets to real humanity the more glaring and obvious their lack of humanity becomes, I love how almost every call starts off with a warning that this call may be recorded for future customer satisfaction. You would be happy to know that they follow up on those things pretty diligently. I saw my next door neighbor being escorted out to an Ikea service van with a black bag over his head. I couldn’t see his face, but I’m willing to bet he was really satisfied…I’m sorry, I got sidetracked again. I just wish I got that kind of attention when I made phone calls to customer service hotlines.

     It makes me wonder too, if once they tell you the call may be recorded and then you get put on hold again, does the recording include the elevator version of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” over and over, or do they just cut that out, because it certainly isn’t leading to my customer satisfaction. Now that you’ve been listening to Ode to joy long enough that watching A Clockwork Orange will mentally repress your ability to use the phone because the options have changed since the last time you called. Even though I never called this hotline before because people care about me. “Press 1 to reach our Canine Support team.” Wait, hold on is that a support team made up of dogs or for dogs and what does that have to do with my coffee maker? Ah crap, I wasn’t listening to the recording. And of course, by the time you start listening again, “your call may be sent to the FBI for analysis, you weirdo.” And now the hotline is insulting me. “Press 3 for technical support.” Ah, that sounds like what I’m looking for, here goes. “I’m sorry, all technical support personnel are being rounded up due to suspected ties to Al-Qaeda. Please wait while a service representative memorizes the manual on your product. Please punch in the serial number of your product now.”

     And now I have a broken phone as well. God, I would so get rid of my phone if people would just stop declaring me legally dead because I don’t respond to their tweets on the Twitters and such nonsense. But for those of you less socially awkward people out there, you have other options. You could take the coffee maker into the store you bought it. You’ll be greeted by a tech who would rather be doing literally anything else other than fixing your coffee machine, and likely was imagining just that while he did it. This is why your coffee machine now speaks Japanese and shoots death lasers. It also makes a mean espresso, when you can get it to understand you and while we’re on the topic, what exactly is a mean espresso anyways? Does it burn you when you try to drink it? Because that would be mean. You could also have a tech come to your place. He will breathe exclusively through his mouth and smell of burnt orange peels and rusted metal for reasons you would rather not know. He will fix your coffee machine and case the joint. Next week your big screen television will be missing and your fridge will be empty because stealing your television was hungry work. What exactly is hungry…nevermind, I’m getting sidetracked again.

      You know what? I never liked coffee that much anyways. I’ll just throw out my coffee maker and buy myself something more useful. Like a cup of coffee from Starbucks. Of course, I live in Dunkin’ Donuts country which means I’ll have to find a Starbucks first. Dunkin’ Donuts are like a sprinkle covered Boston Crème virus. They pop up in every town and immediately consume all the locals to turn them into donuts. That’s how that works, right? Thanks, phone service line. Now I have to feel all fruity while ordering some drink in the Venti size. At least I get some actual human interaction out of this, though. If you can call the people who frequent Starbucks people. Now that was overly harsh, you just rub me the wrong way. Now I just need to find out whether or not their carrot cake has the kind of carbs that give you cancer.


     Years of watching movies have taught me one thing, above all else. That no matter how bad the situation on Earth gets, leaving the planet and heading for outer space is never a good option. Every single creature we encounter in space wants to murder us, eat us, murder and then eat us or hunt us for sport and I’m not really sure why. humans don’t look good mounted on walls. We have many, many good qualities but wall furnishing is really not one of them. We taste like chicken. Or so I’ve heard. I’ve been thinking about this lately, as I watch the world collectively hold its breath while Kim Jong Un decides how much he wants to set the world on fire. It’s a bum rap, you know? We get to choose between the xenomorphs and the inevitable march towards midnight that has to end in a giant apocalyptic fireworks show someday. Thankfully, you have me to help get you through this situation, because I’m sure I can figure out a problem that dozens of brilliant scientists and politicians couldn’t figure respectively. Duct tape. You heard me right. Freaking duct tape. No, don’t give me that look, duct tape won’t stop the nuclear apocalypse you’ve all been dreaming about, but it might make space slightly more manageable if we run into any of the creatures documented in the horror/sci-fi genre. Join me as we solve all our problems with duct tape like chronically lazy men.

     You all remember Alien, right? I know the government tried to cover up all those deaths but someone has to speak out about the horrible incident. Also, there was a movie by that name, I guess. The way the aliens in that movie reproduce is via a form colloquially called a “face hugger” because that sounded better with the public relations people than ‘esophagus ravager.” They stick a tube down your throat and plant a little tiny baby alien that bursts out of your chest later on, hence the obvious title chest burster. I would have preferred boob buster, but I clearly don’t know how naming things works. Well, some duct tape over your mouth will fix that shit right up. Granted, you might have some trouble breathing every now and then but if you had to choose between boob buster death and looking like an asthmatic idiot, what would you choose? Yeah, you’d be putting that duct tape on your face. That’s more preventative, and there are some cases where you just have to let nature take its course. This is a more extreme version of better out than in, but you just plug that hole up with duct tape and I’m sure the unfortunate victim will be right as rain in no time flat.

    I know you don’t think that movie E.T., the Extra Terrestrial was a horror movie, but it was. Yes, it’s not a horror movie on the same scale as alien. I get your skepticism, so let me make a believer out of you. E.T. does all kinds of horrible things while he’s on Earth. He stays at some family’s house for days without pitching in any money, he uses their towels without washing them, he takes their kids trick or treating and puts them in danger just by his mere presence. Later on, he puts the whole family at risk when the crazy scientists and the weirdos wearing giant space suits show up. He connects himself to the boy, Eliot, so much so that when E.T. gets sick so does the boy. Duct tape would fix all this by…duct tape would fix absolutely none of this. This is out of the duct tape league. I’m sorry, I mislead you when I told you duct tape could solve all your sci-fi problems. I had no idea I was going to dealing with this kind of horror. Duct tape will not wash towels with alien leavings on it. Does E.T. poop? I have no idea, but now I can’t stop trying to figure out what face he would make when he did go. Duct tape won’t fix that either. You’re welcome.

     Getting back to more classic actual sci-fi/horror how about them predators? I mean, I know the joke is that man is deadliest prey of all, but clearly you’ve never watched an office worker climb a flight of stairs. Hunting modern man should be just about the easiest thing in the galaxy. All you need to do is set up a table with the latest iPhones and a sign that says “Free Samples, one each”. Boom, there’s the best lure you ever could ask for. There are people out there who would legitimately ignore all the dead bodies in order to get a free smart phone. For that matter, why on Earth do predators use bodies as trophies when smart phones would be a way better status symbol? Thinking about the whole idea of an entire species that goes out into the stars and killing them with high tech pointy sticks makes me feel like they’re really complete hicks and very self-conscious about it. Duct tape to the rescue! As we’ve discussed, duct tape is really good for healing catastrophic injury and it’s also good for making traps. We don’t need a gubernator and some giant logs, we just need a lot of duct tape and some cats. Trust me, nobody survives my duct tape cat trap. I would tell you to ask anybody, but nobody has escaped yet.

     The last one where I can say with great confidence that duct tape would save the day is in the case of alien species who got bored waiting out in the stars and decided to come to us. I’m thinking invasion of the corpse borrowers and the thing. Hey, I’m not the only one whose bad at naming stuff. The first tactic is to put a piece of take somewhere on your body, in a place that can’t be seen. That way, when your close friend jams a gun down your throat and asks you if you really are who you say you are, you don’t have to go on some long rambling story about that time when you were kids and you hunted down that scary space spider clown in the sewers. Nope, you just lift up your shirt and show off that duct tape. Problem solved. This way, you don’t end up standing around waiting for the alien to catch up with you while you gab and your friend gets to check out that six pack you’ve been working on. I have more of a keg that’s been aged to perfection. If that fails, then just stick random pieces of duct tape all over yourself and start walking into walls. The invading force of aliens will likely just assume that there’s something wrong with you or that your mother drank while she was pregnant and they’ll get off our planet. I am a font of useless helpful advice. How do I get work doing this?

Healthy breakfast mush~ Interlude

     In my younger days, before my younger days when I had enough control over my diet to eat nothing but Lucky Charms, I lived with my parents and they controlled what I eat. I think everyone has that first moment when they leave the home and try something new and then when they come home it’s like when Dorothy comes back from Oz and suddenly notices everything is black and white. I would imagine it felt like coming off the most amazing drug high to come back to a farm house where you live with your aunt and uncle and suicidal dog. My Oz-like drug experience was trying whole milk because my house only ever had skim milk. Once I had drunk the nectar of cows that is whole milk I couldn’t go back to the watery glue paste that was skim milk. Little did I know that I was spoiled to be able to count on milk being in the house because these days the only milk here is the milk I bring into the house. It made me realize something about my parents, and I’m sure you’ve met people like this yourself. They seem to believe that the blander the food is the healthier it must be. Kind of like the idea that if the mouth wash hurts like hell, that’s how you know it’s killing the germs. These days, we wake up to a heaping bowlful of healthy breakfast mush. It’s get all the bran and nutrients and bran you need with none of that taste to get in the way of the health. For dinner, we’ll be eating heated slab of fish and unsalted starches. Enjoy.

Diary of a Madman~

     Hello, gentle readers, and welcome to this, our Vincent Price -a- thon. This is a series of posts based on the famed exploits in film of the immortal thriller himself, Vincent Price. Finally, a movie that isn’t directly related somehow to an Edgar Allen Poe story. Sorry, guys. I was just getting a little burnt out on the Poe stories and I needed a change of pace. Thankfully, not every movie that Vincent Price did in 1963 was a revisionist work of Poe so here we are. And the opening is less melty paint and something more traditional with credits and a scrawling text at the opening. This one is different too in that it starts at a funeral. What? A Vincent Price movie that doesn’t start off at Vincent Price’s creepy house? No. In this case, we’re starting off at the funeral of one Simon Cordie, played by Vincent Price. So the film starts off with him already dead? Well that’s a bit of a downer, and I’m not just saying that because they’re lowering his casket into the ground. In this movie, Vincent Price plays a judge and an artist. He did leave behind him a diary. A diary of a mad man if you will. So Vincent Price left the diary in a chest and requested that it be opened after the funeral.

     So the rest of the movie will be a flashback to Vincent Price and the contents of his diary. Which means the whole movie is going to be narrated by Vincent Price. Oh sweet heavenly Jesus, thank you. Vincent Price notes that these strange events started off with a man who was sentenced to die by Judge Dread. The man wants to meet with Vincent Price so he goes to see him. Vincent Price comes in thinking he was going to hear a confession but he sticks to a story he told at the trial. He was possessed, he was made to do it by some…thing that controlled him. He certainly does sound mad, doesn’t he? I wonder if he has a diary too. Like, written on toilet paper. He then tries to kill Vincent Price, which goes about as well as you would think. Artist and Judge Vincent Price can still take you to school.  Vincent Price is racked by guilt since he killed someone who was trying to throttle him to death. This had better stop soon so that Vincent Price can man up and kill again or this movie will be really boring. Vincent Price going home and spending time in his study? These are the words of a mad man. Oh great, he has a little bird. This does not bode well for the bird. In his study is a picture of his now deceased wife and I can’t begin to tell you how much of a relief this is.

     While Judge Price rants at his two elderly servants I’ll explain why the death of his wife causes me so much joy. You see, there have been far too many movies involving Mrs. Price trying to kill Vincent and run away with a lover or getting buried alive. I’ve had enough. So her starting off deader than that murderer Judge Price killed is nothing but a good thing in my book. So he goes upstairs to take the picture back to the chest where it belongs only to see an etching on the wall that says, “Hatred is evil.’ But then when he tries to show it to his servant it’s gone. So maybe it was never there at all. Maybe Vincent Price is going mad. Good thing he keeps a journal or this movie would make no sense. And thus the descent into madness begins. Judge Price starts working the next day only to find the trial list of Louis Girot, the killer he killed the other night, on his desk. But Vincent Price is a man of reason so he tries to find any explanation he can for all the strange things going on in his life. That is, until he hears the diabolical laughter that only exists in his head. So it seems like Judge Price needs to take a break from work. Vincent Price comes home and starts writing in that mad diary of his where he interacts with his invisible tormenter again.

     Oh great, this invisible thing is talking about his love for a bird. I told you things weren’t going to end well for that bird! Where exactly is the humane society on this one? Vincent Price just killed a bird by squashing it like a piece of fine Brie. Vincent Price goes to the doctor to tell him about his problem. Now I need to go off on a little tangent here. I recognize that the idea of Vincent Price hearing voices and some “thing” that knocks over an ink well and is apparently not also voiced by Vincent Price as I had originally assumed is a far-fetched idea. We’re on the same page here, yes? But that doesn’t give the doctor he goes to, his servants and pretty much every other single person who talks to him about this to treat him like he’s a five year old. Asshole, Vincent Price is not prone to flights of fancy. He made a mechanical man with scissor hands, what’s your claim to medical fame? That’s what I thought, shut the hell up. But yeah, doctors don’t believe in spirits and evil. But the doctor says that Vincent Price should take time off and do something for himself. Now let’s light up a cigar to celebrate, that’ll be five thousand Francs. You can pay the secretary on the way out. I can’t cure you, just go out and do some sculpting and meet people. I’m a doctor!

     I love how in the opening scene everyone, Doctor included, seems shocked by the idea that Vincent Price said if he told the truth he would seem insane and yet he just told his doctor he’s hearing a voice call to him and make him kill his bird. Even for Vincent Price, this isn’t normal. But he does take the Doctor’s advice and finds a woman to sculpt. He does so, and that very quickly. She is quite beautiful. Vincent Price just invited some woman whose name he didn’t even know to his house in order to sculpt her. Hold on, stop the movie. This is a movie where Vincent Price plays a French judge in Paris who wants to sculpt a woman? What was that line? “Sculpt me like one of your French whores…girls. French girls.” She goes up to meet her artist husband and suddenly my life flashes before my eyes and I pray to God I don’t remain a poor author for the rest of my life. Her husband asks who it is and she pretty much refuses to tell. I’m not really a fan of…un-evil Vincent Price, but that does mean we can have one conversation between Vincent Price and someone else without worrying he’s plotting to kill her and cover her in wax.

     At least until the voices come back. Ah crap, as Vincent Price takes his new model up to the attic, one of the servants says that everything is going to be alright. We are so screwed. Or rather she is. The countdown till she dies begins now. How long till she croaks? Taking all bets, taking all bets! And then Vincent Price starts up his sculpting. And now Vincent Price is healthy again! Until the statue is done. The conversation between Vincent and his model upon the completion of his new masterwork is awkward beyond awkward. Vincent Price basically comes out and tells her his wife killed herself and she retorts that maybe she didn’t know how to laugh at herself. Clearly not, because she killed herself you insensitive woman. At this point, when everything seems like it’s going to turn out alright shockingly things don’t turn out alright. Vincent Price has no reflection in the mirror? He’s a vampire! A vam…oh wait, the voice has a body and it’s standing between Vincent and the mirror. This guy seems to talk quite loudly, it’s a wonder the whole street can’t hear this thing. It sounds like he’s yelling into a megaphone. They’re called Horla, and I’m not sure I’m spelling that right but quite frankly I don’t care. They are basically beings from an alternate dimension that can only be brought into existence through evil and Simon Cordie murdered someone.

     Yeah, that prisoner who actually thought he could take Vincent Price. He really was pretty crazy, wasn’t he? Oh wait, he actually meant his wife who killed herself because Vincent Price blamed her for the death of their son. And then Vincent Price is asked by the voice to look at his statue and then the Horla proceeds to deface his art. Ok, now you’ve gone too far. You know what happened to the last guy who messed with his art? He should have died in a fire. He ended up getting suiceded down an elevator shaft. Just saying. Now Vincent Price starts composing his diary in his head when the Horla comes again. There’s this argument between Vincent Price and the Horla about her being evil and in order to prove that she is really evil, the Horla asks Vincent Price to peruse her and make her his. I personally think that the Horla just wants to see Vincent Price gets his mac on with another woman. Let’s face it, he is an invisible pervert and not an interdimensional terror. Seems the husband was quite right to be jealous, Vincent Price and his invisible pervert pal are on the prowl. Ooooh that sounded like a song title.

     So, Mr. Price proposes to this woman but she is married…I think. Either that, or she’s a whore. I said that jokingly the first time, but seriously this woman is going to get married just because he asked. So she isn’t married. Sorry to say, artist guy, but you’ve been poached. You got robbed, cheated. Mr. Price broke the bro code of not stealing and killing a gal. So the artist friend tracks down Vincent Price and his new art honey. Oh wait, so she was married?  And now it’s time for the fight of the century. Artist against artist, man to man, Vincent Price against some guy we barely know. I wonder who will win? So the artist quite rightly picks his wife out as a gold digger, but she chose a deep vein if you get my meaning. But Vincent Price gets threatened by the jilted husband and he actually tries to blackmail Vincent Price. So now Vincent Price has to kill him because the voice in his head that really exists told him to. It even tries to drop a vase on his head. It messes up and then tries to act all cool, like, “Yeah. I can’t kill him yet because we need him to suffer more. Yeah, that’s the ticket.

     Vincent Price decides it’s time to get out of the house and his wife to be tells him they will be happy, Oh come on, are you serious with this shit? Are you retiring soon too, lady? Do you have a boat called “The Live Foreva”? But this Horla wants him to know that Vincent Price can’t run from an invisible person. So then the Horla convinces Vincent Price to go kill his wife to be because the Horla read the script and heard that crap about happily ever after. And then we get a soap opera moment where her husband washes her hands of his now ex-wife when Vincent Price shows up. Time to die, lady. End of the road, because the gravy train is about to derail. Vincent Price, noooo! You two could have made so many sculptures together! So Vincent Price goes home and then the Horla release its control of him. Apparently he wasn’t told by the Horla until he sees the drops of blood in the morning. It’s funny because this happened last night and yet the blood is still fresh, which means Vincent Price has been bleeding evil sometime over the morning. It actually shows up in the newspaper, because that’s now news works. Then he finds out that the head is upstairs under a sculpture. Because Vincent Price doesn’t kill people, he just makes art. Until someone dies.

     I love how Vincent Price protests his innocence and the Horla points out that he hid the evidence under clay. Yes, under clay with a bloody knife sticking out from it. Nobody would ever suspect a thing. It looks like a normal statue. Well, a normal statue at Vincent Price’s house. Now we get a scene of Vincent Price talking to the statue of his dead wife. The Horla does not approve and knocks the statue over, breaking it and Vincent Price’s last remaining thread of patience for this thing. You do not screw around with Vincent Price’s art. He is so going to burn your ass. It’s great how he’s killed his bird, seduced a woman away from her husband and then killed him for which he gets framed but knocking over a bust of his late wife? Shit just got real. The Horla actually gets mad at him for talking to his conscience. Yes, listen to the invisible interdimensional creature who torments you. Your conscience doesn’t exist. Oh, look this is too far. Now you’re making Vincent Price destroy art? You are so screwed. But for just an instant, he refuses and then he learns he can avoid control.

     With this, Vincent Price is asked to be the judge in this case, but he doesn’t care to take it. He does say he’ll talk with the man. The conversation goes about as well as you would think it would, given the circumstances. It’s not like the judge can say that he was going to marry the guys wife, what the police officer and the invisible thing maybe sitting right there. So that night, the other lady who I haven’t bothered to mention comes and visits Vincent Price. She’s been in like three scenes and she’s related to the former husband poor artist…somehow. I don’t care about the conversation. Vincent Price will not be cowed by this woman. And neither apparently will the Horla, who gets Vincent out on the prowl again to kill this woman. Except I remember her being in the opening scene, so does she make it? Wait, she’s walking down an alley alone after accusing Vincent Price of murder? You fool! And then comes the most awesome scene of all. Vincent Price gets saved by the reflection of a cross in his knife. That’s right, the power of Christ compels Vincent Price to kick ass and take names.

     See, Vincent Price has an end game in mind. He finishes writing his notebook and prepares a trap most diabolical for his invisible tormentor. The Horla does not like fire. Oh, do you think I was making that joke in jest, gentle reader? Well, yes. I was. But nobody messes with Vincent and his art. So he sets his house on fire because you do not mess with Vincent Price’s art. But then Vincent Price dies, thankfully of smoke inhalation it looks like. And back to the present, where Vincent Price’s notebooks is being read. So they’ve been sitting there for at least ten hours because this guy reads everything so very slow. And everyone just decides he was insane except the priest, of course. The end. Despite how much fun this movie was to poke fun at, and as many chances for jokes as it made, this was not the best Vincent Price movie. Maybe I’m a bit mad because I thought the voice of the Horla was also Vincent Price, which is no mean feat managing to out evil Vincent Price in a movie, but that made me mad. Maybe I’m just a bit jaded on Vincent Price since his guest stars in the previous films were Charles Bronson and Peter Lorre and those are tough acts to follow. It’s worth a watch, but I doubt you’ll enjoy it as much as some other films we’ve seen thus far.

Malice Pontificates On~ Fear

     The 2016 elections in the United States are basically what happens when a Bond villain skips the stupid plans, like trying to flood Silicon Valley for some deadly insider trading or irradiating Fort Knox so everyone really wants his gold. Hell, President Trump even lived in a pent house at the top of a giant sky scraper named after him, which is something like number eight on the checklist for finding out whether a megalomaniacal businessman is just a Bond villain wearing a fancy suit. I say this, because I am now officially sick to death of politics. Every time I say this, the people I am conversing with look at me with mouths agape in horror, as though I had just told them that under the paper bag I wear , I’ve really been John Gacey wearing clown make-up the whole time. I get why people are still paying attention. We had all our normal boring political players lined up for target practice and in comes President Trump, riding a flaming motor cycle and using his Hellfire chains to punish the guilty who…wait, no. That’s ghost rider. You can see how I would get the two mixed up, because they both have clearly done something to their hair and they both glow in the dark. I get people talking about Trump though, because people are afraid. Trust me when I say that there’s all kinds of fear in this world, some more legitimate than others.

     So, let poppa Malice take you through his thoughts on a few of the types of fear that exist in the world and how you can deal with them. The first step to facing your fear is understanding your fear. Either that, or it’s the first step to running away from your fear. The first type of fear is the one which goes bump in the night, it’s your cat. It makes your heart freeze and your blood chill, it’s your cat. It’s the type of fear that makes you remember that movie you watched about the alien popping out of John Hurt but it’s your cat. And then you remember you don’t have a cat, but you have a cat now and it’s trying to get into your room. To be fair, that’s a lot scarier than most movie monsters because they wouldn’t eat you if you suddenly died of a heart attack. Even monsters have standards. When I had a kitty named Penny, she would climb up the clothes in my closet and terrify the hell out of me. It’s what I think of as unreasonable fear, because it’s fear that can only exist so long as you’re not reasoning about. And the sun is down. And you’re alone in the house with all the lights out. And your cat. The best way to beat this kind of fear is to hide under your blankets until the sun comes up with your eyes closed. Go to sleep, you fool.

     Then there’s that fear you get when you notice the car behind you has been following you for the last twenty minutes down a dark road and you’re running out of gas. There’s all kinds of movies about random strangers turning out to be nightmarish serial killers, which I usually put in my Schadenfreude catalogue of films that also includes the Orson Welles wine commercials and Marlon Brando’s stellar work in the Island of Doctor Moreau. It’s that feeling you get when you’re alone in your apartment and you hear a noise and suddenly you’re awake wondering whether you locked the door and how many cats have gotten into your apartment. I have issues. Stop laughing. It’s a good thing that movies don’t get this right very often. I still remember watching that movie about the three strangers who invade some random couples home and poke idly around the house in order to terrorize them for fun because shut up, everyone needs a hobby. I just remember trying not to laugh because all three masks offer no peripheral vision, and look like they were made in a hurry for a home economics class by their respective grandparents. The worst offender is the guy’s mask that looks like he was getting geared up for a major-league baseball game before he had a major change in plans for the evening. Every time I looked at his mask, it seemed as though the holes for his eyes must be hanging over his them slightly. I kept expecting him to fall down the stairs or walk into the frame of the door, ruining the suspense somewhat I would imagine.

     But you know, fear is a strange thing. It’s not the mutant zombie dogs that really scare you. It’s not internet freak shows like Slender Man that really keep you awake at night. It’s not even the idea of three people wearing poorly made masks wandering around your house in an ill-conceived attempt to sue you for personal injuries sustained on your property at three in the morning. Nope, what you’re really scared of is dying and being totally forgotten by everybody. Boom, I called that shit! You’re also afraid of not being able to pay the rent and what’s that rash on your left arm that keeps getting bigger and I wonder if my next-door neighbor is the one who lets his dog poop on my lawn. You’re afraid of going into work tomorrow and having to deal with that one truly unpleasant coworker who feels the need to tell you about his weekend in extensive, excruciating detail while you try to work and who smiles really weirdly whenever they see you, like they just left a present of their ear in a box on your desk. I get it, you know? I’m scared of things too, that’s why I’m writing so I can try and make some money and support myself and Miss Cobwebs. Evil schemes don’t finance themselves and are much more difficult to complete when living on the streets.

They say fear is subjective, and to some degree that’s true because everybody has different phobias. You might have a fear of flying and spiders. For myself, I have a fear of crowds and spiders and crowds of spiders while we’re on the subject. There’s a medical condition that I’ve experienced a few times where you wake up while your body remains asleep. This was terrifying for me because I have sleep apnea and thus I would just randomly stop breathing while I was on the couch. I also got to watch a spider the size of a large Welsh Corgi crawling across the ceiling towards me while venom dripped from its fangs. Even though I knew it wasn’t real, this isn’t the type of thing you want to wake up to. Ever. I’m sure everyone has a horror story about this terrifying, and if you haven’t sold the rights already then to the box office with you! You may have noticed that horror is the one genre left that’s allowed to do its own thing and actually be unique sometimes, like it’s the red headed step child of the cinematic family that is also an expert surgeon and ace fighter pilot. That is, unless we’re talking about the endless sequels and reboots to slasher films because that really is scary. How many peoples brain cells have died while watching them? A moment of silence for all the brain cells lost during the viewing of Freddie V. Jason, the rebeginnining.

My Immortal~ Enoby and Voldo Man, riding the Pokemon circuit

   I’m starting to think this was a very bad idea. I never thought this little story would end up disappointing me. Here we are on our seventh post and I’m still quite mad about there being no surprise at the end of our last little sojourn in Gothic Potter land. I have a little confession to make here. You see, I have read and listened to this story many times in the past but it has been a long time since I have gotten so far into the story. As such, I’m just reacting to it with only vague familiarity as I go along. I vaguely recall that the story has no real ending and also gets high jacked at one point. I think the hacker chapter is removed from the version I have. Alright, we’ve put this off long enough, it’s time to pay the black pentagram guitarist.

Chapter XXII- You know, this opening of the chapter, which has a sort of post boardroom meeting feel to it, makes me realize how badly I want all the characters to die. The teachers and the Misery of Magic were having a shouting discussion in the great hall about the savior of the world, Enoby. Wow. Even in this story, I never pictured myself saying that. “Whoops, she made a mistake. She means everybody come in.” says Dumblydore. That’s right, the jig is up. This is all about Enoby’s Stanist gothic black death metal band Bloody Gothic Rose MCR 666. Only music as depressing as that can defeat the Bard lord. Cut yourself and weep. So she and all the other students come in. This is the part where Dumblydore has a speech right? About Enoby being Gothic Jesus? No. Now is the time for a fight between Vampire Potter and Draco Malfoy. They both want to sit next to Enoby. Oh, if I could only be more normal! And then Vampire jumps on Draco, but Enoby is careful to state not in that way you, you perv. Yes, you in the back row with the trench coat, masticating furiously. Take your bowl of Lucky Charms and get out. Now Vlodemort shows up. I get the distinct impression he’s been really bored lately. Either that or he’s a drama queen, because he seems to use his telekinesis solely for the purpose of spying on high school drama. By the way, we know how Vlosemort is. You do not need to describe him every single time. So here’s the new version of his threat to Enoby. Kill Vampire Potter, with a steak preferably, or I will kill him and then you and then Draco. See? Vlothemort is such a drama queen. After Vlodemort leaves Vampire and Draco go to contort Enoby. I take this to mean that they are both strangling her. Oh no. No, no, no. There is not enough oxygen in the world to save you from this. So Enoby has a vision of…well it’s a something. She sees Vlodemort coming to kill Draco while he slits his wrists in a depressed way. Uh. Is it possible to slit your wrists in a happy way? Also, now Enoby is having vision. In terms of the special and gifted school of children, she’s the valedictorian, the salutatorian, the entire graduating class of 2004 and the janitor. Good God. She could just not be any more special. What are you looking at me like that for? So when she comes to she wonders if she’s getting possessed. No, honey, it’s a wizarding social disease. Now, I know it’s the autotune voice here but it sounds like someone suggested Enoby go see Professor Sinister. Uhm. He’s here too? Can he help with social diseases? I mean, I didn’t think he was that kind of doctor.

Chapter XXIII-So they went to Deviation class, which I was never aware they had left, to see Professor Sinister. Professor Sinister. Is teaching Deviation class. Let that sink in. Of course, they turn her into a Gothic vampire too. Because only two kinds of people exist in the world of Magic. Izod and Hot Topic. (insert gratuitous clothing scene, take a shot) So we’ve been in class for two seconds when the teacher, who I will continue to refer to as Professor Sinister, kicks them out to talk her through her problems without even know what they are. Soon, she will be Professor Sinister at the Misery of Magic collecting her gothic unemployment check. Oh lord. So what’s wrong Enoby? “Well, Professor Sinister I am having lots of visions.” “Hmm. Yes, and when did you starting having these visions?” Then there was a knock at the door. Enoby looks at the door. Draco does nothing else, which is fine because Enoby can see through walls. She has telekinesis. (insert gratuitous clothing scene here, take a shot) So she leaves. What did we find out? Nothing. Enoby says she feels inhibited. Does this mean we won’t see any more of her boy’s thingy? That…that kinda creeps me out.

Chapter XXIV- Seems like Enoby is wondering the same thing. They go to his black flying car. Things are not looking good. Ok, yeah. I’m just skipping this whole scene. Sorry, I just can’t deal with another one of these. What can I really say about one more of these scenes that I haven’t already said about the last four scenes like this? Wow. Nevermind. In this one she has girl parts at least, even if she does fall asleep mid-way through. She has another vision. And the points towards her having a magical social disease are really adding up. It’s two people about to be killed!1 Once the killing is done, the bad guy runs away in a red car. You know, the old Flinstones cars that Ford used to make? They got phased out around the time that the Model T came back out with jet engines. Oh God, what is it with this chick and crying tears of blood? She needs to have her tear ducts looked at by Professor Sinister. Scratch that, she needs a full-blown everything check-up, Scratch that, she needs to be shot.

Chapter XXV-A few mutates later, huh? Social. Disease. (Gratuitous clothing scene, take a shot.) It sounded like she said he was wearing a black Jackson, a common garb for magical high school goths. Good God, more bloody tears? No wonder she’s passing out. Forget electrolytes, this woman needs to have a Red Cross van on standby at all times. Also. Since she’s a vampire, does this count as anorexia? I can’t understand Dumblydore. They go to see him. I’m just going to go ahead and assume he’s being a jerk. She does save Sirius Black though. I would rather get killed than be saved by Enoby. I’m skipping a lot here, read it on your own. I’m just fascinated by the gothic nurse. Also, Professor Sinister is back. I really don’t think she’s that kind of doctor. “I have to tell you the perdition” the nurse says. You really don’t. I’ve been here the whole time. I’m in perdition right now. Eh. You can smell happily? Oh, whatever. Pffft. She peered into the balls, huh? No comment. Oh YES! Enoby must travel back in time! Here we are. Oh God. Ok, apparently in the past his name was Voldo Man. You see, when Tom Riddle was young he had a thing for Pokemon and Sentai shows and…well, people picked on him a lot and he got his heart Borkin. I…don’t know what that is? It doesn’t sound nice, though. So the plan is for Enoby to seduce Tom Riddle. Come to my room tomorrow and you can do it. “Ok.” Says Enoby. Now I don’t know about you, but if a woman named Professor Sinister asked me to go back in time to seduce or kill the man who has been trying to kill me for days now, I might…MIGHT…have more questions. Just me. Ah, people were cheesing Enoby’s name.

Ok that’s it. Too much and my brain can’t take it. We’re heading into the end game people. Two more weeks, tops and it will all be over. Please come back next week for the further adventures of Digimon trainer Enoby and her evil partner Voldo Man.


Jigsaw, DIY Genius~

     I’ve always been one of those bright tailed, bushy eyed go getters which is why I am always on the go and succeeding at life. Ok, breath. I just knew you were having a bad day so I thought you could use a laugh, how about I change that to be more accurate. I am on occasion one of those go getters who overcomes my chronic laziness at a time when a new Netflix series hasn’t just come out and when the planets align. I actually do try and improve my life. But how? Well, I would love to upgrade my furniture or maybe get some workout equipment that I’ve been meaning to put a down payment on lately, but that stuff costs so much money and I have none. Thankfully, horror films have the answer for us. It’s sort of odd, because I find so much joy in poking fun at a genre that I really don’t enjoy all that much. A lot of this comes down to the fact that I find horror done well to be hard to watch, as indeed it is supposed to be. I find horror badly made either boring, frustrating, disgusting, insulting or a combination of all of those things. So in preparation for this post I went ahead and watched a bunch of the trap scenes from the Saw movies, because I still remember the dark times when DIY torture was considered genius. Nowadays, we farm that stuff out to former Soviet Eastern European countries because we have a depression on.

     You see, the other day my coffee table started wearing a little thin. Not that my coffee table is sentient, but the paint was worn off in multiple places and since this was a Wal-Mart special, I thought I would go ahead and buy another one. I started off building a new coffee table and I ended up with a trough. Well, I have been needing a new table, but this is hardly what I was trying to make. I can’t place coffee table books on a trough! Where am I going to put my “Cats in people clothes” coffee table book now!? That’s what kind of brought this issue to a head for me. And this is what attracted me to the Saw Movies, because clearly when you’re the Jigsaw killer, it’s always tool time. It’s just a shame that the tools all have pointy ends and the Jigsaw hardware store has very limited ends and goals. All joking aside, this guy is a master of the DIY torture trap. Think about how much time some of these things take to set up, even the first trap we ever see. He had to get two bathtubs in that ratty ass room and hook them up to working plumbing, which must have been just a joy because what are the odds he found a room with pipes leading in right where he wanted? How would you even ask a realtor for such a room in the first place?

     And you know the guy does all his own work because it’s not like you can call a bunch of contractors and get some quotes on reverse bear traps or giant pits filled with used syringes. Now, I know enough about the films to know that the original Jigsaw killer doesn’t make it past the third film, which didn’t stop them from making more of them. The amount of planning that goes into these things makes me wish Jigsaw had a carpentry show for us knuckleheads at home who clearly don’t value our furniture enough. I’m serious, I would tune in. Jigsaw is the Bob Vila of murder. Next time I need to make myself a new coffee table I know exactly what station I’m tuning into. Whatever station is crazy enough to hire John Kramer to host a home improvement show. Oh lord. I just realized that most shows like that are the “This old house” formula of things. John Kramer makes house calls. Yay. Yeah, that one was my fault. I clearly didn’t think this through. To be fair, I’ve never watched an episode of This Old House that I didn’t consider to be torture because when I watched it I was around eleven. I guess that means John Kramer would be happy because watching This Old Murder House would certainly be torture for young boys, the ultimate combination of mental and physical torture.

     But really, this is a slippery slope and the next thing you know someone will be hiring H.H. Holmes to do a Property Brothers spinoff with Jack the Ripper. So let’s stick with our original idea of him just telling us how to make pieces of furniture for our place. Granted, once our new coffee table is done it will also be capable of killing five people, but come on! You can choose classy or you can choose, safe, nobody said interior decorating was a game! Oh wait. Actually Jigsaw does seem to be into the whole playing games thing. You know what this is like? Jigsaw having his own DYI fixit show is really more like having him be the Bob Ross or torture devices. I can picture him on his show right now. “And we’re just gonna put a little row of buzz saws in the bottom of this table. And they’re gonna be happy little buzz saws, look at them shine.” “I’m making a coffee table, you psychopath! I don’t want it to main people, I just like hot chocolate, alright!?”Though I guess that is a lot of pressure, because Bob Ross came up with really good paintings on a regular basis and Jigsaw is more one of those tortured genius types that takes forever to get anything done. Well, at least the show will be a financial success until the class action lawsuit or the star drops dead of cancer. This is a show that’s bound to see most of its life span in reruns or on YouTube, probably hanging out in the same part that has people falling off of ladders.

     It still makes sense to me, though, because when you’re looking for advice on your new piece of furniture or construction you want to take advice for the best amateur or contractor you can find. Clearly, the man knows what’s doing or there would be five million Saw movies. Look at me! I tried to make a coffee table and I ended up with a piece of farm equipment, clearly I need help. Of course, this does raise the specter of John Kramer as an independent contractor making and fixing people’s houses. I’m not sure I really want to consider that. When I started off writing this post, I jokingly told myself that the only person in a movie I’ve seen that’s more DIY than Jigsaw is maybe Kevin McCallister or maybe the Gubernator in Predator. But now I’m seeing a house where the death traps were built into the place to start off with, and they are far more lethal than a pair of paint cans flying down the stairs. Though really, those should have been lethal. Yeah, this is perhaps an old joke, but the Jigsaw killer has just been upgraded, or downgraded, to Frank Lloyd Wrong.






Social media diseases~ interlude

     Facebook has been super awkward for me lately. It’s an easy way to keep in touch with your friends, especially those friends who are likely to respond to an instant message not a phone call. It also helps me keep tabs on people who have barely been involved in my life, because Facebook is like the people version of Pokémon and we gotta catchem’all. Thing is, even when I send friend requests to all the people I can send friend requests to without feeling weird, I still don’t know that many people. Occasionally I’ll get friend requests from women I’ve never met before, and they’re either bots or cam-girls trying for potential customers. It’s usually obvious too, because in terms of attractiveness I feel somewhat like a beached whale with a bag on its face so I’m sure they’re not friending me and seventy-five other men for our stunning features. The profiles are usually one or two days old as well. Do not accept friend requests from these profiles, because I’m pretty sure that’s how you catch venereal social media diseases. Oh, they totally exist. I knew a guy who friended one of those profiles and then he woke up the next morning and his profile had liked Red Lobster on its own. Took him months to get rid of this totally not made up thing I just came up with last night.

Brad Pitt, Gourmet zombie chow~

     I still remember the trailers for World War Z. The stunning visuals almost made me forget how sick I am of zombie everything. They looked like hungry zombie salmon making their way all the way upstream to their prey. Speaking of which, a movie about zombie salmon wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Ok, it’s an awful idea but now I really want to make it. I watched the movie on Netflix because I had been intrigued and I hadn’t been exposed to all the seething nerd rage this movie activated. I came away from this movie having come to two conclusions. Firstly, gun free zones are zombie friendly zones, you monsters! The other thing I noticed about the film is that all the zombies really only have one goal. They all just want to eat Tom Cruise, which is kind of a shame because the movie stars Brad Pitt. I got the two mixed up because I instantly associate World War Z with Top Gun, only maybe remove the dogfights and replace them with zombies. It was at that point that I realized I had mixed up Brad Pitt with Val Kilmer and then I had myself a little cry. I still think the argument holds up, because no matter where Brad Pitt goes there are zombies there to gr-eat him. You see what I did there? Shut up. It’s funny.

     The first time we see zombies attack is in New York. Naturally, they didn’t start off there. The plague began in India with “Patient Zero” a man who must have looked a lot like Brad Pitt to the virus. We see the zombies in this film are fast, agile and hungry for Brad Pitt. They start smashing in car windows with their heads. Brad Pitt! Are you Brad Pitt!? Where is Brad Pitt!? I must eat Brad Pitt! Brad Pitt! And so on. I never said zombies were inventive. As a side note, this virus must spread abnormally quickly because New York seems to get wiped off the face of the planet in under an hour or so. I mean, I know they have a lot of practice from all the disaster movies and that time Godzilla showed up and wrecked the joint, but that still seems abnormally fast. My guess is that the symptoms of these zombies, which include mindlessly attacking living human beings, only dying when shot or impaled in the head and an endless hunger for Brad Pitt, must lead the victim to succumb in a matter of minutes. Brad Pitt and his family, which the zombies call appetizers for Brad Pitt get out of the city and hole up in a room with another family that are far less appetizing than Brad Pitt. By the next day they leave and the other family decides to stay and bar the door.

     Little did they know this was the least safe thing they can do. I’ve heard it said that to a zombie in World War Z, the scent of their favorite food source, Brad Pitt, lingers for days and drives the zombies in the area frantic with hunger. They might as well have spent the rest of their time spent their drenching themselves in marinade and ringing a dinner gong. Naturally, the zombies show up and munch on the family because happy endings are for Disney films and this movie is about feeding the hungry…zombies. Brad Pitt gets airlifted out of the place as zombies desperately cling to the helicopter. “Give us Brad Pitt!” They seem to say as the chopper wings away. Many zombies lost their chance to join the “I eat Brad Pitt in a helicopter” club that day. Brad Pitt and his travelling parsley circus make their way to the last bastion of humanity, ships on the ocean. Brad Pitt now counts as sea food for all you Catholic zombies out there. They quickly decide that they must send a scientist in to find a cure. Of course, they send the human main course Brad Pitt to protect him.

     Now I know what you’re thinking, which is good because we’ve really stopped communicating these days, why on Earth would they send their one last hope with the human equivalent of Zombie catnip to guard him? Wouldn’t that be like the rats of NIMH sending Matthias out to drug the cat with an all cat escort? What could possibly go wrong except for everything? Once they arrive he promptly slips and shoots himself in the head. The scientist, not Brad Pitt. The place is already swarming with zombies at the Russian airport. Word had gone ahead that Brad Pitt would be arriving, yum yum. So naturally they have to get out of dodge by getting into a plane and flying to Jerusalem where Brad Pitt can complete his dream of luring zombies to all the safe zones in the world, thus making him the most eligible main course in the world. It seems like a futile task when zombies seem willing to fling themselves over walls and even other zombies, like undead lemmings, to reach that legendary dish. You could argue that it’s the noise that attracts the zombies but you would only be lying to yourself. Sure, the music might not have helped, but they also caught the unmistakable smell of Brad Pitt. It smells like success, so you know it when you smell it. And apparently this excites the appetites of the undead in the same way that a cordon bleu chef makes good dishes.

     I don’t know about you, but this is rapidly getting out of hand. Soon there won’t be any snacks left for when we get hungry later. The pilot of the plane that took Brad Pitt to Jerusalem wisely realizes that rolling with Brad Pitt, the human veal, gives him the same life expectancy as the other people who rolled with Brad Pitt. So he tries to take off but it doesn’t work out so well for him. It’s the smell, man. You had a good plan but you were screwed from the moment you touched down. Brad Pitt gets on a commercial jet and wings his way to Scotland. Little do the passengers know that the presence of Brad Pitt effectively makes the whole plane a box of delightful cereal. Brad Pitt is the glow in the dark toy that comes in the bottom of the box. Well, a glow in the dark toy that you can eat. Once they arrive in Scotland Brad Pitt goes to a place run by the World Health Organization. They meet with people there. Doctors. Doctor W.H.O. if you will and Brad Pitt runs by them the idea that if he infects himself with a fatal disease than maybe all the zombies will die from sheer depression at the loss of a chance to eat Brad Pitt. It seems to work and now the fight to take back the word has begun. Moral of the story? If there is ever a zombie apocalypse, Brad Pitt? You know what to do.


My Immortal~ The best surprise is…

So, here we again. Time once more for another enjoyable roundup of “My Immortal” chapters. Right now I am writing in a hotel very early in the morning. The whole of today, or tomorrow, I will be in a plane and since God clearly hates me, a piece of my blinds fell off and hit my laptop screen several weeks after my service plan expired. That will not stop me from posting, however, because I am nothing if not willing to endanger the lives of countless innocent people in order to get you the quality posting you deser…wait a minute. Something about that doesn’t add up. Anyways, this week we hit the meat of the plot finally at last for the first time all over again…again. I hope. Last week we left off with another concert scene and the introduction of Navel…oh, sorry, I mean…oh what the hell did she rename Neville to? Oh right, Dracola. Now come with me and I’ll take you on a tour of Neo-Goth Hogwarts. It’s almost as offensive as Neo-Nazi Hogwarts, but it doesn’t lose out by much, if you catch my drift.

Chapter XVIII-(Gratuitous clothing scene, take a shot) It’s the next morning. You are not ready for this. The end of the last chapter had a Dumblydore wearing a black t-shirt that said Avril Lavigne on the back. Today he’s turned this into the magical land of the poser goth. Maybe I’m too old to know. Was this a thing? Ever? Someone tell me if that was a thing. In real high schools, not magical ones. Ok, I have to admit that I jumped the gun on this one. Black walls, black tables but there’s pink underneath. Uh. The great hall was pink? When did that happen? Also she mentions some posters, which I can’t help but picture floating in much the same manner as the candles. By the way, are you keeping up with your shots yet? Don’t worry, official rules are forthcoming but while we wait (gratuitous clothing scene x2, take two shots). So here’s the thing. Apparently Dumblydore, who I would like to remind you didn’t like Draco or care enough about him to rescue him from Vlodemorts sex dungeon, is now going goth to…impress the students he hated in the first place? The only way this could be more insulting is if Dumblydore came in dressed as Mr. Rogers. So they’re mad at Dumblydore but…wait, there’s another MCR concert? Isn’t this the third time now? Why are you still going to concerts!? It’s Vlodemort and his Death Dealahs! It’s always him! The Beatles cover band? Vlodemort! The Rolling Stones! Vlodemort and friends! Well…except for Keith Richards. Nobody messes with Keith Richards. This chapter is going to be the death of me. It’s going on too long, and once I hit the part where Draco says, “Nobody understands me!” Gaaaah! Just go to the concert you little twerps! I hope you all die! Wait…Boulevard of Borkin dreams? I…have not heard that Green Day song. I am very glad. By the way (gratuitous clothing scenex2, take two shots…or maybe don’t, I don’t want you to die.) Will this chapter never end? Tears of blood, bloody eye liner, bloody stool, pot…ok, that last one I understood. Oh hey! Here’s Hargrid in the girls bathroom! By the way, I skipped another Enoby v. Draco fight. If you wanna watch Drago fight, go watch Rocky IV. So actually Dumblydore is there too. I thought this would be the part where the whole time travel plot picks up? Apparently he just wanted to know what she was wearing to the concert. So…he can dress to match? It will involve black and blood red. You’re always safe with black and blood red.

Chapter XIX-Oh, thank God. So now on to Draco’s surprise. If it doesn’t involve him holding a boom box over his head or copious amounts of drugs, I don’t care. My money is on it involving her virility though. Any bets? Taking all bets! Also (gratuitous clothing scene, maybe don’t take a shot). Wait…so Lupin comes to her room to ask for…condoms? I’m not gonna lie, this time I’m actually disturbed. I was going to make fun of the slit wrist bloody mosh pit all night dancing thing? This kinda puts me off that. Ok, we do get another insult here. Ludicrous idiot. Take a shot. We’re just skipping over this next scene. I have no comment. It’s not Lupin taking up the back door here, it’s my childhood sense of wonder. It feels like betrayal ribbed for his pleasure. Yeah. We’re moving on. I’m scarred now. “Well, anyway, I went outside and” NO! You cannot go back to just whatever from…ah, screw it. Let’s just get this over with. Hey look, it’s Vampire Potter! What singer shall we compare him to now? So I guess she’s going to the concert with Vampire now? In his *gasp* black car? Do you remember what your bet on what Draco’s surprise was going to be? I don’t. All I can think of now is that other thing. The one that I skipped. Ah, but his car license is MCR 666, which is clearly superior to just 666. The MCR addition really notches up the evil. But Draco is at the concert, crying in a corner. Which Enoby somehow hears. End of chapter. Ok, write down your bets now. Tell me in the comments section if you were right. If you didn’t stop reading. And if you aren’t comatose from too many shots. If you are comatose, say nothing.

Chapter XX-So after that, they just go back to school. I was unaware that you could run in a suicidal way. What, was he running off the top of Hogwarts? So…did she forget about the surprise? Because that would honestly have surprised me. You know, this whole scene that comes along here with Vampire and Enoby under his black (natch) invisibility cloak would be more exciting if it wasn’t for the surprise. Is it a pony? Wait..that’s too preppie. Is it…a suicidal pony? That says 666 somewhere on it? So they get found and run outside to see Draco slitting his wrists…outside the school. Like you do. Is he feeling better? “I yes no.” WHAT ABOUT THE SURPRISE! Is it ice cream? I think part of this chapter got cut off, but here comes Fudge. He better be part of the surprise or I will seriously lose it.

Chapter XXI-“All day everybody talked about the misery of magic.” Well played, good madam, well played. (Gratuitous clothing scenex8, give your liver a break already. No human being was made to consume so much alcohol in one sitting.) Also more vampire backstories, for Crabbe and Goyle and…someone else. Yep, and we have a few more converts to Stanism too. This Stan guy. He’s becoming so popular with the high school kids, isn’t he? Ok, so she says she needs to put clothes on…after the twenty seconds of clothing descriptions. Also her friends need to stop being so erective. Could this be it? Could we be getting our time travel plot? Or the surprise? I would take either one at this point. Ah yes. The school should be closed, they walk in on a yelling match between Fudge and Avril Dumblydore. It’s the Bark lord, you see. He’s got this needlessly complicated scheme to have one student kill another student or he’ll kill them both! Yeah…he is kinda needlessly petty like that, isn’t he? And Dumblydore has Alzheimers? Well, that would explain the makeover. But we can’t close the school, because Enoby is the chosen one that will kill Vlodemort and save us from our sins, and on the third day she will be taken up to an MCR concert in the sky…

     That’s my limit and beyond. So a few things to cover here. Firstly, again, this in no way is a personal attack. The original fanfic was written to give joy to people, and it has. Not..most of the time…in the way the author intended, but that’s life. The other thing I would like to mention is that I skipped most of an infamously bad scene because I found it personally insulting towards to characters I deeply admire. Read it at your own risk. Lastly, this is the beginning of the end for these posts. The whole thing is around thirty chapters and we just hit the twenties. Also…was there really no surprise? I know! It was disappointment! That…wasn’t actually all that surprising.