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 222nd
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
