it's all "The Rage" if you like putrid filmmaking

It's a "classic splatter-fest," they said.

It's "one hell of a gory good time," they said.

But after enduring what could've been the longest 86 minutes of my life at the hands of this movie, Robert Kurtzman's "The Rage," I can safely say that I'm never believing anybody who endorses this movie ever again.

I must admit, however, that being the horror film junkie that I am, I was sucked in by this film's appealing cover, with said endorsements peppering the graphic of a rather unhealthy-looking face trapped in a cannister of mystery liquid. Seeing that it was directed by the dude who did makeup for a lot of 80s horror movies, such as "Friday the 13th" and a couple "Night of the Living Dead" installments if I'm not mistaken, I decided to give it a shot. (Hell, I was bored on a weeknight and my girlfriend was busy. What to do besides rent schlocky horror movies and drink beer, right?!)

Wrong.

Something should've triggered a red flag somewhere in my head when I realized "The Rage" was directed by a dude who normally does makeup, but inexplicably, I rented the fucking thing anyway.

The film stars two people named Andrew Divoff and Erin Brown (the latter of which has a resume' that includes a starring role in "Bikini Women on Dinosaur Island.") Divoff plays your stereotypical misunderstood German mad scientist who's pissed at the world because the gestapo came and destroyed his research when they found out he discovered the cure for cancer. They stole his ideas and tied him up in some secret prison somewhere to torture the living shit out of him for some time to come, which of course drove him completely insane. AND! AND! GASP! This mysterious cure for cancer was "mutated" by herr doctor after the torture and such made him a little disgruntled, and the results turn everyone into bloodthirsty freaks who look like Ron Perlman.

But, you see, we find all this out in the final 15 minutes of the movie, at which point the script decides to suddenly not suck. If you're still watching at this point, I congratulate you, because I was near the point of completely losing interest after a pack of virus-crazed vultures chase a pack of non-actors into an RV after they run over Reggie Bannister. (Why they had to kill the only actor with any horror movie significance whatsoever attached to his name in the first 20 minutes just speaks volumes about how infuriating this movie really is.)

The pinnacle moment of pure unfiltered Suck in "The Rage," however, came in the final few minutes. The barrel-chested, long-haired hero and boyfriend to Erin Brown's character, Kat, says to Divoff, "Let her go you crazy madman!"

Not only was the delivery among the worst and most unconvincing I've ever heard, but the tone the actor used would've been more appropriate for something out of a bad Saturday morning cartoon.

Fuck, even my cat jumped off the couch in disgust.


The Verdict:


Would be good for a drunken night of heckling the shit out of a terrible movie, but otherwise, don't waste your money.

the new caffeine craze, c'mon kids, everyone's doing it...

Being the energy drink connoisseur that I am, I decided to purchase one of these cans of liquid crack last night on a drunken stumble home from a concert. And after ingesting it this morning in lieu of my regular morning coffee, I've come to a shocking conclusion.

This stuff is just horrible. Just fucking horrible.

Each can apparently contains 225 ml of caffeine, which upon consumption I'm pretty sure has the same effect as 4 tabs of pure mescaline. Thank FUCK I finished the godawful concoction before my meeting with 3 editors and the department manager this morning, because I would've been a shaking wreck by the time we got halfway through.

"So Mike, what do you think of the new section we're planning? Should it still launch March 12?"

"PANDAS DO NOT BELONG IN THE MILITARY! ORDERS FROM CAPTAIN ZEEP!!"

*perplexed silence*

"HOBGOBLINS!!!"


After that, I'd likely make a quick escape to save myself the SHAME of having to sit through the rest of the meeting when everyone quite clearly knows I'm already off my goddamned rocker. Might make for a bit of uncomfortable half-hour, wouldn't you say?

Because when you raise this can of terrible liquid to your lips and proceed to pour it down your throat and into your belly, be advised: you are catapulting yourself into a world of shit.

Upon the first few sips, you feel like you're tasting coffee with a small hint of something far more potent and sinister than just caffeine. If you can dismiss the notion that this mystery substance isn't in fact 12 grams of Columbian cocaine, keep drinking. If you do think it's cocaine, for the love of christ, don't drink this stuff in a public place full of strangers, because you're about 20 minutes away from losing your goddamned mind.

Twenty or so minutes. That is the length of time that will pass before you feel much of anything but the slightest whisper of a buzz. If you've had most of the can by now, you might feel twitchy; not unlike the first rising vibes from a double-tall mocha from Starbucks. But after the point where you've put away the majority of the beverage, (or, god help you, the whole thing), it becomes a struggle to stay still and to maintain any composure or rational thought.

The fierce rush of the caffeine suddenly launches itself into an all-guns-blazing assault on your auditory and nervous systems, making all sounds slightly more intense and creating a complete inability to sit still for longer than 5 seconds. The horror you abruptly find yourself in threatens to envelop your mind absolutely, but you soon find you have the power to speak coherently if you concentrate. Otherwise, you end up sounding like a babbling lunatic, and you probably won't look much better than you sound. You'll be wild-eyed, paranoid and downright shaky. Your brain will be screaming at you to regain control of yourself, but the inner voice ends up getting lost in a sea of much more intriguing thoughts, such as

"What...just...happened?! I must understand this madness...wait...wait, who's that? Who is she?! Dear god has she been there the whole time? Maybe she's watching me. Maybe she knows what's happening now. Maybe I look crazy. I should probably go freshen up a bit. Sure, why not? I have to piss anyway. This could be bad business. This feeling...it's....oh wow, wait....there's...WORK...am I......WORKING?! Fuck, I hate when this happens. I'm in the goddamned office and completely unable to hold a coherent thought pattern, AND I HAVE TO WRITE! These bastards won't know what hit them, yes...yes, they'll all PAY, I tell you, PAY...I have to g.."

And then, the mystery woman will float your way from out of nowhere and say your name casually to get your attention on this week's marketing material.

"JESUS GOD, WHAT?!" you croak in response, scaring the living shit out of everyone in a 12-block radius.

"I....thought....well," she'll say, trying not to look petrified, "why don't you look over this and...then...you can get back to me."

"Yes, why don't I do that?!" you'll reply hastily and snatch the papers out of her hand before you know what you're doing.


Another 10 minutes might pass, and you'll begin to feel lost, confused or completely batshit, and then is about the time when you start to think it'd be a good idea to let the world know just what your state of mind is right then. You might write an unscrupulous email to a co-worker; maybe the girl you just scared into resigning. You'll try to explain yourself, but it's no use. You can't think of anything appropriate to say to defuse the awkward situation that just transpired, but you'll send a disjointed attempt at clearing the air anyway.

But, more than likely, it's probably too late. With luck, she'll be scarred only for the next few days, and the boss will be able to talk her out of quitting just because some caffeine-crazed freak blew up at her from out of nowhere for no good reason at all.

But then again, maybe you'll turn back to that wretched beverage the next morning. And then, the office will become a very dangerous place.

february, BEGONE!!

Corrine comes back on Sunday.


The past six days have felt like an eternity, and I knew they would. And I won't make you all barf by lamenting on & on about how much I miss her, but this week has dragged on at the pace of a crippled snail. AND IT SUCKS.

At least I have plenty to keep me busy, like this godawful deadline I have looming over my head right now that's staring me in the face. Its angry snarl is only getting worse as the minutes tick away, and yet I am strangely unaffected by this. Is it apathy? Lack of motivation? Both? Yes, yes...probably both.

Next weekend, my parents come into town to pay me a visit before my birthday shenanigans render me completely useless for the following week or so. This means two good things are happening in March, my seminal Month of Good Luck, that are already making me want to send February fucking packing:

1.) My parents are going to meet Corrine, which is something that all parties involved are looking forward to;

2.) My birthday falls on a Sunday, which makes that previous Saturday the official party date.


This could be very bad, now that I think about it a bit more. St. Patty's Day falls on a Monday, which is going to be truly horrible for my chances of getting into work on time Tuesday, which is likely the day I'll have to be out driving around lower King County all day interviewing people about their family-owned Scandinavian pastry factories.

The invite list I made for the party is already bursting at the seams, and I fear for the establishment we invade that night before heading to the Mercury. (Did you really think we were going anywhere else?!)

Ah, March. My favorite month of the year. It looms so close.

GO AWAY, FEBRUARY.

an update because I'm dreadfully behind on this thing...

Note from the Dept. of WTF:

This quickly turned into a post that was originally supposed to be a to-do list. The result is frightening and shouldn't be read aloud while sitting bored in the office on some idle Wednesday afternoon, especially not one like today...no sir...


THOUGHTS:


-Write something on football season for Stereodust (AND UPDATE THAT THING YOU ASSHOLE)

-Look into getting a domain name. Maybe it'll be cheaper than you think. Mikeparker.net? That can't be taken, right? Right.

-BLOG. BLOG. BLOG. Write down the weird shit that goes through your head all day. You know you could sit here and type about anything all day and only the strongest-willed and soundest of mind could possibly labor through all of it. DON'T BULLSHIT YOURSELF, PARKER! See, you're doing it again. And that was only, what, 3 lines? Jesus.

-We believe, we believe....ah, god those nights on the dance floor are so liberating, aren't they? Fuck me, go see a show sometime soon. Go to And One tomorrow. It'll be FUN.

-I miss Corrine. I love her. It's maddeningly obvious by now. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, but it also makes the netherregions antsy and impatient as hell. Having her around just makes...everything better. I'm told our "cuteness" makes everyone else roll their eyes and yell some kind of barf-inducing comment about how...barf...inducing...we are...wait.....I....to hell with this, next thought:

-Fucking christ, I'm hungry. I'll be needing some sustinence soon. But when? It's 10:40 a.m. and I HAD breakfast this morning...what is this strange gurgling puking feeling that's surging up in my gut right about now? Maybe I'll take lunch early...escape the office for at least an hour anFUCK I have to go to Auburn today and take pictures of some weird bike-parts shop that used to be a junkyard or some crazy thing.

-It's the 3-year anniversary of Hunter's death today. It's a sobering thought that three years ago tonight, I was a raving, jabbering mess, feeling as though my guiding light had been suddenly blown out and I'd been left in the dark for the rest of time. The shock of hearing the news for the first time was almost unbearable, but the world has continued on without him, in a downward spiral that is almost turning his final predictions of a bleaker world into a frightening reality.

Jesus, I just read an exercpt from something I posted while on drugs from three years. That was unsettling.



God dammit all, it's almost noon and I haven't found the motivation to do JACK SHIT yet today, and that could be very bad in the foreseeable future. I think I've been writing, but....wait...what have I been writing?! You tell me, and then we'll go from there. Deal?! OK.

AND I'M STILL FUCK-ALL HUNGRY!

Why the hell are you still reading this?!