Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Crawlspace (1972)

Let out into the wild in the same era as the wildly loved Bad Ronald, the 1972 made for t.v. horror-shocker Crawlspace has a very similar air of contention. It feels right at home among the rarity ranks of being so obscure that the highly sought after dvd print of it is in the $90-$200 price range-for even a used copy among us collectors that would snag a copy if the occasion ever arose. Which of course means that it is out of print. What a drag. Fear not. There are always digital sources to find Crawlspace dwelling in for your weird thirst, and I'm of course here to let all of you zits and zombies know that it is very much worth the long search. The frame that this film is built upon stands up by the means of a man named Richard that comes to repair some things in the Graves' home one night. They soon realize that after his job is done, he is sneaking into their basement/cellar/crawlspace (whatever you want to refer to it as) at night while they snore because he has nowhere to go. He carves the word "God" in huge letters on the door to the cellar. The Graves' take him in because they never had any children of their own when they were younger and they wanted to do their part and help out someone in need. But Richard can't adjust. He finds himself obsessed with the dark corners of the crawlspace and never, ever wants to leave. Ever. Once you reach this point in the film, the Christmas scene is where you think that Rich is starting to open up a little. It's warm, loving, inviting and makes you wish you were spending that time with your own family. But things take a bad turn after that. Bad, bad turn.

Oh my God-no more plumbing nightmares.

What a weird, shifty motherfucker.

Hey, fruity Jim Carey-stop asking nosy questions and get the hell out of my house.

      What a spectacular crawlspace... there's a dead rabbit, a rat skull, cobwebs and a cigar box with which contains an iron cross. WWII era.

No one ever said being vengeful or paranoid were bad. They're just not good.

"Over the hills and through the woods to break into your cellar door."

Yeah, Richard. Get a job.

Never disappoint mama at Christmas dinner.

     Geico caveman love shrimp!

At least Richard is happy. He has a sense of purpose at your house, Mr. Graves.

Crawlspace is about friendship, loneliness and isolation. Everyone needs someone whether they think they do or not, and the relationship between Richard and the couple that takes him in to live in their crawlspace perfectly embodies the struggle of helping someone in need. Anything can happen in that sort of situation, and this flick makes everything feel real. After Richard loses it and tears up the local grocery store, that's when the real terror of what he is all about finally comes to light. There's absolutely no way that I'm going to spoil the ending or really anything from this film for you, but just know this-the ending is about as tragic as they come. It's pretty sad. It's not a tearjerker or anything like that, but you've been through this bizarre house of mirrors with these characters for almost 70 minutes, and once the story comes to a head at the end... it just knocks you down. I can't say enough about how powerful Crawlspace was for me, and I hope to own a hard copy someday for my collection. Now, since my basement is leaking, I must dam it up. Watch those stragglers.      

Sunday, February 26, 2017

Nightmare Weekend

I need to start paying more attention when I'm selecting what I'm going to take notes on because once again, the New Jersey giant has duped me. Tricked me into something that I never would have watched otherwise, had I known it was published by Troma. I thought the cover looked all cool and retro (and technically it is) what with a surprised brunette in her bra in front of a computer monitor with a motorcycle and a hell-hound careening in from behind. Looks like a fun time, no? Well, it's kind of not. I don't even really know what the hell this film is even supposed to be about, let alone the cover even having anything to do with it at all. The overall plot doesn't matter. What matters is is there is some weird-ass muppet named George that helps Jessica figure out that the best way to meet a boyfriend is by hitchhiking and some bitch named Julie that takes over Jessica's dad's computer system and turns everyone into zombies by turning random in-animate objects into metal balls and having them fly right down everyone's throats. If a group of non-horror fanatics watched this and then I watched it after them back to back, it would be like we all rode the fastest, most nausea inducing roller coaster ever built, and then when we got off when it was over, I was the only one that didn't vomit. Because I've unfortunately built up an immunity to this non-sense.

Airplanes and motorcycles. Living the life.

I can't live in a world where a green-nosed muppet lives in a control tower.

     80's ladies in spandex and leotards. Now were talking.

None such past times as video arcades.

Aww, Ken misses his twinzie. How cute.

So, George is a muppet that's alive? I don't get it.

  There always has to be a stupid friend named Tony.

If I had long brown hair, smooth legs and a nice rack, I would ruin other people's lives too.

Dude, you're not the pinball wizard.

 You sound like you're stuck in a Katy Perry song.

 Hiding a bottle of liquor between two pieces of bread and calling it a "sandwich" is just fucking brilliant.

We all look forward to the weekend. But not this one. This is the one where you wished it was over and just want to go back to work on Monday because you want it to just be over. I just can't imagine this being written, directed and produced by people that aren't under the influence of something. Nightmare Weekend is the kind of movie where Saturday and Sunday collide to form a little, twisted world where a young girl thinks that hitchhiking will bait her a solid man-piece, a computer is controlled by a fucked up little green muppet named George that's somehow alive and looks like Albert Einstein had a stroke and is on the verge of freezing to death via hypothermia. I'm done with this shit. I'm fucking done. Either that or I've had to much alcohol. Either way, this movie sucks elephant wiener. By the way.... I'm the pinball wizard.     

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Ghoul School

Originally, I had decided that I was an avid fan of Camp Motion Pictures based purely on the fact that they held the rights to both of the Video Violence films, before I had even seen or owned copies of them. How silly. But the very first movie I did run across a copy of put out by them was Ghoul School. The cover art looked so damn bad, and yet I was drawn to it. I was sold on it through the genius marketing of the really graphic and violent screenshots that are plastered on the back and the promise of a really gory, stupid, fun filled 79 minutes of my life. Those nihilistic bastards at Camp were totally correct. Ghoul School is the quintessential zombie b-flick that contains all of the horrendous acting, dialogue and get-your-hands-dirty special effects you could possibly ever be looking for. I for sure, have very much gotten my money's worth out of this dvd, and my passion for horror and campy sludge from the SOV underground sort of took off from this as it just wet my appetite even more to find the weirdest and wildest films I could get my viscera covered hands on. Oh, and this movie also makes me wish that zombies would show up at a basketball game and just start eating people. It's a dream of mine. A sick, strange dream of mine. 

Maintenance men and janitors are always out of shape.

Man, Jesus is such and asshole.

"Blood Sucking Ghouls." What a band name.

"Why did you never graduate from this shit-hole?" Gee. Let's think about it.

I fucking hated high school.

Alright. Enough with these shitty jokes already.

Take the red sweater off. Then we'll talk.

Goddamn, these guys suck.

Blue zombie chick!

That's one violent death for touching a t.v. with a bloody hand.

Gym class should always involve some kids guts being ripped out and throats being slashed. Slllaaaaaammmmm dunk!  

The skeleton of this film is this-these two douche-bags that are way to old to be going into a high school, break in because there's some drugs that one of them left inside the wall of the basement 15 or 20 years prior before they graduated. They break in. They shoot the janitor. No one notices. The one moron hits a button on the wall without knowing what it does and they both get sprayed with some chemical from the ceiling or the walls or something. You can't see the stuff coming out. Then they turn into blue zombies. Then the swim team turns into blue zombies. You hear the Blood Sucking Ghouls practice the same fucking song 50 times in a row (the whole band is terribly off sync from how it looks like they should be playing) and then all hell breaks loose, people get eaten and torn apart. Shots are fired with the cheapest looking 12 gauge known to man and in between all of that mess there are so many long, padded shots of plumbing and piping. So many. At the end of the day, Ghoul School sounds atrocious. But in reality, it's fun as hell and I would recommend it to any of you zits or zombies just starting out. Now, who's ready for some lay-ups?     

Friday, February 17, 2017

Deathrow Gameshow

I had no way of knowing what I was getting myself into when I ran across Deathrow Gameshow by pure accident on Amazon Instant Video. And let me tell you something-it was one of the best accidents I've ever had. It tops all the times that I've ever pooped my pants in grade school, wet the bed when I was 10 or when I crushed in the whole front end of my gold Saturn when I was living in New Mexico for seven months. It hovers well above all of those embarrassing events that I would rather forget, and now that I've witnessed the heavy satire and deep dark humor of Deathrow Gameshow, there's really no way that could ever be possible. All of that awkward shit is permanently tattooed into the folds and grooves of my brain (along with all of the extra alcohol) to build up a long lasting kinship with this film in the form of men on death-row that get killed on national t.v. for the sake of ratings and Chuck Toedan's paycheck. The straight absurdity and context of this film comprises of elements from The Running Man and the video game Smash TV to create the greatest game show that never existed. You know what, this should be a real thing. There would be more room in prison. And our taxes would go down. See-there's positive things there already.

   Twisted for the 3DO, anyone?

Mummies that cuss uncontrollably make me smile.

Such a clean cut.

Kids never walk across the street in slow motion.

Good morning, boobs!

Knuckle deep, son. Knuckle deep.

"Every man dreams of being well hung." Oh, the sweet, sweet irony.

Dance of the seven boners. If only I had seven dicks.

I've heard of pulling the pud, but pulling the taffy? What a riot.

Who taught this spazoid how to park?!

Self absorbed Jewish prick. No-Italian.

Trudy is a space cadet.

Luigi loves his spaghetti.

       The plateau of psychotic logic that helps Deathrow Gameshow stand on it's hind legs is the simple fact that it's completely self-aware and never takes the time to hold the viewer's hand to gently nudge them into this world that it takes place in. That's truly one of it's strong points because it just expects you to either stick with it after the initial person from death-row has his head lobbed off with a guillotine, or to just shut it off. If you decide to watch it past that point, please... you're in for a hilarious ride. I'm going to go out on a limb here and state that this is almost on the same level as Blood Diner if you compare the type of humor and just off-the-wall business that Toedan puts some of these guys through on his game show. Yeah. It's in that league. I will recommend this to any of you zits and zombies that need a good, dark laugh where you can live in a world for 90 minutes where convicts get fried on t.v. for ratings and entertainment. But hey... isn't that the same as watching Jerry Springer?  

Wednesday, February 15, 2017


Sifting and wading through lists, pages and catalogues of 80's horror films can be a chore after a certain period of time. Sometimes you have to break your own rules of tracking this stuff down and just leap at one that looks or sounds interesting. It might turn out to be pretty good. Other times it will be a situation similar to holding a puppy up by both hands, cooing and peek-a-booing at him until he just pees in your face. That's when you know you should just take a break, play an MMO or read a book for a while. Go for a walk. Get some fresh air while you still have the involuntary ability to breathe. Netflix and chill. Whatever you have to do to keep yourself away from digging into your passion so you don't kill yourself over it. There are other times, however, where a flick you run across is just so straight paved, middle of the road and run of the mill that you automatically form the opinion of "I'm only watching this this one time, and I'll never come back to it." Horror purgatory. The middle ground. That gray area where I like to put films that only warrant one singular view from any zit or zombie, and are left behind because we all have lives and better pictures to look forward to. Offerings sits as squarely as it could possibly ever get into this realm between heaven and hell, and I'll be damned if I ever meet a horror fanatic that thinks it's any better than that.

        Dammit granny, don't smoke while you're making breakfast.

He probably will grow up like his good-for-nothing father with that kind of mental abuse.

Nothing like a game of checkers on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

Yeah, and I'm sure you're kids are beautiful.

Midget Mexicans are creepy.

That's one way to give a lobotomy.

Dopey teenage goils.

Everyone's mother in this film is ugly, obnoxious and loud. All of you, just shut the hell up.

Head-splat vice grip!

Of course the dog thinks a severed finger is a chew toy.

I doubt it's sausage. It's probably dead people parts.

Guys named Greg always get the foxiest of ladies.

 With my final verdict being set at horror purgatory, I actually did cull a decent amount of entertainment from Offerings. The reason behind it is quite simple, though-it ended up being the most generic and cliche' riddled flick I've seen from the 80's in a while. That's not entirely bad, it's just that it felt like something was either missing or it wasn't trying hard enough to be it's own thing. And I have to pull some points for it. The last twenty minutes did feel like a Halloween rip-off with just the way the music was scored, how John was going after Gretchen, certain camera angles... it flubbed itself towards the end and it made the landing a little to familiar and a little to soft. I'll leave you with this-the next time you order a pizza, make sure the sausage is actually sausage and not ground up human flesh. Wunderbar.    

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Satan's Black Wedding

Serious vampire or Dracula fans need not apply to watch Satan's Black Wedding. You people will be infuriated. This is for those of us that are looking in deeper to find blood sucking films that show off their abilities to entertain with dollar store vampire teeth that you can buy for fifty cents around Halloween time, and the phoniest, reddest movie blood that you can possibly imagine. In other words-dime store Dracula films. Creatures of the night that can drain you of your lifeblood for five bucks. Coffins and caskets constructed out of balsa wood. A bug-eyed, wanna-be dark stalker that dons a Hispanic afro while proudly displaying a self-adhesive mustache and stinks deftly of pico de gallo and gentlemens' Brut. Being the lamest vampire film in existence is an invariably heavy and somewhat mature task to fulfill, but Satan's Black Wedding is perfect for the job. You know that he'll always be on time, he'll never call off and there will never be any mention of the sniffles. Ever. You have to accept him for what he is and just enjoy yourself. People like dis' guy always makes everyone's jobs easier in the long run, and that's what you want in this place. Longevity. 

An uggo if I ever saw one.

Black candles always set the mood right.


Dracula gets a woody when women viciously slit their wrists.

I never knew that Charles Bronson and Gene Wilder adopted a son.

        Warbled synth tunes are always fun.

Now all of a sudden Nina is a vampire? What the hell?

Mark is the Jesus-Elvis we've all been looking for.

Satanic children sacrifices? There's worse out there.

Italian women are sultry vixens.

Still a damn uggo.

Maybe Nina always had an obscure imagination and you never knew it. Ever think about that?

Rise from your grave!!

  I am in no way going to apologize for this, but when the vampire just rises up out of his casket ready to go, the very first thing that popped into my head was the pixelated, digitized voice from the Sega Genesis game Altered Beast where Zeus says "Rise from your grave!" right when the game starts. I couldn't help myself. Satan's Black Wedding is one hell of a great time and if you only have 61 minutes to watch a horror flick before going to bed or work or whatever. My advice to you is to get yourself a pair of those dollar store vampire teeth, some Count Chocula, a black and red cape and a turtle neck sweater so no one can see your teeth marks or hickeys. All I'm trying to convey here is is that with that kind of starter kit, you're going to be a one-man party watching this thing, and that's what it's meant for. Because no one wants to hang out with some dude that reeks of pico and Brut. On the reel. Real.     

Sunday, February 12, 2017


Pretty much everything that takes place in the ultra-underground SOV horror offering by the Polonia Brothers titled Hallucinations makes absolutely no sense at first viewing. You've got Freddy Krueger's snow suit wearing brother, some worm-monster thing made out of down-spout tubing and molding clay that chokes one of the brothers (while he's stark naked in the shower might I add) a burnt fetus that comes to life in the microwave after Todd puts some food in there to heat it up for a minute. Everything in this film stacks itself up to being one of the most PCP laced pieces of moving art that I've probably ever set eyes upon, because once I was done watching this and writing down my notes, I felt like my brain was that fetus. Nuked, burnt and angry. Actually, I wasn't angry. For what Hallucinations truly is, it's a teenage angst-filled homemade horror film that comes to the point at the end where everyone just needs to relieve themselves by masturbating in private. And then sharing their experiences with it. Once the frustrations are all out, you're left feeling fulfilled and content. Truthfully, I feel like this is a cornerstone of DIY horror video, and should be shown as a solid example of how one can make the weirdest, most vivid seven-layered chocolate cake that any fright freak could ever want. Just make sure you're ready to shit out a kitchen knife.
Craziest snow-mobile ride evar!!

Snoopy weirdo. Going through mom and dad's underwear drawer to find a nudie mag.

Coffee maker, bread box, bag of oranges. And a note from mom.

All of a sudden, Silent Night starts playing in the background.

Nah, man. Don't scratch your balls.

 So the chainsaw really did splatter the cat everywhere.

 What is this dark figure that stands before me?

I shat out a kitchen knife once. It was a put-some-hair-on-your-chest experience that only happens once in a lifetime.

Ugly witch laughter and a machete. Only death could come of it.

Every girls' crazy about a sharp dressed, bag faced psycho that whips Todd with a phone chord, sticks a razor in his nose and stabs a huge knife right into his crown jewels.

Stuffed into a 57 minute run time, Hallucinations conjures up some despicable feelings, dark emotions and some really demented death sequences that I would go so far as to say that may even rival the bloodied reputation of maybe the Saw films. Or Hostel. Those films are brutal and gory, but the shit that happens here is just downright perverted and mental. And what makes it even more dis-connected is the fact that the Polonia Brothers were only 17 when they made this film. So what does that tell you? They either had very overactive imaginations or they are just a couple of sick motherfuckers. Either way, in the murky realm of SOV horror, Hallucinations stands tall and proud. And I can respect that. Now try getting your hands on a copy. That's more challenging than fighting Freddy's brother in a snow suit.  

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Trailer Park of Terror

My logic behind choosing to buy Trailer Park of Terror on dvd went something like this: "eh, it might be good." Really, that was it. It was one of many blind buys that I participated in back in Champaign after I had decided that I wanted to take horror movie collecting on as an actual hobby. At that time, I didn't even really know for sure that it was a hobby per se', I just knew there were people out there that collected movies in general. Just not horror specifically. I found a copy of this at the Walmart in Urbana for a measly five bucks, and I have surely over payed my rent at this point. Trailer Park of Terror is a surprisingly entertaining indie horror flick that is based on a surprisingly entertaining horror graphic novel that has existed for awhile that I didn't even know existed until I watched this film. You learn something new everyday. There's something to be said about the quality of this flick because the cinematography, the characters, the dialogue and pretty much everything else is exactly where you would want it to be, and it couldn't have been done any better. I have watched this numerous times since that night when I randomly bought it, and I haven't regretted a moment with it. What's not to love-you have un-dead white trash zombies messing with a group of fuck up's that are on a trip to "save their souls" or some stupid nonsense, and everyone gets mauled in some gory fashion like the fat chick that gives head for cocaine gets her hand sawed off with an electric turkey carver after taking a hit of speed. See? Quality.

Stop smoking honey. It's not worth it.

The three T's-Typical Trailer Trash.

I thought Mama Cass died.

Rip that blues-rock, brother!

Pissing acid.

The pretty blonde goes postal. One round for each asshole. Even payment.

You klepto loser.

Wow. The main douchebag caused an accident. I guess I'm supposed to be surprised.

Hot red dress.

Every trailer park needs it's very own fat sheriff.

Never tell a man to stop playing his guitar. Never.

     So, there are lost episodes of Cops. Now I see why they were never aired-they were filmed more like snuff than people evading the cops. Brilliant.

 Trailer Park of Terror is kind of tricky to recommend, but I'm going to anyway because it's becoming nostalgic to me as sort of a starting point in my becoming a horror collector mainly because every time that I have been in the mood to watch this and did, I've always had a good time. I would also like to point out that my favorite character in this flick is Roach simply because he's the most bad-ass one out of all of them and plays one hell of a blues guitar. He also kind of looks like a mean spirited Elvis Presley. I don't really know if that was on purpose or not, and I just don't really care either way. All I'm going to say zits and zombies is that if you crave white trash zombies sawing and deep-frying innocent people with a killer blues/rock soundtrack, loads of sex and drug references and a pastor from a church that can't contain himself and wants to bang Norma, then Trailer Park of Terror is just for you. Were going to be some sexy sinners tonight. Just you wait. 

Monday, February 6, 2017

Black Past

My initial foray into extreme gore/horror flicks was The Burning Moon, which was directed by none other than German splatter genius Olaf Ittenbach. After experiencing such a frothy, bloody, brutal and dark look at religion, straight human hatred and selfish, drug-fueled suicidal want, I had to seek out other moving art from Olaf. I soon found out about his directorial debut Black Past, which also had a high price tag attached to it considering the fact that the VHS was ridiculously difficult to happen upon, let alone the fact that if you ever did find it the asking price would burn a hole in your savings account. Much in the same vain as The Burning Moon, I pored over the trailer for Black Past many times hoping that I would have a chance to see what sick, twisted and utterly fucked up puddles of gore I would have to soak my virgin toes in to make it to the end of insanity that Olaf so wanted to offend everyone with. Gladly (and surprisingly) Massacre Video has put their transfer of Black Past on dvd recently for us degenerates to buy off of their website as well as Amazon. I still really haven't decided if I like this more than The Burning Moon, but some of the viscera in this film snuffs out some of the other, especially the scene where Thommy gets his penis nailed to a 2x4 (you actually physically see it happen) and then have it cut off with a very dull looking blade. I cringed like a motherfucker, but the point is that Olaf achieved what he wanted-total, unadulterated, brutal pain. I don't think I can have kids anymore. 

Coked out Christian.

I have visions of gory aftermaths after I read the Bible too.

My vote goes to this guy's Cosby sweater for being the ugliest design that no one has ever seen.

There was no need to see Thommy's ass.

Fucking street-toughs.

What's in the chest? Gems? Gold? Pirates treasure? No... just a mirror and a book.

Pow, right between the eyes!

He's to young for sex? How old is he? Isn't he 18 or something?!

Splattered all over the street. Damn.

How touching. I actually might cry.

You know what-a screaming baby in the right context is just creepy and wrong.

Mirror, mirror on the wall-is this the most brutal shit of them all?

 To tell the truth, the plot in an Olaf Ittenbach film isn't the central reason to watch them. It's the death scenes and the gore. Lots of gore. You could shower in that shit if you had the chance, but all I'm going to say is that nothing is off screen in Black Past. You see everything that happens, and it's up to you when you want to cover your eyes if you ever wanted to. I've already mentioned one of the most gruesome depictions of pain contained herein, but another thing that takes place without ruining to much is someone gets sawed in half with a chainsaw, hanging upside down, crotch first. Once again, nothing is left to the imagination and it leaves you just wanting to vomit all over the floor because whatever was used for the special effects really just looks fucking disgusting. The suffering gets in your head and it penetrates your sub-conscious and causes you to have night terrors. It's that well put together. If you thought that The Human Centipede was the most disgusting horror flick you ever watched, you haven't seen shit until you've seen Black Past. I think I'm going to put a pizza in the oven. Toodles.   

Saturday, February 4, 2017

Meatcleaver Massacre (The Hollywood Meatcleaver Massacre)

Meatcleaver Massacre presents itself as one helluva hot mess because within the opening scenes you get Christopher Lee wearing a blazer and plaid pants talking about some weird-ass cult that no one really gives two shits about. And then you're blasted off into some strange world that tries really hard to suck you in with it's bizarre paintings in a museum that somehow have to do with said cult, and some asshole college kid that has a grudge against his professor. He convinces the rest of his friends to break into his house after school hours, wear nylons over their faces, and proceed to kill his wife and dog, and put the professor in the hospital where we find out (very confusingly I might add) that this guy has some magic powers or whatever to make the creatures from the paintings in the museum come to life and take revenge. Yeah. I don't know what to make of the shenanigans that take place in Meatcleaver Massacre either, and I was also very depressed by the fact that no one was actually killed by a meat cleaver. Even on the cover of the VHS box, there is clearly a fucking meat cleaver behind that hand\claw and the four college jackasses heads as fingers. It makes as much sense as the movie does. None. 

Christopher Lee introducing us into a tale of the occult. While in a blazer and plaid pants.

 All of this fury better be in this film.

Monty Python was never this evil.

 What straight guy burns a deck of porno poker cards?

It's hard to snag some pelt when you're plastered.

Next dog I get, his name is going to be poopers.

Thugs with nylons over their faces really unsettles me.

Everything is devoid of color all of a sudden.

  Trust me, I've been there. It's real difficult.

How can I take this picture seriously when this guy just got whacked by an aloe plant in the desert.

Well, I'm glad that realizing that you're late for work can break that dark spell of wanting to slit your wrists.

 Nothing is sacred or sane in Meatcleaver Massacre. The scene where one of the college guys is really concentrating on wanting to commit suicide and then looks down at his watch and proclaims "oh shit, I'm late for work" is literally the extent of seriousness that this film takes you. If you ever have the chance to experience this strange slab of horror cinema, by all means, give it a go. You'll probably question life and the meaning of it the entire time your sitting through this, and to me that's what actually makes this film enjoyable to a certain degree. It achieves the point of it all by taking you out of your real life for 78 minutes, swallowing you up and spitting you out on the other side questioning why any of us even exist. That, zits and zombies is true art. Hey... full circle. Maybe Christopher Lee would want to go on a man date to that museum. Nah. That would never happen.

Thursday, February 2, 2017

Loony in the Woods

I'm sick of getting suckered into watching this bullshit. All I can really say about Loony in the Woods is that I fucking hated it. There isn't really anything hilarious or funny about some redneck douche in a ski-mask with holes cut out for his ears kidnapping and killing the stupidest characters I've ever wasted 69 minutes on. Yeah, the run time is 69 minutes. And no, that's not part of a joke. That just happens to be the length of this Troma-trash. Honestly, I'm running out of insults and harsh words or metaphors to portray these endurance-draining pieces of shit, so I'm just going to say this... don't watch this. Just fucking don't. 

Am I playing Skyrim with winter gloves on? What the hell is going on here?

 Hatchet in the head.

Twitchiest, geekiest, most self-absorbed aerobics instructor of all time.

It's so hard to find good help these days. And back in the 80's apparently.

Someone has an unhealthy obsession with dead chickens.

Aww, I love beagles!

Somehow, that was the most out of place VW advert ever slapped into a movie.

"We got burgers or stew. Rabbit stew."

Robotic neck brace guy is about to die.

I've come to the realization that every character in this film just needs to fucking die already.

Fashion choices including flannel, jeans, tennis shoes, a rope and winter gloves definitely are not for the faint of heart.

Here's the intelligence level of Loony in the Woods-the robot neck brace guy's name is Buttons because he has a button on his neck that makes really idiotic noises and allows him to express himself through the magic of repeating the same fucking phrases over and over again. That's it. I'm sticking with the main IP's from Troma's catalogue and that's it. I'm done wasting my time with anything that has to do with them unless it has the names Toxic Avenger or Class of Nuke'em High plastered all over it. Other than that, the New Jersey giant is dead to me. Move along, there's nothing else to see here.