So I went to see The Descent tonight. A gaggle of cameltoed chicks spelunking their way through uncharted caverns laden with ghoulish possum headed broccoli babies and pitfalls by the oodles.
Can you say "Snap"?
(As in bones crunching...)
After snazzy but lame trailers for Saw 3 and Texas Chainsaw Massacre retread, I was wowed and amazed by what I saw. Although only female characters, the writing was sizzlin'...
Until the end. The very last scene/scare is just as unnecessary as the fact that they practically telegraphed it beforehand/leading up to it. It just cheapened it for me a tad. Otherwise, it would have stood out nicely. Thankfully, it didn't even have any T&A in it. I give it a solid B+ for the sweet semi tasteful gore and edge of your seat fast paced...ness. You get the picture, right?
Just leave when she starts sobbing by the road at the end. Before she looks into the passenger seat really slowly...
Still missing Russ, saw his death notice in the "net" paper, still feels unreal. I'm probably going to hit Springfield early evening tomorrow, see some people, crash somewhere, maybe with sis, and go to his funeral the next day.
There is a spot in the back of my head that feels like someone is putting minor electrical charges through it, and I feel the sensation of falling, but in a bad way. Like I am gonna splatter all over.
Death blows. I'm glad I never died by any accidental/purposeful means. But the alternative isn't all it's cracked up to be. Outlive everybody and feel the pain of their death.
Yay!!! Our purpose in life is to die and ultimately be forgotten, or if lucky, perverted by historians or (at best) gossipy mentally challenged descendents. Double yay!!!
I've heard that hearing the true MEANING OF LIFE is maddening to the mortal mind. Isn't this maddening enough? A lifetime of near bursts of greatness followed by crushing defeat, wearing away slowly at your lifemeter, not to mention your resolve. What a way to go.
Doomed, I say!!!
If you are lucky, you find God from wherever you stashed him way back at the end of childhood innocence. You can dust him off and hope that you either don't need him for a long time or you can hold up the facade long enough to slip into those pearly gates lest you backslide into sick depravity yet again. Comfort is nice. No one likes to go knowing that this is it. Maybe I will take that route myself some day, maybe not. Either way, we all gonna find out.
Who is behind the door? Jesus? Bhudda? Burt Convy?
Who, damnit?!?!?!?
Whoever you are, I am not amused. But I'm just being realistic.
You must be though...
amused, that is...
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