“You know sharks, they are always biting things.” – Ben

Every now and then a movie comes along that is so bad, it becomes good. This happens pretty rarely. Usually when someone says a movie is “bad”, they really mean “average’. Unfortunately, a true cinematic travesty is as hard to find as a good Adam Sandler comedy. In recent years we have had Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000. I bet many of you had no idea that was the actual title did you?

Battlefield Earth is so bad it’s GREAT. I have no idea how any cast member’s career survived it, but I am pleased that John Travolta is planning on doing a sequel. If you have yet to see the flick, I urge you to do so as soon as possible. To review it would be to spoil the surprises that await you.

This brings me to Shark Attack 3: Megalodon. Luckily, prior knowledge of the Shark Attack series is not needed to enjoy the subtle plot machinations of Megalodon. What you need to know is this: Megalodon is directly responsible for the creation of Cinema Craptastique in the first place. Whether that’s a good thing or bad thing I’ll leave that to you to decide.

Our movie begins with a diver working at 15,000ft below sea level near Challenger Deep in the Pacific Ocean. He is working on a pipe with a blow torch and gets gobbled up by an unseen menace. Before he was et up, the diver complained about being cold. I would think so, since he was wearing a typical skin diving suit and would have been in freezing water. Of course he shouldn’t have to worry about the cold because he would have imploded from the pressure many feet higher. Moving on.

Six months pass, and we are introduced to Beach Patrol guy Ben Parker (John Barrowman) in Playa Del Rey, Mexico. Ben is a manly-man that looks like the love child of Mark Harmon and Scott Wolf channeling the spirit of Tom Cruise. Points in Ben’s favor though because I didn’t hate him and wish death upon him from the moment he shows up.

Ben goes diving near a submerged fiber optic cable for lobster and finds a tooth in the cable. He sends it to a museum for analysis and is soon greeted by Cat Stone (Jenny McShane) and her wild theories of 60 foot prehistoric sharks. Before we go any further, I need to get this off my chest. Ms. McShane is ok looking but what drove me nuts was that Cat would look good in one scene, then not in another. It reminded me of that episode of “Seinfeld” when Jerry is dating the girl that looks like shit in certain lighting but pretty in another. It struck me as creepy/funny.

Anyway…

Some people get chomped, evil mayor won’t close the beaches (Jaws playbook 101.), and soon it is up to Cat and Ben to kill the beastie themselves. Then the twist comes in.

If you have not seen the movie…oh, who am I kidding? None of you have seen this piece of shit. Make no mistake, it is a TERRIBLE movie. But it is so bad it’s almost a work of art. Straight to video flicks are usually incompetent and poorly acted, this is like a “What not to do” example from the straight to video text book. This time, the sharks don’t roar so much as grunt as they swim. The shark head is decent and there is some funny severed limb action going on. The intermingling of stock footage and rubber props is worse than usual, the secondary acting is absolutely terrible, and worse, some of the leads can’t keep a straight face.

For example: In one scene Cat and Ben are racing to help a para-sailer that has gotten her ass hijacked by the Meg. The shark is pulling her out to sea but Ben wants to stop to help the boyfriend of the hapless para-sailer who is still in a fully intact boat. After that little side trip they have to go chase the para-sailer as she is getting dragged down as the shark swims deeper. Cat is yelling and then starts laughing and then yells again. I don’t need to point out when this occurs because it is so obvious in any other film this would qualify as a blooper. Once they try to rescue the para-sailer, Cat has a good 30 seconds to get the poor girl into her boat but keeps letting go of her hand. So poor girl gets chomped, but not before giving Cat her crucifix necklace. I guess for safe keeping or something.

The acting problems do not end there. The actor playing the evil company guy (of COURSE there’s an evil company guy) has no idea how to be evil. He seems to think excessive swearing is the same as anger and is unhappy from beginning to end. During a beach attack the lifeguard has to yell “Shark!” about 10 times before the 8 people in the water respond at all. Apparently they didn’t bother telling the actors when they would be, you know, FILMING. And it goes on and on.

The script is loaded with lines that are terribly written, but become an assault on the English language when said aloud. For instance, as Cat, Ben, and Ben’s ex-Navy friend Chuck Rampart (Ryan Cutrona) are separating for the evening the following immortal line of dialogue takes place between Ben and Cat:

“I’m tired, but I’m really wired. Why don’t I drive you to your house and eat your pussy?”

After a line of sparkling dialogue like that is there really anything else to say? Shark Attack 3 is a gem, and I’m somewhat embarrassed to say I own the damn thing. The sad thing is that despite the continuity errors, bad acting, terrible dialogue, and horrible special effects, you end up liking the flick. The characters are not entirely irritating, the plot is quick moving, and the last 20 minutes are freaking hysterical.

There is plenty more to say, but I’ve either whetted your appetite or turned you off completely. If you dig ripping on B movies, you’re gonna love this. If not, what the hell are you reading this for anyway?

*not counting Jaws, Jaws 2, Deep Blue Sea or Open Water

]]> http://www.rufkm.net/2009/05/26/shark-attack-3-megalodon-aka-best-shark-movie-ever/feed/ 3 http://www.rufkm.net/2008/12/28/a-christmas-story-year-of-the-ferret-part-3/ http://www.rufkm.net/2008/12/28/a-christmas-story-year-of-the-ferret-part-3/#comments Sun, 28 Dec 2008 09:22:00 +0000 Loose Cannon http://rufkm.net/wordpress/?p=135

1. Drugs/Alcohol
2. Strippers/Whores
3. Bail/Bribe Money
4. All of the Above

Or, in my case, it goes towards a very enthusiastic veterinarian. After Corn had more X-rays taken than JFK’s skull after driving by a book depository and outfitted with an Ass Cart designed by NASA, I was handed the BILL OF SERVICE from the gum-chomping receptionist:

$1,347.32

Are You F—ing Kidding Me???

I blurred my eyes, squinted, and looked at the list of glorified rodent maintenance from many different angles hoping that the decimal would move. It did not. As Jenni, the receptionist, and the vet stared at me while I tried to plan my escape, I did some quick math in my head. As I handed over my credit card, I estimated that the street value of a fresh ferret was about $30 and instead of paying the bill, I could go to PetCo, buy 44 new ones, and start my own army of musk. I’m pretty sure that doctor’s offices, when you don’t have insurance, just pick numbers out of an evil hat for services rendered.

I paid.

We left.

The night before Christmas ends and all through the house, not a creature was stirring ………… except for a paralyzed-body-cast-wearing-chuck-wagon-towing-ferret. Thus began my daily schedule:

6:00 AM – Wake up with anger/guilt.

6:05 AM - Take Corn out of cage, hold over toilet, squeeze. Corn gazes longingly into my eyes as amazing amounts of turds/piss drop into toilet.

6:06 AM – Consider jumping out of window, remember I live on the first floor.

6:07 AM - Put Corn into Ass Cart. Make breakfast while watching him run into walls, listen to wheels squeak, get stuck between furniture.

7:00 AM – Leave for work.

7:00 PM – Arrive home after 10 hours and a 2 hour commute, greeted by bloated ferret. Repeat squeezing technique.

7:15 PM – Jenni arrives home, looks at me like I’m an abusive parent, asks if I’ve shit the ferret, I confirm shitting is complete.

7:30PM-10:30 PM - Jenni/Corn stare at me with hatred. Corn occasionally escapes the Ass Cart, drags himself across room like Lieutenant Dan from Forest Gump, steals something of mine that I need in the morning (keys, sanity) and hides it under couch/bed/dresser.

10: 31 PM- Pretend I’m sleeping, symphony of squeaking wheels dances in my head.

11:00 PM -Actually fall asleep with anger/guilt.

This continues for the next few months as my days and nights become more surreal and it seems like I am viewing my life through a kaleidoscope. Just when you think it couldn’t get any worse, in my hallucinogenic state of mind, I make another lapse of judgement while shopping for sawdust and other ridiculous rat supplies at Petco. I passed by an open cage full of baby ferrets and decided that purchasing one would be an excellent idea. This is exactly what I need! This will cheer up the gimp! Corn gets a friend and this will show Jenni how thoughtful I am! Genius! I even thought up a name!

Cob. Corn and Cob. These are their given names that are slightly worse than “Jor-El”, “Moxie Crimefighter“, “Blanket”, and “Pilot Inspektor“** Hopefully I wouldn’t decapitate this new one on the drive home.

Stay Tuned for Part 4 – Revenge of the Ferrets. This will be the actual conclusion. I swear it will be just as good as Jaws 4 – The Revenge.

*Paraphrased from Chris Rock

** Actual baby names (in order) of Nicolas Cage, Penn Jillete, Micheal Jackson, and Jason Lee. In case you didn’t know.

It is said that love conquers all …. but that’s complete bullshit. Fear not only conquers love but then hits it with a tire iron, drags it a dark alley, performs sodomy in the 1st degree, douses it with gasoline, lights a match, and walks away. Always bet on fear. And this was the overwhelming feeling I had on Christmas Eve driving back home with a ferret on my car’s floor that looked like a hairy Twizzler.

Let me back up. (Editor’s Note: Read YEAR OF THE FERRET PART 1 -HERE

 While the credits rolled from The Grinch That Stole Christmas and Jenni was dead asleep on the couch next to me I had the sudden realization that I had to return some videotapes! Stat!

Because of my adventurous spirit I decided to bring my Stetson-scented friend with me. I enjoyed seeing the critter run around the floor of the car, climbing the seats, leaping into the backseat, and perching on top of the headrests like Simba looking down upon his kingdom. I turned the key, looked out of my windshield through the small section of ice I scraped (hell, the heater will do the rest) and began my 2 minute mission.

• A scream that sounded like a Raptor mating with Gizmo
• THUD!
• Staccato whimpering

I pulled my car into a parking spot, switched on the interior light, and witnessed Corn on the floor twisted in the shape of a question mark, twitching, drooling, and staring at me. He looked rather upset.

Sweet.

Suffering.

Fuck.

At this point, I did what any responsible adult would do. I reached to the floor and immediately grabbed the videos I needed to return before midnight. I got back to the car about 30 seconds later hoping that Corn had miraculously healed while I was placing Howard The Duck in the return bin. He did not. I briefly contemplated finding a 24 hour ferret store to do a quick swap but then put the car in gear and headed back home for the unholy ass kicking I was about to receive.

With the ferret wrapped up in a gym T-shirt like a musky Baby Jesus, I walked back into my apartment and showed Jenni “Corn the Contortionist.” Hysterical screaming,my status as an imbecile, and unique variations of the word “FUCK” followed. Through a profanity laced conversation and the Yellow Pages, Jenni found that there was not a 24 Hour Ferret store but there was a 24 Hour Animal Hospital ready to fix them THAT WAS 45 MINUTES AWAY. So, back to my sled we went to begin the drive of dismay.

We arrived at St. John’s Animal Clinic and Jenni and Corn were quickly rushed into the emergency room while I was banished to the waiting room to peruse the latest issue of Cats! and Dog Monthly. There were no ferret magazines because a magazine cannot survive on a subscriber base of 12. There were, however, several Polaroids taped to the wall of the patient’s pets wearing a variety of Christmas sweaters, antlers, beards, and hats. I became aware that Jenni had told the vet the story of my driving skills since, during my wait, his assistant would stare at me as if I was wearing a necklace made of puppy heads. Then, the vet emerged and invited me into his operating room.

When the door opened, the first thing I saw was Corn laying on a metal table in a cast that covered his entire body except for his front feet and head. His eyes were glazed over, looked heavily sedated, and his tongue was hanging. The next thing I saw (besides Jenni’s visible cloud of anger) were X-rays. Many X-rays. It looked like a photographer’s dark room after a model’s cover shoot for Vogue and since we did not take out a ferret insurance policy, all I could think of was, what is this going to cost ME?

But wait, there’s more. The vet put a small box on the table and removed a strange contraption: It was brown, had wheels, a strap, and a tiny pillow. The vet spoke:

Vet Who Hates My Existence: “Mr. Cannon. As you can see from the 57 X-rays I have put on the wall, Corn’s spine is cracked in several places due to him flying across your car and smashing into your windshield so you could save three bucks on video late fees.”

Cannon: “I see. Well played doc.”

VWHME: “Because of this, his back legs are paralyzed and he has to be in a body cast. To get around, he will be using this device.”

Cannon: “The little chuck wagon?”

VWHME: “Yes, this will be Corn’s method of transportation around the household. He will use his two front feet to pull himself around on this cart.”

Cannon: “It sounds fantastic. Anything else?

VWHME: “Yes. Because his nervous system has been affected, he will need help performing normal bodily functions. ”

Cannon: “Come again?”

VWHME: “Corn will not be able to urinate or create a bowel movement without assistance and will die if this is not done properly. You will need to squeeze his abdomen to push out the bodily waste. This is best done to holding Corn over the toilet.”

Cannon: “That sounds rational. I have one other question. Are You F—ing Kidding Me?”

That’s right readers. On Christmas Eve I learned how to shit a ferret.

But this story is not yet done as chaos really starts once I arrive at home.

READ PART 3- HERE

All important celebrities like us have causes nowadays.

Ricki Lake is fighting for the important right to give birth in your bathtub, Jenny McCarthy is trying to have crucial life-saving vaccines banned, Tom Cruise is working diligently to have all prescription medicines and psychiatry abolished and TylerDFC is trying in vain to get people to go to Criticult.com to read his mad ramblings.

All these causes are simply foolish and uninspiring. Why? Because none of these inane causes have a worthy and organized adversary or villain to combat their utter foolishness. What one really needs to have an honorable and just cause is to make a stand against something so vile, so despicable, so rancid and so utterly evil that armies will form, rise and march for the cause.

I’ve found this personification of evil and am ready to lead the troops into battle.

It’s called the Westboro Baptist Church.

In case you haven’t been watching the news lately this particular “church” run by one allegedly human and remarkably creepy Mr. Fred Phelps is the “God Hates Fags” clowns (God Hates Fags) that spend their apparently limitless free time and energy protesting funerals. These church members show up to burials with their entire inbred family and cause a ruckus screaming through bullhorns and painting signs offering such nonsensical wisdom, putrid intolerance, and mathematical equations such as “Fag=Anal Sex”, “God Hates Fags”, “God Hates the USA” and “Fags Doom Nations”.

Instead of logically protesting the deaths of their own members, they have targeted the following groups/individuals:

1. Soldiers

2. The victims of the Virginia Tech massacre

3. A group of children that died in a house fire

4. Heath Ledger

5. The Muppets

They haven’t just done this once as according to their own website have participated in this macabre ritual 34,000 times. You read that right; 34,000 times these inbred jackasses have protested funerals and other events with their own special blend of hatred.

Although the writers at the RUFKM Army are not members of the Judy Garland fan club, do not own all 10 seasons of Will & Grace, do not drive a lavender rainbow stickered Miata, we respect the lifestyle choices of others. For example, the duminiutive Dark Lord enjoys dancing to the Scissor Sisters, drinking Zima, rejoices when the International Male catalog arrives, and has groomed his mustache to Freddie Mercury perfection. And we are fine with that.

A little research showed that these Westboro monkeys are a church in Topeka Kansas (no surprise here) that is founded on the principals of anti-homosexuality. They hate other people also, but they are fairly consistent and single minded in their irrational hatred of gays. You can even read their insane manifesto on their website if you you didn’t find the Unabomber’s sufficiently incoherent and evil.

I can only imagine how this nonsense started:

Phelps: “I was just reading the bible and realized that God hates homosexuals and wants them dead.”

Phelps Crony: “Didn’t Jesus say to love everyone as your brother?”

Phelps: “Not fags.”

Phelps Crony: “I see. What should we do then?”

Phelps: “I’m thinking that maybe we could start a church and preach about how God hates fags and maybe protest a funeral or two.”

Phelps Crony: “Is there any money in that?”

Phelps: “It’s the Lord’s will, we will find a way.”

Phelps Crony: “Sign me up.”

And that’s how all the insanity started. If only that first person Phelps talked to simply had the intestinal fortitude to look at him and simply say, “Are you f—ing kidding me?” and then hit him upside the head with a shovel, none of this would have ever occurred.

Instead we have entire families spewing this hatred for the world to see. Children protesting funerals, little girls signing songs about killing gay people and adults perpetuating this illogical hatred for generations.

RUFKM is going to put an end to this evil tomfoolery.

I hereby, with the powers invested in me by the RUFKM ARMY, declare war on the Westboro Baptist Church. We will not stop until we recognize the total annihilation of this group. We will not sleep, we will not eat, and we will not rest until this battle is won. We are the “Heteros for Homos” and our RUFKM affiliates in the Anti-Defamation League (www.adl.org/) and Gay and Lesbian Alliance (www.glaad.org/) will join together with us in this great and epic battle. (EDITORS NOTE: If “Jews for Jesus can e
xist, why can’t “Heteros for Homos?”)

It will be a difficult battle for sure, but we are uniquely armed with intellect, rational thought and paying jobs and will certainly triumph and be victorious over the evildoers. Who else will stand up to evil and tyranny other than the RUFKM ARMY?

As Sir Edmund Burke so eloquently stated “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.”

We are good men.
And women.
And monkeys.
We will stand up together and defeat this evil. We will wipe this intolerance and hatred from the face of this world.

As your first call to arms, I ask you to simply fire a shot over the bow of the enemy. Either go to the following link, godhatesfags, or send a letter via USPS to Westboro Baptist Church, 3701 SW 12th Street, Topeka, KS 66604 (ironic zip code, huh?) stating the following in its entirety:

Fred Phelps and the Church of Crazy:

If you do not immediately comply with our demands we will be forced to commence with the following actions:

1. We will let the air out of the tires of your house.
2. We will enroll you in a gay porno of the month club.
3. We will hack your website and make it a place for sale of only “Sweatin’ to the Oldies” videos.
4. We will report you to Jesus.

The RUFKM ARMY and affiliate chapters of the ADL and GLAAD.

If you lack the courage to become a foot soldier on this long and arduous journey, there are other ways you can contribute. The easiest is to simply click on the mail icon at the end of this post and send this message along to everyone you know and even everyone you don’t know. Send it to CNN, FOX, CNBC, PBS and even Adam Sandler. Get them to join us in the cause. Once the message gets out Westboro Baptist Church will be buried by an avalanche of millions of RUFKM letters and God-willing they will submit to our demands.

Humanity needs you.