[Continued from the 2010 Thanksgiving Turkey!!!]
The trembling tachyon tremors of non-temporary temporal time stretched, to Flynn's horror, to yet another Dinner Theatre... but it was not Kneumsi's original Dusty Death Playhouse... nor was it the dread Rehobeth Hall, nor was it the terrifying Salvation Alley, nor even the Ovaltine Odeon from last year. The inner-lit sign out front, adorned with a Coca-Cola symbol on each side, read (in a most un-ironic font) "The Major Kira Nerys Memorial Dinner Theatre", while the sliding-letter marquee beneath it proudly declared (in a slightly less un-ironic font) "Paintball also available out back every day except Taco Tuesday! Reserve now, space is really filling up fast!" That last part... was a vicious, bleedin'-ass lie!
|J.C. Maçek III
The World's Greatest Critic!
Aside from that sign, the rest of the building's front looked like a dump. And it was. Actually, the sign didn't do Jack Q. Shit to help things and pretty much made things worse, considering the fact that "Mammaw's Last Chance Texaco", "Big Bud's Game Room" (which was over a pizza joint and was actually a porno shop), "Bubba Higgenbotham's Cucina" (the aforementioned pizza joint under the misleadingly named porno store) and even the town's police department all had identically designed signs (usually without the marquee). The town's Lesbian Bar sported a Pepsi sign.
From inside the firetrap doors a voice, not unlike that of an angry clown with a Helium addiction and a chest cold, boomed... as well as helium-addicted angry clowns can have booming voices... and echoed about the dingy walls of the theatre which was decorated much like a Texaco Restroom. The voice said...
"You all know the story... of Jesse Nagas... how he returned to the past, how he attempted to fix the future, how he fell, how he stole a time machine, how he took revenge, how he was stranded in the past and forced to experience some of the worst movies ever made... and knowing that he was, ultimately, all to blame for every bit of it. Gave you a kick, huh? You're kickin' for more... so folks, here's another story... one... that may SHOCK you!"
As with last year, crowds were gathering outside of a venue many miles away where everyone was certain that Kneumsi's 2011 Thanksgiving Turkey was to be held. T-Shirts were being hawked, posters were being forged, dignitaries were being mocked and police were basically treating the whole affair like one of those "Occupy Wall Drug" things (at least that's what they thought the damned thing was called). However, much like last year... the crowd was in the wrong place. This particular theatre group, knowing full well they had about as much chance of participating in that bizarro-world attraction as they had of being each individually named Bishop of a parish encircling their favorite vacation destination, had gone a different route. They elected, at this stage, to stage a stage adaptation of all of the Thanksgiving Turkeys to date, with their best actors playing each person documented in these horrific prose adventures, sickly wrapped around the review of... a really, really bad movie... hence, a Turkey.
Unfortunately, actors at "The Nerys" were some of the worst ever to curse the stage at any stage, so this show promised to be just as bad, if not worse, than most anything found in Corpses, Land's End, Jaws 4, Troll 2 and even Robowar... though admittedly not as bad as Executioner II because... DAMN!
"Despair, despair, Kneumsi!" one of the aforementioned talentless thespians gurgled, "For I am the Dread Nagas, scourge of Time, sent by his people to save the future by preventing the sins of the past, only to find his own future a living HELL!"
Unbeknownst to the unimpressive rehearsers, a pair of unseen eyes rolled. Unbeknownst to the owner of those eyes, a second pair of eyes were, in turn, watching HIM... and unbeknownst to the owner of the... okay, this is getting lame... somebody is watching somebody who is watching the stupid rehearsal and nobody knows it.
"Kneumsi... you have hounded me, threatened me, tried to kill me, trapped me in the past, drove me half insane... and I'm takin' my anger out of YOUR ASS!"
"CUT!" screamed the cartoonish voice that started this farce. "Cut, Cut, Cut, Cut, Cut! We open TOMORROW... Friday Night and we are nowhere NEAR ready, people. Try that again, James, please and remember, would you... Nagas may be a bit of an mellodramatic idiot, but he doesn't sound like a cross between John Wayne, Mister Ed and Kull the Conqueror, for fuck's sake! Don't forget... I was there!"
The "James" in question shrugged his shoulders in annoyance with his cousin. "So was I, asshole!" he muttered before trying again with a "Despair, Despair, Kneumsi! For I am the Dread-"
James S. Schroeder, cousin of the writer/ director/ narrator/ craft services master Percy Stone, found himself interrupted once again... although not by his obnoxious cousin (Schroeder's equal in their shared talent nadir). No this time he was interrupted by a round of slow, deliberate and extremely sarcastic applause from a darkened area within the squeaky, often threadbare and almost universally dog-smelling seats. "Oh... encore, encore, Scrotum!" came a frighteningly familiar voice. "I especially like how you forgot about Nagas being responsible for the reinvention of Marinara Schnapps, bonking a much better time traveler over the head with a really old Twinkie and stealing his time machine... oh and was almost as fond of such amazing films as Psycho III, White Hunter, Black Heart and Lawnmower Man as he was that K*Mart stock he bought... which subsequently tanked."
Percy Stone stepped forward. "It was taken out during rewrites... are you... Is that... Kneumsi? Here?"
"Surprised I remembered you? Why I haven't seen you two clowns since you kidnapped and sold me to Nagas himself for a book of Garbage Pail Kids cards."
Schroeder joined his cousin on stage and defiantly added "Yeah... we know. And my name's not Scrotum! It's-"
But again he was interrupted by a bout of painfully ironic clapping from the opposite side of the house... and a few seats back. "Ah, quite right, Schroeder! Quite right... And, Mister Stone... MY name is not 'Jesse Nagas' either."
At that point everyone's focus drifted to Nagas where he stood under a spotlight... that he had apparently installed himself right above his seat for dramatic affect. A loud "Dant-Dant-DAAAAAAAAAAAA!" accompanied his appearance as he posed in immitation of the cover of Superman #1 (his uppermost outstretched arm clearly held a microcassette recorder with which he heralded his arrival).
Kneumsi scoffed and shook his head, arms crossed over his "Angry Mickey Mouse" polo shirt. "Nagas... Shit, man! He's still alive? You assholes let Nagas in here? Aw, man, I should've smelled him. How you been, you irascible scamp? When you didn't show up last year, I feared for the best!"
"Oh, but I DID show up last year, Kneumsi... and each year before that... hiding in plain sight, avoiding only myself so as not to fuck up the timestream even more! Go back... re-read the reviews!" Nagas walked forward, smiling, the spotlight magically following its futuristic host. "Last year, however, I showed up too late for my revenge... so I polished my armor, shaved, got a decent haircut... stop laughing, Kneumsi, I'm talking here! And now you will pay for your mischief. Any questions?"
Percy raised his hand "Right here?"
"You? Oh, shit, what?", Nagas barked.
"Poetic license on the whole 'Jesse' thing, but what IS your first name."
Nagas grunted. "Sagan".
Kneumsi scoffed again as the rest of the cast and crew stood aghast at the play-come-to-life before them. "No way... your name is Sagan Nagas?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I would like to tell you that everyone from my time has a palindrome for a name, but... no, I got made fun of all the time in High School. A HIGH SCHOOL THAT NEVER EXISTED NOW THANKS TO YOU, KNEUMSI! And now, you will-"
But half-way around the rest of the aisles, yet a third bit of plodding, rude, interrupting, cutting, acerbic, sardonic, scathing faux-acclamation debuted. This time both Nagas AND Kneumsi joined the shocked theatre denizens in their surprised glances to the left. "Oh, now who the hell is this, then?" Nagas groaned, as annoyed as all get out, man!
And, a large silhouette darkened the poorly constructed rows of ill-maintained seats. The voice was deep, loud, harsh and desperately unrecognizable. "Oh, don't you recognize me, Future-Man? Me, whose path you have crossed not once, not twice, but thrice."
Kneumsi was glad this new Bozo didn't try to think of a counting word after "Thrice".
"And each time more... fateful than the last!", the invader finished.
"'More fateful than the last?' Did you really say that?" Kneumsi's shoulders were shaking as he bit his thumb in laughter.
And just then, without warning, yet a fourth cacophony of hand-patting sarcasm filled the room, as if this intro wasn't long enough. Everyone's eyes darted to the stage to see Schroeder clapping... but as everyone's eyes narrowed in annoyance he slowed the clapping to a stop. "I'm... I'm sorry, I don't have anything to add... it just looked like so much fun. I'll... I'll just sit down."
And he did.
The stranger continued. "No memories of me, then, Nagas? And what of YOU, Kneumsi? Nothing from you? No look of recognition? Nothing but glib remarks and pithy comebacks?"
Kneumsi shrugged. He was thinking about something else at this point anyway.
The mysterious stranger continued, unperturbed. "Then allow me to enlighten you both... The first time we met was in the year 1994. You, Nagas... fucking dumbshit... rented out the entire Dugout Sports Bar in the Garfield's where I worked as head bartender. I had to serve you and Kneumsi as you exposed him to the horrors of The Executioner, Part II in the vain, vain hope that he might somehow not grow up to become the idiotic film critic with the terrible looking website he became... Only to find that you accelerated the process, ruining your own future and trapping yourself in the ruins of a sick parody of a museum dedicated, I shit you all not, to Kneumsi himself!"
Kneumsi looked up at that point, briefly not thinking about sex and said "I didn't know that? Cool!!!"
The Bartender-cum-Mysterious Stranger pointed in a most Klingon-like anger. "I SAID RUINS, KNEUMSI! RUINS!"
Again, Kneumsi shrugged. "Yeah, but... hah... still!"
The finger was lowered and the stranger moved forward, showing his toothy grin "Yes, yes... But did either of you realize the affect that bad film would have upon ME? And what of the other movie on that tape? Frozen Scream? Did either of you consider, even for a second what might happen if in a fit of boredom and barely-legal drunkenness, I might watch that piece of shit, too?"
"What Happened?" the entire cast on stage asked in unison, which was kind of funny, really.
"I lost my MIND, that's what! It was THAT... BAD... MAN!" He swallowed hard. "I wandered for years in my madness, going through institution after institution until finally, we were all sure I was cured... and the halfway house I lived in even found me a job as a Janitor... and I loved my new life! That is until one Thanksgiving party in 2010."
"Last year?" Kneumsi sneered.
"Last year for YOU! Last year for you... but a lifetime ago for me. You see, as fate would have it, my place of employ was again rented out by someone for the screening of a bad movie... This time, a piece of dried cow dung called Robowar. This time I knew better than to watch. Especially when I recognized you, Kneumsi, after all those years. Coincidence? No... no... FATE! Yes, Fate, man!"
Kneumsi yawned, sat down and stretched his legs, attempting to get comfy, even with a spring sticking into his ass cheek.
"You left me a horrible mess to clean up, but at least you and the movie were gone. Then I found I was not alone... It's true. Read the last paragraphs of that review. Because for the second time in my life... NAGAS appeared, sealed the room with Tachyon Shields, screamed a few admonishments and then, realizing he had missed the party, swore a few times and climbed back into his stolen time machine to come here... now... tonight."
Kneumsi yawned again. "So, yeah, why didn't you just go back in time like two hours instead of going forward a year, there, Nagas?"
Nagas bowed his head. "I totally didn't even think of that."
The stranger... oh, let's call him "The Time Tender" laughed like Santa Claus after a few beers. "Yes, yes... Nagas is indeed a bit of an idiot! Foolish enough, or, perhaps, brilliant enough, to have left me abandoned in that room, with that mess, sealed in by Tachyon shields. Because I couldn't get out... I tried every way I could to break through those shields until I had finally absorbed much more than merely the Lion's Share of those Tachyons... and as soon as the shields faded away, I found myself unstuck in time, my madness offering a cradle for the Temporal Radiation and bringing me through experiences that Billy Pilgrim could only dream of. And then, after meeting and journeying with other Time travelers, I built my own time machine, removing the randomness of my movements, controlling them and sending me anywhere I wanted... Even... perhaps... to a changed, even more dystopian future... where existed the ruins of Kneumsi's Museum!"
Nagas and Kneumsi both stood up with starts and said "NO!", their arms out to the sides in shock, their eyes gleaming with the silly shock of rabid realization!
The Time Tender laughed. "YES! Little did Nagas realize that his negligent abandonment of a lowly janitor, surrounded by temporally unstable particles, might lead to his own salvation in my future... but Nagas' past. I could not have known that the time machine that left me was of my own design, though surely I was influenced by the memory... however, when I found myself Bonked on the head by a stale twinkie and awoke to find my poor ship was gone and I was alone in a grassy knoll next to a really bad idea for a Museum, I realized with laughing horror that I had met Nagas for a third time, just before he went back in time to attempt to torture Kneumsi with Troll II!"
Percy and Scrotum began to look terrified.
"And so you've borrowed Nagas' stupid plan to torture me with a bad movie for revenge, right? And you're going to do it to both of us?"
"No." laughed the Time Tender. "To ALL of you!"
And the theatre began to fill up with familiar faces. "Look, it's Ricky Richardson and his new roommate and former Nemesis, Lieutenant Roger O'Malley!"
"It's not like that!" said Ricky.
"Ah hah! And here's Jeni, and the cop, the construction worker, the Indian Chief, the leather biker dude, a gathering of Kneumsi's ex-girlfriends, Weaz, Kidd, that Soldier guy, Ricardo, that one cowboy who showed up..." Time Tender droned on and on, bothering to name each minor character from every Turkey until finally "... and they're all here to experience a Turkey of MY choosing!"
"And what would that be? Please tell me it's Showgirls!" Kneumsi was rubbing his hands together.
"No!" said the time-spanning Menace as his minions (temporarily mind-controlled party guests) passed out Happy Meals (for Thanksgiving) and he, himself, sealed off every orifice of the building with the same Tachyon Shields that had once unstuck him in time.
Kneumsi looked at his Happy Meal and silently noted the cruel lack of Toy inside. "McDonald's? Aw, man, please, PLEASE, please tell me it's not Mac and Me!"
Nagas called out from the now-full theatre. "No, not Mac and Me, please. In my time that movie is used to torture prisoners of war. Kneumsi, please rescue me!"
Time Tender scoffed "Oh fuck... no... it's nothing like that. What is the most vile, most reviled film of all time? What is the cautionary tale for all bad movie makers? What is hailed as the anti-Citizen Kane?"
Kneumsi gasped. "You don't mean?"
"YES! It's the nightmare of celluloid, the Frankenstein of film, the cesspool of the cinema... it's Plan 9 from Outer Space!!!"
This time everyone gasped as the stage was taken over by a large, silver screen. Everyone but Kneumsi, that is.
"What, that doesn't scare you?" Time Tender demanded.
Kneumsi looked annoyed. "A bit of an obvious choice, don't you think? I mean... why not Manos, the Hands of Fate? I mean, not even Mystery Science Theatre 3000 bothered mocking this one!"
But Kneumsi's new captor grinned and asked "When was the last time you actually sat through this? You don't remember how incredibly BAD this thing is... how it has the reputation of being funnier than most comedies, but in reality it still causes pain in even the strongest of constitutions. When do you think you, too, might go insane? Especially because I am making you watch this... SOBER!!!"
Kneumsi sat, silently, attempting to show his defiance, but sadly remembering that watching this film was like having your third molars removed without anesthetic while being tickled and punched in the gut at the same damned time. But to do this Sober... Sober... Sober... Ack!
The Theatre darkened as did the prospects of everyone in this dump of a place. Kneumsi cringed as the grim visage of Television Psychic Criswell appeared much to the anxiety of everyone in the whole place. The words he spoke were like so many bamboo shoots underneath their collective fingernails.
The biker guy stood up and shouted "Please, please tell me that he didn't just say 'We are all interested in the future for that is where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives!' PLEASE!"
Kneumsi called back "Simmer down or you'll miss where he says 'Future events such as these will affect you in the future.' only to tell us 'what happened', past tense, 'on that fateful day'!"
And with that the audience groaned as if being disemboweled by Daleks.
But one little old lady stood against the ruckus and demanded "Hey, how about some respect for Criswell! He DID predict, in real life, the assassination of John F. Kennedy, you know?"
"Yeah?" hollered Kneumsi, now a victim of his own shenanigans, "He also predicted the assassination of Fidel Fucking Castro, didn't he? And, as of right this minute, that guy is still alive and Criswell's been dead since 1982! Which is Predictable!"
The Cop, who was again seated, uncomfortably next to the Indian Chief, spoke up "Oh, God, he just said 'Let us punish the guilty. Let us reward the innocent.' This is a comedy, right?"
Then the Chief interrupted "How can this be serious? The very narrator got the name of the film wrong... He just called it 'Grave Robbers from Outer Space'"!
Time Tender prompted "Kneumsi?"
Kneumsi shook his head. "Working title... they didn't bother to re-record that line. Not that it would have helped. Folks, Ed Wood just didn't care."
But after an intolerably long credit sequence the crowd was greeted by the familiar and welcome face of Bela Lugosi appeared on-screen.
"Hey, it's Dracula!" yelled Ricky. "Isn't it?" He was oblivious to the fact that Nagas was on the floor in a fetal position, crying and clutching his armored gut.
O'Malley shook his head. "Don't get excited... I saw that movie Ed Wood! Lugosi was already dead before this film was made."
The Chief scowled. "Then How? How? How?" he demanded, pointing at the screen and trying desperately to ignore the laughing cop next to him."
Kneumsi sounded like an actor in a Pepto Bismol commercial as he said "That footage had nothing to do with Ed Wood's most famous film. He shot it himself of his ailing friend Bela just before he died and edited it into this so he could use Bela's waning star power to help sell tickets one last time. It failed."
"Whoa, whose the hot Goth babe?" Ricardo asked, in a break from his usual aversion to talking in films. "Is that Elvira?"
From his prostrate state, Nagas responded in tears. "No... that's Vampira, the horror TV host. She used to be a model named Maila Nurmi! She's responsible for that look. As I recall from my studies in avoiding this film and all like it, she's supposed to be Bela Lugosi's wife in this."
At that news the audience was in an uproar. "How the fuck old is she when he's like seven million in this?"
Kneumsi cleared his throat but sounded like he had been drinking either Battery Acid or a Tab. "No, no, no, he was like 73 when he died... two years before this shit was filmed. She was in her late 30s."
"How rich was he?" someone yelled.
"I heard he died broke!" shouted someone else.
"Like it matters, man, it's not like they were married in real life, shit!" called out a third voice in the callous crowd.
The Time Tender was disturbed, slightly... this didn't seem to be causing the agony he intended. "You all shut up and listen... an even worse line is coming up!"
So the audience waited through Bela's character's death, dulled by the drone of Narrator Criswell, they saw daytime and nighttime scenes that purported to be two angles of the same time, in spite of the fact that the night-time scenes were shot on an obvious and incredibly lame stage with a visible wall behind the cardboard "grave stones".
"What the fuck? Is that The Thing from the Fantastic Four?" the Construction goof called out.
"No," said Kneumsi, "that's Tor Johnson, pro-wrestler turned actor who, inexplicably, is cast as Police Inspector Dan Clay!"
Connie Struction responded "He's supposed to be a Cop? Well what did he just say?"
"I... have no idea!" Kneumsi sulked.
Kneumsi couldn't believe no one had complained about the ridiculous looking Flying Saucers yet!
"Oh, here it comes!" the Time Tender said and with that Jeff Trent, as played by Gregory Walcott, said "I saw a flying saucer" and then "It was shaped like a Huge Cigar!"
Time Tender wrung his hands in joy as the audience screamed in pain and laughter. "A FLYING SAUCER SHAPED LIKE A CIGAR???" Finally Percy said "Wait, when? When did he see a fucking flying saucer... why didn't they show us?"
Kneumsi was stunned. "Didn't you see it? It was hanging around, dangling from a string around all those clouds?"
"That was part of the MOVIE? I thought somebody here got cute and hung a hubcap from some dental floss to mess with us!"
"No that was part of the movie. Didn't you get what the guys in the plane were looking at?"
Schroeder guffawed "There wasn't a plane, the only time we saw that guy before was when he was sitting with his buddy in that room."
Kneumsi shook his head. "They were pilots... that was the cockpit."
"WHAT?", well over half the crowd shouted.
"But that was cardboard... that woman even bumped into it!" Schroeder reasoned as best he could.
"That was the stewardess!" corrected Jeni. "And don't bother telling us that they weren't even touching anything to fly the plane... those weren't even controls... just... lameness."
"Oh, hot, it's Vampira again! But who is that guy she's with?" Ricardo asked.
Kneumsi had dry mouth. He might have been dying... "That's Bela Lugosi's character again. Wood got his wife's chiropractor Tom Mason to double for the Ghoul Man, this time with his cape over his face... because Mason looked NOTHING like Lugosi... even with the cape on his face."
And the torture played on... as the stupid looking Mother Ship was seen, as Earth fought back against the Alien Invasion, led by Colonel Tom Edwards (Tom Keene), who watches the outdoor battle through his binoculars, even though he is clearly inside, standing in front of a gray wall (which was meant to be the horizon) in spite of the fact that he is casting a shadow on that very wall. They watched as the Boom Mic's shadow made its appearance, as the Flying Saucers returned and looked even worse with even more visible strings and even as Aliens Eros (Dudley Manlove) and Tanna (Joanna Lee) explain to their Ruler John "Bunny" Breckenridge that they are implementing "Plan 9", which involves the incredibly stupid idea of attempting to reason with planet Earth by raising their recently dead as Zombies (like Tor, Bela and Vampira, the latter of whom is credited as "Vampire Woman" for fuck's sake)!
The audience suffered and laughter gave way to pain, agony, torture, and the fast shutting down of all of their logic synapses until many actually felt their brains beginning to atrophy.
Meanwhile the Time Tender was grinning ear-to-ear, baby!
Nobody could even finish their damned McDonaldland Happy Meals for the nausea this film induced. Weaz looked the closest to barfing. "There isn't a shaky camera in this whole film, but I'm more nauseous here than I was during Cloverfield, The Blair Witch Project and Friday Night Lights all put together."
"Yeah!" Shouted Kidd. "Really, man... we've been here for like five hours... can't we break this up into smaller pieces over a few days? It would still be torture."
Time Tender prompted again "Kneumsi?"
His voice had weakened to a whisper... "The movie is only 79 minutes long... we are, as of right now, only 39 minutes into the movie. We still have half of this to go."
Kidd and, in fact, almost the entire crowd looked on in horror at this. Less than Forty Minutes? How could this be? It seemed like days... or at least hours. And Nagas wasn't looking good. Villain though he had become, it was hard not to have some sympathy for this poor quivering beast.
There seemed to be no end to the travesties and continuity issues in this horrible film.
The Chief called out again "How? How is this possible? I am in ACTUAL PHYSICAL PAIN DUE TO THIS MOVIE!" And a single tear trickled down his weathered cheek, reminding the hysterical cop next to him of those anti-pollution commercials from the 1970s. "Shut up, Cop, dammit. I mean, really, I heard this movie was funny as hell, but even this inept it's boring, so boring, so, so, so BORING... I can fucking feel my TOENAILS GROW!"
Kneumsi's shaky voice rattled out "His name was Edward D. Wood, Jr. He considered himself a writer, actor, producer and director, but in fact, he was none of these things. The truth is, his one main talent, dubious though it was, happened to be the ability to make EVERYTHING BORING. He had the anti-Midas touch... everything he touched became crap, anything he crafted became BORING!"
Ricardo laughed "Some things are NEVER boring, Lesbro!"
Kneumsi turned to look at him, mirthlessly. "Ricardo... in 1965, Wood created and wrote a film called Orgy of the Dead, also featuring Criswell for some reason beyond sanity. This film features scene after scene in which, one at a time, incredibly beautiful strippers walk into a graveyard, dance, then take off their clothes and dance some more. It is 92 minutes of almost nothing but beautiful women dancing naked in full, vivid color. I do not know how, I do not know why, I do not understand the possibility of this... but Orgy of the Dead is an INCREDIBLY boring movie. Ed Wood managed to make beautiful naked women dancing into something BORING. I never want to see it again. Ever."
Ricardo swallowed hard at this revelation. Kneumsi not wanting to see a movie packed with naked women? The Ed Wood Jinx must be true. Ricardo was terrified.
Then the audience's attention was drawn back to the screen by the raucous sounds of gunshots. A GUN FIGHT? COULD THIS FILM FINALLY GET EXCITING?
Somehow, it did not... and the audience, even given the "shock" of the next big revelation, was bored, literally, to tears.
Time Tender crossed his big arms over his broad chest as he saw the torture he was inflicting upon his victims. Having been driven mad decades before by bad movies and his infection by the timestream, it was only such moments as this that he felt truly alive, happy and, well, let's face it... plum tickled pink, man!
Long, agonizing scenes of Tor Johnson making funny faces sucked. Ed Wood's excuses for special effects... sucked. Vampira clearly wanting to go home... well she still looked pretty good, but it must have sucked to be her. Mason's unconvincing Bela Lugosi sucked. The humans meeting with the Aliens sucked. The ridiculous premise relating to the insulting possibility that this was all just some big misunderstanding... completely sucked beyond all POSSIBLE belief.
If some strange city out there developed a festival with parades and floats and parties and balloons and banners and drink specials at strip clubs and all kinds of other refinements, all based around the joys of rolling around in poison ivy, this film would fit right in with its incredible building of discomfort and induction of sorrow.
This was the filmic equivalent to CRAMPS!
Time Tender actually burst into laughter when Wood's script began to get sanctimonious and preachy and, if at all possible, the acting got even worse. At this point, no one else could even laugh... this truly, deeply hurt.
At long last, the credits rolled (although not before another bad soliloquy from Criswell). It felt as if many, many days had passed for them all. Not a single one of the crowd felt well. Most were angry... but all were glad that this nightmare had finally ended.
"So, Kneumsi... did you have fun?" mocked the villain of this story from his leaning position next to a window. "Do you see now what chaos you and Nagas have wrought?"
Silently Kneumsi nodded... as Nagas had attempted to do years before, Kneumsi was at last defeated.
The Time Tender laughed, heavily, sounding nothing like the friendly Bartender and eager Janitor that he had once been. Now he tended time... and he was about to clean up DESTINY.
"And now is the time I rid you all of your failed and useless little lives!" he barked, still smiling ear to ear. Kneumsi raised his head and saw as the beast pulled away from the window, with his cape trailing after him.
But Time Tender hadn't been wearing a Cape, had he?
"Pray to whatever Deity you may still hold Holy... because now, I am going to send you to your speedy deaths!" And with that the villain's hands glowed red, but the audience was too weak to argue... after the lame fight scene aboard the flying saucer (packed with dumb looking props on wooden tables) even death would be preferable.
But Kneumsi focused on the stream trailing behind his new enemy. It wasn't a cape... but some strange energy sheet stretching back to the window he leaned against. The Tachyon Shield. Suddenly Kneumsi realized that this reality was just as lame as an Ed Wood Movie.
Nagas stood to finally accept his fate... just as in the movie, the bad guys were going to win. But Time Tender's raucous laughter turned to a sullen scowl of pain as he began to look at his glowing hands... "No! The Tachyon Shields have caused my already unstable makeup to become unstuck again... This is impossible!"
And the Time Tender began to fade out of existence as the crowd moved backwards, not as one would retreat from an exploding terrorist, but as one might recoil from a really nasty sight... like Plan 9 from Outer Space!
"No! Denied of my Revenge! No! Not this! No!" And as a last ditch effort to stabilize himself in the present, he lunged forward and took hold of Nagas, the only other time traveler in the room (okay, Ricardo and Ricky both took little jaunts if you really read into it, and, technically, the Construction Worker died with Ricky on Land's End, so, yeah, he was probably pulled from the time-stream too, but who cares? It's not like anybody's reading this far down anyway, is it?). Nagas screamed like Jack the Ripper at the end of Time after Time as both beings vanished from existence... or, at least... this plane of Existence.
A long pause followed as the crowd began to advance to where the time-dragging enemies once stood until finally Kneumsi spoke.
"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" he said. "There's something you don't see every day!"
Everyone seemed to agree in their own, imperfect, silly way.
"Well, it just goes to show..." Kneumsi said as he bounded to the stage and grabbed a microphone "When you're down and out and it seems-"
The audience all booed, hissed and began to charge out of the place, having seen and heard enough terrible crap for one night, thank you very much!
"But wait! Was I too soft on you guys, letting you go last year? Come back here, people? I'm going to... Oh, hell... who cares... Good Night... and Happy Thanksgiving!"
Kneumsi had not only reached the bottom of the barrel by experiencing Plan 9 from Outer Space again for the first time, by coming up with his longest, most tortuous and most over-the-top Thanksgiving Turkey yet and by letting his already mediocre website become a parody of itself. "Don't forget, on WorldsGreatestCritic.com a Turkey is called a DOG!" he called after the guests, "You all just ate Dog!"
But only Kneumsi's closest friends remained at that point. "So, what's for next year?" Lynelle asked. But Kneumsi already had his next wicked idea formulating and a decidedly Norman Bates-esque smile graced his face.
Until next time...
Nagas and the Time Tender were caught in a vicious battle, holding on to each other and fighting like dogs as they tumbled through time... this could be, for them, both the end... and the beginning.
But even being lost in time, lost in space, lost in meaning... could that be even vaguely worse that sitting through the debacle that is Plan 9 from Outer Space???