Manitou & Filthy Regan go to the Drive-in

What better way to spend a filthy and gorgeous breezy Arizona evening than at the drive-in watching classic horror movies?  The local drive-in movie hole got it in their crazy heads to celebrate our favorite time of year, which of course is Halloween, by having a Horror Fest that includes a double creepy feature!  That’s exactly what we (Manitou and Filthy Regan) did the other night, and it was a fetid blast. 

We began the evening with a pea soaked kiss and we fled out the door for a romantic greasy dinner at a Jewish deli called Chompies, where the food is extra BIG and the pickles are more sour than sewage plants.  Manitou got one of his favorite sandwiches, a very crusty and meat laden concoction called a Morbid Monte Cristo.  Filthy Regan decided to pack her rank head hole with a turkey sandwich soaked in crusty cold-slaw.  We both had fries on the side, which were dipped in a sauce made of blood and pus.  The waitress was happy to serve us our delectably grimy grub and was very polite even though we both looked like ravenous beasts ready to devour our meal. Maybe she thought that we were gonna feast upon her. She sure did seem awfully nervous. But oh so kind.

 After we licked the table spotless, and even a little of the floor and ceiling, we slimed our way over to the deli side of the establishment and we chose our future sweet things to grub on as we sat underneath of the stars and watched the movie festivities unfold before us. It was rather challenging to fixate upon only two of the many treats they had to offer so the gargoyle behind the counter allowed us to lick the glass until we found the blissful confectionary concoctions that got our blood pumping extra horrid, and sent our taste buds into ogre-drive. We eventually decided to split a scabby canoli, a dead-clair, some black and white corpse juice dipped Oreo cookies and we would wash it all down during intermission with some putrefied pumpkin grime. Filthy Regan had to pee but the deli didn’t have any carpet so they let her soil a mattress out back and then we were on our way to the drive-in movies.

 The drive-in was showing a current crop (make that crap) of new movies but what brought us out of the crypt was a festival of classic horror movies that included Filthy Regan’s assembled childhood home movies, or as they are otherwise known to movie fans worldwide as The Exorcist. A Nightmare on Elm Street rounded out the evening horror fun.

 

 We could have just levitated above the car while we watched the films, but we thought that may cause people to run away screaming, so we brought the black bed sheets and quilts from the GREAT BIG BED OF NAILS and GREAT BIG DIRTY PILLOWS to wrap ourselves in.

When the first film started, Filthy Regan had to pee once again, so she lifted her leg under her filthy frightgown and let the stream of florescent yellow fluid soak the tire on the car next to her while the occupants sat inside oblivious because they were smoking pot, and probably thought they were watching the Smurfs film on the next screen over.  Manitou drooled while he glared at the sexy flow trickling down the sore infested legs of his filthster.  But now was not the time for an unholy union, as Filthy Regan’s childhood story was being shown. 

 

 We thoroughly enjoyed seeing The Exorcist for the 222^nd time, though we do know every twist and turn down those steps, but it does get better every time we take the trip.  Every spew and every foul mouthed grumble made our minds and hearts soar like doves as we held each other tight with all our might.

 

As the film ended we both felt lumps in our throats from all the divine decomposition. Blackened like the finest coal tainted soul, only way sexier. Falling down steps, even metaphorically, can give you a mean head rush. This meant that it was time to take a walk under the starry night sky while holding hands during intermission. Sure we might both be the very epitome of sickness and evil. But we are in love. Oh, and Manitou had to urinate like a prize winning stallion. The bathroom was nowhere near as filthy as we had both envisioned. We have yet to figure out if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

 Up next in our creature feature thriller-ama was the original Nightmare on Elm Street. This was of course the early grue-print for the Freddy Krueger character and would be well before the franchise took it’s unnecessary left turn away from the more horror oriented direction; with Fred the scalded head chuckling eerily from the shadows in lieu of the well lit center stage of the later installments. Once he became a cultural icon Freddy became nothing more than another boring wise-cracking boogeyman. Kind of like Rodney Dangerfield with charred flesh. This first film took us both back to our youth and reminded us when horror was putrid and real. There was once such purity in putrescence. The Gitche Manitou and Filthy Regan wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

Hoards of cheese headed and 80’s haired teeny boppers met with their demise in a torture chamber found only in the nightmarish realm of Freddy’s dreamland. Meanwhile, Manitou and Filthy Regan ate their hideously tasty treats to the soundtrack of screams. It was a nightmare to not only remember, but to cherish for all time as drive-in’s have seemed to become a thing of the past. Tonight though, the past welcomed us with a monster claw pointing towards both a movie screen below and the stars above.

Manitou

&

Filthy Regan

MORE HORROR POETRY

1)  of Romance-

Oh, my words-
like glue they're stuck-
when I see a corpse I'd like to fuck.
So I hop in the box
and do the dance-
funerals fill me with such romance.

2) of Friendship-

Severed hands-
gory stumps.
No more fingers-
just sausage lumps.
Shake and cough-
then point and red.
Share with friends
until I'm bled.

3) Girly-

There once was a girl named Nicole-
she liked to put rodents into her hole-
fame and fortune would be her catch-
but she bled to death from a chewed out snatch.

 4) Execution style-

Chair cups my buttocks that is large-
now electric-
but no longer in charge.
The light brigade calls-
no more sinner or sitter-
all I be now is a crispy critter.

5) Of Hell-

Satan stole my wallet-
he clocked me in the head-
whipped me with his tail-
left me there for dead.
I can't help but laugh-
you might think I feel like slime-
but it felt pretty damn good-
hit me Satan, one more time.

RAT IN THE TUNNEL OF LOVE

***A guest blog by Ben the Rat blogger. Original blog post date 12/7/2010***

Love is a many splendored thing. Some human sang that once. Rats know love. Different dictionaries. But love IS a many splendored thing, I'll cop to that. Love is Filth. Love is Disease. Love is warming your fur covered bones in the decrepit Anus of mankind. It's about the only thing you idiotic humans are any good for to us Rats.

In recent years humankind has taken to placing rodents into their anal cavities for whatever self gratifying reasons that seemed to initiate an otherwise seemingly perverse suggestion. It only would make sense that somebody somewhere felt there was pleasure to be gained from this, as I just can't see human beings attempting to do anything unless it would bring them a flood of elation somehow.

Of course upon first hearing of this, the whole thing just seemed to be another ludicrous illustration to which lengths human scum would flex their deviant muscles in a vain effort to cop a cheap thrill. But us Vermin are team players, and when this nefarious epidemic took off because of varying rumors of otherwise respected members of the societal freak show lodge dabbling in this exercise, I decided to make the most of the situation.

Extreme weather conditions do tend to chase us indoors, and an Anus is a comfortable place to hang out while passing the time. Obviously the excessive padding on morbidly obese people makes for a pleasant stay. These types tend to toss down an enormous amount of starches and these foods provide much ambiance with a result nothing short of aromatic brilliance.

Flesh tanks also seem to have more than a lions share of issues with scrubbing those hard to reach places thoroughly and eventually will give up attempting to care anyway, as only eating and excreting become valid options of daily ritual. This laziness produces a putrified stench that is truly a filth lovers dream. 

Caution must be exercised when indulging upon such filth though. When the human body is not absolved on a regular enough basis and bacteria amasses itself, a film develops on the inner walls and outer layers of the more tender areas of the flesh. The clinical name for this is feculence maximus, or as it is more commonly referred to by human definition, swamp ass.

The sediment that accumulates on the walls of the soiled anus cavity is quite powerful when ingested improperly. Definitely a case of too much of a good thing emitting hazardous conditions.

I saw a Rat brethren of mine once coerce himself into a coma after licking the inside of a bum we were inhabiting in an effort to ride out an ice storm. Driven mad into a feeding frenzy from the fetid stench of an unkempt ass pocket, the intensity of his delirium state nearly ruined the poor bastard. Obviously nobody had ever told him that it's best to sip baby breaths in between slurpings of sewer gravy.

Much delight is certainly to be had from snacking off of the ramparts of refuse should you do so responsibly. As well, the Anus is filled with many distinctive smells and textures and when the creative mind gets to work, there is enjoyment a plenty. The simple act of breathing allows you to become one with the digesting intake for the day of the harboring party. I am particularly a fan of those previously mentioned starchy scents.

There was a bum that I used to sneak into on those really cold days in Washington DC. A very large man whose accommodations were extremely unpleasant in the most welcoming of fashions. His bench was only one block up from this little French bakery that used to fill the air with the most intoxicating fragrances. I would always try to sneak into the kitchen through this alley way, but they had this GREAT BIG CAT that used to sleep right there between the bread maker and the waste area. I once could only dream of sampling their smorgasbord of tasty delights.

I remember hiding out one night inside of this decrepit vagabonds ass cavity because I was being chased by some stupid alley cats and as soon as I could catch my breath and calm myself with a sense of relief, I breathed in the most succulent aroma that surely could not be a natural component of this mans hygiene on account of he looked and smelled like he hadn't rubbed against so much as a dollop of soap since he turned drinking age.

I instantly recognized a starchy tinge in the scent that for the life of me I could not begin to pinpoint. I would later learn that this old goat head was prone to getting handouts from one of the young girls who worked the counter at the French bakery and he was fond of this sourdough walnut bacon pepper roll. I was hooked on taking up residence inside of his anal oven because he ate this stuff everyday and it made the hole of his ass smell like a bouquet of divine spice.

I have no idea whatever happened to this piece of human waste. I would often times hear people on the corner heralding the words of something called God. Maybe the filthy livered prick cleansed himself and found God. Whatever that means. I shall slightly remember him with a tiny speck of fondness though for schooling me in the single most attractive virtue of the French. Their bread.

As with anything else, the joys to be taken from experiencing the confines of the human anal cavity do vary from Rat to Rat. I used to be part of a weekly card game held in the back alleyway tract of another transient when I was a sewer Rat with my friend Joey Nibbles. But that Nibbles he was a cheat when it came to any type of competitive leisure. I do have appreciation for Joey for all that he did for me as a friend. But you won't see me ever trying to go rounds with him of any kind. For a Rat, he sure is one hell of a shark.

It probably goes without saying that if you are ever gonna be hanging out in someones ass for any length of time, at some point the weather will change. It's comfortable just hanging out sure. I am also fond of the smell. Many Rats enjoy the change in the weather and all of those treacherous storms when an eruption occurs from up North. I almost hate to say been there done that, but it's true and I have and you just tend to outgrow this sort of behavior. Besides, shit sticks to your fur and if you're ever going to try your hand at traveling incognito, it's impossible to camouflage yourself when you smell like a body brownie mudslide.

There is truth that nothing breeds wealth in vermin more than human suffering. Gas might be okay. But diarrhea is where I draw the line.
Another foundation upon which lodging hinges upon is the presence of disease. True, we Rats love disease as we are enamored with its decaying charms and immune to any side effects that might present issue to alternative species and organisms. Corrupted accommodations begin to affect living conditions right around organ failure.

The lights go out and if you hang around long enough, the body will be pumped full of post flourishing bile. It's sort of like a ticking clock and upon first sign of stillness coupled with internal deterioration, embracing the withering hands of fate and breathing the malignant sands of time are ill-advised. When in doubt it's time to get out.

The Anus is a many splendored thing though. I'll agree to that. It's a magical kingdom of contaminated wonder. Most people tend to associate this crevice in the anatomy with being Vile. Of course you'd be a fool to not know that Vile is a Rats best friend. We live for that which is universally regarded as such.

Still, it confuses me really. Shoving a disease ridden ball of fur into an opening roughly the size of a coin better to be thrown into a fountain just seems a bit extreme even to the mind of us Rats. After all, I am a sick fuck on my own merits but you certainly are never going to see me deep mining a dust bunny to get my rocks off.

Humans seem to have little morals when it comes to fulfilling themselves. I guess it just goes to show that if you are playing the game of love, why question the rules as long as you feel like you're winning? For those players, winning obviously doesn't involve the need to be sitting down comfortably anytime soon.

HORROR MOVIE POETRY- THE CABIN IN THE WOODS

There is a cabin in the woods-
a wooden front
for filthy goods-
every horror
known to kind-
slices flesh-
possess the mind-
Once you've made the long ass drive
no one there gets out alive.
Evil rules-
there is no equal-
doubting there will be a sequel.

RAPE, MURDER AND MOTHERLY LOVE

Lately I have been browsing the instant view flicks on Netflix and ran across some great old movies that I haven't seen in years. One of the best is the classic 1980 sleazefest, Mother’s day.

There is nothing quite like Mother’s day. Never has been and never will be. Part exploitation, part horror film, and all balls, this film will pound your ass into the dirt and stomp all over it.

Somewhat of a bastard child of Last House on the Left, Mother’s day tells the story of three old female college friends who meet once a year for a mystery weekend. On the particular weekend in question they wind up being terrorized by one of the most mentally unbalanced families this side of the Manson family.

The film opens with a scene of a seemingly harmless old woman offering a ride to a couple after they have all just graduated from a self help class. The nice old lady comes across as your typical sweet old lady type, while the couple seems rather shady and their methods certainly seem less than congenial. As always with horror films, things are not at all what they seem, and thus begins a descent into a nightmarish landscape of a film that is equal parts disturbing, bizarre, violent, humorous, and wildly entertaining.

The three college friends are shown bonding over memories in a viewing of a slideshow, and wondering what things will be like for their friendship years from now/then. Flash forward years later for a peak into the lives of our trio of characters.

Trina is living the lifestyle of the rich and famous in Hollywood. Abbey is forced to take care of her nagging and ill mother. Jackie is seemingly the weaker of the bunch. Never having learned to stand up for herself, as is revealed in her opening moments in the present and a flashback to an old boyfriend, that only invokes retribution courtesy of her two friends.

But, these weekend getaways are what Jackie and Abbey seem to live for, while Trina seems to be the more successful of the bunch and therefore could certainly take or leave the get togethers.

The current vacation spot is in the middle of the woods, to a place called Deep Barons. Of course, what horror movie about young women who are going up in the woods to meet their certain death would be complete without an old storekeeper who tells them "Don't go messin up in Deep Barons"?

Well, messin up in Deep Barons is just what the three women do and they wind up being attacked and taken hostage by two lunatic brothers, Ike and Addley, and brought home for some maniacal family fun time.

The family of freaks is lead by the boy’s mother, who just so happens to be the nice, old lady from the films beginning. Although, it has long been revealed that she isn't so nice after all.

Ripped from their weekend getaway and a peaceful journey of self discovery and forced to take part in scenarios of rape, torture and violence, the trio of ladies are in for quite a weekend.

Mother's day has all the ingredients of a true exploitation classic. Sex, violence, more sex, more violence. But, this film is so much more than just your run of the mill typical sleazefest. Part slasher film, part rape and revenge tale, part character study and mixed with a healthy dose of irreverent humor and extreme brutality, Mother’s day is one of those rare perfect films that manages to take its aim and get the viewer right in the jugular.

In a deeper examination of the films politics I heartily enjoyed the depth given to the lead characters on their journey through hell. Though a completely unique beast and a different kind of film than Jaws, it was oddly reminiscent of the same character development of the three men in that film as they set out to destroy the big bad fish who "Injured some bathers", according to the town Mayor in that film classic.

These women set out on a weekend of self awareness, and even though things are not at all what they anticipated they certainly get just that tenfold.

Mother's day is one of those rare movies that has it all. It’s both gory and funny and one hell of a ride for anybody who steps on board.

The true stars of the film are the two demented brothers, Ike and Addley. Whether raping, slicing and dicing or going out of their way to make mother proud . . . . . Sometimes even in fact raping, slicing, and dicing to make mother proud . . . . . . These brothers prove that there is nothing quite like that special love only a mother can give. Even if mother is just as deranged as her testosterone fueled brood.

I just recently found out that a remake of Mother's day has been shot. In doing some research, I discovered that the film that is being released sounds like a completely different movie. The plot has been worked over and doesn't resemble this 1980 classic at all. It doesn't sound like the film makers are in fact attempting a remake of this film. A smart move because Mother’s day is a truly one of a kind film experience.

A movie like this cannot be remade for this experience can never be duplicated. Mother's day shoots for the hip and takes out your ribcage with crippling velocity. Movies like this are rare. It’s a film experience that cannot and will not be imitated justly.

A feast for the senses that is a frenzied blastbeat from the hooves of hell upon the consciousness of the viewer, Mother’s day delivers thrills a plenty from its brutal opening scene to one of my all time favorite endings ever. It’s a film experience for all time for fans of sleazy exploitation and classic horror. It belongs at the top of any must see list of any horror movie fan.

***Original blog post date 9/9/2010***

MIND RAPE, MURDER AND FATHER KNOWS BEST

When it comes to horror movies, being a movie fan is rather complex. I always reckoned it’s pretty simple to entertain me. I tend to dig sleaze an awful lot. I’ll often times settle for a good script that is large in character development and suspense over sleaze for sleazes sake though.

Truth is, I merely love a good movie and especially a good horror movie and sometimes I don't know what I want. I just start watching and lose myself and roughly an hour and a half later, I have been found to have a damn good time no matter how I got there.

Strange behavior is an aptly named film. A 1981 thriller that is somewhat of an homage to those 1950's b-movies by way of an 80's slasher flick that somehow manages to ultimately be neither a slasher film or a b-movie or a straight up horror film for that matter. Still, since my first viewing in the 80's on home video I have seen this movie several times here and there and I enjoy the hell out of it every single time.

It’s one of those movies that on the surface seems rather ordinary. Not particularly gory. Completely void of any sleaze what so ever. More attention is paid to the depths of the characters and what makes them tick in a timely fashion, rather than just giving us some kids and having them all die. That is not to say that plenty of people don't die. It is after all, somewhat of a horror film at least.

The larger motif that we are treated to here is that things are never what they seem. This first is notably present in my discovery that this nifty slice of suburban Americana claiming to take place in Galesburg, Illinois is actually filmed in New Zealand. Gotta love the magic of the movies.

Wherever it takes place though is beside the point because the film bases its structure on its two central characters and takes its time getting us to where it needs to go. All the while being wrapped around a dazzlingly haunting soundtrack by Tangerine dream.

The two leads that drive the story are father and son. Sheriff John Brady and Pete Brady respectively.

The happenings do actually get going fairly quickly with a handful of murders committed by assailants that are oddly visible to the viewer. Once we are treated to a little slicing and dicing the character analysis begins to take over.

Pete Brady is a college student who wishes to make a few extra dollars. A mysterious doctor who instructs volunteers in lessons from beyond the grave in videotaped seminars just might be what young Pete is looking for. Of course, he is instructed by the doctors peculiar assistant to not tell his father what he is up to, and so begins the mysteries of the film.

Along the way he begins to date a girl who just so happens to be the receptionist at the doctor’s office where he is to report for some experiments that will indeed soon find Pete to be exhibiting some . . . . . To quote the title . . . . Strange behavior. Many of the local teenagers are participating in these experiments, and therefore . . . . . Much strangeness is in evidence. As far as plot goes this is really all that I am at liberty to say.

Strange behavior is a rather ordinary film. There is not a whole lot of action going on in lieu of getting to know the who rather than the what. Despite not being anything overtly terrifying or suspenseful and quite low key when compared to many other horror films, I still have managed to find the whole thing oddly charming and appealing.

As I have stated, I have seen the movie multiple times and even though I am already aware of its secrets, I still manage to be able to lose myself in it with every single viewing. I’m not sure why I find this film so delightful other than to say that it’s a sum of all of its parts. The story. The soundtrack. The characters. The actors. It all just adds up for me.

In suggesting the film to horror fans, it should be greatly stressed that while there is some slashing and gashing and some intense goings on, the main focus here is with the growth of its story and characters. When it comes to exposing its truth and nature the thrills and secrets of the film function more on an interior level than an exterior one. More psychological than savage.

I can find something to relish in each time that I view this bizarre and little seen thriller. It's well made, creepy, and beautifully crafted. If you are looking for something to lose yourself in for an evening of entertainment and go into the whole thing not expecting a thrill ride but rather a deep and dark tunnel of a film that is both lyrical and mesmerizing in its simplicity than this could certainly be a movie experience that will capture your attention. 

***Original blog post date 9/10/2010***

YOU GOT BITTEN AND YOU DIDN'T SUCK

There are many times where I see an actor trying to take on a role in some kind of desperate attempt to break free from the restraints of their signature role and more often than not this seems to fail.

What is it about some actors that can escape a character or type of role without issue, while some only try and try again, only to fail time and time again?

Actors like John Travolta and Will Smith started out playing roles that became cultural icons. But, these two guys moved onward to a successful career continuously reshaping what public opinion might have always been about their skills to bring characters to life and make you believe them.

Jim Carrey built a lifetime upon making weird faces and voices and fart noises and making people laugh uncontrollably, only to branch off into unknown territory and turn out several stellar performances of various dramatic degree in films such as Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind and Man on the moon.

The holy trinity of acting royalty and greatness. . . Al Pacino, Jack Nicholson, and Robert De Niro  have all three broadened their horizons by appearing in intense dramatic roles as well as comedic ones.

But, then you have all of these other actors who just seem to be typecast into playing certain roles and there seems to be no hope coming for them to ever break free.

I dig Eliza Dushku. She was great as Faith on one of my favorite television shows, Buffy the vampire slayer. She had two more of my favorite television roles as Echo on Dollhouse and the brilliant and highly underappreciated show Tru calling.

Dushku was actually an acting veteran long before becoming a TV queen. She was appearing in films since early childhood. She acted alongside Arnold and Jamie Lee in True lies and with greats De Niro, Ellen Barkin, and another, at the time up and comer, Leonardo De Caprio in This boys life.

She has lately been rocking the scream queen thing and I am totally digging on that as she has been in some great movies. But Dushku, like so many other actors, has a hard time playing a role outside of her realm. She is always the tough chick. But hey, I guess if you're good at something why not stick with it?

Still, there are many other actors whose experimentation and performances have been far less appealing.

Judd Nelson has a hard time registering with me outside of the role of being a teenage burnout or yuppie scumbag thanks to his 80's fare.

I can't look at Bruce Campbell without seeing the wise cracking Ash from the Evil dead trilogy.

William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy probably have a hard time being accepted as anything other than Kirk and Spock to people that watch that Star trek bullshit.

Matt LeBlanc and Matthew Perry seemed to have a hard time getting people to take them seriously as anything other than Chandler and Joey from Friends.

Gary Coleman probably never set foot on a movie lot without somebody asking what Willis was talking about. I would say he is still living that down were it not for the fact that he is dead.

Anthony Perkins spent the rest of his life trying to make people forget that he was Norman Bates. Didn't work though.

Keanu Reeves has tried over and over to reinvent himself and he was even cast as some action hero in those crappy Matrix movies. But, I can not ever see this guy without expecting him to pull back his bangs and go "Dude!"

Every time I would ever see Ralph Macchio I would expect him to start going "wax on wax off", so thank god he doesn't make movies anymore.

I’m sure that pissed him off that he was a grown ass man and people still called him the karate kid. Well, at least they did a remake of that movie and he can leave that behind him now.

Some people embrace their one dimensional talents.

Vince Vaughn has made a nice career out of playing himself in every single movie he has ever been in.

These days we have the dumpier version of that whole thing in Seth Rogan.

Hey, John Wayne became a screen legend referred to as the Duke from basically playing the same role over and over.

I was truthfully never much of a Duke fan. Is it just me or does that guy sound like he is going to take a shit every time he clears his throat and yammers some dialogue?

But some actors just cannot live their roles down. Just ask Urkel.

The idea of not being able to escape a character role is something that I like to refer to as the Al Bundy syndrome.

I mean, this guy was a bench warmer for the Pittsburgh Steelers and played Popeye Doyle. He has a new hit show on television called. . . . Umm. . . Something. I have no idea. You know why? Two words. . . . Al Bundy. Seriously, this guy is always going to be Al Bundy to me no matter who or what he plays for the rest of his life.

I have never been an actor before, but I guess this has got to suck ass. I got two more words. . . .

Stiffler

And Mclovin.

Okay, I’m done. But what does this have to do with horror, you might ask? I just watched this new movie called Bitten. Vampire movie.

Heard some good things about it. It’s actually more of a horror comedy. But, it’s pretty damn good and quite entertaining. Much better than another vampire themed horror comedy that I had seen recently, Blood on the Highway.

Bitten tells the story of a paramedic who finds a bloodied and lifeless girl in an alley and takes her home. He is recovering from a break up and his male curiosity gets the better of his judgment.

The paramedic was played by the actor Jason Mewes.

Who is none other than- bonggggggggg! Jay from the Jay and silent Bob movies made by Kevin Smith.

Yep, no silent Bob. . . . Just Jay . . . Battling undead bloodsuckers. As soon as I recognized him I thought to myself how annoying this will be trying to picture Jay being in a serious role. Thankfully, I didn't have to.

Jason Mewes realizes what people have come to expect from his talents and he plays the character in this film very similar to that of his more popular role. Every other word out of his mouth is a swear word. He doesn't even try to suspend belief and make the viewer believe that he is another character. The whole thing works pretty well and adds to the enjoyment of the movie.

When he finds out that his house guest is a vampire, this being because she ate his ex-girlfriend, he exclaims "Holy shit! You ate my ex-girlfriend! I don't know whether to call the police or buy you flowers."

So begins their relationship. Of course they both realize what is coming and shall be deemed necessary, so Jay . . . Err. . . Umm. . . The paramedic dude. . . . Brings her home an alley cat, which makes her sick. Next he pockets a bag of blood from the fridge at work. Despite the care he exudes by putting it in a clean glass, it’s too cold. So, we all know what is next.

Things get bloody as he feeds her some annoying neighborhood drug dealers, and then she eats his landlady. This is all just the beginning of his troubles.

The film uses relationship metaphors mixed with vampire comedy. She greets him through the door from a hard nights work by jumping on his back and scaring the crap out of him. After a while she begs to be taken out and when he refuses she asks "Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?"

Before long the vampires they do not dispose of properly begin to come back. There is a great scene where his ex-girlfriend attacks him screaming "I want my shirt! I want my cds!" This is all very entertaining.

His partner and best friend, who literally spends half of the movie taking a shit or talking about taking a shit, begins to suspect something is wrong with this strange girl he has taken in from the streets and things go even more haywire from there. The whole movie is a lot of fun and extremely enjoyable.

How can you not enjoy a movie that has several scenes of the devoted boyfriend cleaning up his undead girlfriends messes to a tune called Tidy up your mess that sounds like a Barney the dinosaur song?

Be sure to keep watching the movie all the way until after the credits as there is several blooper moments in the actual credits before a final scene afterwards. This was a very cool movie and a whole lot of fun.

It’s always nice to see an actor branch out and take on an entirely new type of role from which they are used to playing and pull it off. But, as I said before . . . . If you're good at something why not keep at it? So, in that aspect its equally as pleasing to see an actor embrace their type casted characters and have some fun with it. This film is totally a case of an actor doing just that and it’s a lot of fun for everybody. If the idea of Jay from the Kevin Smith movies battling bloodsuckers is something that sounds entertaining to you than you are certainly in for a trip because your ship has arrived.

***Original blog post date 6/27/2010***