Monday, September 8, 2008

I'm Back, Baby...

What began as a bit of an unannounced break from Interwebland, turned into almost 2 months of your lives Sans Kris. For this, I apologize, as I know from my own personal experience that anyone's life completely Sans Kris is just kind of meaningless. I honestly didn't realize it had been so long, and if I had known my absence would extend into September, I would have gone out on a bit of a stronger note than with something bearing "ape tit" in the title. Well maybe not, but you could give me the benefit of the doubt. Unless you want to be a dick about it, of course.

My life went through a HUGE change about two and a half months ago, and the plan was to take a couple of weeks off from writing, in order to devote the needed time to this new endeavour. 2 weeks turned into 2 months and here we are. The good news is that the big life change I experienced was ALL positive. It's eaten up a lot of my time (more than I even anticipated), but my life is much more fulfilled as a result. Now I can get back to the business of wasting your time.

First of all, thanks so much to those of you that were kind enough to send me your thoughts and take the time to write. Extra Happy Thanks should go to Naibebbi Oujunina for taking the time to send me an email every single day. In retrospect, I can't say I completely understand what Nigerian bank transfers have to do with my little musings, but thanks all the same. It is appreciated, sir.


God. Damn.

Thirdly, expect a certified plethora of new content to read about here in the near future. Halloween is my favorite holiday and I'm sure to spend far more money than anyone really should on useless shit that completely loses its cultural relevance as soon as the clock strikes midnight on some arbitrary day. Since my psyche demands I justify everything I purchase, you will be hearing about it all. How does it feel to be justification? I bet it feels bittersweet.

Fourthly, I'm going to see against me! in two days. Yeah, that's right. Jealous? What the fuck do you mean "Who's against me!?". Bah.

Fifly, or fively? Semantics. I may get to see Blind Melon in two weeks. That one I know you're jealous about. Fuck your "they haven't been relevant in fifteen years" bullshit too.

Sixly, can I just say that if you haven't seen The Dark Knight yet, you should just kill yourself. Seriously, what the fuck are you waiting for? It doesn't get better with age. On your way out, whisper a little thanks to Chris Nolan for preventing the great nerd war of 2009. That shit was brewing, and I don't know about you, but I didn't want to have to fight a bunch of nerds to the death for my own survival. Seriously. If for some reason I need to know what the klingon word for spatula is, I would like to be secure in the knowledge that this kind of information is available. The Dark Knight brought us all together, and you should pay your respects. *

Sevenly, I have discovered the magic of podcasts...and they are good. I don't think I've listened to music at all in the last 2 months. Just fucking podcasts. Shit's addicting. Three good ones for you to check out. Feel free to google, as I am too inebriated to search for links. Who knows what the fuck you'll actually be clicking on if I try and provide that service right now. I would probably Rick Roll you.


The Ken P. D. Snydecast

Stuck in the 80s

Don't check them out unless you want to literally lose days of your life to catching up on all that podcasty goodness.

Eighthly, why didn't anyone tell me mussells were so fucking good? How I waited almost 27 years to try what is probably God's perfect food (right after Cherry flavoured Pez, ofcourse), is just beyond me. Can we please try and be more open in the future? These secrets have got to stop. They're tearing us apart.
Ninthly, if you ask me...turnips are vastly under-rated as a side dish. Why can't it be choice of potato, rice or turnip? I think the Turnip Council needs a new ad campaign.
Turnips.....Terrorists Hate them. You're Not a Terrorist, are You?
Tenthly, and most importantly... I missed you guys! :)
* Spellchecker has advised me that "klingon" should be spelled with a capital "K". Fuck that. War's back on.

Friday, July 11, 2008

Why Don'tcha Give Me Ape Tit for 200...

I know my titles have a tendency to bear very little resemblance to the actual post itself. Sometimes I like to be a little obscure. That being said, today's title has really nothing to do with the below post, so allow me to explain.

Today is a grab bag, if you will. Just a few little things that don't really have enough substance to warrant their own complete post. Using this reasoning, I was going to call the post "Potpourri", after the Jeopardy category that utilizes a variety of topics all within the same column.

So as I was standing at the bus stop this morning, musing over how clever I am in my blog naming abilities and thinking about Jeopardy, a certain SNL skit jumped into my head. You may already know which one I'm talking about.

The scene in question involves Norm McDonald portraying Burt Reynolds in a round of Celebrity Jeopardy. That fucking line still makes me laugh.

Random Thing A

Ape tit....he he he

Random Thing 2

You know what gets me all worked up?

Well this picture usually does the trick, but that's not what I'm talking about
No, I mean worked up in an angry sense. Like most things that piss me off, it involves The Bus. I've probably beaten my hatred for public transportation into the ground by now, but I haven't covered this aspect. Surprisingly, the bus has very little control over this, and yet I still blame it. Goddamn bus.

What I'm talking about is Aisle Seat Sitters. If you've ever rode the bus, I'm sure you've seen this. Those inconsiderate people that choose to sit in the aisle seat, even when the window seat beside them is open. It's a subtle way of saying "Don't sit beside me you weirdo freak. I don't care if all of the other seats are full, and you have to stand, I want to sit alone". Well fuck that. If you want to sit alone, buy a goddamn car. You relinquish that right when you choose to travel by bus. This is becoming more and more common place, and I aim to stop it. The next time I see someone doing this, I'm jumping right the fuck into action.

Captain Justice: Excuse me miss...but I believe the seat beside you is open. Perhaps you should move over, lest someone else needs to rest their tired bones.

Random Bus Douche: You can't tell me what to do! This is where I want to sit.

CJ: I would like to sit, and if you refuse to move, I shall be forced to sit on your lap. Which would you prefer?

RBD: But there are lots of other seats open. Why can't you sit somewhere else?

CJ: Because I want to sit right...fucking...there. Now move over or I'll sneeze on you.

People on the bus are always afraid you're going to sneeze on them.

Random Thing III

I need a little advice from any bearded gentlemen out there. Or bearded ladies I suppose, as I really shouldn't discriminate. Recently I became afflicted with a condition that I've never seen or heard of before. Beard dandruff. Anyone else ever experience this? I guess the skin under my beard is really dry, to the point of flaking when I rub it. Although I'm not a chronic beard scratcher (beyond the usual stroking to make myself look scholarly when all I'm really ever thinking about is whether Ghost busters Ectoplasm is a superior commercial slime as opposed to the He-Man variety). I don't think this has ever been a problem before (I've been bearded since High School), but lately I noticed that after a bit of stroking, the front of my black shirt looks a little "salt and pepper" for my tastes.

Short of shampooing my beard with Head and Shoulders, I don't know what the fuck to do. Any help?

Random Thing the Fourth

As I'm approaching 30 at an alarming rate, I fear I am getting old. Now this fear has been confirmed. My seven year old son is now better than me on Guitar Hero. When the fuck did this happen??? How the fuck did this happen? When he first started playing, I had to hold the frets down for him while he strummed. Now he throws me a condescending laugh when he sees me play on Medium, while he thrashes away on Hard. I'm sure he's thinking something equally spiteful such as "Ha ha, old man. Your fingers are too old and brittle to keep up with those notes. Why do you even try?"




It should be a proud day when your little bundle of joy can come into his own and best you at your own game. Obviously I did something right in raising him into the fine little gentleman he is, right? I should be happy about that. Well I'm not dammit. I'm petty and jealous. Little bastard....

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Ever Tried Making Sense?....

Ever tried lying on a thousand vibrating cell phones?

That was the question I was greeted with this morning as I was enjoying my daily commute to the office. It was in the form of a bus ad for 5 gum, and I think it killed my brain a little bit.

Before I get into all out rant mode, let me say that 5 is my preferred brand of gum. As a smoker, it goes without saying that I buy a lot of gum (if something "goes without saying", why do we feel the need to say it?) and Wrigley's has definitely made some money off of me with this newish product. Is it the taste? The long lastinest of the flavour? Nope. It's all about the packaging baby. Take a look....

That is one sexy pack of gum. From the cool, flip open lid, to the stylish and vibrant colors (the black and blue really play off of each other nicely) it is a package to truly embrace. But does it taste like ass? Not at all. Although I would be hard pressed to say it tastes better than any other gum, it doesn't taste bad, and that's good enough for me.

Remember....I'm the guy that buys movies he doesn't even like because the DVD case has some cool gimmick involved. I'm the idiot that marketing gurus cream their pants over. An easy sell, through and through.

But there's one thing my love of pretty packaging will not abide by. Stupid fucking slogans. And puns. And sometimes Unicorns. And shouldn't Unicorns be called Unihorns? I hate mystical creatures that defy the laws of vocabulary.

So lets look at this again:

Ever tried Lying on a Thousand Vibrating Cell Phones?

How is that even possible? And what the fuck does lying have to do with anything? It's like the Chewbacca defense of gum marketing. It doesn't make sense.

Should it be "Ever tried Laying..." as in to lay down? Maybe its just me, but saying "Ever tried Lying" sounds like you're trying to tell a fib while talking on a thousand cell phones. Which is impossible. Unless you do it one at a time. But why would you? IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE!

I could be completely off base here, as my command of the English language can be suspect at times, but this just feels misleading. And I don't tolerate misleading gum ads. Not since the Juicy Fruit debacle of '01 anyway.

Maybe I'm being too hard on Wrigley's. Let's assume for a second that it isn't misleading (and I'm not an idiot). So Wrigley's is telling us that chewing 5 is akin to resting on top of 1000 vibrating cell phones. That doesn't sound terribly comfortable. And are they ringing, or just vibrating? I need to know these things Wrigley's! Who exactly thought this would be a good slogan?

Bill: Hey Bob! How's It Going Today?

Bob: Not too shabby Bill. But I would be better if I could experience what it might feel like to lie down on top of 1000 vibrating cell phones....

Bill: Holy fuck Bob, do I have something for you to try!

No no no no no no no no no no no. And a French non for good measure. IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE.

Why would you want to experience lying down on 1000 vibrating cell phones? Hey Wrigley's, here's a slogan for you...

5 - Ever Had a Thousand Screaming Dildos in Your Ass?

Jesus Christ...

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Would You Like a Lil' Diabetes With That?...

I don't really have a "sweet tooth" to speak of and if pressed for my opinion on snacks I always tend to stick to the "savory" side of the fatty fat fat spectrum. One simple reason for this is that sugar kicks my teeth's ass. Assuming my teeth has ass, which I like to think they do. I don't have black mouth of death cavities or anything, my teeth just don't appreciate sugar. Sometimes, however, I can't help myself. Such was the case yesterday when I stumbled across the coolest candy store ever to grace the planet earth. Or at least that I've seen. It was called Sugar Mountain, and it was glorious.

Sunday was spent with Mini Kris 1 and 2, exploring The Forks. If you ever get the chance to visit Winnipeg, The Forks is a MUST see. Set aside at least half a day as well, because there is alot to accomplish while you're there. Check out to really see what its all about, because frankly, I'm here to talk about SUGAR, not be your tour guide to blah blah blah.

Back on point: We were strolling along, enjoying a gorgeous day, when Mini Kris 1 spotted a couple of train cars just planted in the middle of our prime strolling path. His line of sight bounced back and forth from the ground to the train car itself for a minute before I realized where his confusion stemmed from. There were no tracks anywhere to be seen. I could picture his little mind at work, puzzling over how the fuck these train cars arrived at this place, at this time. It made no sense, but Mini Kris 1 is a boy who loves his trains, and he is never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Clearly the situation called for further investigation. Mini Kris 2 came along as well, because she is only 5 after all and I'm not going to just leave her alone on the side of the road while we check out this oddity. What the fuck, right?

We went around to the other side and were greeted with a very happy looking sign proclaiming this particular train car "SUGAR MOUNTAIN". A fucking candy store......located inside two very retro looking train cars......called Sugar Mountain. Glory be to god in the highest. Or Moses or Mohammad or The Devil if that's how you roll. You get the point.

I love candy stores, which is strange, because as you now know, I don't like candy. If you've read this site more than once though, you know that I like weird shit and cool packaging. And an entire store devoted solely to candy is bound to have some cool shit that I haven't seen before. Or at least some stuff that I can't just pick up from the 7-11 down the street.

Remember Pic-a-pop? I have no idea how far reaching Pic-a-Pop was back in the 80s, so you may not know what the fuck I'm talking about, but they had it. And it was good. They also had about 5000 different types of candy to choose from. Big League Chew was there, and Red Vines graced us with an appearance. Candy Buttons made the scene, along with his good buddies Blackjack gum and Fizzes. In addition to all of the classic goodies, there was a ton of stuff I had never seen before. They had chocolate covered grasshoppers, 5 different types of Caramilk bars I never knew existed and energy drinks branded with Stewie from Family Guy. I think it was called Stewie's Domination Serum or something, but I can't be 100% sure. To be honest, there was way too many things going on to retain much of anything. I was like a kid in a....well a candy store I guess. Fuck, I hate being obvious.

I easily could have spent TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS there, but the Province of Manitoba demand that I feed Mini Kris 1 and 2 foods rich in vitamins and nutrients , and spending TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS on nothing but candy would have forced me to feed them nothing but dog food for the next couple of years. Sacrifices needed to be made, and we limited ourselves to one item each. The pic-a-pop from earlier doesn't count because it is a tasty tasty beverage, although I don't know why I feel the need to justify myself.

To my dismay the kids picked out some random crap devoid of any originality or cool, retro packaging. For a second I questioned their genetic lineage, before chalking it up to a simple fact. Candy is candy as far as young children are concerned. They are going to eat it, so it doesn't matter how cool the package is, as long as there is a pound of sugar crammed into every square inch of the winning confection. Understandable, but I mocked their lack of creativity anyway. How does that old parenting slogan go? Emasculate your young?

My pick, however, was much more enlightened. Well, maybe not, but I love surprises.

The almighty surprise bag!! What magical wonders does it hold. What mysterious secrets lie inside? I don't know about you, but I'm excited. Let's go in for a closer look....

We start with the classic Pixy Stix. Nothing says "I want to die at a young age" better than pure color treated sugar. My teeth started to hurt just holding this package.

Another classic, although very common item. I'm obligated to give it bonus points for being Cherry flavoured, but ultimately it is a fail. I could buy an entire bag of these just about anywhere I go. I even got one from the bank once. I don't need to rely on my Sugar Mountain surprise bag for a tootsie pop fix.

These were new to me. I don't know how retro they are, but the 25 cent price printed right on the box would lead me to believe they are not of this time. Companies don't seem to print prices right on the box anymore. I have no idea how they taste, but I think its safe to assume "grapey".

The Pepsi to Pop Rocks' Coke. Again, the gods have favoured me with a flavour in the Red section of the food pyramid (the tastiest section of all). But I must say....that is one fucked up looking guy on the package.

Good old Popeye brand candy cigarettes. That's right, I went there. These will always be candy cigarettes, and I don't care how fucking PC our society is today. Candy sticks my ass. Why are the tips still red!?!?!. Answer me that, Popeye.

Fun dip. Because sometimes colored sugar just isn't enough. You need more colored sugar (now in handy compressed form) to lick and stick it to. And is it just me, or is Wonka buying up all the candy brands? Everything seems to be Wonkafied these days.

I was almost at the end of my surprise bag, and starting to wish I had bought that five dollar classic Nintendo controller shaped tin of mints instead, when I reached in, and pulled out some pure 80s sex.

In card form.

Yes, god, fucking yes. Garbage Pail Kids cards from 1987. I used up alot of karma in this 10 seconds, so I fully expect the rest of the year to be absolutely shitty, just to balance things out. Take a closer look...




He he he. Phil 'Er Up.

Okay, this one's fucking gross

I've been thinking about the Garbage Pail Kids movie alot lately (don't judge my thoughts) and a review of sorts is definitely in order once I finish with Masters of the Universe.

But my all time "want" in regards to useless 80s memorabilia? An unopened box of Garbage Pail Kids Crummy Candy and Cheap Toys. Does anyone remember these? The package was a little garbage bag, closed with a twist tie, and containing a tiny garbage pail kids figurine and assorted pieces of garbage shaped candy. Fucking impossible to find. Empty boxes go for more than a hundred bucks on EBay! If anyone can point me in the direction of this treasure, I will sign over my third born child to you. I'm going to keep my first and second born, because I've grown kind of fond of them over the years.

So that was my candy adventure. I'll definitely be going back (soon) so I'll let you know if I find anything else worth blabbing about. I think the chocolate covered crickets deserve a taste test, but we'll see. I'm kind of a girl about putting stuff in my mouth. Wow, that came out way wrong...

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Forgive Me Blogger, For I Have Sinned...

Miss me? No? Jerk.

I'm not going to lie. There is a real reason for my absence these past few weeks, but its boring. So for your convenience, I've listed 4 alternate reasons below. Pick whichever one suits you, and we'll go with that.

1. It's all Heather's fault. You see, since she is the resident blogging authority, I live and die by her comments. When she didn't comment on my last post, it sent me spiraling down into a pit of self pity, remorse and my own bitter, salty tears. She finally commented a few days ago, just in time for me to move the razor away from my wrist. Thanks Heather.

2. I recently watched the live action spectacular that is Masters of the Universe. I hadn't seen it since I was a wee lad, and the sheer magnificence of seeing He-Man and Skeletor battle it out in all their live action glory caused my eyeballs to simultaneously orgasm. While totally worth it, an eyeball orgasm tends to leave a side effect not unlike cataracts. I've been stumbling around in the dark ever since, with my vision finally returning just this morning. Ofcourse the first thing I did upon being able to see the world again, was to write this post. How can you question that dedication?

3. I was abducted by aliens. Big, grey-headed ones that sounded suspiciously like pudgy, late 90s Corey Haim. It was pretty scary at first, but I was relieved to find out that they had reached the limits of what ass-raping anal probes can teach them about Human society. We embarked on a grand adventure that culminated with me saving the universe. Oh, Zeldor...the times we shared. I'll tell you about it some time. And you're welcome for that whole saving the universe thing. It was my pleasure.

4. My fingers were lopped off in a horrific camping accident. It's still a little too painful to go into much detail (it was only today that the nubs had healed enough for me to do any sort of typing), but let's just say that when they tell you not to feed the bears, man you better not stick your hands in their mouths. Not sure why I thought that would be a good idea, but then, cocaine is a hell of a drug. Huh?

Not to fear though, because I'm back and better than ever. I know the internet can be a scary place without me, so I'll do my best not to leave you alone for so long again.

I've got a couple of things planned for the next week or so. You will be hearing much more about the Masters of the Universe movie, and I'm even going to throw in a review of a product that shall remain nameless for now.
Until next time...

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

A Revelation!....

Second post in the last couple of hours, so keep scrolling down after you're done here. Or scroll down now, read that, and then scroll back up here in order to check this one out. But if you do that, for god's sake don't re-read this opening bit of exposition. Because it will still be the same, and you'll have wasted precious seconds of your day. Although if you're here, you must not have anything better to do. So maybe the whole thing's moot. I love Moot, because it sounds like it could be dirty, when its really not. Seriously....say this in your head: "Oh baby, your tongue feels so good on my moot". Then make an orgasm sound. Nice, right?

Where was I, again?

Ah yes. A revelation. I love revelations because, by definition, they are always new, and somewhat shocking bits of information. Name one thing that hasn't been instantly made superior by the label "NEW AND SHOCKING!!!" You can't, because there isn't. A revelation doesn't always have to be huge or life altering though, and I respect that.

Today, I revelized (patent pending) that you can get porn ... on EBay. Not really life altering maybe, but possibly a huge, never before utilized convenience! And I'm all for that. Gather round children, and let me tell you a little something about myself.

I am a man who likes his porno. No, I'm not afraid to admit it, and fuck you for judging me. Not to worry though, as my tastes run pretty normal. I know, to each his own, and as long as it isn't hurting me then blah blah blah....but if you let people shit in your mouth, you've got fucking issues. That's fact.

Porn on EBay though? Big deal, right? Exactly right. If you're me, it is a big deal. For two very important reasons that I'll tell you about now. Because it wouldn't really have made sense if I had mentioned them out of nowhere in the opening paragraph.

1. I don't enjoy shopping in "adult" stores. I have a crippling fear that the clerk is quietly judging me. I don't know about you, but I don't like complete strangers judging me based on something I'm going to beat off to later. (Oh grow up. Everyone does it. Yes, even you). And maybe I just haven't been to a "nice" house of pornography, but they all seem so sleazy and nasty. Like if I'm standing up to take a piss in the toilet, and there's a fucking glory hole 4 inches from my asshole, I have made a wrong decision somewhere in my day, you know what I mean?

2. I can't get my porn online, because I don't have a credit card. Not a single one. I am just far too susceptible to marketing and advertising of any kind. It is definitely a character flaw, but I've made my peace with it. I would be maxed out in fucking hours flat, all the while laughing at Future Kris, for the hell he was going to have to endure due to the fact that Present Kris is a weak willed little consumer.

So we have a bit of a dilemma. Not a catastrophe by any means. I don't NEED porn, it's just nice is all. I won't settle for dirty magazines from 7-11, because its just not that important to me. If I'm going to look at pornography, it better be full motion video and sound and there better be a little P in Va G action going on. Otherwise I'll just go without.

But maybe not. EBay always seems to know what I want. If EBay was a woman, I'd shit all up in her mouth...........I mean......disregard. I was checking out a DVD store on tha' Bay (as we call it in tha' hood), trying to find a copy of the live action Masters of the Universe movie from 1987, and I stumbled upon an entry that I had never seen in all my years of cruising EBay. For the title of the entry it said this:

Hidden - Requires Adult Verification

What the fuck!?!?! How had I never noticed this before? This has to be porn! I rubbed my sweaty hands together in anticipation and clicked the link. Still no porn, but I was once step closer. All that remained was agreeing to their guidelines for viewing the adult material, and I could theoretically have porno delivered straight to my door! But man, is EBay ever strict about this shit. Check out some of the things I had to confirm.

I will not permit any person(s) under 18 years of age to have access to any of the materials contained within this site.

Well I guess that's pretty reasonable. No big surprise.

I am an adult, at least 18 years of age, and I have a legal right to possess adult material in my community.

Again, very reasonable. They just want to make sure no laws are broken. So far so good.

I do not find pornographic images of nude adults, adults engaged in sexual acts or other sexual material to be offensive or objectionable.

Now we're entering a bit of a grey area. What if I do find the sexual acts offensive or objectionable, but that's what turns me on about them? What then? Hmmmmm.

I will exit from this site immediately if I am in any way offended by the sexual nature of any materials on this site.

This one just confused me. Can I still shop for non-porn items on EBay, or does the act of being offended immediately ostracize me from the EBay community? Maybe I'm taking this too seriously. Let's just click on "Agree". I was so excited. Can it really be true. Easy access porn!?!?! Oh god, here we go....

Please enter credit card information. Your card will not be charged and only be used for Age Verification.

Fucking hell. Cock blocked by a goddamn computer.

Monday, June 2, 2008

Adventures in Bum Lies.....

It has been a little less than a year since I made my move to the big, bad city. Up until now, my living arrangements had always been decidedly rural in nature. I don't know if you could say I'm proud of being raised in a small town, but I'm not really embarrassed about it either. It just is what it is. But even though I may be indifferent about this, I can still recognize some telltale signs that I just might be a little bit country. And no, I'm not nearly in the league of "redneck".

1. I wouldn't think twice about handing my camera over to a complete stranger in order for them to snap a picture of me and the person I was with. I would probably then stand there, looking slightly confused, as he ran away with it.
2. I appreciate the superiority of drinking in a barn, as opposed to a trendy nightclub. No liquor laws in a barn.

3. I will open doors, pull out chairs and probably even lay my jacket over a mud puddle, if there is ever a lady in need. Unless we're talking about my leather jacket. Then she can get her fucking feet wet.
4. Upon realizing that I need to venture out of my apartment for supplies, I can still be heard to remark "Hey, anyone want to go uptown?". A fact that my city-raised friends continue to mock me about.

5. I cannot refuse someone begging for spare change. Well until a few days ago anyway. A few days ago, I hit my breaking point.



90% of my life has been spent living in towns with a population of 5000 or less. As you can imagine, homeless people accosting me for my change has never been an issue I gave much thought to. I don't think I even seen my first bum until I was in my teens. It just wasn't something you see in small town southern Manitoba.


If I happened to be visiting someone in a larger city, most of my time was spent seeking out destinations, not walking around questionable neighborhoods. The odd time that I did see a homeless person, I would gladly reach into my pocket and give them whatever loose change I had on me. It's not like I'm a saint or anything. I wasn't handing out paper, but it warmed my heart a bit when the recipient would smile and thank me excessively for my meager donation. A couple of bucks once every six months wasn't going to kill me after all.

Even for the majority of my city living experience, I haven't really been exposed to that much poverty. While I don't live in a rich neighborhood, it is fairly nice. I can barely ever hear sirens at night, have never gotten my apartment broken into, and have never once been mugged. In my experience, those are all just things that happen "over there". Well lately, I've been spending more and more time "over there", due to the fact that the person I've been spending a lot of time with lately, lives "over there". It's not so bad that I have to worry about getting stabbed while I'm visiting, but its a bit rougher than my neighborhood, to be sure.



Venturing into this neighborhood requires two buses. The first bus takes me from the safety and security of my nice little neighborhood, smack dab into the middle of downtown Winnipeg. I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with Winnipeg, but downtown Winnipeg isn't exactly the greatest place to raise your kids, if you know what I mean. Here, I have to wait for about 20 minutes until my second bus arrives and speeds me onto my destination. In that 20 minutes, I am usually asked to part with my change no fewer than 347 times. It's fucking crazy. Until I finally grew a set and started saying no, this 20 minutes would end up costing me roughly 50 bucks a week. Not Rockefeller dollars, I know, but I'm on a budget dammit. That unreleased bootleg DVD copy of The Video Dead ain't going to buy itself, you know.


Saying I "grew a set" is probably still too generous though. You see, I still can't say no. At the same time, I'm sick of giving away all of my money. The only option is quite obvious. I lie. I fucking lie to homeless people. No, I don't feel good about it, but I do it anyway. Don't look at me like that. They fucking lie to me too. Take this example (100% true) from a few weeks back. I was standing by my bus stop, listening to my MP3 player, trying to pretend I didn't see the guy currently advancing on me (wearing expensive sneakers no less).

Bum: Hey any change?

Moi: ........... (still pretending not to see or hear him)

Bum: (waving his hand in front of my face) Hey buddy...spare some change. I need to catch the bus.

Moi: FUCK YOU! Where did you get those fucking nice sneakers if you can't even afford bus fare. You fucking social pariah........

Is what I was thinking. What I actually said was more like this:

Moi: Sorry, but I only have enough change for my own bus fare. Maybe next time.

Bum: Hold on one second....

At which point he retreats back to the group of bums huddled just around the corner. They were coming up with a battle plan. By the way, don't you think there should be a specific term for a group of bums? Like: A gaggle of bums, or a flock of bums. Let's go with flock.

So the flock of bums is conferring and figuring out what to do. They seem to reach a consensus and the initial bum returns with a bus ticket in hand.

Bum: What if I sold you this bus ticket?

Moi: Well if you have a bus ticket, then why do you need my change?

This confused the bum, and he actually comically scratched his head. Realizing he had been defeated, he scowled at me and went on his way.


Motherfucker lied to me! Now I may be old fashioned, but I likes my bread white, my coffee black and my bums honest. Bastard.


"Sorry, I don't have any change"

"Sorry, I just have enough for the bus"

"I just gave it all to that guy"

"I don't speak English"

Any one or combination of these does the trick, although I don't understand why I can't just say "NO". Is it because I'm generally a nice guy? No, I don't think so. Is it because I care what bums think about me? Probably not.


I think I'm just a chicken shit. I can be pretty intimidating when I want to be. Over 6' tall, topping 200 lbs. Broad masculine shoulders. Mysterious, piercing get the picture. But the truth is that I'm so fucking white collar, its sick. I don't like to get my hands dirty, and lying seems much more attractive than possibly having to fend off dirty, pissed homeless people, you know what I mean? But my patience is starting to run oh so thin. Why can't I just fucking wait for my bus in peace, instead of having to deal with this shit? One of these days I'm just going to snap and respond "Yeah, I've got change. Lots of change. Don't you love the sound it makes when it jingles in your pocket? But you can't have this change. This is my change. You're going to have to get your own. Now fuck off."

And lest you think I'm a total asshole, I assure you I'm not talking about people that are just down on their luck and can't afford to eat. 9 out of 10 bums that confront me are drunk. And I mean "barely standing, slurring, smelly" drunk. The other one is usually wearing nicer clothes than I have. What the fuck!?!?!?! My kingdom for a nice, starving bum that isn't just looking for their next hit, or is just too lazy to find a job. Fucking McDonald's is always hiring. Grab a bath in the river and apply. They'll hire you.


I love Winnipeg, but this is getting ridiculous.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

My Tribute to....Friday the 13th Part V: A New Beginning...

It's tough to find a film franchise more polarizing than the Friday the 13th series. Subjectively, the films are fairly awful. Cheesy, improbable plot lines, community dinner theatre level acting and the lack of any real continuity make the movies appear pretty amateurish. But you know what. I fucking love them. I'm just a fan, is all. I love the movies, much like an abused wife loves her abusive husband. No matter how many times the franchise slaps me across the face with a ridiculous plot twist, or kicks me in the stomach with hammy line delivery, I keep coming back for more. With a smile on my face all the while. I'm not sure which part of my brain relates so closely to slaughtering sex crazed, pot smoking teens, but I likes what I likes.

While the movies are by no means $100 million dollar blockbusters, they do have a pretty strong fanbase, and while a few of them came close, no Friday movie has ever lost money. Especially in today's market which is saturated with a new DVD re-release every time you turn around. Add that in with the fact that the films are fucking cheap to make (no name actors, and cookie cutter scripts tend to keep the costs down), and you have a guaranteed money machine. Which is why we have 10 movies to enjoy (11 if you count Freddy Vs. Jason), and another one on the way. But which Friday the 13th movie is the best? Although that may be akin to asking whether you would rather eat dog shit or baby vomit, it is a valid question all the same, and one that will net you a wide variety of answers. Admittedly, I don't think anyone is going to reveal that they think of Jason X as their personal favorite, but the range of answers is still pretty impressive.

Some will tell you that the first is the best, and that you can never top the original. All of the films that came after this one had a "been there, done that" quality to them. Plus Kevin Bacon has sex, smokes a joint and gets impaled through the throat.

Some will say Part II is the greatest, since it gives you what may be the most "realistic", and therefore (in some people's opinion) the scariest Jason.

Others can argue that since Part 3(D) introduced us to the iconic hockey mask, it is the first "true" appearance of Jason, and is therefore the best.

Me, personally? I have to say The Final Chapter is the best. There are many, many reasons I could give you to support this, but this post isn't about that movie. So I'll just sum up the greatness of Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter with one picture.

Corey Fucking Feldman with a bowl cut. Increases the greatness of any movie he is in by 34%.

If Part IV is my favorite, then why didn't I write about it? Simply put, because its been done. I've read more than a few tributes to Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter and wanted to break some new ground. One entry in the saga that you don't hear much about (unless it is in a negative light), is Part V: A New Beginning. It is probably considered one of the weakest entries in the series, but I never really understood why. Granted, its not my favorite, but its right up there. So in order to balance out some of the hate, I'm going to show it some love. In the form of a tribute. Originally, this post was going to be a review of the film, but I can't really be subjective enough to legitimately call it a "review". In my mind, I know this movie is no piece of art, but in my heart, it's all love baby. So instead of a review, you get a "tribute". Which is actually much lazier than a review, because basically, I'm just going to rehash the plot for you. And throw in some pretty pictures for you to look at. And maybe, along the way, we'll share a moment or two.

On with the show!

A New Beginning was meant as just that. A new direction for the adventures of Jason Vorhees. The Final Chapter finished up pretty conclusively, as Corey Feldman saved the day by impaling Jason's face onto his own machete. 80s Feldman does not fuck around. Part IV was originally planned to finish up the series, but dollar signs prevailed (as they usually do in Hollywood), and before you could say "That doesn't make sense", Part V was underway. But this puppy needed a hook. The executives didn't want to appear completely incompetent by just throwing Jason back out there with no explanation, after he was so convincingly dealt with (by Corey Feldman). Remember that at this point in the franchise, Jason was essentially human and the series was much more grounded in reality. How the fuck can he come back to life? He can't, because last I checked, there wasn't a miracle cure for a machete through your face. Hence the much needed hook. Oh, and by the way, if you've been wanting to see this flick since 1985, and just haven't gotten around to it, you should avoid the following massive spoilers.

The movie begins in true Friday the 13th fashion, with a cold open. I'm not sure why, but I love when a movie just kicks in with the opening scene before the credits are even underway. Return of the Living Dead utilizes this trick quite well. Tommy Jarvis (played once again by Corey Feldman) is striding through the woods, on his way to Jason's grave. It never does say why, but I like to think its because he wants to piss all over it. 80s Feldman's a badass like that. But before he can pull off the ultimate fuck you to Jason, two older kids come crashing noisily through the foliage, and approach the graveside, robbing Feldman of his chance. Seems they aim to dig up the body and, I don't know, maybe have a little fun with the corpse? Now I got up to a lot of shit in High School, but I can't remember ever turning to my buddies after a bit of partying and saying: "Hey, I know! Let's go grave robbing!" So while I don't completely understand the motivation here, I respect it as a way for us to see more stupid teenagers get gutted.

While Tommy watches, the teens dig up the (very shallow) grave and stand back to admire their handy work. Would you be surprised if Jason didn't rise up out of his grave right now and kill him some teenagers? No need to find out, because rise up he does, and after quickly dispatching disposable teens 1 & 2, he makes his way to where Tommy is (barely) hiding. As Jason raises his blade (who fucking buries a serial killer with his weapon of choice? Shouldn't that be in an evidence locker somewhere?), Feldman screams his only line in the entire film: "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

And he wakes up. It was only a nightmare. But what a nightmare! It aged poor Tommy by at least 10 years. See....

Granted, it doesn't say exactly how many years have passed since The Final Chapter, but the role, in its entirety, was originally written for Corey Feldman. The only problem was that he was too busy hanging out with Short Round and starring in Cyndi Lauper music videos to appear in more than a cameo here. So we get this guy. And the only reason I can think of for casting someone so much older in the part is this: You can't replace 80s Feldman with just any child actor. You simply can't. Well, maybe 80s Haim, but I digress. They won't measure up, and then you've got a mess on your hands.

So Tommy wakes up from his little nightmare, marvels at how well his voice deepened in the last 24 hours, and realizes that he is in the back of a van, on its way to The Pinehurst halfway house. Or if you're not feeling politically correct, a house full of fucking wackjobs.

One of the reasons this volume in the Friday saga holds up so well for me is the characters. This movie has some of the best characters in any Friday the 13th film. If a character stands out and is memorable, even though they are only onscreen a couple of times, and are really only in the movie to pad the kill count, you know the screenwriters and actors have done something right. As we arrive at our destination, we meet the first of these great characters. Billy, male nurse, really makes his presence felt, in all the right ways. As Pam Roberts, assistant director of the house, welcomes Tommy to his new home, she thanks Billy for delivering him. Billy responds with a friendly "Anytime, Doll", and then proceeds to tweak his right ear while simultaneously flicking his tongue at her as if he was enjoying a nice hot bowl of vagina right at that very instant. Who does that!?!?! Fucking Billy the male nurse, that's who. I hope we see Billy again.

Pam leads Tommy into the house and introduces him to the director of Pinehurst, Mathew Leonard. Mathew and Pam explain that the Pinehurt House is really the last step in Tommy's journey to re-entering society and being a normal self reliant adult. Preferably one that isn't prone to fits and delusions of serial killers coming back for revenge because you impaled their face on their own machete.

Before introducing us to the rest of our future corpses, Tommy gets settled into his room and nonchalantly pulls a 4 inch blade out of his jeans pocket. Wait, what?!?! Wasn't he just in state custody? How the fuck he managed to conceal this weapon until now, I'll never know. Personally, I prefer my mentally unhinged to be knife free. Worried about getting caught with it now, even though he just successfully smuggled it through god knows how many mental institutions, he stashes it safely beneath his mattress. Don't worry though, Tommy. You can come back for it later (I'm sure it will come in handy). Now you need to meet your new roommates.

Starting with Reggie, or as he likes to be known, Reggie the Reckless. Yes, he is one badass little kid, 80's style. Reggie isn't a patient of the house per se. His Gramps is the janitor/maintenance man, and Reggie is here to visit. While I think the appropriateness of visiting your grandfather at work is kind of a grey area, I think we can all agree that if the work in question involves living in a borderline mental institution, somewhere a line has been crossed. But Reggie can handle himself. He's reckless. Gramps, on the other hand, is a rare mis-step in this movie full of otherwise awesome characters. He has the potential to be great (old, black man, full of wisdom and clever sayings), but he just kind of disappears after a while, and they never utilize him in the way they should.

Tina and Eddie next enter the picture, delivered in the back of a police car. Tina and Eddie are a double homicide waiting to happen. Young, attractive, and prone to getting caught fucking on the neighbors property. It should now be painfully obvious that we WILL be seeing Tina naked and murdered at some point in the next 90 minutes.

The neighbors in question are a mother and son team. Ethel and Junior Hubbard. Their mission in life is to see the Pinehurst House shut down. They don't like living next door to a bunch of "loonies" and like it even less when two of the "loonies" have been fucking in their yard. Ethel is probably the dirtiest character I've ever seen in a movie. I don't mean filthy, as in she is perverted or likes to swear. I mean she is literally dirty. It looks like she hasn't had a bath in a couple of months. You can almost see a cloud of dust swirling around her, Pigpen style. Almost as dirty is her son, Junior. But he also wears an aviators cap and drives a beat up old motorcycle, so I think he wins. The dialogue between these two characters is pure fucking gold. Awful in the best possible way, and really needs to be seen and heard to be believed. After tearing a strip off of the Sheriff for not doing anything about the teenage sex happening under her nose, she threatens to blow the head off of anyone caught in her yard from here on out. Consider yourselves warned, sexy, soon to be dead teenagers. Ethel and Junior take their leave, but not before cursing everyone out, and flipping the sheriff the bird. Class act, that one.

After the excitement has died down and everybody has gone about their business, we meet Vic. Vic's job, apparently, is to chop wood. With a very big ax. Now, I know their trying to teach these kids responsibility and get them ready for life on the outside, but letting a very obviously disturbed young man wield a huge ax? You're the expert Mathew, not me. I'm sure it will be okay.

At some point here, we also meet Jake, another patient. Jake has a bit of a stutter and is absolutely forgettable. You won't see him much, and its really no big loss. In a movie full of great characters, the actor that plays Jake really got the short end of the stick. Gramps kind of suffers the same thing, but to me, it seems that Gramps' character at one point, had more to do, and just found his scenes destined for the editing room floor. Jake just sucks.

And here comes The Fat Guy. Every horror movie features The Fat Guy, and in this case, his name is Joey. The Fat Guy is usually featured as comic relief in these movies, and also as a slow moving victim for the killer to get warmed up with. Joey does seem to be more retarded than crazy, but he means well. He sees Violet and Robin hanging clothes up to dry and quickly tries to lend a hand. Violet and Robin aren't hearing of it though because they're afraid he'll fuck it up. The Fat Guy always seems to fuck things up. Poor Fatguy even offers up half of his chocolate bar if they'll let him help (the other half is already smeared all over his face), and is firmly rebuked. Not to be denied however, Joey grabs at the clean clothes, staining everything with his chocolaty fingers.

After the girls tell him to fuck off, he wanders over to Vic, still chopping wood. Vic also wants no part of Joey's bullshit and tries to ignore him. But Joey feels the moment calls for a heart to heart and reveals that he has never really felt like he belonged anywhere until now, being an orphan and all. Vic starts chopping wood with more intensity. Seeing as how Vic hasn't actually told him to get lost yet, Joey feels accepted and offers him a full chocolate bar that he was hiding from the girls. He places it on the stump Vic is chopping so that he can have it for later. Vic promptly chops the chocolate bar to pieces, because that's a healthy response. If you want to turn a nice Fatguy mean, all you need to do is fuck with his candy bars. After telling Vic off, he turns to go, but Vic isn't finished. What do you think happens next?

Yes, Vic slams the ax hard into Fatguys back at least three times, brutally killing him. Poor bastard never even got to enjoy that last chocolate bar. The police show up to collect Vic and the Sheriff questions Mathew about Joey. Seems his mother died in child birth and no one ever knew what happened to the father. What an odd bit of information to disclose since the character in question is already dead. Hmmmmmm.

As the first paramedic pulls the sheet away that's covering Joey, for no other reason than to be a dick, he makes a couple of snide comments we're treated to no less than three closeup shots of the second paramedic's face looking shocked, disgusted and then furious. His name is Roy and call me crazy, but I think the filmmaker wants us to file this little bit of information away for later.

Being witness to a brutal murder doesn't seem to do Tommy any favours and he begins to have horrifying visions of Jason returning, seeing him in mirrors and around every corner. He is definitely starting to lose it. This is further evidenced by an altercation at the breakfast table the morning after the murder. Eddie appears late, wearing one of Tommy's masks. If you've seen Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter, you know that Tommy in fact makes these masks himself, and is very territorial about them. After scaring the shit out of Tommy, Eddie pulls off the mask, and getting a laugh from the room, bounces it off of Tommy's chest. He then proceeds to tell Tommy: "Relax Chief. What's wrong? No sense of humor?". Followed by a couple of hard, playful punches to the shoulder. Eddie is a real dick. A rational Tommy would have laughed it off, while quietly plotting revenge of some sort. But rational Tommy left the building one sequel ago. This Tommy decides that flipping Eddie through a table and then pummelling the crap out of him, while crying no less, is the obvious response.

And unbeknownst to our heroes, the random killings begin. Our first victims are two greasers out for a moonlit drive through the woods. Of course, they experience car trouble, and their fates are sealed. Greaser #1 is dispatched via a lit flare jammed down his throat, while Greaser #2 is taking a shit behind a tree somewhere or something. He returns, sees his friend slumped over the engine, and starts threatening to kick his ass for not getting the car started. He gets in the car, cranks the engine a couple of times and leans back in triumph as it roars to life. Unfortunately, our killer is in the backseat, and slits his throat right at his moment of triumph. We never get to see the killer. Is it Jason? OooOOOooooOooOOOO. Mystery.

Cut to the outside of a little diner, late at night. A car speeds into the parking lot, horn blaring. Hey, its the return of Billy, male nurse! He's finished his day of emptying bedpans and is ready to party. He parks outside of the little restaurant and continues to lay on the horn. Here we meet Lana, but don't even worry about remembering her name. She won't be around for long. A little bit of playful banter transpires, and Lana retreats to the restaurant to get ready for their date. If it wasn't already decided, Lana then secures her fate by ripping her shirt open in front of the mirror, flashing her tits and proclaiming "Iiiiiiiiiit's Showtime!".

Back in the car, Billy patiently waits and decides that doing a little coke will pass the time nicely. I fucking love Billy's dialogue. Here's a sample: "And the forecast is.....cloudy in the mountains, sunny in the valleys, and snow flurries......UP your nose". SNOOOOORRRRRT. Beautiful.

Lana is prettying herself up in the bathroom when she hears a crash from inside the restaurant. Ooooooooooooooo. Is it Billy, coked up and ready to fuck? Is it Jason, back from the dead?. The music starts to build, and you're thinking Lana is going to be punished for showing titage in an 80s horror movie. Turns out its just your run of the mill flying cat. I say flying because the cat launches itself at Lana, face level, seemingly out of nowhere giving us a nice little scare. Ah Lana. You're alive for at least another couple of minutes.

By now Billy is becoming very impatient. He's coked up, and in no mood to wait. He opens the car door to yell for her to hurry her ass up, and gets an ax in the head for his troubles. Poor Billy. Only on screen for a combined 5 minutes, but still one of my favorite characters. Again, the killer is in shadows.

Lana finally makes her way to the now empty car, and then gets irritated when Billy isn't there. She forgets this irritation pretty quickly when she spies the mirror full of coke now resting on the driver side floor mat. She bends over to get a taste, only to see a pair of legs and a bloody ax through the still open driver's side door. Sorry Lana, but you're time is up. Ax to the gut? Check.

The next day, Tommy thinks he sees Jason standing outside the house, looking up at his window, ax in hand. An ax isn't usually Jason's weapon of choice though, but our last two victims were dispatched this way. Does this mean Jason is back, or is Tommy just hallucinating again?

We may get to find out soon enough, because Tina and Eddie are horny again, and not only that, but they also decide to smoke "the pot". Premarital sex while toking up? Fucking death sentance. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. This is one of my favorite scenes in the movie because it involves not one, but two great moments. Some of the nicest breasts ever bared in a Friday the 13th movie, and one of the more inventive kills as well. Eddie has gone to the river to wash up after defiling Tina. Tina lays back on the sheet they laid out, seemingly satisfyed. Although I have no idea how, considering the sex lasted for about 10 seconds. Eddie must have an enormous penis. A pair of garden shears are in her future though. Goodbye Tina.

Eddie comes back, finds his love brutally slain, and backs into a tree in surprise. I'm not going to explain exactly how Eddie meets his end, but its fucking great. I need to give you some incentive to check out a cheesy 23 year old horror movie that I've just spoiled the fuck out of. I'll just say that it involves a stick, two metal hoops and a leather strap. The killer is still faceless.

Later that night, Micheal worries about the absense of Tina and Eddie, while Pam takes Tommy and Reggie the Reckless for a little road trip into town. Reggie's big brother (who goes by the name Demon) is in town and Reggie is excited to see him. As the truck pulls away from the house, we get the sense that someone is following them. Hmmmmm.

The gang meets up with Demon (who lives in a van, apparently) and his girlfriend Anita, who is casually smoking a joint. Bad idea Anita. Anita is pretty disposable, but Demon is another great fucking character. He's played by Miguel A. Nunez Jr, who also plays Spider in Return of the Living Dead. Another great 80s horror movie that I'll need to discuss at some point. While Pam and Reggie are visiting, Tommy goes for a walk and starts to have another one of his freakouts. Before he can though, Junior Hubbard enters the scene. Recognizing him as one of the "loonies", he tries to start a fight. Tommy beats the everloving shit out of him, no doubt adding more tension to the rivalry between Mathew's house and the Hubbards. Pam intervenes however, probably saving Junior's life, and in a fit of tears, Tommy takes off into the darkness. Pam and Reggie hurry back to the house, figuring that's where Tommy must have gone.

Meanwhile, Demon seems about to shit his pants due to some questionable enchiladas. He makes haste for an outhouse, while Anita chills out in the van. Probably smoking more pot. As Demon relieves himself (very pleasurably by the sounds of it) someone starts to violently shake the outhouse. Demon starts to get a bit worried before realizing that its only Anita, being a prankster. They share a laugh, and sing a brief motown like duet, all while he is suffering horrible diarhea in a really nasty outhouse. If I had a nickel for every time I dueted Motown while perched on a questionable toilet....

Suddenly, a slight gasp escapes Anita, cutting off the duet. The outhouse begins to shake again, more violently than before. Demon isn't putting up with this "Okay, I told you this wasn't funny. Now you're going to get it bitch". Demon's a badass. He gets up and buckles his pants (without wiping his ass first. Fucking gross. Do you ever notice that no one ever wipes their ass in the movies. Maybe we don't need that much attention to detail, but I always notice it.) and tries to open the door. Only problem is, Anita's corpse is blocking his way out, throat neatly slit. This seems to rattle Demon a bit, kind of calling an end to his tough guy persona. He presses himself up against the far wall of the outhouse, because that's a reasonable place to hide when the killer already knows you're in there. A sharpened metal bar (where the fuck is he getting all of these different weapons?) punctures througth the outhouse in various places. You know that magician's trick where the swords go into the box containing the assistant? Same premise, but with much more blood.

Pam and Reggie return to the house to be greeted with the news that Mathew and Gramps have both disapeared. Coupled with the fact that Tommy is still missing, everyone is getting a bit worried. Pam does the sensible thing and promptly leaves to look for Mathew, abandoning three mentally unbalanced teenagers and one adolescent to fend for themselves.

Meanwhile, at the Hubbard place. Junior has returned from getting his ass kicked by Tommy, and is driving his motorcycle up and down the porch, spinning donuts on the front yard, all while crying and screaming "THEY HURT ME MA! THEY HURT ME" Ethel is inside the house preparing Junior's dinner, and in a really nice touch, spits a huge loogie into the pot, because well, she's a stone cold bitch. Teach fucking Junior for making a ruckuss. You know what else will teach him a lesson? A fucking machete out of nowhere. And just like that, we have our first decapitation of the film. It really couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

Ethel hears footsteps on the front porch, directly in front of the window she's standing behind, and assumes that Junior has settled down and is ready to eat his loogie stew. "Bout time you fuckwad. Knew you couldn't pass up mama's stew". Again, I love the dialogue the writers serve up for Ethel Hubbard. Classic. I'm kind of glad Ethel gets to meet her end before she realizes that Junior's been beheaded. As much hate as Ethel shows towards her son in the movie, you can tell that she loves him to pieces. Our killer ensures they will be together soon, by cleaving her head almost in two, from through the window. There's a really nice shot of Ethel's hand clenching and squeezing the guts out of a tomato she was holding, as the butcher knife enters her head and her muscles tense.

Pam is still driving around aimlessly when her truck breaks down. Because, well, she really needs to be in peril at this point in the film. It also starts to rain, because well, Pam is wearing a white shirt, and it really should be wet.

Back at the house, Jake and Robin are watching a movie, while Jake awkwardly tries to put the moves on Robin. Now even though Jake is a loser, Robin really doesn't need to react the way she does at Jake's confession of love. She laughs in his face, sending him away in shame. The (still faceless) killer saves him the trouble of feeling too bad about himself though, by quickly dispatching him with the butcher knife.

Unaware of Jake's demise, Robin heads up to bed. She disrobes (more 80s boob), and as she looks at herself in the mirror, starts to feel bad for treating Jake so poorly. Oh well, let's just turn off this light and forget about it. Here we learn that Robin is very, very stupid. She climbs into bed (the top bunk of some bunk beds), and closes her eyes. She rolls over, opens her eyes and sees Jake's bloody, cut up face only 2 inches from her own. How the fuck do you not notice a corpse in your bed before you get in? Then the killer proceeds to grab her by the throat and run her through with the machete. The killer's hiding place? The lower bunk. Yep.

Meanwile, Violet pulls off some sweet robot dancing to "His Eyes" by Psuedo Echo. The killer enters her room and slowly advances on her. This is a great fucking scene. From the soundtrack to the way the camera flashes back and forth between robot dancing and the shiny glint of the machete and the killer's legs, as he moves ever so slowly in for the kill, is just great. Really nice filmmaking for a genre picture. He reaches Violet, lifts her clear off the ground, and stabs her in the stomach, ruining our chance of ever seeing her 80s boobs.

all of this mayhem is occuring, Reggie is sleeping blissfully on the couch. He awakens to an empty house and goes searching. Seeking out Tommy's room to see if he has returned, he is instead greated by the bodies of Jake, Violet and Robin stacked up on Tommy's bed. Hmmmmm.

Reggie is slowly backing away from the door when a hand lands on his shoulder. He screams, only to be met with the newly returned, suitably wet, Pam. Pam sees the bodies, grabs Reggie's hand and they bolt down the stairs. Reggie stumbles before they can escape (ofcourse) and we finally get to see our killer, who in a completely awesome entrance, literally explodes through the door. It's Jason! He looks much cleaner and less beat up than the last time we seen him. But there he is. Notice the blown apart door? Awesome fucking entrance.

Jason is nice enough to stand still until Pam and Reggie get their shit together and race off into the woods. They come across an ambulance parked on the side of the road, open the door, and the driver's body spills out. This is the same ambulance from the beginning of the movie, but where's Roy? Hmmmmmm.

Jason, doing what he does best, suddenly appears from behind the ambulance, defying all logic or laws of physics in the process. I love how even at a slow walk, Jason can outrun any olympic sprinter. When something is that awesome, it doesn't have to make sense. Pam and Reggie take off, back into the woods, where they proceed to lose each other. And where the fuck is Tommy? Hmmmmm.

Pam, while crashing blindly through the woods, stumbles upon Mathew's body, stuck to a tree, through his skull, via a rail road spike. She tries to take shelter in the Hubbard's house, only to have Gramps's body thrown at her right through the window. And it appears he has had his eyes plucked out. I don't know about you, but if I was in a Friday the 13th movie, I would be pissed off as all hell if my death was offscreen. She races back towards the woods, but trips into a mud puddle on the way. Jason advances. Instead of getting up and running away again, she decides it would be faster to crawl, while looking back every 3 seconds. Just before Jason can deliver the killing blow however, Reggie, out of nowhere, smashes through the side of a barn, driving a fucking tractor! He's had enough of this bullshit, and he's putting a stop to it, right now. He's reckless.

He slams the tractor's scoop into Jason's chest, sending him flying. Jason appears to be down for the count. That is until they walk over to the body to investigate. He grabs Reggie's leg, causing him to emit another girl scream. Before Jason can drag him down though, Pam and Reggie escape into the barn. Jason follows, only to be met by Pam, weilding a full on chainsaw! She promptly slices into his arm, sending him sprawling back in pain. That's strange. This Jason seems to show a lot more pain than the previous. Hmmmmmmm.

Advancing in for the killing blow, Pam is horrified to discover her chainsaw has run out of gas. She throws the useless chainsaw at Jason, and runs for cover, just as.....Tommy enters! Where he's been this whole time, I have no idea, but when he's needed, he arrives!

It's too bad that the sight of his old nemesis sends him into a bit of paralyzed shock. Jason gets in one good slash, cutting open Tommy's chest, and causing him to "wake up". He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the handy dandy knife from the beginning of the movie, and stabs Jason surprisingly close to his crotch. Jason goes down, and Tommy escapes to the loft, because a dead end is probably the safest way to go.

Jason follows up the ladder and discovers Tommy's motionless body, slumped over a hay bale. Believing him to be dead, Jason continues on the search for Pam and Reggie. Seeing as how they are in a hay loft, there is very little place to hide, and he quickly locates them. Overcoming all odds, they manage to knock him out of the loft and out of sight. Believing the horror to be over, they go in to investigate, you know, instead of getting the fuck out of there. Turns out, Jason is still hanging on to the edge and starts to drag Reggie and Pam over with him. Tommy comes out of nowhere, grabs Jason's machete, and severs the fucker's arm, freeing Reggie and Pam, and sending Jason down to be impaled on a convenient bed of spikes below. In the process, Jason's mask is knocked off and we see....

Fucking Roy! Bet you never seen that coming. In case you're thinking "What the fuck?", not to worry. The Sherrif soon appears to explain it all, nice and neat like. Turns out that Roy was The Fat Guy's dad. Surprise surprise, right? Seeing his son hacked to pieces by one of the patients at the house drove him a little crazy, and he decided to use Jason as his excuse for getting some revenge. See, it all makes sense! The horrors are over, and Pam, Tommy and Reggie can rest easy, taking comfort in the fact that they survived an 80s horror movie. Or can they?

The next day, Tommy wakes up in a hospital room, and is greeted by Jason standing over his bed. As Jason stares menacingly on, Tommy only stares back confidently. His eyes seem to say all that needs to be said. I'm over you Jason. you can't haunt me anymore. Jason fades away, being only a halucination. Tommy gets up slowly and walks over to the dresser, where he finds this.

The camera cuts to the hallway, where Pam is approaching the room. She hears a loud crash and rushes in to find the window beside Tommy's bed completely smashed out. Believing Tommy has jumped out of the window, she rushes over. The door slowly closes behind her, revealing Tommy, wearing the mask. He sneaks up behind her, brandishing a large knife.

Cut to black. Roll credits.

Kind of a strange ending, but it would have made much more sense in the grand scheme of things, if the series had continued as originally planned. The next movie was meant to feature Tommy as the new killer, because Jason was still very, very dead, and the series still featured a semi-realistic setting. However, audiences just didn't take to the idea that the Friday series should continue without Jason at the helm. What were the producers to do? I know! Let's make Jason essentially a zombie who can't be killed unless a member of his own bloodline stabs him with a mystical knife. What the fuck, right?!

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy all of the Friday movies, but I still have a special place in my heart for the early ones. Before Jason became an indestructable monster. I prefer my Jason inbred and antisocial.

And if it seemed like I was blasting the movie throughout the tribute, that's probably because I was. It's not a quality movie by anyone's standards, but I love it just the same. Faults and all. Don't any of you have a movie that you know is complete shit, but you love it anyway? I thought so.