So, my younger brother comes over and fixes the doors on my car. PLUS..
Then he starts to lecture me on how 'I just don't want to work' and how I NEED to go out to the local school district and apply as a substitute teacher. (Apparently, he's (a.) forgotten that the problem with my legs hurts so much, and episodes occur out of the blue ofter enough that I keep Vicodin around to deal with the pain, and (b.) that this - 'me supposedly not wanting to work' - wasn't such a big deal from 1999 to 2006, when our parents were still alive and (especially in the case of my father) needed 24/7 supervision, couldn't really afford it and (in the case of my father) was such a pain that no one else in the family could or would set their lives aside to come in and act as caretaker. (You cannot divine the depths of jerkitude my father could descend to. The local senior citizens agency that provided him with part-time caretakers informed him that they would no longer do so - after he'd gone through seven or eight - because 'he was too hard on the workers.' I could tell you stories. Just use your imagination.) It's okay for me to have a disfiguring, painful condition when it benefits all others concerned in that you can't manage to escape your surroundings and are basically stuck with the short straw... but when I'm no longer needed to take care of the bastard - pull yourself up by your own bootlaces! You know you can - and by the way, you need to think about getting someone in your life, too! MINUS in negative numbers.
I got an agent based on my latest screenplay. PLUS.
In the script coverage I had done on the script, they liked the script but had some serious problems in terms of the placement of a couple of plot points. Also, the reader wasn't too crazy about the morals and ethics of the main character, but liked the original tone of the characters and the overall concept. They said I need to cut the page length and ease up on the descriptive tone, but really liked the romance in the script and the ending. They even liked the jokes, specifically mentioning how the set-ups paid off well. Nevertheless, they graded it as a 'pass' - but specifically said that rewrites could make this into a quality script. PLUS.
I hate working with kids - especially teenage kids - who don't want to learn, who aren't motivated and are dedicated to the concept of remaining unmotivated and ignorant. If you've caught any of my chapters of Legion of Lawndale Heroes (the excellent Daria/Legion of Super-Heroes crossover fic started in 2005 on the Sheep's Fluff Message Board by the Daria fanfic writer Roentgen) and read up on the character of Colonel Armalin, you might pick that attitude up. Maybe. Minus.
I hate the idea that people want you to assimilate into the social strata and become 'one of the group'. Okay, kiddies...
"Strength is irrelevant. Resistance is futile. We wish to improve ourselves. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service ours."
That's science fiction. I like being an individual and going on my own path, and I have no desire to lemming off a cliff because YOU say 'that's what's best for me.' HOW THE FRAK WOULD YOU KNOW? Do what's best for yourself, and make recommendations for others... oh, I can't stand this part of the 'starving artist' program. You know, the 'poor and in a bit of pain' part. It allows the baseline-normals to think they're superior to you and bitch-slap you around verbally. They're not aware of a wonderful Hollywood maxim that almost everyone in the industry knows: 'Be careful of the toes you step on today - they may be attached to the ass you'll be kissing tomorrow.' The average person doesn't think like that... which is why they beg, cry and plead like stck pigs when the blisteringly unpleasant concept known as 'payback' is brought to their attention in a particularly heinous manner.
Yes, I like money, sex and walking down the street without having oh-so-powerful individuals with their $50-60,000+ jobs for Caterpillar, the hospitals and the city or the state looking down their noses at me. - but we must relearn walking before we get back to bedroom acrobatics. The nukes from orbit will come later.
It all balances out. Have a nice day.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
This week just SUCKS!
It really did - talk about a waste out of my life - there goes five days I'll never get back!
Why? Never mind - it just sucks. However, in the spirit of what truly defines America - communal anguish - I now present a video clip that will allow all of you to sharn in my annoyance in the Asrroglide-free rampaging buttsecks that has been the past week:
Why? Never mind - it just sucks. However, in the spirit of what truly defines America - communal anguish - I now present a video clip that will allow all of you to sharn in my annoyance in the Asrroglide-free rampaging buttsecks that has been the past week:
That's right, ladies - despite what people say in the truly politically correct vein, physical attractiveness IS an important part of everyday life - and those who say differently are liars, deluding themselves (and you) or simply trying to make you feel better so they can get something from you, out of you, or into you. Guys - if you're not dating or married to someone who looks like this - you probably won't be, and if you are, enjoy it, because as soon as she gets the chance, she's leaving you with a lot of your finances and possessions, so she can be vigorously serviced by someone younger, more virile and more physically attractive that you've ever been, even in your best daydreams or fantasies!
Now, I'll go clean up around the place, and take out the garbage. I'll probably put a comedy on later.
Laughter. This is a good thing.
Monday, January 21, 2008
And now, for something completely different...
...than one would expect for a person of color to post on Martin Luther King's birthday.
Yeah. This is from the animated MTV series Daria, and one of the most celebrated episodes ever - Quinn The Brain. I've always liked to think that this moment from the show proves two major plot points that many people don't like to think about (well, the ones who are in the 'Daria's an unattractive girl, and we wish people woukd stop portraying her in that manner!' camp):
1. Daria is an attractive girl who could EASILY compete with her younger sister Quinn in terms of looks, popularity and just having herself a slobbering he-harem of guys at her beck and call. Let's be honest - Daria in Quinn's day uniform? She'd have the boys begging for her to notice that they exist!
2. Several seconds after Daria walked past Quinn's room like this, and Quinn heard their dad call out those fateful words ("Daria, your dates are here!") Quinn relented her poser, pseudo-intellectual phase. She knows which side her bread's buttered on... and more importantly - who has her own butterfly knife.
3. The events of Quinn The Brain are canon. No disputing them because of the plot, and unlike episodes like Depth Takes A Holiday or Daria!, there's no disputing them because, well, the writers may have been smoking a couple of blunts loaded up with B.C. bud while working that word processor. (Yes, I know I said two - but, then again, that's just me.)
Finally, IMHO, Daria's cuter than Quinn - and from fanfic, Quinn's a screamer while Daria's a breather. Advantage - Daria.
Of course, your results and perversions may vary - but then again, isn't that what today is all about? (Okay, not really, but if you can't piss people off slightly during a national holiday that many people are STILL annoyed about (and many more are, but are afraid to mention it aloud for fear of, well, whatever they're afraid of happening to them) - then when CAN you piss them off?
Just remember, kids - it's always better to be pissed off... than pissed on.
Happy MLK, Jr.Day, everyone.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Sometimes, I really wish that I COULD go insane...
Well. My younger brother went through outpatient surgery on Tuesday for a torn rotator cuff (I think that's what the doc said) in his left shoulder. They got ride of bone spurs and some other things, also, and then, hooked him up with a self-medicating pump. Oh, yeah. From what I've seen before, he's in real pain.
My most painful part of the episode is when, listening to him talk to the intake clerk, as to HOW he was hurt. Apparently, on his job (he's a teaching assistant at one of the local high schools) he and several other people were trying to catch a bat, and in the process of dealing with The Dark Knight, hurt his shoulder. Of course, Workman's Comp is covering everything.
This is where I get semi-snarky. Oh, and trust me when I say that I'm not bitter - I'm just PISSED OFF!
We now enter the Wayback Machine and head back to Early June of 1998. I'm at work (I was a TV producer at a non-profit here, behind the Corn Curtain). It's after five on a Friday afternoon, and believe me - I wouldn't be here, except for the fact that Commander McBragg ( not his real name - the Executive Director of the non-profit I worked for) made it very clear that we were to finish up the commercials for his own personal radio show. Dilbert (my boss - not real name), my boss, wants to leave, so he takes off a few minutes early.
This is where the 'you know, you were so STUPID!' sign should have lit up. I should have left as he did (after all, he's the boss, and if things aren't finished, well, feces do follow the naural incline of highly-elevated rock formations as gravity allows, correct?) No... I'm trying to be a good worker. Just as I finish up, I get bitten on the inner right ankle by a spider.
Peter Parker gets bitten by a spider, he becomes the Number Three superhero of all time, and the signature hero of Marvel Comics (not to mention the 'modern take' on superheroes started in the 1960's)... do I even have to mention the hot redhead? I get bitten by a spider, and well, let's just say that the last decade of my life has been, with a few minor moments otherwise... unpleasant.
Long story short. I couldn't work any longer at the job (after suffering for thirteen months trying to continue, getting NO medical assistance from the company and visibly getting worse - I should have made them fire me), I get NO assistance from the company or Workman's Comp (I'll write a movie on that one day) and basically, the world turns its collective back on me.
Lawyers? HAH! Not a one of them has been a bit of help! Yes, I know the correct quotation from Shakespheare, and oh, when he says that you were never your own man since, he speaks the Truth of the Ages.
I've never met a lawyer that I've liked. Perhaps it's just prejudice based on my own experiences, but the more I've experienced The Law and it's warrior-priests- and -priestesses, the more I agree with William W. Johnstone's character of Ben Raines. Also, the more I've experienced Lawyers, the more I laugh at the collective fantasies of law shows on television... especially lawyers that are driven to help people, and who (while wanting to make more than a decent living - a laudable goal) are less about making money and more about actually helping people who need it by acting as their guides and protectors through that which we know as The Legal Process. Tell me something - when you graduate from law school and pass the bar, do they take your soul out of your body and implant a demon within, the way they do in the Buffyverse? It would explain the last decade...
Of course, there was one exception. That guy helped me when there was absolutely no reason for him to, and there was no profit in it for him. To him, and the few lawyers that actually bring honor to a profession sorely in need of same... thank you.
The rest of you counselors can go fuck yourselves. Bit of a change from fucking over the rest of Humanity, and the occasional pig, goat, sheep or uncle that you occasionally indulge in.
Back on track. Aparently, in Peoria, Illinois, catching bats is part of the stated job duties of a teaching assistant, because Workman's Comp covers it, but if you're a TV producer and you get bitten by a brown recluse spider while at your desk doing the duties that the top man in the organization specifically stated you were supposed to complete - and that you otherwise wouldn't have been there to BE bitten in the first place - you're not entitled to compensation, because your job description doesn't cover being in places where you could encounter a poisonous spider.
For one moment, let's overlook the passage in my employment contract that I laughing referred to as the KKK - 'the Kunta Kinte Klause' - because it specifically states that your supervisors can ask you to perform any duties outside your normal job description as they may reqire. Instead, let's look at a partial list of duties that I performed as a producer for the non-profit I worked for as a TV producer:
* event videography, where I covered minority-based talent shows for long periods of time (say 7-10+ hours) in a park during late summer. Poisonous insects, angry attendees, gangbangers, sweltering heat, and basically standing still for hours while pointing a camera at people who only THINK that they're talented (although a few good acts do appear sporadically).
* video surveillance, in wwhich I was ordered, over the course of several days, to videotape the renovation of a recretion area in order to ensure that EEOC regulations were being carried out in that minority workers were being employed on the site.
* The (thankfully nixed) idea my immediate supervisor had of doing a story on drugs, with our filming actual drug deals taking place.
So, naturally, given the above, being bitten by a spider is MY fault.
Sometimes, over the past decade, I've been able to understand those shooters who go into workplaces and shoot the bosses. I DON'T condone it by any means whatsoever... but after almost ten years of advancing lymphedema, lower legs swollen up to the size of a Hollywood starlet's waist, lots and lots of pain, people looking down their noses at me AND with the news that TPTB deemed my brother's bat-catching worthy of medical care but being bitten by a poisonous spider while typing at my desk isn't... yeah. I can understand.
I guess I SHOULD be thankful. In a conversation that I had with the insurance adjuster, an unpleasant woman named 'Uncaring Insurance Adjustor Bitch', she mentioned that I was not to be compensated because 'even though I was injured ON the job, I was not injured BECAUSE of the job. Flabbergasted, I asked, 'Let's change things around. Let's say that - instead of being bitten by a poisonous spider, I was at my desk, doing my job, and someone came in and shot me. Would you compensate me then?"
Her answer: "No. We wouldn't."
The Law is horrible because of people like her - and Arctic Thigh Sweats, the Arbitrater for the Workman's Comp commission here in Peoria, who made the comment just before my drumhead WC trial "You're offered $10,000. I think it's a good deal, your lawyer thinks it's a good deal - do you think that you know more about it than us?"
Well, considering that I wasn't looking for money (aside for lawyer's fees) but instead wanted my medical bills paid and medical care provided to help me get back to work... yeah. Hey, Jackass and Jerkoff, my (laughs hysterically) 'lawyers', were only in it for the money, too - and then, threw the case last January.
A former friend phrased it perfectly: 'The Law, under normal circumstances, is not designed to serve the people who abide by it."
Oh, yeah. Commander McBragg - the Director? Annoying and morally unclean on two counts:
(a.) In the thirteen months between the injury and my leaving, he never even once asked 'How are you? Are you okay?'
(b.) A little over a year before I was hurt, he did an interview on the TV show I produced for his company, and he talked about his time in the Marine Corps. He mentioned about not being treated well, and how he promised himself that, someday, if he were in thesame position, he wouldn't treat his people the same way he was treated.
You know, lie to other people if you have to. If you must. If you feel that you can get away with it.
However... please don't lie to yourself. I mean, if you take a blood oath (which is what he did, in his own phrasing) and then go back on it... just because you don't like someone. That's when they lose respect for you. I mean, look - I'm a dick. I freely admit that - but I honor my word. (That's left me high and dry on a couple of occasions, but your word is your word.) If you don't want to go back on your word, then don't give it - but if you do, you can't take it back 'because I don't like you as a person!' Watch The American President, and check out President Shepard's speech on defending free speech. America isn't a great country because - how did Kennedy say it? - we do things not because they are easy, but because they are hard. It's not easy to help someone who you don't like, and yet you know it's the right thing to do. Hey - I'll think you're crazy in some instances... but I'll respect you as a person - and when you're in the soup, I'll be there for you.
Do I even have to being up the issue of a Marine that doesn't keep his word? Do I really need to even go there?
And, returning back to Earth orbit of this post, my brother's back home. He's doing better; he's able to eat not, and he's managing the pain better, as well.
As for me... somehow, there's still a part of me that thinks that things will someday get better.
Of course, the rest of me looks at that other part and bluntly informs it that a belief such as that - or Anne Frank's belief that people really are good at heart - are in fact certain indicators of a spiritual immaturity that the perpetual bitch-slapping seminiar that we call Real Life will rectify in due course.
I really need a piece of sweet potato pie right about now... or maybe some steak fries...
Peanut butter sandwiches and beer. My idea of comfort food for dudes since college. That's what I could use, right about now.
A blow job wouldn't hurt, either. After the sandwiches and beer, though. One must maintain a healthy sense of priorities.
End of rant.
P.S. - Went back and changed the names of the guilty, at the advice of someone smarter than me. Allowed me to add a touch more snark to the post. Thanks, old boy.
My most painful part of the episode is when, listening to him talk to the intake clerk, as to HOW he was hurt. Apparently, on his job (he's a teaching assistant at one of the local high schools) he and several other people were trying to catch a bat, and in the process of dealing with The Dark Knight, hurt his shoulder. Of course, Workman's Comp is covering everything.
This is where I get semi-snarky. Oh, and trust me when I say that I'm not bitter - I'm just PISSED OFF!
We now enter the Wayback Machine and head back to Early June of 1998. I'm at work (I was a TV producer at a non-profit here, behind the Corn Curtain). It's after five on a Friday afternoon, and believe me - I wouldn't be here, except for the fact that Commander McBragg ( not his real name - the Executive Director of the non-profit I worked for) made it very clear that we were to finish up the commercials for his own personal radio show. Dilbert (my boss - not real name), my boss, wants to leave, so he takes off a few minutes early.
This is where the 'you know, you were so STUPID!' sign should have lit up. I should have left as he did (after all, he's the boss, and if things aren't finished, well, feces do follow the naural incline of highly-elevated rock formations as gravity allows, correct?) No... I'm trying to be a good worker. Just as I finish up, I get bitten on the inner right ankle by a spider.
Peter Parker gets bitten by a spider, he becomes the Number Three superhero of all time, and the signature hero of Marvel Comics (not to mention the 'modern take' on superheroes started in the 1960's)... do I even have to mention the hot redhead? I get bitten by a spider, and well, let's just say that the last decade of my life has been, with a few minor moments otherwise... unpleasant.
Long story short. I couldn't work any longer at the job (after suffering for thirteen months trying to continue, getting NO medical assistance from the company and visibly getting worse - I should have made them fire me), I get NO assistance from the company or Workman's Comp (I'll write a movie on that one day) and basically, the world turns its collective back on me.
Lawyers? HAH! Not a one of them has been a bit of help! Yes, I know the correct quotation from Shakespheare, and oh, when he says that you were never your own man since, he speaks the Truth of the Ages.
I've never met a lawyer that I've liked. Perhaps it's just prejudice based on my own experiences, but the more I've experienced The Law and it's warrior-priests- and -priestesses, the more I agree with William W. Johnstone's character of Ben Raines. Also, the more I've experienced Lawyers, the more I laugh at the collective fantasies of law shows on television... especially lawyers that are driven to help people, and who (while wanting to make more than a decent living - a laudable goal) are less about making money and more about actually helping people who need it by acting as their guides and protectors through that which we know as The Legal Process. Tell me something - when you graduate from law school and pass the bar, do they take your soul out of your body and implant a demon within, the way they do in the Buffyverse? It would explain the last decade...
Of course, there was one exception. That guy helped me when there was absolutely no reason for him to, and there was no profit in it for him. To him, and the few lawyers that actually bring honor to a profession sorely in need of same... thank you.
The rest of you counselors can go fuck yourselves. Bit of a change from fucking over the rest of Humanity, and the occasional pig, goat, sheep or uncle that you occasionally indulge in.
Back on track. Aparently, in Peoria, Illinois, catching bats is part of the stated job duties of a teaching assistant, because Workman's Comp covers it, but if you're a TV producer and you get bitten by a brown recluse spider while at your desk doing the duties that the top man in the organization specifically stated you were supposed to complete - and that you otherwise wouldn't have been there to BE bitten in the first place - you're not entitled to compensation, because your job description doesn't cover being in places where you could encounter a poisonous spider.
For one moment, let's overlook the passage in my employment contract that I laughing referred to as the KKK - 'the Kunta Kinte Klause' - because it specifically states that your supervisors can ask you to perform any duties outside your normal job description as they may reqire. Instead, let's look at a partial list of duties that I performed as a producer for the non-profit I worked for as a TV producer:
* event videography, where I covered minority-based talent shows for long periods of time (say 7-10+ hours) in a park during late summer. Poisonous insects, angry attendees, gangbangers, sweltering heat, and basically standing still for hours while pointing a camera at people who only THINK that they're talented (although a few good acts do appear sporadically).
* video surveillance, in wwhich I was ordered, over the course of several days, to videotape the renovation of a recretion area in order to ensure that EEOC regulations were being carried out in that minority workers were being employed on the site.
* The (thankfully nixed) idea my immediate supervisor had of doing a story on drugs, with our filming actual drug deals taking place.
So, naturally, given the above, being bitten by a spider is MY fault.
Sometimes, over the past decade, I've been able to understand those shooters who go into workplaces and shoot the bosses. I DON'T condone it by any means whatsoever... but after almost ten years of advancing lymphedema, lower legs swollen up to the size of a Hollywood starlet's waist, lots and lots of pain, people looking down their noses at me AND with the news that TPTB deemed my brother's bat-catching worthy of medical care but being bitten by a poisonous spider while typing at my desk isn't... yeah. I can understand.
I guess I SHOULD be thankful. In a conversation that I had with the insurance adjuster, an unpleasant woman named 'Uncaring Insurance Adjustor Bitch', she mentioned that I was not to be compensated because 'even though I was injured ON the job, I was not injured BECAUSE of the job. Flabbergasted, I asked, 'Let's change things around. Let's say that - instead of being bitten by a poisonous spider, I was at my desk, doing my job, and someone came in and shot me. Would you compensate me then?"
Her answer: "No. We wouldn't."
The Law is horrible because of people like her - and Arctic Thigh Sweats, the Arbitrater for the Workman's Comp commission here in Peoria, who made the comment just before my drumhead WC trial "You're offered $10,000. I think it's a good deal, your lawyer thinks it's a good deal - do you think that you know more about it than us?"
Well, considering that I wasn't looking for money (aside for lawyer's fees) but instead wanted my medical bills paid and medical care provided to help me get back to work... yeah. Hey, Jackass and Jerkoff, my (laughs hysterically) 'lawyers', were only in it for the money, too - and then, threw the case last January.
A former friend phrased it perfectly: 'The Law, under normal circumstances, is not designed to serve the people who abide by it."
Oh, yeah. Commander McBragg - the Director? Annoying and morally unclean on two counts:
(a.) In the thirteen months between the injury and my leaving, he never even once asked 'How are you? Are you okay?'
(b.) A little over a year before I was hurt, he did an interview on the TV show I produced for his company, and he talked about his time in the Marine Corps. He mentioned about not being treated well, and how he promised himself that, someday, if he were in thesame position, he wouldn't treat his people the same way he was treated.
You know, lie to other people if you have to. If you must. If you feel that you can get away with it.
However... please don't lie to yourself. I mean, if you take a blood oath (which is what he did, in his own phrasing) and then go back on it... just because you don't like someone. That's when they lose respect for you. I mean, look - I'm a dick. I freely admit that - but I honor my word. (That's left me high and dry on a couple of occasions, but your word is your word.) If you don't want to go back on your word, then don't give it - but if you do, you can't take it back 'because I don't like you as a person!' Watch The American President, and check out President Shepard's speech on defending free speech. America isn't a great country because - how did Kennedy say it? - we do things not because they are easy, but because they are hard. It's not easy to help someone who you don't like, and yet you know it's the right thing to do. Hey - I'll think you're crazy in some instances... but I'll respect you as a person - and when you're in the soup, I'll be there for you.
Do I even have to being up the issue of a Marine that doesn't keep his word? Do I really need to even go there?
And, returning back to Earth orbit of this post, my brother's back home. He's doing better; he's able to eat not, and he's managing the pain better, as well.
As for me... somehow, there's still a part of me that thinks that things will someday get better.
Of course, the rest of me looks at that other part and bluntly informs it that a belief such as that - or Anne Frank's belief that people really are good at heart - are in fact certain indicators of a spiritual immaturity that the perpetual bitch-slapping seminiar that we call Real Life will rectify in due course.
I really need a piece of sweet potato pie right about now... or maybe some steak fries...
Peanut butter sandwiches and beer. My idea of comfort food for dudes since college. That's what I could use, right about now.
A blow job wouldn't hurt, either. After the sandwiches and beer, though. One must maintain a healthy sense of priorities.
End of rant.
P.S. - Went back and changed the names of the guilty, at the advice of someone smarter than me. Allowed me to add a touch more snark to the post. Thanks, old boy.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
I hate the really weird dreams...
I really do. Woke up at just before six this morning, because I'd ridden out a TRULY weird one; I'd dreamed that I'd just watched the sequel to the 1984 cult classic Red Dawn, entitled Red Twilight. (Yes, I know that there's no such thing. It was a dream, remember?) In this one, the Spetznaz officer dispatched to Calumet, Colorado to ferret out the Wolverines had not died after being shot be Patrick Swayze's character, but survived to be a true pain in the ass to not only the people of the area, but to the sympathizers and collarborators within the Red Army and assisting forces' ranks, as well.
There was a sequence in the film (dream) where a Russian general was sympathetic to the resistance; the Hunter (that's how he referred to himself in the first film) laid a vicious trap for him and his friends that - man, I didn't know you could shoot so many people so many ways... remarkably, the General and his aide were still alive (even more amazing, the aide was only slightly wounded). In order to keep the General from being tortured and forced to give up information, the aide followed the General's orders and shot him just as the Hunter got to him; he then turned the gun on himself, but found that he'd used the last round on the General. The Hunter was pissed like you wouldn't believe; he shot up the General's body, then turned to the aide and said, "But you won't die anywhere near as easily..."
The way he said it made me almost lose control of my bladder functions. This guy was 'Anthony-class' scary - Perkins in Psycho, or Hopkins in The Silence of the Lambs... you take your pick.
The next scene opened with the aide being forced to run his left arm through this wall-mounted device that was a combination of grinding wheels that crushed down on and stung the victim's arm. The aide (poor man) had on his face a look of someone who only wants to be allowed to die, so the pain and humiliation will finally be over, as the Hunter stood next to him and - simply by speaking to him - forced him to run his arm through the evil device over, and over, and over. Did I forget to mention that, about fifteen seconds into that scene, the titles on-screen read 'Five months later...?'
The way the Hunter carried himself through the scene was in a manner similar to the way Hopkins talked to Jodie Foster... if he wanted, he could have had her do anything he wanted to - or with - her. It was scary to watch, on a level of psychological horror delving into depths beyond the failed propaganda of the first film and into a more mature level of terror akin to Laurence Olivier's performance in Marathon Man. I mean, this guy was playing the role with a calmness and an absolute certainty in that what he was doing was so right for his cause - and the way he inspired others into that, as well - that anything could be done to anyone... as long as it advanced the State's goals.
The scene continued; he finally left the room, but not before telling the guy that no matter what happened, no matter who came in the room, that he had better not take his arm out of the machine - let alone try to escape - until he returned. The Hunter exits, leaving a pair of guards outside the door, and about five minutes or so later - the aide hears the sound of gunfire! He looks outside to see ragged American youth - obviously, teens inspired by the 'Wolverines' - cutting down Soviet soldiers and guards; less than a minute later, he ducks as bullets tear through the wall and the death screams of the guards are heard, and several of the American resistance fighters come into the room! Almost pitiful in his state, tears of relief flow down the aide's face as the resistance fighters quickly get him out of the machine and take him to the door... where the Hunter is waiting, in the outer office, with the other 'resistance members'.
It was all a giant mindfuck. Killing all of those soldiers and guards, the whole thing - just to mess with his mind. They're all young Americans, yes, but so mindblanked and indoctrinated that they're totally into the Hunter's plans... and just to show how into it they are, the Hunter brings an especially pretty little brunette forward who extends her hand, and as the aide watches, the Hunter takes a pair of garden shears and snips off her ring finger, so it will appear that she's been 'tortured' and will be willingly accepted by the true resistance forces. The Hunter, tells him, 'I asked you not to leave that room, didn't I..." He walks away, and the 'resistance fighters' literally tear the man apart with their bare hands, his screams of horror filling the area.
Man. Why can't I have dreams with happier things? Being able to fly... diving into a perfectly blue lage and swimming about, diving deep within and just enjoying myself... blow jobs by a couple of young women who are experts in the procedure? They say that dreams are a reflection of your deepest desires and thoughts... well, what the hell does this say about me?
Besides the fact that I wish that Red Dawn had been a far better film, of course...
There was a sequence in the film (dream) where a Russian general was sympathetic to the resistance; the Hunter (that's how he referred to himself in the first film) laid a vicious trap for him and his friends that - man, I didn't know you could shoot so many people so many ways... remarkably, the General and his aide were still alive (even more amazing, the aide was only slightly wounded). In order to keep the General from being tortured and forced to give up information, the aide followed the General's orders and shot him just as the Hunter got to him; he then turned the gun on himself, but found that he'd used the last round on the General. The Hunter was pissed like you wouldn't believe; he shot up the General's body, then turned to the aide and said, "But you won't die anywhere near as easily..."
The way he said it made me almost lose control of my bladder functions. This guy was 'Anthony-class' scary - Perkins in Psycho, or Hopkins in The Silence of the Lambs... you take your pick.
The next scene opened with the aide being forced to run his left arm through this wall-mounted device that was a combination of grinding wheels that crushed down on and stung the victim's arm. The aide (poor man) had on his face a look of someone who only wants to be allowed to die, so the pain and humiliation will finally be over, as the Hunter stood next to him and - simply by speaking to him - forced him to run his arm through the evil device over, and over, and over. Did I forget to mention that, about fifteen seconds into that scene, the titles on-screen read 'Five months later...?'
The way the Hunter carried himself through the scene was in a manner similar to the way Hopkins talked to Jodie Foster... if he wanted, he could have had her do anything he wanted to - or with - her. It was scary to watch, on a level of psychological horror delving into depths beyond the failed propaganda of the first film and into a more mature level of terror akin to Laurence Olivier's performance in Marathon Man. I mean, this guy was playing the role with a calmness and an absolute certainty in that what he was doing was so right for his cause - and the way he inspired others into that, as well - that anything could be done to anyone... as long as it advanced the State's goals.
The scene continued; he finally left the room, but not before telling the guy that no matter what happened, no matter who came in the room, that he had better not take his arm out of the machine - let alone try to escape - until he returned. The Hunter exits, leaving a pair of guards outside the door, and about five minutes or so later - the aide hears the sound of gunfire! He looks outside to see ragged American youth - obviously, teens inspired by the 'Wolverines' - cutting down Soviet soldiers and guards; less than a minute later, he ducks as bullets tear through the wall and the death screams of the guards are heard, and several of the American resistance fighters come into the room! Almost pitiful in his state, tears of relief flow down the aide's face as the resistance fighters quickly get him out of the machine and take him to the door... where the Hunter is waiting, in the outer office, with the other 'resistance members'.
It was all a giant mindfuck. Killing all of those soldiers and guards, the whole thing - just to mess with his mind. They're all young Americans, yes, but so mindblanked and indoctrinated that they're totally into the Hunter's plans... and just to show how into it they are, the Hunter brings an especially pretty little brunette forward who extends her hand, and as the aide watches, the Hunter takes a pair of garden shears and snips off her ring finger, so it will appear that she's been 'tortured' and will be willingly accepted by the true resistance forces. The Hunter, tells him, 'I asked you not to leave that room, didn't I..." He walks away, and the 'resistance fighters' literally tear the man apart with their bare hands, his screams of horror filling the area.
Man. Why can't I have dreams with happier things? Being able to fly... diving into a perfectly blue lage and swimming about, diving deep within and just enjoying myself... blow jobs by a couple of young women who are experts in the procedure? They say that dreams are a reflection of your deepest desires and thoughts... well, what the hell does this say about me?
Besides the fact that I wish that Red Dawn had been a far better film, of course...
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