Since my sense of humor can be a little hard to understand, I want to make one thing absolutely clear: Rob Zombie’s Halloween II is terrible. It is seriously the worst movie that I have seen this year. It isn’t even enjoyable in a “so bad it’s good” way; it just sucks. Do not go to see this movie. Do not let your friends see this movie. Frankly, I’m thinking about picketing outside the theater, hoping to save one or two souls the torment of sitting through this thing. I might buy tickets to other movies and pass them out, just to keep this waste of celluloid from being seen.

I want to punch Rob Zombie in the face with a meat cleaver, and then share similar feelings with all of the people who helped him unleash this disaster on the unsuspecting public. Fortunately, according to the logic of this movie, the only thing I have to do is start wandering aimlessly through a field somewhere, and my rage will draw me inexorably toward my victim. Or some crap. I don’t know.

Anyway, here’s a recap of the stuff that I managed to stay awake for:

Rob Zombie: Let’s see… I need a symbol to represent the raw, animalistic power of Michael Myers’ rage. Something powerful, primal, and frightening. Something that will resonate with the audience, something that will compliment the character’s iconic status. I know! A white horse! OoooOoooOoooOooo!

Thomas: Wait, what? The symbol of Michael Myers’ demonic bloodlust, the visual representation of his furious, uncontrollable rage, is a freaking pony? And did you just make a ghost sound?

Rob Zombie: Yes, and yes. But wait! Look, the horse is totally legit! It says so right here, in this book I found in the “Piss off your parents by pretending your a pagan” section of the bookstore! Heck, I’ll even insert a screen full of text, so people know that a prancing white pony is scary!

Screen Full Of Text: The prancing white pony is scary and meaningful and totally not ridiculous. -Some Book Rob Zombie May Have Made Up

Thomas: Look, whatever. Get on with the killing. Just don’t keep showing the stupid thing every five minutes, and we’ll forget it happened, okay?

Prancing White Pony: Actually, I’m on screen more than anyone else in the movie.

Thomas: facepalm

Rob Zombie: Okay, what’s next? Let’s see… character development. I don’t want to be too predictable, so I think I’ll remove everything that was innocent, admirable, or even likable about Laurie Strode, and surround her with a bunch of equally annoying, forgettable characters.

Thomas: Good idea. The audience really doesn’t want anyone to root for, anyway.

Rob Zombie: I know, right? It’s all, nihilistic and stuff. I’m so deep!

Thomas: Yeah, you’re Friedrich freaking Nietzsche. Well, let’s check in on what everyone’s been doing since the last movie, when Laurie Strode shot Michael Myers point blank in the face with a handgun.

Dr. Loomis: had made a fortune selling a single book about a serial killer that offed, what, maybe ten people? The DC Sniper was more prolific that Michael Myers, and people didn’t even remember him until I just mentioned him. But whatever, Loomis is rich rich rich, and has become a massively conceited, fame-whoring jerk.

Michael Myers: is surprisingly ambulatory for a dead guy, which teaches us the following lesson: if you have to shoot your furiously strong, unbelievably resilient, psychotic brother, shoot him until the gun is empty. And then go and get another gun, and shoot him until that’s empty. Then cut off his head.

Michael Myers Mommy: is also surprisingly active for a dead woman. Also, she wants Michael to kill Laurie for some reason. And she hangs out with the Prancing White Pony.

Rob Zombie: OoooOoooOoooOooo!

Thomas: Shut up.

Laurie Strode: is doing quite well, really. Since her family, and most of her friends, were murdered right in front of her eyes, she’s living with the Sheriff and his daughter. She’s got a medicine cabinet full of drugs (mostly legal), a tramp stamp, and some slutty new friends to replace her slutty dead friends. Also, she wakes up screaming. Every. Single. Night. Picture of mental health, this one.

Rob Zombie: Okay, now that we’re all caught up, off to the hospital we go!

Thomas: Huh, that’s surprising. I really didn’t expect him to follow the plot of the original, loved, and respected Halloween sequel. I really expected him to film whatever random crap dropped out of his drug-addled brain the night they started shooting.

Michael Myers: murders the entire hospital in a raging display of visceral, hateful violence, tracks Laurie to her hiding place, proves surprisingly immune to the old “I can’t see you, so you can’t see me” ruse, and begins to literally tear apart the building his little sister is hiding in. He raises his axe, and prepares to bring it crashing down into Laurie’s soft, vulnerable flesh, and…

Rob Zombie: Surprise, that was all just a dream! You really didn’t think I was going to follow the plot of that lame original, did you?

Thomas: <mutter> All right, what next?

Rob Zombie: Well, you’ll never believe what dropped out of my drug-addled brain the night they started shooting…

Thomas: sonofa…

Michael Myers: really isn’t Michael Myers. He isn’t The Shape, he doesn’t even wear the mask the whole time. He’s just an angry homeless guy with impulse control issues. And he sees visions of his dead mother, and her Prancing…

Rob Zombie: OoooOoooOoooOooo!

Thomas: Stop. That.

Rob Zombie: Whatever, dude. Okay, time for some more killing. Hey, watch Mike stab these redneck hillbillies!

Thomas: Where did they come from?

Rob Zombie: Who cares? They’re getting murdered! Isn’t that exciting?

Thomas: Well, no, not really.

Rob Zombie: Well someone needs to lighten up. Anyway, lets have some arial shots of Mike walking through some fields, tracking down his sister. Isn’t he like a force of nature? Look at the way he walks!

Thomas: Yeah, he sure is… putting one foot in front of the other there. Where is Laurie, anyway? I mean, it looks like they’re in the middle of nowhere, but the Sheriff is still the Sheriff. But no one seems to know her, or what happened to her, which seems kind of odd, if they stayed in Haddonfield.

Rob Zombie: Haddonfield? Look, I’m not sure where she is. What’s important is that Mike is coming to get her!

Thomas: Wait, you don’t know where she is, and you wrote this thing, but Michael has like, what, super sister stalking powers or something? Family murdering GPS?

Prancing White Pony: Actually, I lead him there.

Rob Zombie: OoooOoooOoooOooo!

Thomas: I swear to God… And you’re a hallucination! How are you leading him anywhere?

Prancing White Pony: Um… whinny, neigh, etc.

Rob Zombie: So, on to the strip club! Look, it’s where Mike’s mom used to work, it says so right there on the side of the building! “The mother of some guy who killed like five people used to take her clothes off here!” And Mike’s killing everyone inside. All three of them!

Thomas: Why?

Rob Zombie: He’s retracing his steps, recreating his past. Its the inevitable cycle of doom! The circle of life! Isn’t that deep?

Thomas: No. And if you start singing an Elton John song, I promise you I will burn down this theater.

Rob Zombie: Okay, okay, okay, check this out! I’ve got this totally awesome hillbilly stoner thirty-year-olds-playing-teenagers halloween rave party scene! And look… Mike is totally killing Laurie’s best friend!

Thomas: What? There are like five hundred people at that party, and Michael just happens to murder the one person there with a connection to Laurie? Can he smell her on her clothes or something?

Rob Zombie: Creepy, huh? Just wait until the Extended Directors Cut, where Mike also kills Laurie’s mailman, the guy who works the register at the grocery store where Laurie shops, a guy who happened to get gas at the same pump Laurie had used seven days ago, everyone who’s asked Laurie to be their friend on Facebook, and this guy who saw Laurie in the mall for like ten seconds and thought she was kind of cute.

Thomas: Fantastic. Can we get on with this?

Rob Zombie: Sure! Okay, let’s kill the Sheriff’s daughter, Laurie’s other friend, and a random guy who stops his car to see if the hysterical, blood covered girl laying in the middle of the road is all right. Surprise! Mike’s got Laurie! Time for the hostage negotiations!

Thomas: What? The whole point of the Michael Myers character is that he is a manifestation of pure evil. He cannot be stopped, and he cannot be bargained with. Once you’re in his sights, you are going to die, unless you’re his kid sister, in which case you’re only going to be emotionally scarred for life.

Dr. Loomis: I saw the hostage standoff from my five star hotel in New York, and traveled all the way to… wherever we are… in five minutes in order to negotiate with Michael! Let me talk to him!

Cops: Screw you, famehound. We’re going to do the negotiating. With bullets.

Dr. Loomis: No, that might prove effective! Let me charge into the room unarmed, and begin shouting commands at the man I have called The Devil Incarnate, and screaming at his catatonic, epileptic, french maid sister!

Thomas: French maid?

Laurie Strode: Halloween, remember? This is my costume. My scanty, scanty costume. Also: twitch, convulse, scream.

Michael Myers: kills Dr. Loomis. By… shaking him? Violently?

Laurie Strode: says “I love you, brother,” then stabs Michael repeatedly. Oh, and she also hallucinates her dead mother. Who she cannot possibly have any memory of.

Thomas: Well, thank God that’s over. At least you didn’t try to pull some kind of a switch, like making Laurie…

Laurie Strode: puts on Michael’s mask.

Thomas: No. NO. This is crap. You are not allowed to do this.

Laurie Strode: is in a mental institution.

Thomas: You prick…

Laurie Strode: sees the dead mother she cannot possibly have a memory of, standing next to a Prancing White Pony.

Rob Zombie: OoooOoooOoooOooo!

Thomas: begins to twitch uncontrollably. Damn it, Zombie! What the hell?

Rob Zombie: Wait, wait, there’s some photos playing behind the credits! Maybe I have a special extra scene in here somewhere! Don’t you want to say and watch?

Thomas: No. No, I do not. What I want to do, is track you down, destroy everything that you hold lovely, slowly murder you, and then display your body as a warning to anyone that is thinking about releasing a movie this terrible ever again.

Rob Zombie: See! The evil is contagious! It’s spreading to you! Just like in my deep, insightful movie!

Thomas: starts looking for edged weapons…

Here’s an example of the kinds of conversations you have when you’re a z-list internet blogger:

Friend: Hahaha! You know how you’re always saying that you hate kids, and would make like the worst father in the world since this guy? [ed. Yes, my friends and I do talk in HTML; it's a developer thing.]

Thomas: Yeah?

Friend: Haha, there’s this facebook group called “Let’s Sterilize Thomas!” You should totally join!

Thomas: Um, did you actually look at that group?

Friend: No, why?

Thomas: Just click the link.

Friend: Okay… clicky

Thomas: waits for it.

Friend: …WTF? That’s… your picture. [ed. We talk in common Internet abbreviations, also. I know a girl that says "El Oh El" instead of laughing.]

Thomas: Yep.

Friend: This… this group… is about you? Like, really about you, specifically?

Thomas: Yep.

Friend: There’s an internet site dedicated to making sure you never have children?

Thomas: Yep.

Friend: …I don’t even… that’s just… what?

Thomas: Welcome to my life, friend. Welcome to my life.

So that was kind of cool. The ensuing discussion about the various anatomical modifications that could be made to achieve the group’s purpose, on the other hand, was pretty much the verbal equivalent of “bad touch, do not want.”

“I’ve made my ruling. You can celebrate Christmas publicly. You just can’t celebrate it as the birth of Christ.” – Judge Henry Bone, Picket Fences

“Violent Sci-Fi & Fantasy: Suggested because you like: Sci-Fi & Fantasy, Violence” -Netflix

I know that this is… thirty-three years late, but they’re talking about making another Vampire Chronicles movie, and there are rumors that Robert Downey, Jr. is being tapped to play the twenty-something, blond, bisexual vampire known as Lestat de Lioncourt. A brief discussion this afternoon lead me to summarize Interview with the Vampire thusly:

<blockquote>
     Woe is me! I am a monster! And wearied by the endless passing of the years! Emo, emo, emo! (repeat for three hundred and forty pages)
</blockquote>

The description:
We all know him and love him, but as loyal friends we must do what is right and protect Thomas and the future of our earth from himself.

The latest news:
In a recent interview with Mr. Galvin, he said “I am fully aware of the fact that I am completely unqualified to care for, raise, or influence the development of a child. Or a dog, for that matter.” Clearly, there is hope in the prevention of spawn.

The next upcoming event:
The Intervention and Forceful Enrollment of Thomas Galvin into a Monastery

The group:
Let’s Sterilize Thomas!

I got my oil changed before driving to New York City last week, because… well, it seemed like a good idea. I happened to look over the invoice, and noticed a line that said “Power Steering Fluid: Full.” I nodded to myself, happy that I would, indeed, be able to steer. Powerfully.

Yesterday, my car started making a squealing noise. “That’s odd,” I said to myself, “that sounds like my power steering fluid is low.”

This morning, I woke up to find my power steering fluid gone. This leaves me with one of two possible conclusions: someone broke into my garage a few nights ago, and siphoned out some of my power steering fluid, and then came back last night to finish the job, or, the process that the oil… changer… guys… used to check my car involved ripping the bloody hose off, noting the discharge of precious, viscous fluid, and checking the box that indicated power steering fluid had, indeed, been present when the oil change commenced.

This was a Jiffy-Lube type place, too, so it wasn’t like they were trying to scam me into buying a new hose or anything.

On the bright side, I have strong arms and a nearby Wal-Mart, and was able to resolve this problem with $3.17 worth of power steering fluid and stop-leak, as opposed to a $317 tow-and-bugger courtesy of Triple A and my mechanic. Also, since I am absolutely clueless when it comes to what happens beneath the hood of my car – I assume it involves tiny little ponies, and a guy dressed in old Western clothes driving them on – I’m kind of impressed that I recognized the “hey, someone siphoned out my power steering fluid” noise.

Also, I really wish I had a good synonym for “power steering fluid,” because I’m really sick of writing that particular phrase.

When I was in Middle School, I wrote a paper for my English class and used a pair of dashes (en dashes, if there is such a thing in handwriting, because I draw them tiny) to offset a parenthetical thought in one of my sentences. My English teacher circled them, and noted that “these are dashes, used to offset a parenthetical thought.” And I was just like… yeah, that’s why I did that, thanks for noticing.

I’m sorry. I have no idea what made me think of that. If it makes you feel better, these people have spent way more time thinking about this topic than I have.

Oh, and I always use a hyphen when I’m typing. I’ll actually go back and change it if it gets auto-corrected. I hate “smart quotes,” too.

Anyway…

I bought so much protein poweder this month that my bank flagged it as a fraudulent transaction. That kind of makes me proud. Somewhere, someone looked at my billing statement and said to themselves, “there is no way that a single human being can need this much protein. My kidneys hurt just thinking about it.” and pressed the “OMG FRAUD” button on his computer.

When that happens, the payment still goes through – so I still get my delicious, delicious whey casein blend – but I also get a call from the Fraud Busters Department, who I always picture as wearing a t-shirt with a logo on it, like the Neighborhood Watch.

Anyway, I don’t answer my phone if I don’t have the number in my phone book – or even if I do, usually, since I hate talking on the phone – so I let the FBD go voicemail. A few minutes later, I listened to, well…

“Hello Mr. Thomas, this is Steve.” I made that out quite distinctly. I also took note of the fact that “Steve” was lying to me, because people named “Steve” talk in charming Boston accents, and not like a resident of the United States of Dell’s Outsourced Customer Service.

He then proceeded to tell me about the suspected protein-based skullduggery, and then asked me to call him back, with an “Issue Tracking Code,” to confirm my purchase was legitimate, or let lose the dogs of fraudulent charging war, as appropriate.

At least, that’s what I assume he said. What I heard was “HELLOMRTHOMASHOWAREYOUDOINGTODAY WENOTICEDSOMESUSPICIOUSACTIVIYONYOURACCOUNT <deep breath> ANDWEWOULDLIKEYOUTOCALLUSBACKAT NUMBERSNUMBERNUMBERS <quick breath> WITHCONFIRMATIONCODE NUMBERSNUMBERNUMBERS VICTOR CHARLIE SEVEN,” in the thickest Indian accent this side of Pakistan, and I swear to God that he actually said “Victor Charlie Seven” at the end of it. I just don’t know.

So I finally was able to figure out what number they wanted me to call, after listening to the message thirty or forty times. A helpful woman named “Lisa,” who is totally from America, thank you very much, asked me for my Issue Tracking Code. And since I’m pretty much the biggest jerk in the world, I said “sure; it’s AUUUUUUUUURRRAGH MUMBLE VOWELSOUND VICTOR CHARLIE SEVEN.”

“I see, sir, “she said. “May I have your social security number, please?”

“If you want to win a woman’s heart, tell her you’re gay and only want to be friends.” -Matt Bors

Some people perform an exercise called “concentration curls,” which is a way of isolating the biceps in order to achieve maximum stimulation and, hopefully, growth. Other, less dedicated people perform an exercise I call “conversation curls,” which is where you do a set of curls – excuse me, blast your guns – and then talk to your friends for the next half hour. This exercise is typically performed by frat boys, and boys who wish they could belong to a frat, but had trouble learning the Greek alphabet.

Like the guys hanging out at the gym tonight. I was by the dumbbells, working my chest, for close to half an hour. There were there when I started, and still there when I left, and I saw them do two exercises: curls and triceps extensions.

First, you will note that they hit both muscle groups: “muscles I think will convince a girl to take her clothes off,” (the biceps) and “muscles I think will convince a girl to take her clothes off is she’s looking at me from behind” (the triceps).

Second, you’re probably thinking that these fine specimens took turns doing curls and extensions. If so, you haven’t been reading my blog long enough, because you still have some sort of faith in humanity. No, one of them did one set of curls, and one of them did one set of extensions. And it took them half an hour to do it.

Pop quiz: if you saw a decline bench with a set of dumbbells laying next to it, a set of straps draped over it, and a large, sweaty, out of breath Irish powerlifter standing, oh, three feet away from it, how would you react? If you answered “kick his dumbbells out of the way, throw his straps on the ground, change the height of the bench, and then act all indignant when the large, angry man says ‘I’m using that,’” one, you’re too wordy, and two, you would fit right in at my gym.

Bonus question: if you were doing six or seven million sets of curls, where would you stand? If you answered “as close to the dumbbell rack as humanly possible, so that anyone else who wants to use a weight will either have to wait for me to finish, ask me to move my mentally handicapped hind quarters out of the way, or stare at me with eyes that would make the Devil himself wet his pants in fear until I said ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Thomas, it won’t happen again,’” you, too, would be a fine member of my physical fitness establishment.

“Jesus and I agreed to see other people, but that don’t mean we still don’t talk time to time.” -Lafayette Reynolds