Film Review: Zombie-Vampire-Werewolf-Ninja-Frankensteins in love and on fire

Once, just after the Great Depression, I had the good fortune to go to the local "picture theater", where they were showing the movie Zombie-Vampire-Werewolf-Ninja-Frankensteins in Love, and on Fire. 


I was excited, as many many years prior, during my time in Wood Shop in school, I had painstakingly made a special wooden popcorn-holder with my name engraved on it, and which I planned to go see a movie with, one day, once the Depression was over and I could actually afford a movie ticket.


So, along I went with my popcorn holder, which I made sure was filled with due care by the popcorn lady at the Picture Theater Candy Counter, only to find myself suddenly dismayed at being somehow seated in the wrong theater, once the lights had gone down, and my prized popcorn holder and my beverage were in place, in my cup-holders, situated on either side of my chair.


As a  result, instead, I saw: Zombie-Vampire-Werewolf-Ninja-Frankensteins in Love and on Fire - #2: THE RETURN of the Zombie-Vampire-Werewolf-Ninja-Frankensteins in Love and on Fire.


The story wasn't so great, but from what I could gather, previously, some Zombie-Vampire-Werewolf-Ninja-Frankensteins had fallen in love, but sadly, then caught fire.   


The Special Visual Effects were pretty good though, which perhaps is about all you can hope for. 


They were special, they were visual, and they were effective. I will say, found myself completely hypnotized by the color-and-movement of their moving colors.


But also, some young punk sitting right next to me with his punky girlfriend ate my popcorn. 


I hate that.


When the movie was over, and we all walked out at the end, I cornered him in the crowded Lobby, and I beat the living crap out of him while his girlfriend and a crowd of onlookers watched. 


Then, I remembered I had left my ticket stub back on my seat, and I wanted to validate my parking, so I went back and found a whole uneaten popcorn sitting in my special wooden popcorn holder. Maybe I got confused about which popcorn was which or something.


Anyway, I validated my parking, so it was a pretty good evening, I guess. 


I guess I would give the movie 2-and-three-eighths,  out of 2-and-three-eighths stars.




Uncle Stupid

My Time Among The Natives

Once, I spent a whole 7 years, among the native tribes of Gkjhswfbhjazdkhjbasdhbcklajdsfvbladnadcakdb.


My time there was not an easy time, mainly as, I felt it necessary to show my respect for their primitive ways, and quaint old tribal customs by learning their native language.


So that, I could speak with them, "on their level", as "one of them", if you will. 


Trouble is - in 7 years, the only word I learnt was: 


"hbjvgrkhjbsfdbmjhsdljhfbvlksdfbvlkdjfsbhvlkmnjskjfhdgbkjsdfbhnck sdjhbmxkdjsfhbvxsl jhbzvkajshdbvskjdbh cva,jdhsbclajkshdbfkjasrhdbfasljdhfybwearklhbaljrvhbalkjdhvbalqkjehfbbqflkejhbfxmqkwjehbfzaaqlhzbdcfkmaqwerhbvfkeawjyhbmxqhlwbdczmlakdjhnbeqla8iyghlzadhjualeijdfwelhireuhgfsilufhalkjefherbfklajhefbakjhfbkwaqlejfhbvfaerkljnbferqlkujnyhwtlhfalkfndasdjknvcasdkvjnas,li8ufbnaslkfjnbaskdjfnaskjfnaer.ubnfalekrgvbfan.kejnvfa.krjnfewaqkrnj.mx,wribu;heydlrybhu;rewe,hwxmeriylhbsvmwzxhfrieuywbhmvowubyevfmzibevfmxqielfbmvoirwvhbmwitlvxbgmhwlitvbnxmierlbfvnmterlwlwiermbxehmlbvwlmicgbvxelimberqoievfmxbhleqifwbnemlxftbd" 


which,  (loosely translated) means:


"To slowly wonder if I have the correct change for the vending machine that dispenses Coca-Cola, while also suddenly remembering that Coca-Cola actually is a shortened version of COCAINE-Cola, since Coca-Cola actually really used to have actual cocaine in it, and remembering further that Freud was addicted to cocaine his whole working professional life, and besides, he became a legend in psychology circles, despite basing his whole life's work on 4 slightly-overweight, middle-aged, but nonetheless nice, Jewish women, which seems odd, in the scope of things."


Sadly, in the whole 7 years, I only once had the occasion to use the word, but at the time I couldn't remember the correct pronunciation of the last third of it, as, I was too sleepy and really needed a Coke to wake me up properly at the time.

Our STorY So Far

One day I received a Singing Telegram. (Actually, a wildly-buxom Stripper-Gram.)


The message was:


"COME QUICK, I AM DYING 
- LOVE, 
YOUR OLD UNCLE GODFREY"


And so it came to pass, that I learned - I had an Uncle Godfrey.


I raced to the hospital, and a nurse ushered me in...


I sat at his bedside, every day and every night, for the next 52 years.


Mainly because, Uncle Godfrey told me I was his SOLE HEIR... 
And frankly, I wanted his stash.
Good ole Uncle Godfrey was loaded. 
...I was broke.
(What's wrong with this picture?! HELLOOO?!)


So of course, I soon tried to kill him, in countless ways...


- secretly unplugging his heart-monitor-thingy, when no-one was watching...
- spiking his drip with battery-acid (dipped in arsenic)
- trying to smother him with a pillow, while he slept (which was a LOT)


...you name it, I tried it...
*SIGH*
Stupid old bugger.
Sure was tough, though...
...Damn.


Anyways - here are a selection of all the bullsh*t stories he told me, as he lay dying...




...Enjoy!


(Or, not.)




N. Nyamed Nyr8tor