Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category


Like we always do about this time….let’s go!

1. We Are What We Are (2010): A nicely disturbing Mexican horror movie about a poor family of cannibals living in the modern-day.  While the gore is there, this is not a slasher flick that follows typical American studio formulas. No hot young teen actors to come save the day, etc. The movie focuses on the family members themselves, their disturbing heritage and belief system, their struggles to survive and stay hidden, and their apparent genetic predilection to stalk and hunt human prey.  I think we can all relate.  Not for the meek or those against immigration (Mexican cannibals! Ahhhh, build higher fences!).  And it really hammers home a moral we all could learn: Never eat a prostitute!

Prostitutes: they're NOT what's for dinner.

Prostitutes: they’re NOT what’s for dinner.

2. Dark Skies (2013): It was in theaters for a millisecond and then went off to the world of DVD and Netlflix.  You probably remember seeing the trailers on TV and that’s about it.  While not a financial bomb (it only cost $3.5 million), a $23 million haul isn’t considered a hit by most standards.  It’s been panned by many who did see it (which were few) but it deserves your attention.  It’s a solid flick about alien abduction that builds well, holds the suspense, and delivers the right amount of “jumps” to keep it fun and scary.  Its spin on alien abduction isn’t new, but it’s intelligently vague…vague to enough to keep it terrifying but not too sci-fi.  There have actually been very few good alien abduction movies over the decades…and this is really among the better made.

3. Salvage (2009): A seriously good British monster flick that works even though the monster in on-screen for maybe 60 seconds total.  The creature is just a plot tool, this movie is pure psychological horror done lo-fi…and right.  There is little rote or trope about this.  The acting is fantastic.  The action is messy but realistic.  It’s gritty and sad.  It’s desperate and suspenseful.  And there is sustained full-frontal nudity and sex, so…shit, what are you waiting for?

4. 6 Souls (Shelter, 2010) 2013: A box office disaster by any measure.  It’s release and re-lease under a different name was bungled to embarrassment, and virtually every critic who did see it treated it like the Trayvon Martin verdict (Oh YEAH, not too soon).  But this is actually a pretty solid, if not great movie (and I think it fucking is).  It weaves a tale of faith vs. science as a psychologist gets mixed up in a generations old serial killer legend.  A serial killer who steals souls and uses them as needed.  Or is he just a legitimate case of multiple-personality disorder?  Help us, Julian Moore!

"Ha...yeah, no.  I deny all knowledge of this movie now."

“Ha…yeah, no. I deny all knowledge of this movie now.”

5. Lunopolis (2009): THIS movie.  Jesus.  You will love it or hate it, but I really dug it.  In the found-footage format (stay with me), two documentary filmmakers stumble upon a time-traveling, moon-worshipping cult just in time to try to prevent a world-ending prophecy that may have all ready happened…a bunch of times.  That’s not even the weirdest shit.  It was done on the super cheap so the acting is serviceable and some dialogue is kinda forced, a few scenes were obviously shoe-horned into the story on-the-fly to move it along faster-complete with long-winded monologues that explain what they don’t have time to explain with the story..but…BUT….it’s pretty fucking cool.  You can find it on Netflix or maybe on DVD if you dig.  Probably find it online for free also.  Sci-fi, bitches.

Follow the RANT on Twitter: @Rickranter



“No, daddy…you have to raise your pinky when you drink the tea.  It’s fancy.”

“Raise my pinky?”

“Yeah, like this.”

“Daddy doesn’t want to raise his pinky. That makes daddy question his gender role and sexual orientation.”

She stares blankly at me with giant, 4yr old eyes.

“Daddy is joking.”

“Just raise your pinky, daddy.”

“Fine, but then I get to take off this fucking feather boa…”


And thus, the tea party continues on and my manhood sinks into the dark abyss.


Just look at this desolate pit of despair

It wasn’t always like this.  And I mean that as in 30 minutes ago my daughter and I were killing aliens aboard her magic space carpet…and it was glorious.  We had racked up heavy casualties and the fog of war was thick, but we were winning goddammit.  The earth had a chance.  Then my daughter decided she wanted to take the aliens to a tea party instead.  I tried to explain to her that this was no fucking time for diplomacy, but she was resolute…and she doesn’t know what the word “diplomacy” means and it made her giggle.  So I tried to fly with it.

“Can we put poison in the alien’s tea?  So then they die and we win.”

“No, daddy.  That’s mean.  And I want to give them cookies too.”



When I was a little rugrat, I pretty much lived in a fantasy/sci-fi world 90% of the time.  I would patronize reality only when absolutely necessary or forced to, otherwise I was knee-deep in GI Joe, He-Man, or racing around the house killing whatever evil threat I could conjure up in my brilliant little head.

Imagination is what makes us what and who we are, and childhood is the place to let it run buck-fucking-wild.  It was a skill and tradition I was confident I would pass on to my kid.  And I did.

The difference is that my kid was born with ovaries instead of testicles.  And with those ovaries comes an entirely different set of imaginary interests.  Interests that seem to surface rather quickly whenever we set off for the land of make-believe.

I offer up the idea of killing monsters and flying airplanes, which any 4yr old will quickly agree to.  But as the minutes tick by, the conversation and level of play quickly switches gears:

After about 10 minutes, she no longer wants to shoot the monsters, she wants to style their hair in her Barbie hair salon.  And she wants me to help.

After 15 minutes of playing superheroes, she no longer wants to save the city, she wants us to use our super powers to babysit her dolls-which is a clear waste of superhuman strength but this point is completely lost on her.  She tells me I can just carry more dolls to the zoo then.  And I do.  And she makes me keep the cape on (which is fine because I look good in a cape).

And so we sit at the alien tea party, my daughter smiling from ear to ear, making adorable peace with the enemy, while I am forced to serve them more cookies and keep my goddamn pinky waving high.  It’s miserable…but it makes my little girl happy.  She’s not a blood-thirsty warrior, she’s a princess.  She likes dolls not guns (her loss).  She’s a little girl…and she’s her own person.

I’m ready to admit defeat in my quest to make my daughter something she’s not.  I can’t project my boyhood aggression on to her and I shouldn’t want to, I guess.
I relent and consider this to be my last attempt at pushing machismo violence upon her gumdrop imagination…but then:

“Okay, daddy…we can shoot them now.”


“Yeah, they said my tea is yucky so we can shoot them!” she says with a wicked grin.  I pull out my triple-barreled plasma rifle with photon grenades and drop it on the cookie plate.

There is hope for this young one yet.

We dash from the table, guns blazing and grenades firing.

And I keep my feather boa on.



Okay! Let’s get it on….

1. Fast Food employees are fucking STARVING!: When teens resort to eating food product that is 90% preservatives and 8% road-kill-runoff in the dark corners of their shitty job’s kitchen, someone has to help them.  Putting your mouth on the Frosty machine dispenser is like a meth addict sucking donkey dick to get a hit: you’ve hit bottom.

"I...I just need some carbs!  I cant' drink anymore sewage for dinner.  Wait, this still taste like sewage..."

“Yo man…I just need…I….I’ll suck yo dispenser.”

"Please! Don't look at me!"

“The salt will sustain me.  If not, the preservatives will keep my body from rotting until my family can afford to bury me.”

2. Forget the Muslims….the Nazis are back! :  I ain’t shitting you!  They’re here and they’ve BEEN HERE!  Fucking hell, how do we mount a D-Day on Minnesota?  Granted, this guy is in his fucking 90’s, but we can’t take any chances!  Hey, did Obama spend anytime in Germany as a child?  DID HE!!?!?  Where’s that birth certificate again…..

3. Dandelions and weeds are beautiful and really fill out a front lawn nicely : This is the apparent lemming-like mentality of half the people in my neighborhood.  Jesus christ, at least fucking try.  My next door neighbor’s yard consists of a fine layer of clover, crabgrass and ant colonies.  My daughter wandered into her yard and was lost for 3 days while she survived on clover buds and grubs.  She came back acting like on of those kids from that “Mama” movie.

When she finally mows that shit you KNOW we're gonna find some lost tribe that has never seen a white man before.

When she finally mows that shit you KNOW we’re gonna find some lost tribe that has never seen a white man before.

4. DVR devices are actually government controlled psychology experiments :    Yes, designed to see just how much illogical bullshit and hair-pulling, malfunctioning disappointment we can stand before we feed it to the compactor.  Seriously, if I program the thing to record a 2hr show and it proceeds to record the first 2 minutes and the shut the fuck off for no reason, why should I allow it to live?  “Hey, Idiot Box, record Game of Thrones every sunday at 9pm.  Got that shit?”  How hard is that?  But then I get the opening credits and it cuts off.  Is this a malfunction or is my DVR commenting on my taste?  Does it think I’m just some ex-D&D nerd and it’s just fucking with me?


THIS ISN’T JUNIOR HIGH ANYMORE! LEAVE ME ALONE…JUST LET ME WATCH MY….i like dragons. why can’t i just watch some dragons….

5. Let’s all be outraged that the government spies on our personal shit, even though we know they’ve been doing it since the inception of government:  Yeah, Republicans…act totally outraged that Obama is using YOUR Patriot Act to look at private phone calls.  That’s like Cheech and Chong getting pissed at their kids for being pot heads.

And yeah, America…pretend that we JUST figured out that our government was spying on its private citizens…something we all know it’s been doing since like…fucking George Washington.

You think these guys were goin through people's mail? They were as paranoid as any leader ever.  If only Lincoln could have gotten Booth's cell phone messages...

You think these guys weren’t goin through people’s mail?  If only Lincoln could have gotten Booth’s cell phone messages…

Please bitches.

Our government spies on us.  Our rich people cheat and steal from everyone else.  Our military occasionally kills innocent people in collateral damage or friendly fire and props up evil dictators only to tear them down decades later when it suits us.  Politicians lie and take bribes.  Most republican politicians are closet homosexuals.  Priests diddle little boys.

It’s nothing new.  If most of us choose to turn a blind eye or suppress our outrage with mindless media entertainment for years at a time…we dont’ get to make up for it by acting totally outraged all over again when the veil is momentarily lifted again.  We know how this works.  The good things this country has and continues to enjoy come at a price…an often ugly price.  Stop pretending you aren’t aware of it.

You wanna stop random fuck heads from setting off bombs at marathons, then the gov’t has to scan random private phone chatter.  And the truth is that most are willing to forsake that privacy if it can prevent some piece of shit from blowing up their local grocery store some day.
We just aren’t supposed to admit that…we are supposed to act outraged.  And lemmings are great at that.

Follow the RANT on Twitter: @Rickranter


Sorry I’ve been out for a few weeks, fuckers.  Life pulls you in many directions and this little shitty blog isn’t always one of ’em.

But relax, I’m back to guide the Lemmings this week, so let’s get it ON!!

1. Every single Today Show has to be “a special edition of Today Show” :
Seriously, every fucking morning when I stumble out of bed to drag my ass to the shower, I flick on the tube and on comes The Today Show with its glaring, multi-colored graphics and intense serious music and I know they have once again decided that today’s episode just had to be another “very special edition“.  Why?  It doesn’t fucking matter.  It never fucking matters.  A violent attack somewhere on US soil.  Some fucking royal wedding.  Some guy eats 200 hotdogs in 4 minutes. “SPECIAL EDITION!”  All the same.  That fucking show really has a problem with relativity. If they’re all “special” than none of them are “special” you dipshits.  Kinda like how people want EVERY kid to get a trophy, not just the winner.  Defeats the purpose.

And someone tell Matt Lauer to stop waxing his scalp.  My early morning eyes can’t take the glare.

Fuck, Matt....that glare!

Fuck, Matt….turn your shiny head away!

2. Carnival Cruise basically has to be on the FBI Most Wanted List:
For fuck sake, the boats are LITERALLY killing people now. Like throwing them off the fucking side.  People, hide your kids, lock your doors.  The Carnival Cruise is coming for you.  Whether it drowns you in your own shit in the dark, or just throws you to the fucking sharks, the Carnival is gonna get ya’.  Shit, a couple more kills and that cruise line is officially a serial killer!  Screw BTK and Summer of Sam….Carnival kills you with a fucking BOAT!  Beat that, Zodiac!

It’s to the point now that whenever I see a commercial for Carnival, my mind starts playing this commentary over it like I’m watching a horror movie in an urban movie theater:

cruise wear couple dancing

“Ooh, bitch…you gonna diiiiiieeeee!!”

3. Robots are going to take over the world soon…and look fucking stupid doing it :
It’s true.  And thanks to Hollywood  and the Terminator movies, we all kinda thought we had a good vision of what our inescapable, robotic grim reapers were going to look like.  Well, fuck that….


Meet you harbinger of death. He looks about as threatening as your vacuum cleaner.

Seriously, if I’m gonna be killed by something that looks like Johnny 5 + an 80’s BMX bike with a hat…then my vote is for a zombie apocalypse instead.

4. The IRS is evil and partisan for investigating tax-hating political groups for tax fraud :

Because, you know, if part of  your job is to investigate tax fraud or evasion of any kind…the last thing you want to do is target groups that call themselves anything like “Tea Party” or “Patriot”…you know, people like this:


Why would you EVER consider them a threat to evade paying taxes?


Nothing suspicious!

Seriously, the IRS makes it a point to check these factions out as they sprout up and every conservative loses their shit and calls foul?  Aren’t conservatives the same people who want every muslim at the airport stripped searched “just in case”?  Doesn’t it work both ways, assholes?

If some guy made a big show of hating puppies, I mean he tells everyone he hates puppies.  He advocates beating them.  Killing them.  Making them into coats.  Should he really be crying foul when the ASPCA comes to investigate his new puppy mill at his house?

Investigating suspects based on their own suspicious actions and remarks is not unjust…it’s called “doing your job”.

Follow the Rant on Twitter: @Rickranter


When I was a senior in high school, I almost killed a sixth grader in front of his parents while surrounded by blood thirsty friends cheering me on.  But it’s not as bad as it sounds.  Not really.  Maybe it is.  Fucking relax and let me tell the story.

Back in high school, my idealistic little suburban neighborhood was ridiculously obsessed with backyard football.  Not all that original I guess and it wasn’t, but our “thing” was that we didn’t go in for any of that “pussy shit” in most backyard games.  It was all tackle, all the time.  None of that 2-hand-touch bullshit.  No flag football. No sudden time outs because your glasses fell off (find them AFTER the game, asshole!).  We hit like animals, we bleed, we swore like Scottish sailors.  Penalties were called and enforced under the threat of a face beating.  You got hurt, you walked it off and played it off.  I still have scars to go with a few last-minute heroics.

"If Jimmy jumps offsides on more time, we kill him mother!"

“If Jimmy jumps offsides on more time, we kill his mother!”

If you seriously were sackless enough to stop playing because your pussy glasses broke or your pinky was suddenly bending the wrong way, then that was your last game with us.  Those were the assholes that were relegated to standing off on the sides, watching us and whining “This is fuckin’ stupid anyway.  We should be getting drunk!  I’m gonna go drink some beers anyway.  You guys suck!” and then a football would suddenly smack him in the face and break his glasses again and it was fucking awesome (Drink THAT, Robby!). More than a few guys broke some bones during those few years. It was glorious and righteous and an essential right-of-passage into manhood.

And I can tell you one thing we were particularly serious about (especially me) was that we finished every game.  First team to 35pts. No bitching out.  Finish the fucking game.  Fuck the weather.  Your girlfriend can wait (She’s not putting out anyway, Andy!  I was at her house last night and I turned her out for like a fucking week so HIKE THE FUCKING BALL!). If you seriously wanted to try to get home “before my mom gets worried. Dinner is at 7 and...” then somebody was taking a dump in your locker tomorrow.  Seriously. We would jack your locker open and Eddie would spread his cheeks and plop a Cleveland Steamer right on your math book.  That was his thing.  Eddie had problems.

"Fuck you Eddie. Fuck you Eddie..."

“Fuck you Eddie. Fuck you Eddie…”

And so it was under these very strict and very serious conditions that the game of May 15, 1995 commenced.

Now, our games were predominately made up of high schoolers (ages 15-18) and occasionally a few junior high kids that were big for their age.  And there was this one homeless guy that was probably like 40 that would wander by and play but that was rare (and seriously, Smelly-Pants Pete could run a square-out like a god damn pro. Don’t let anyone tell you meth has no benefits). But hey, if we were short on guys and some pip squeak little grade schooler wanted to run out there and catch fly patterns…his funeral. We even let a girl play once.  I think she was a freshman and thought this was the best way to get “in with the guys”.  I heard she still walks with a slight limp.

So anyway, it was Saturday afternoon and we were commencing activities in Russell Anderson’s backyard.  Russell’s backyard was fucking heaven for us. No fucking trees, no shrubs.  Just wide open grass.  His father was a fucking douche bag who didn’t want us anywhere near his lovely grass, so we had to take full advantage when Russell’s parents weren’t home.  Russell’s father also had a shit-load of beer in the garage fridge.  Anyway, we were short a guy to begin with so we were forced to let Russell’s little brother, Eric, play to even things out. The kid was a shrimpy 6th grader who probably topped out at about 90lbs.  But fuck it.

Right from the get go, shit just went down hill fast.  Two guys smacked their skulls together going for a hail mary and had severe problems keeping themselves standing.  We told them they could stay back and block but then the one guy starting vomiting from his concussion (fucking pansy) and crawled over to the side of the lawn and the other guy followed saying something about being blind in his right eye.  Those were two guys who were gonna have a fun locker surprise Monday morning.  It only got worse from there. Two more went down with some bullshit ailments.  LIke blood coming out of your ear is really that big of a deal.  Then Andy went out on a fly pattern and just kept on running, screaming he had to meet his girlfriend and please shit on his english book not his social studies or something.  I made a mental note to remind Eddie to eat a huge dinner Sunday night.

At that point, the game was fucked.  It was basically me, Russell, and Russell’s little brother, Eric.  The primary rule, the core directive, was in danger.  Tradition was being pissed on.

“I…I can get some more people,” Eric squeaked.

“Shut up, Eric.  We aren’t playing with a bunch of fucking midgets,” Russell screams at him.

My mental gears started turning…clashing with my pistons of humility and ethics.  The 6 or 7 beers I had drunk by that point helped me along as well.

“Hold the fuck up,” I said.  “We finish the game.  We always finish the game.  It’s 28-21.  I need one more fucking TD and it’s over.”

“Dude, no!” yells Russell.

“Call your friends, Eric. Move your little legs!”

Fifteen minutes later, the yard was filled with eleven-year-olds who hadn’t even touched puberty yet.  Russell’s head was hanging down in disgust.

“Your ball, Russell.  Line your munchkins up and let’s fucking finish.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.  We are…what’s wrong with us, Rick?” he mutters.

We start up again and I am just drilling these fucking kids.  It’s like a dream come true.  I am a God among men.  I put a shoulder to their little frames and they sail like 10 feet back.  I finally stop telling them to quit crying and figure the tears just help them deal with the pain.  My wounded friends on the sidelines start cheering me on.  It was like the Roman Coliseum and I was killing me some catholics.

"Rick did it...ooh, it hurts"

“Rick did it…ooh, it hurts”

And of course this is when Jillian Sweeney, the hottest fucking chick in the fucking county has to drive by with all her hot-ass friends and catches a visual of me and Russell playing football with a bunch of elementary kids.  Like any high school mean girl, she has to pull up on the side of the road and start laughing her ass off.  So the other chicken heads in her car do the same thing.

“The fuck are you doing, Rick?” she yells.

I avoid eye contact.  It’s our ball.  Gotta finish the game.

“Are you guys like fucking perverts or something?  Feeling up little kids for-”

Finish the game.

“How’s the genital warts, Jillian?  Your sister said you had it bad and the cream wasn’t working.  Weird though…I heard your stepdad has the same fucking thing.  How ’bout that….”  Whatever.  She was never gonna screw me anyway.

“Fuck you, Rick! Pervert!” And off she peeled. Took me two months to shake the “Rick The Molester” moniker after that.  Thank God Smelly Pants Pete wasn’t there.  No, strike that.  Smelly Pants could run a proper square-out at least.

“Rick! I’m out…can’t do this!” Russell yells and runs into his house without looking back.

“Are you fucking KIDDING me?!”  I look out at the rest of the bleeding, grade school army in front of me.  “Okay, fuck it.  Eric, you’re on their team now.  Take your brother’s spot.  We’ll play a man down.”

One more play. I just needed to peg one of these little fucks in the chest and the game was over.  I had this.  Finish the game.  I snap it and send my whole fucking squad out on a hail mary.  Nobody blocking so I’m just running around with these little fucks hanging on my ankles. I think I started screaming like a viking and just heave the ball with everything I got.

And fucking Eric picks it off.


And he’s running back down the field.

No.  No fucking way.

The rest of this incident was pieced together from eyewitness accounts and police depositions.  They are considered relatively factual:

“Rick let out some kind of animal squeal, kinda sounded like a poodle getting hit by a car, and he just B-lines right for Eric.  Like a madman.  He lost it.”

“He ran by us screaming a bunch of ‘Fuck You’s’ and we saw Eric’s eyes go wide.  I think Eric shit his pants right then…or maybe it was after.  We don’t know.  I know Eric flooded his underoos though.  Like bad…”

“Then Rick just plows into that little kid like full force and just levels him into the ground.  There was like a path of dirt behind them, like a meteor hit or something.  The ball goes flying.  There was blood…”

“Rick stands up over the little kid, who like shit his pants and his nose was all bloody…and he was like, whimpering.  And Rick bends over and picks up the ball and has a beer in his other hand and he just stands over him and starts screaming something about “finishing the game” or something…”

“And that’s when we saw that Eric’s parent’s had come home during all this and the mom was just standing on the back deck looking at Rick…and Eric was all bleeding and stuff and shit was coming out of his shorts.  And she screams ‘My baby!  What have you done?!’  And Rick just keeps screaming out formations, like he wants to get one more play in or something.  Dude was fucking whacked.”


The game of May 15th, 1995 was never finished.  My community service went pretty smoothly that summer.  Eric made a complete recovery and now hangs out with Smelly Pants Pete behind the 7-11.

We don't know if Eric or Pete started that one.  They are a wiley bunch, those two.

We don’t know if Eric or Pete started that one. They are a wily bunch, those two.

Oh, and Jillian actually WAS screwing her stepfather, it turns out.  I was like totally making the shit up at the time but…wow.  Cosmic.

Follow The Rant Machine on Twitter: @Rickranter


Let’s go!

1. Some guy just went on a stabbing rampage! Why don’t we outlaw knives too?! (says the sarcastic gun rights advocate)

"Even butter knives? Then I'll just HAVE to use a gun now..."

“Yes! Yes fuck logic and drawing rational lines and standards. Ban all knives… and cutlery!  And scissors! Anything sharp! No more corners on buildings!  And no more small parts on ANYTHING because babies can choke. Such a clever and rational argument!  Ban fire too!



2. Just let North Korea bluff. They’re harmless.

Well so is pubic lice technically, but would you just let those things fester on your crotch?  plus:

They said Unicorns were a bluff too.  Kim's power is growing!!!!

They said unicorns were a bluff too. Kim’s power is growing!!!!



3. These new background checks for guns is just one step closer to a dictatorship! NWO!

"Background checks! More background checks!  Give one good fucking reason why I need a background check or I'll ear-fuck you with my phone! WHY!?"

“Background checks!? More background and mental health checks! Give me one good fucking reason why I need a background check or I’ll ear-fuck you with my phone! WHY!? I am a law-abiding citizen, you fuck! I could just fucking…..ooooh….FUCK!”



4. Guys who drive Porsche’s are completely secure in themselves.

"Was I ever raped in the Boys Scouts? What? I...I...pshhh.  Just look at the car.  Just.Look.At.The.Car.

“Was I ever raped in the Boys Scouts? What? I…I…pshhh. Just look at the car. Just.Look.At.The.Car.

Follow The Rant Machine on Twitter: @Rickranter


Continuing my selfless community service of educating the public on great horror flicks that were passed over for some reason or other….

Apollo 18 (2011): It made about 25 million with a budget of only 5 million, so it’s not technically a bomb…but who saw this?  You didn’t.  But you should.  It’s another found-footage horror film (OH MY GOD THERE AREN’T ENOUGH OF THOSE!), but before you roll your eyes, shut the fuck up and give it a shot.  It’s a well produced, well acted, tense thriller about what “really” happened to some ill-fated astronauts on the last, and never publicly reported, trip to the moon by the US.  Creepy as fuck, great use of the natural claustrophobia of the small ship and suits they are forced to wear and the bleak, unyielding blackness of the moon they are stranded on (took poetry in college for like a week).  Like working in a cubicle.

The Objective (2008): UFO’s in Afghanistan?  Who knew? Let’s send a CIA spook and a small military outfit to investigate.  Yeah, that’s gonna work out well. It’s no Zero Dark Thirty, but fine production, great acting and script.  It’s by the guy who did The Blair Witch…and he kind of gets his mojo back with this one.  Creepy and suspenseful, with enough questions left unanswered to keep it creepy. Fuck, like white people didn’t already have enough reasons to never go to Afghanistan.

The Awakening (2011): A tiny little British flop that deserves more of an audience.  Maybe a little derivative (The Others), but original enough with a twisty, nasty ending and some fading ambiguity to really piss you off.  Good shit.

Pontypool (2009): A tiny little Canadian film that plays so much fucking bigger.  Takes on the zombie/infection genre with a very original spin on what “infection” means.  The smartest attempt at apocalyptic horror I’ve seen on a tiny budget.

The Pact (2012): Jesus, why did this movie not get a bigger release?  Better than most of the horror movies I’ve seen in the past 2 or 3 years.  Expertly directed, suspenseful, scary as fuck.  Not ground breaking, but smart and tense.  Acting and dialogue is solid.   I’ve gotta follow this Nick McCarthy guy (director) around now….

The Crazies (Original 1973 release): The remake was pretty good and made good bucks at the box office.  The original never had a fucking shot.  Romero’s non-zombie take on infection horror is pretty dated and low-budget, but it’s pretty solid and has a ballsy anti-government/corporate hook on it for the times.  Don’t be a fucking snob and check it out.

There you go, I just filled up your weekend “to do” list.  You’re welcome.

Follow The Rant Machine on Twitter: @Rickranter