And a horse ran off with her...

In my parent's house there is a black tin box with old fashioned flowers on it. I honestly don't remember the origin of the box. It might be a hundred year old heirloom or maybe my mother got candy in it one Christmas in the seventies. I don't have a clue. But I do know what's inside the box. Items from our family. Old things. Copies of marriage certificates, family tress, a pair of ancient reading glasses, a string of jet beads. Among these strange and awesome clues to our heritage is a family tree that bears the rather remarkable words next to a woman's name "A horse ran off with her". Her birth is noted. Her siblings and parents and thier descendants are all neatly alligned in their own little off-shoot forks but her own death is only "A horse ran off with her." There is no date, no information as to whether a body was recovered or when, how old she was when this happened, if they looked for her or even where this occurred. Were her parents frantic or did they assume she would reign her horse in and be home shortly? Was she small or an adult? Did she have a beau who searched in the woods even months after she disappeared? Did her parents put out a grave marker for her? Was there a search party? Did her mother set a place for her at the table for years afterward? Is her skeleton out there somewhere waiting to be found and puzzled over? Did she die at all? Might she have had amnesia and never knew who she was? Did she go onto marry, have children, grow rich, turn into a lady of the evening? Did she marry a Vanderbilt? Did she take up opera? Did she move out west as a mail-order bride? Maybe she knew who she was and pretended she had amnesia to escape a marriage being forced upon her?

A horse ran off with her....it stirs my imagination.

THAT relative...

Do you have THAT relative? The one that's funny, smart, good job, owns a home, etc. And yet, they're unattached. And not the better for it. I'm certainly oen who says if you're not interested in being coupled then you shouldn't be but for some people...it's SUCH a shame. They have everything to offer and no one to give it to.

I have this relative. Twenty years ago this relative married a HARPY FROM HELL'S DEEPEST PIT. She wasn't aware that you should STOP DATING OTHER PEOPLE WHEN YOU GOT MARRIED. Before it was all over she cost him his job, his credit, several thousand dollars in court costs not just from the divorce but from bailing her out of jail on multiple DUIs and every bit of his confidence. I don't blame him for being gun shy. For the first ten years but I think it's time to get in the saddle again. He had to work hard to rebuild his life.

In a bizarre twist of fate (which I can only believe is Divine and the Divine pointing a finger at me) he lives not far away from us. He owns a home on a lake, a boat, a dog, he has a good job that he likes and makes excellent money. Basically, every over thirty unmarried woman's fantasy man. I ask him from time to time if he's seeing anyone. No. I ask his mother and sisters if he is seeing anyone. No. He's happy to come over and hang out for family functions. Basically, he's...great. I think this horrid woman just devastated him. And I think (but can not confirm) that she may have been one of those where she called after the divorce and was all "I still love you now give me money". And he probably did because he loved her. May still love her, I hate to admit.

So...what to do. I know, you're all out there going...um, NOTHING. But I feel an intervention is necessary. I only have room for one creepy, bathrobe wearing, bushy eyebrowed weird uncle scaring the neighborhood kids in my attic and I think I've already given that slot away. So...my first thought would be to invite him to church and then slowly get him involved in the massive singles Northpoint's Fusion> there. But in order to get someone in volved in a singles ministry you would first, have to get them involved in ministry. And sadly, the 5000 pound charging bull that is Baptist has already done it's damage here. My cousin would probably rather set his head on fire then go. Of course, inviting him for brunch and then physically kidnapping him is open as an idea. But we do have a number of cops in the services and they might ask questions about the handcuffs and gag. So....next.

Last Christmas, we bought the other creepy bathrobe guy in our life a gift certificate to eHarmony. In truth, we did it for two reasons. Normally we would never have bought into a "soul-mate match".

First) Neil Clark Warren is Rick Warren's father. So that led it some credibility (yes, Purpose Driven Life).
Secondly) er...we went on and did a free profile like we thought our friend would answer to see what sort of people he might be matched with and got some results we thought were good.

So, I'm thrilled to report that our friend met someone and things are still going well. So maybe I'll visit, chalk up another fauxfile and see what I get. Then I can send him the gift certificate for Christmas and say the same thing we said to our friend, use it when you want to and you never have to tell us what happened. But is that offensive? I'm not trying to tell him he's a loser. Actually, the opposite. I'm saying you're so great that out there is someone who would be really lucky to find you because you're just what they're looking for.

Anyway, I've just been thinking about him a great deal lately. And when he dies one day I don't want people not to notice until the smell gets really bad. Cause...sad.

There's a lesson here...and a tragedy

I've been reading about Timothy Treadwell this week. I'm not sure why. Clearly it's a horrible story. There are not many things I look at and say "How tragic that could have been preventable". But this is one of those cases. It was wholly preventable making it wholly tragic. For Timothy Treadwell? No. I think he had a deathwish lurking in him and he desperately wanted it to end with a bear. But for his girlfriend, Amie, it really was the most preventable and horrifying and painful way to go. Knowing death was coming for you and not being able to figure out how to get away because you were paniced. She'd just watched the man who had told her that bears were gentle and docile be dragged into the underbrush by the head by one.

For those who need a quick synopsis, Tim and Amie were eaten by bears.

Timothy Treadwell was essentially an out of work cocktail waiter from Malibu with acting ambitions and a drug problem. And yes, I realize that's oversimplifing. At any rate, he apparently at some point with the help of a Vietnam Vet dried up and decided to devote his life to bears. No, I'm not kidding. He spent the next 13 summers on the Alaskan Coast in a massive animal preserve. He started out studying and photographing them but as time went on he became...nuts. He dubbed himself The Bear Whisperer. He would walk up to them within touching distance and try and pet them or KISS THEM. He called them names like BooBoo. He stroked bear scat and talked about how amazing it was that at some point it was inside a bear.

He eventually became obsessed with the idea that he was protecting the bears (yes, inside the wilderness preserve) and that they loved him (yes, wild bears) and that they would not harm him (again, wild bears). So much so that he eventually, as his behavior became more erratic, began throwing common sense and precautions to the wind. While no firearms were permitted in that part of the park, you could take pepper spray or a portable electric fence. He did neither claiming that the bears would be..offended in some way in his lack of trust. Listen, I have cats. My cats like me. They like to hang around, get scratched, eat, sit in my lap. But ultimately, they're cats. I love them, they have personalities. But they're cats, they're animals. If I were to disappear tomorrow and someone else showed up to do the feeding, holding, scratching thing? I'm not sure they would spare a moment's thought for me.

So, okay this is the mindset we're dealing with. His girlfriend Amie joined him for a few weeks the last three summers but she had quit her job to move to Malibu and be near him so she went for the entire summer. In Tim's own journal he laughingly says that she calls him a madman and that she is going to leave him. She wasn't as comfortable with bears. As he took no precautions against them, she did not either. She didn't know anything about bear attacks or what it means when one attacks day versus night or older bears and their food gathering or what happens right before the bears enter hibernation and turn into nothing but eating machines.

In all the years that the wilderness preserve had been there there were no reports of maulings or deaths by bears. There is all the reason to suspect that as little an ounce of prevention would have prevented these two deaths. What makes this particular attack so very...commercial is that six minutes of it were recorded on audio. For some unknown reason someone (it is presumed Amie) turned on the vid cam but forgot to take the lens off. Few people have heard the tape. The investigators, his business partner at Grizzly People, an organization he co-founded. It ran out after six minutes so the end id not recorded. The truth is that we can only guess. It's like that movie The Perfect Storm. No one really knows what happened but we can take a guess and probably not be too far off course. There is a fake recording floating around the internet but don't be fooled.

I'll agree with the arguments that he becamse the catalyst for his own death when he himself desensitized the bears to his presence (incidentally, these were NOT Grizzly, they were just brown bears), ignored park rules and common sense and on more then one occasion there is video footage of him feeding wild animals by hand. Again, you want to pave your own road to destruction with beef jerky handouts, that's your business but don't suck an innocent in with you.

I haven't seen the movie nor have I read the book. I'm not all that interested in Timothy Treadwell's one man course of self-destruction and obsession. I'm just...sad that a woman (and yes she was old enough to know better and yes she was very intelligent) died because someone told her what to think and she just did. There's a very important lesson about faith in here and how it can be turned into an ugly thing. But I'm not the person to write that story.

As usual I try not to be one of those who just tosses out an opinion without fact checking. I want all of you to do the same so I'm giving you some links. One is Timothy Treadwell's photography which is lovely. There's an RD article, one from a guy who knew him on the Penninsula, one from a tour guide, one from Grizzly People. See if you can find a lesson in blind faith in there somewhere and articulate it better than I. I hope so.

Timothy Treadwell's Last Letter

Grizzly People

Readers Digest Article

Timothy's Story from the perspective of another wildlife guide

Tim's Photos

A very detailed and researched article on the whole thing

Incidentally, I'm not recapping Grizzly Man so do not even ask.

No, it's really not an urban legend

Some years ago I heard this story on the radio as I was driving to our church small group. ironically the evening's topic was essentially stubborness.

My husband I think back to this story often and when one of us is in "no, I'll do it myself mode" the other generally says brightly, "great, I'll get the tarp." It's the universal signal in our household that we're being unreasonable and we need help. I'm not making light of this couple but I do think it is the ULTIMATE story of tragedy when we can not admit we can't do it all on our own. Print it out and stick it somewhere.

The Price of Stubborn

The Marathon Continues...

Last night we got the Queen Of The Garage Sale to come over and get a load of stuff in her big ass truck. Even she was floored at the sheer volume of stuff we had. It didn't all fit in the truck. Even after she left I found bags of clothes we forgot to give her. I realized I haven't even LOOKED in the kitchen yet. I'm thinking of unloading my bread maker. It sucks. I'm not sure if it's cheap or broken or I'm just lousy with yeasted goods. I think the later. I can't even make it work with one of those mixes where you pour it in and add water. It all comes out in a brick like state that not even my cats can gnaw through.

This weekend the baby has gone to hang with her grandparents and we are cleaning out the garage and any other cabinets, boxes, closets, etc. that need out attention. Wait, that's all of them. Well, we'll be busy.

Well, back to editing my book which I', so over I'm under but you never know...

We Shall Overcome

Day Two of the Mass Exodus of Crap continues...

Today I skipped the gym after finding every machine occupied. I decided it was a divine sign to go home and fill up more trash bags. I begin my trial in our bedroom. I noticed that we had three handmade afghans sitting by the telelvision in the armoire. I remember that one of them is small and was knitted by a little old lady as a wedding gift to us. I like it and keep it around because it's exactly the size to throw around my shoulders while in bed and reading. The other two...I don't know. I felt bad putting them in the garbage bag. I mean someone somewhere MADE them with their withered, arthritic little hands clicking that crochet needle along miles of brown and mustard colored yarn from Wal-Mart. On the other hand. Money vs Someone. Money wins. I then opened the two bottom cabinets in the armoire. No one has been in there since 2003. I know this for a FACT. Our dog died that year and that's where we kept all his things and we haven't been able to look at them since. I left his things in there. I still can't give them away. But I did pull out about 25 VCR tapes of movies we like some of which I hadn't the vaguest clue we owned but I remember having to fulfill my Columbia House contract with something. I also found another blanket and a duffel bag. Feeling triumphant I led onto the closet. I mean we've been very good about getting things out of the closet we no longer wear. How much could be in there?

My husband discovered me behind a four foot high pile of things two hours later. I had answered the question about where my favorite white t-shirt had gone (on the floor behind a suitcase). I had reboxed the shoes I was keeping since I had all of the empty boxes sitting on the shelves, just the shoes were in a pile on the floor. I cleaned out two drawers of purses, belts and scarves. I figured if someone was going to buy the Turnip Dress then they might as well have the matching black and white geometric bag to match. Horrid! But I kept the shoes since their black patenet BCBG kitten heels. I found my pearls. I discarded sweaters like I was moving to Hawaii. I went through two Rubbermaid tubs of maternity clothes that have been parked in my closet in huge Rubbermaid continers for no reason that I can think of since my chid was born two years ago. I kept one tub worth JUST IN CASE. I tossed out a pair of four inch high silver heels because I'm not a stripper. I ditched a zip up fleecy thing that made me feel like an aqua colored marshmallow. My husband came in as I was contemplating a Banana Republice summer knit dress that I love and hadn't seen since '04 when I must have mistakenly stuck it in with maternity, some Spanx that may have been past their prime and a belt that I haven't been able to wear since I haven't had a 25 inch waist in...a while.

His reaction- Gosh. And...where did we get all this stuff? And where were we hiding it? And who paid for it?

And people, that wasn't even his stuff, my lingerie drawers or the shelevs I keep my serious pruses on. I got a long way to go here. And I'm NOT wearing a Barenaked Ladies t-shirt stained with purple paint and jeans two sizes too small with a hole in the ass and a pair of loafers with brown stacked heels while I'm doing up. Why? BECAUSE I'D RATHER HAVE THE MONEY AND THE SPACE.

Accumulation of six to eight feet expected

My husband and I are in the throes of cleaning out our Casa Novelchick and Chasing the Fluency God. My OCD having been what it has lately, any sort of accumulation or pile of stuff will send me over the edge after a day. So I am excited, excited, excited that this is happening. I haven't been this happy with something since Nair. It's odd the things you keep and odder the places you keep them. Oddest still is your rational for doing so. I should mention that all of this is for Rob's Workwife. Since her husband passed away recently she's been trying to keep busy and she loves garage sales. Along with our help, this is going to be the mother of events.

Anyway, I decided to start with our guest room closet. I mean it's not even a walk-in so how much stuff could it have in it? I viewed it as a warm-up. I thought, maybe a garbage bag of seasonal clothes that we haven't worn in ages. HAHAHAHAHA! Apparently, when we moved from our little house in Buckhead to this house basically...we were in a panic. I believe we threw everything hither thither that didn't seem to have an obvious home into Rubbermaid crates and off we went. Oy!

First I looked through the hanging rack. I thought we were using it for out of season coats. Apparently a bunch of clothes I hated and should have gotten rid of ages ago but felt bad about getting rid of since they were expensive had decided to hold a convention in there. Ann Taylor black sheath dress. I wore it once to my grandmother's funeral. I look like a rotten turnip in the photos. And yet, there it hangs. I'll never wear it again. I can't even stand to LOOK at it but I feel terrible about getting rid of it since it was SO expensive. I looked at the dress a long time and then came up with my mantra. Do I want a dress I'll never wear again or do I want the space and the money? Money and space won every argument.

Turnip Dress: be gone from my sight!

In short, the only things hanging in there now are one ball gown, two cocktail dresses, Rob's graduation cap and gown and winter coats. Into the sale pile went cocktail dresses, evening gowns, evening bags, scarves, suits, blouses, sweaters and a butt load of maternity things. Next, the top shelf. Our wedding photos. Keep. Curious George beach towel. Keep, according to my husband but why was it in there? What possible good is a beach towel doing us in a guest closet? Various financial and accounting college textbooks. No keep. Tons of reference books from the early nineties on sports, jobs, history and other topics. No keep. All went into boxes. And now the floor section. I started pulling boxes. I won't scare you with the details but here is partial list of things I found and DIDN'T KNOW I OWNED.

An aquarium (NIB)
A massive crockpot (NIB)
Multi-colored glass decanter set (NIB)
Camcorder from....1995ish and tri-pod
A water fountain (NIB)
Several dozen notecards and postcards bought on trips all over the world with intentions of framing them
Enough computer paper (including seasonal paper, photo paper, transfer paper, invitations and enevelopes and resume paper) to open a Kinko's

We filled up four trash bags, two boxes, all the things in original boxes and about twenty hanging things from that ONE CLOSET. I am ashamed. Deeply, truly ashamed.

Then I moved into my daughter's room. I have kept everything she's worn since I brought her home but I didn't think it was THAT much stuff. I mean she's LITTLE how much space could this stuff take up? Five bags of clothes later I felt wrong. I kept about twenty small outfits that I would like to have on hand if we do have another baby but everything else? I would rather have the money and the space. I even packed up a box of things for a friend.

This filled up my husband's SUV entirely to the point where I thought we might have to strap that baby on the roof. So, one load down. One closet and one nursery. One Master bed and bath, kitchen, library and garage to go. I'm glad we have beer in the house.

Yesterday, we decided to take a stab at the garage. Our garage is a place that God has forsaken. Only Satan could possibly dwell in a place so horrid. Dead plants, mildewed stuff, old clothes, files, bags of soil, fertilizer, tools, Christmas decorations, rugs, left over carpet, hats, coats, shoes, chairs, boxes and boxes and boxes. I sat looking at a piece of pegboard on the wall with tools on it for a bit. I remember when we first moved in that Rob and I put it up with such a sense of excitement and achievement. We both come from homes of messy garages. We vowed that our garage would alway be neat and organized. We would always park our cars in it. We would keep it so clean we could eat off the floors. We planned to buy mats to put under the cars so no oil would touch our pristeen concrete. And now....evil lives there. And who knows what else. We started going through stuff. A partail listing of things found includes:

A copy of my husband's high school transcripts
Reciepts for payment on the chapel we married in
An entire box of VCR tapes of assorted play-off games
Zoo Atlanta staff shirts ( I haven't worked there in years)
Crystal Bowl
Leopard cell phone holder
More baby clothes
9 boxes of Christmas decorations
Stuffed animals
Wreaths
Gas cans, oil cans, paint cans, wallpaper scraps, carpet scraps and scraps of anything we've ever assembled
Fabric swatches
A wagon that apparently we have tossed "stuff" in to the point that it looks like a miniature version of the Sanford and Son truck
Silver serving trays
Chafing dishes
Boxes marked "garage sale"

We gathered up roughly four garabage bags of soft goods, one of Misc. and several crates of books and VCR tapes, cassette tapes, etc, a filing cabinet and other assorted goodies. We're still debating about the high chair. We haven't even begun there really. This was just one four hour stint.

While mortified that we allowed this to happen I have to say that there are fun parts. Sometimes I'll open something and it's like seeing an old friend. I found a picture of my father and I in New York one Thanksgiving. Or all the cards I think my husband ever sent me including a love note written on our wedding day. Rob found a photo of a high school baseball team he was on. We discovered movies that we loved but haven't even thought of in years to put in our Netflix list. Who knows? Eventually a car may get parked in there. Hell, eventually we may FIND a car in there. Until then, we keep plugging away at it. Because we'd rather have the money and the space.

And the winner is...

Yes, the winner of the genetic lotto has made her long anticipated appearance and...she looks exactly like our daughter did at two days old. Seriously, I have no doubt that this will grow into a truly beautiful little girl but right now she looks just like the sundried tomato mine did. And it's not like the kid is wearing St. John knit pantsuit or a "Kids Starving Sucks" onesie. Lighten up folks, it's a BABY and it poos just like mine did. She's going to spit up fantastic volumes of stuff that never comes out of your shirt. She will cry and scream and eventually the Jolie-Pitt clan will buy the entire Baby Einstien DVD collection and park her in front of the tv in her bouncy chair depsite the fact that they SWORE they would never do such a thing, in order to get enough time to shampoo their freakin' hair...or was that just me?

But I will go on record saying that I really, really admire the lengths that these people have gone to to keep their family shielded and this very very special time private. The resort, the government assistance, the fact that the resort was in the middle of a wildlife preserve with wild lions roaming around, that about 30 seconds after Shiloh was named that the Jolie-Pitt attorneys bought up every possible way to use her name on the web. Seriously, try and buy Shiloh.com or ShilohJoliePitt or something. You can't. I applaud their spare no expense maneuver in allowing their family to be together and enjoy each other with out exposing themselves to the media or having thier children exposed to the horrible headlines that we've all seen lately at the grocery check-out.

And also, I like the name Shiloh despite the many critics I've seen all over what I used to think were repetable places like CNN. No one asked you. So stick that in your pipe and smoke it!

It's a shame that Tom Cruise and Zombie Girl didn't think to be as pro-active in their race to whore out their pregnancy and "relationship" as much as possible since they got results like this http://suricruise.com/. Tell me THAT's not creepy.

Did I mention...

I feel like when I reported that Kristen Nelson had rejected me that I didn't really express how sad I was about that. I really am. Having discussed it with my writing friends I agree that it's better to have no agent then one who is not fully supportive of you. The problem of course is getting the agent who is supportive. Somehow in my mind, Kristen Nelson was someone who would get my book. Apparently not. I was extremely self confident that I could send it off and that she would request the full manuscript, read it and be quite happy to sign me up thus begining my career of endless famous movie producers wooing me for the rights. I do hate it when my plans are altered. So, I'm rather heartbroken. Really I am. I suppose pride goeth before hte fall but I'm still quite proud of this book and I hope it will find a home and that someone will love it. Well, I suppose it's time to send out more envelopes.

The Greenskeeper: Pastiche, Explanation or Homoeroticism with a cherry on top?

The Greenskeeper

It's Par for the Corpse (and no I didn't make that up)

I can't decide if this is the worst attempt at a slasher film ever or a clever allegory on John Rocker's career faux pas. You can read the SI article that brought it all crashing down HERE John Rocker Kills His Career. All filled with rage again? Let's do this thing.

We open with a pair of white pajamas lying in a bed. Wait, there's someone wearing The Pajamas. It's a guy who is Ralph the Mouth from Happy Days illigit son (Allelon Ruggiero, whose mighty acting credits include Mannequin 2: On the Move). Yet, the The Pajamas take center stage as they are top and bottoms, neatly ironed and buttoned up fully. I believe they have a very crisp crease in the pants. There's also a nice white undershirt peeking from the top of the V-neck. I'm guessing he hasn't been called up to by International Male yet. I'm sure it's just a matter of time.

The door to the bedroom opens and we see a close up of John Rocker's face. I don't think anyone can argue he's a bad looking guy on the outside. Horrified at the site of a man under seventy attired thusly, yet strangely drawn to The Pajamas, John puts on an apiary hat. He's very My Fair Lady with the netting and all. I have a sudden need to break into a chorus of “On the Street Where You Live”. But I’ll refrain. He turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him, as any polite beekeeper would.

Ralph of The Pajamas is understandably confused as to what a washed-up, bigot baseball pitcher would be doing in his room and opens the door to follow him out. Where he is confronted by...his wildest, dearest fantasy involving...golfing teenagers? I don't know. Anyway, the door opens to a lovely summer day and he and The Pajamas are greeted by a legion of young, plaid skirted, white garter belted women clearly recruited from Metro Atlanta’s finest Hooters. One of them is brandishing a side pony tail! Make-up and Hair credited to Courtney Brame. YOU WILL NEVER WORK IN THIS TOWN AGAIN, honey! Actually, it doesn't really look like she worked to start with. Anywhoodles all these girls are brandishing golf clubs. And they beat him to death. Oh they do not. But that would have been awesome.

But it is BY FAR one of the most phallic scenes in all of moviedom. He moves through them with great wonder and astonishment at his dream not being as homoerotic as they usually are (or maybe it is?) except for the John Rocker cameo. The ladies have now made a military style arch for him to pass through and at the end is John Rocker naked. Oh there is not. But that would have been...icky. Anyway, at the end of this fabulous Arc de Tramp is a curiously dark haired girl in an ill fitting white button down and khaki pants. She looks like she’s there to sell him some sort of home delivery dry-cleaning service. You know, we tried that. And the ‘free’ pick-up and drop off ended up costing us three times wheat it was when I drove through and handed it out my car window to the guy on the corner. Total gip. She’s in some sort of weird come hither pose which I suppose we should find alluring… or motivating to buy her ungodly expensive Jiffy Quick Cleaning Services and wagging a finger at The Pajamas, because no one can resist their inexplicable allure. Until The Greenskeeper pops up behind her in full beekeeper drag and slits her throat with a pair of hedge clippers. No really this time. It’s all very squishy and ketchupy. I’d like to not e for the record that the white pajamas are untainted with blood because they have been Simonized.

Ralph and The Pajamas sit up in terror in his ugly bed-in-a bag boudoir, thankful that…some brunette wasn’t sliced open for real and his dry-cleaning and its inflated bill will be arriving on time? Suddenly The Greenskeeper (okay, why are we calling him The Greenskeeper when he’s clearly The Beekeeper? Not as ominous? We shall be calling a spade a spade and referring to him as such the rest of this recap) pops up IN THE BED and makes a play for Ralph with his shears. And even before the credits, we’re getting that either John is making fun of his homophobia or was incredibly oblivious as to how this would play on film. Did he watch the dailies? Did they even have dailies? Discuss amongst yourselves.

Ralph awakens for real this time. Why couldn’t that shitty décor have been a dream as well? Anyway, there actually is a person in the bed with him but apparently it’s no one with a sharp tool (ha! See what I did there? Oh, never mind.). Is he the main character? Seriously? They chose a somewhat homely, chunky kid? If you thought Ralph the Mouth was sexy? You are going to LOVE this movie. Anyway, I like that they went out on a limb here. Although, The Pajamas totally owned those scenes.

Credits. Oh! Oh! No! Kip Winger! Kip WInger! Kip Winger SCORED this. Suddenly, I’m totally in love with this movie. Kip Winger! Most of you do not know that my khaki wearing, short haired, clean shaven CPA husband had a whole Kip Winger thing going on in the eighties. And they end with The Beekeep..er…The Greenskeeper throwing his big machete at the screen. Is that a pitch? The Slicer? Ha!

We are now viewing a somewhat pitiful clubhouse meant to look regal and southern. There is some controversy as to what subdivision they actually filmed this movie at. It appears that no one really wants to take responsibility. Anyway, guard house so we know it’s private, club president (Mr. Anderson) parking only sign that someone made on the laser printer and slapped on there so we know he is rich and powerful. Oh my. He gets out of the car and he is OLD and then he gives someone, and the only object in this shot otherwise is the parking sign, the thumbs up. Obligatory pervert young guys looking at girls in bikinis, balls flying everywhere (not like THAT) and some guy with a golf shirt with an upturned collar is playing cards and cheating out on a patio somewhere. Note to Kevin Greene, people at country clubs do not sit about playing…whatever when there is sun and golfing available. And here’s khaki pant girl smiling and waving at us. Sweet. Okay, we’re skipping the rest of this since it’s essentially all clips from the actual movie. It puts me in mind of the Love Boat opening credits. Ah, such sweet memories.

So now we are confronted with…a Lane Bryant Thong Model. Here’s the thing, I am sure almost every girl in this flick is like a size eight but since we’re so used to looking at size two on screen they all look enormous. So, I’m calling her LBTM (but it’s apparently Mary Catherine) and you can get over it. If she didn’t want to be ridiculed, she should have put on some damn granny panties. She’s whipping golf shirts out of the closet asking which one she should wear, pink or white. Our hero and The Pajamas are sitting on the edge of the bed looking…desperately for a cue card? Apparently he finds one and makes a wardrobe suggestion and I don’t care so we’ll just move on to the next set of LBTM’s lines where she is ruthlessly beaten by the exposition fairy and monologues that ALAN and The Pajamas quit college to write screenplays, are bad at it, his step-father runs/owns the country club where he is assistant Greenskeeper and he lives in a dump and she’s tired of it. Alan and The Pajamas point out that she doesn’t actually live there but that just irritates her more. So she says she has a great idea for a screen play and Alan and The Pajamas dutifully get out a pen and paper. I can not imagine why. He can’t possibly POSSIBLY think this screeching harpy has anything worthwhile idea to create from? And then she says “Boy meets girl, girl gets tired of living in shit hole, boy looses girl to a REAL man with a Jacuzzi and a DeLorean.” What year was this written? Has this script been languishing around in someone’s underwear drawer for two decades just waiting for a defamed professional athlete to star in it? Heavens! A Delorean! I haven’t thought of those since The Wedding Singer. I loved that movie. You remember how they put out two soundtracks for that? You spin me round like a record, baby, round like a record….Anyway, Ralph Mouth, Jr. points out that it doesn’t have a second act. Oh, the foreshadowing….

My God! The Greenskeeper has been at work all night! The humanity! The evil! There are bodies EVERYWHERE, strewn hither and thither this way and that. Let the wailing and gnashing of the teeth begin in mourning! Oh. No, it’s just the living room. Apparently LBTM has flounced off to find her stud with a stainless steel sport scar (you know, I’m not unsure Jon Delorean HIMSELF is not available since he’s out of prison.) since she wades through the carnage and is called Yoko by the one person still conscious. Hee.

Alan, now sans pajamas (not like THAT), wanders in. There are bodies all over the place in front of a blank television festooned with sweat socks. I guess this is some sort of “typical college guy” house under the brilliant direction our set decorator…okay according to IMDB no such person was there so let’s fault Jimmy Jay, set dresser of record, for this. The Exposition Fairy sprinkles us with her glittery dust of tell, don’t show, so we learn it’s Ralph’s birthday and that it’s being honored by a showing of “The Milkman” right there in Frat Rat Trailer. The Milkman? Ha! See? Pastiche or crap? I can’t decide. Ralph admits to Not Passed Out Guy that he’s been suffering from nightmares starring…his father? John Rocker is his father? I like it. Ralph Mouth says his dad is trying to tell him something. He says it’s clairvoyance (um, that’s not clairvoyance there Ralph. I believe that’s called bad trip). Obviously Not Passed Out Guy doesn't understand so Ralph makes a Close Encounter analogy (and defiles one of my favorite early sci-fi pieces of legit nature in such away that it makes me feel dirty all over) that sets off his bud that aliens are invading. And….scene. It should be noted that as Ralph exits Chez Shit that it is a trailer and that some weird guy he waves at is wearing an Old Fart hat, smoking, drinking two different beers and flips him off. I dare to opine that this may be the actual neighborhood that at least half the cast actually lives in. Except Kip Winger, cause he’s all cool. It’s all very majestic.

When Ralph Mouth arrives at Club Redneck he spends a moment staring longingly at the brunette who is sweeping off..something. She waves and it’s worth noting that her jugular is still intact. Ralph is now walking by a somewhat skuzzy pond, contemplating…stuff and tossing…stuff into the murky water. We suddenly get a close-up of his face as he stares into the water and the guitar of impending evil wails out as we see…what is this? We see a body in the clothing of the Beekeeper minus his Eliza Doolittle bonnet except the face is all decomposy and then it opens its eyes. And Ralph blinks and goes on about his nature walk to a crap shack next to the lake. Weird. Homage to Crystal Lake?

Ralph enters the Crabgrass Shack and it’s full of stuff that one apparently needs to keep greens…green. He whips out a jacket and shoes and begins untying his shoelaces (homage to Mr. Rogers?) like his Nikes are too good to be trampling around on grass in. The door behind him slowly opens and it’s… a black guy sneaking up on him. And they laugh about how HI-larious this is. It’s not really but when OTIS (oh for the love of cake couldn't they name the black guy not OTIS) pulls out like a nine inch joint from one of his pockets I understand why he thinks everything is funny. And possibly why he thought it was okay to be in this movie.

And we have a lifeguard yelling at a little kid. We have lots of people lying on plastic loungers in bathing suits. Now we have a girl telling us that her Daddy told her she could only get “a bimmer” and that she hates being poor. Well, I hate you so we know that Karma still works. She makes a pouty face or possibly it’s a bad reaction to the Levofloxacin, which she is surely taking. Her friend replies that Bimmers are so last century. As are large silicon breasts but this appears to not figure in the equation. And if a BMW is last century dare we bring up a DELOREAN? Are they making a comeback that I’m unaware of? I suppose it’s not like a stainless steel car is ever going to disintegrate. What did they recycle those into? Calphalon? I may have sautéed a salmon filet in a mustard and tarragon glaze on one the other night. I’ll go ahead and tell you that all the girls in the movie aside form the waitress are named Mary something or another. We’re going to refer to them as the Merry Sluts. They aren’t going to last long enough for me to learn their names anyway.

And now, in what may well be the best (or vile) scene of the movie, we have two, not well-developed white boys walking toward us in Speedos. One of them is wearing a snorkel because? I don’t know, he just is. I can’t think of what this scene is homage to unless it’s a Fellini movie. The boys sit down and for some reason no one makes any shrinkage jokes. I hate to see opportunity wasted. It’s so sad when penis joke humiliation moments like this are wasted on the stupid. I’m gonna stitch that on a sampler.

So one guy (and he actually sort of looks like John Rocker, does that guy have a brother) asks if they’re ready to party? Heavens, I can not imagine party attire to these men who slink about in the open like this! For God sake, this is Georgia not France, cover those up!
Bimmer girl says that party has been cancelled due to her parents not leaving for their trip as scheduled. Apparently the “island” (Devil’s? Riker?) they were going to has been over run with “gorillas” and she isn't clear on how they got there since there is no zoo. Oh my. My teeth are starting to hurt. I don’t know if it’s bad acting or Toblerone nougat stuck in my molars. Nougat. It’s a funny word. Way funnier then this movie.

John Rocker wannabe (name please?) makes a big production of clearing his throat and apparently thinking up a plan. OR maybe he’s having a bowel movement. He’s sidling up to her as subtly as a man in a Speedo can to LBTM and asking her if she can take Ralph Mouth’s keys so they can have the party there. Because, you know, a group of allegedly wealthy twenty somethings would never have places of their own. Chet (thank you) also complements her on “her rack”. Hi, The Breakfast Club called and they’d like their euphemisms back. Thanks. And the forced language here actually hurts. HURTS I say!

From the background emerges the chain smoking, ponytailed, middle aged (or so) TENNIS PRO who says that they shouldn't have a party there because of the LEGEND OF THE GREENSKEEPER. My God once the Exposition genie is out of the bottle there is just no putting her back in.

Okay, ready? Short version: A Greenskeeper of day’s yore was burned in some bizarre gardening accident and now lives in a shack in the woods waiting for his chance to kill everyone at the club. You know, if he’d hurry up and execute that plan this would be a much shorter recap. I mean what is he waiting for? Actually there’s another legend I’d like to tell you. There’s a bronze bulldog in the quad of The University of Georgia. Legend has it that if a true virgin ever steps foot on campus that the dog will come to life. Perhaps our Beekeeper is waiting on something like this? If ever a person with any acting ability stepped foot onto this movie set he would start his gristly killing spree? If so? We’re so screwed.

The gnarly tennis dude says that about fifteen years ago OLD MAN RIVERS (Whoooo! Old Man Rivers! Showboat shoutout! Was he black? Does he sing about Showboats while golfing? Tell me yes!) was killed by this rogue, mutilated Greenskeeper. We then get to see the reenactment of this as OLD MAN RIVERS (who I am sorry to say is white as rice and doesn’t so much as hum a chorus of Can’t Help Lovin’ Dat Man) swings away and lands his ball in the rough. Apparently Mr. Rivers was a horrid person and a worse golfer says the Rogaine Wanton Bard. One day a misguided slice took him to the back nine. And that’s when he spotted The Old Rusty Shack. And something ominously passes by the screen as OMR decides to wander into a rusty old shack in the woods for no apparent flippin’ reason other then to continue to advance this plot along at a pace that I have begun to measure against the next eruption of Baby Krakatoa. Inside the shack? Bag dripping blood. Hallmark of the serial killer.

Inside…a human head the lifeguard yells. In the flashback OMR’s head goes rolling away. How do they know this if OMR didn't live to tell the tale? Did he spell the name of his killer out in golf balls or tees or something? Sigh…. Someone grab Old Man Rivers head so we plug up that plot hole.

Look, there are three of these guys who are interchangeable plus the tennis guy. I’m calling them Penis Cookie 1-4. If you want to know more go to IMDB and do your own dirty work.

Ralph and Otis are smoking the doobie in the shack while fixing a lawn mower? Is this wise? Hello, OSHA 911! Otis asks him if he has a thing for the hot tamale waitress that apparently is the brunette. Ralph then wanders over to a framed photo of John Rocker and Otis with a massive fro wig on (Otis not John all thought that would have been awesome). Everyone agrees that they miss John. It’s sad in a way that makes me not care at all. Then Ralph starts poking around because he's not there everyday or anything and asks Otis about a book called Communicating with the Dead. Otis gets all “it's a little hobby”. I’m just going to go ahead and spoil the surprise and tell you that this is not a plot point and goes no where. We have a touching moment here where Ralph wants to talk to his dad. Whatever.

Then EVIL STEPFATHER, he of the thumbs up, arrives reminding the boys that it is RTM’s birthday dinner at the club that night. Exposition fairy beats the shit out of Ralph and he talks about how EVIL married his mom like two minutes after his dad died. Like she had nothing to do with it? Ummm, okay. And why would she marry THIS guy after being married to John Rocker? Oh, maybe this guy didn’t humiliate himself by becoming America’s most noted equal opportunity racist at the height of his career?

And now we have some light and happy music and a montage of…mowing? How fun and rewarding mowing can be? It’s like a Successories gone bad. The weird part? It’s not a mower; it’s a tractor they’re driving around. Which may explain the complete crap shape this course is in. Augusta National need not fear losing The Masters just yet. And now we get a close up of Ralph with a…post digger? Bulb planter? Hole carver outer thingy? Not sure. Oh, yes, it makes the gold holes. Got it. Anyway, more penis symbolism here.

OH OH OH! One of the Penis Cookies is going on and on about how Sesame Street is homosexual. That is funny from these living Muppets. We now have a full set of Penis Cookies: Champ, Chaz, Chet and Chip. It doesn't matter who they are, they might as well be wearing red off brand golf shirts as long as their going to last. Chip asks “the pussys” what they’re up to, they ask if he wants to get in a round and he tells them to fuck off. Okay, thanks for stopping by then. At this point, Ralph who has been standing off to the side of all the merriment says something about those bastards and makes a big production of snapping his shears closed. Very menacing. And I just realized that the tablecloths on the patio tables are made from a sheet set I had at boarding school when I was fifteen.

And Chip is off to...chip? Whatever. We get to see him do the butt wiggle thing. Which reminds me of one of my cats, Sashimi. Our girls were so tiny when we brought them home that we more or less had to teach them cat things. Like pouncing. So we got the other two into the habit of finding something to pounce on (read dust bunny) and then they would butt wiggle, butt wiggle, butt wiggle, pounce! Except Sashimi who enjoyed the butt wiggle portion so much she often forgot to pounce and basically just ended up doing the rumba. Chip slices like hell and then throws his club. And this course is so full of crab grass it looks like…my yard the day before we mow. I’m telling you that Scott’s won't kill crabgrass for shit people you need to get those people in those trucks to come out and spray. I guess that’s what you get when you mow with a TRACTOR.

Chip is so engrossed in talking on his cell phone aka THE BRICK that he doesn't seem to notice the massive stream of muddy water he walks into and yells at like it's the streams FAULT he’s stupid. Apparently this is someone’s cousin or something because he is by far the worst actor in the movie thus far and he even trumps CHET and his Speedo!

Wait, IMDB reveals he is..Kevin Greene! The writer, director and producer of this cinematic hairball. You know it is NOT a good sign when you have more then three titles in a movie.
He’s actually wearing a pink shirt so I think that’s close enough to red to say…goner. Oh, and it’s worth noting that all of these shirts have massive yellow patches with the country club name sewn on them like these are gas station attendants of the 1950s or something. As far as this guy acting in his own movie. Dude, think of the Silent Bob approach, ‘kay? Ohhhhh, large boot steps around tree. The Beekeeper emerges in full drag. Penis Cookie assumes it’s Otis and when Otis offers up the ball he gets all j’accuse and says that’s a stroke. Because anyone is keeping score and you wouldn't cheat anyway? Whatever. Shot of Beekeeper’s glove picking up the aformentioned thrown golf club (and it’s a miracle he can find it in all that crabgrass) and beats P.C. to death as he screams for mercy from Otis. You know, either the Beekeeper outfit makes one look a foot and a half taller and thirty pounds slimmer (and if so they can market it and it would be more popular than SPANX, of which I confess a certain fondness of) or this guy isn’t very sharp. Hmmm, wonder which.

Next god-awful scene. The Crabgrass Shack by the lake. Otis is hanging up his Beekeeper hat because he’s been…killing people and now he’s shrunk back down to his normal size? He was actually tending to the Club Bees? He’s in the Redneck Community Players upcoming musical version of “The Swarm: I’m all abuzz”? RTM comes in and pecks him on the shoulder and Otis turns around. And they have both clearly forgotten their lines as Otis continues on about how he’s old and could have a heart attack and makes stuff up as RTM tries like hell to think of something to say. Finally he skips to asking Otis why there’s a big fat blood splatter on his shirt. Otis is all “crafty” and zips up and says he cut his finger. Honey, that much blood from a finger cut means we would be looking for the finger and packing it on ice for reattachment. And scene…?

EVIL and a policeman stand over PC’s golfed up and bloody corpse. They argue whether this damage was done by a four or six iron. I’m thinking wedge. It’s very clear that they’ve made the policeman as GAY as humanly possible. EVIL tells him to keep it quiet for a few days while he “investigates” then rides off in his golf cart to…investigate the murder? And then…oh no! He’s spotted the Greenskeeper! The murdering maniac is chopping up something in the underbrush! Quickly, call the gay police since you are unarmed and driving a golf cart that maxs out at ten miles an hour IF it’s fully charged! No, wait, better plan. Go and grab him from behind! Oh. It’s only Ralph. Hi Ralph. BTW, how is it that Evil knows what the killer looks like? Hmmm…not at all compelling. Let’s move on.

To another pointless scene if you can imagine. The five rich kids are sitting in a…Mazda? Honey, I’d not scoff at the Bimmer offer. Anyway they’re snorting cocaine and begging LBTM to get the key to let them into the club. She’s all sure, let’s have another snort.

Same stock photo of exterior of Crabgrass Shack. You know they do an excellent place orientation. Otis is still screwing with the ancient lawnmower that has been in the forefront of EVERY shot so far. Coincidence? Do I care?

Country Club dining room. Well, it’s a sad room with a round table in it with a polyester tablecloth and a carnation in a cheap vase. It may be a Denny’s. Oh, let’s pretend with them. RTM’s mom(?) is swishing some scotch and wearing a party hat. So is RTM but he ain’t happy about it. LBTM has apparently declined the party wear. Kill joy. Hi-larious. Mom’s also wearing one of those plastic windsuit things that were so popular in 1994. She goes on about how they own the club (apparently with no dress code for the dining room ) and why are their minimum wage workers not living up to that standard? Brunette girl comes over and fills Ralph’s water glass with a…you know I can't tell if this is come hither or extreme myopia. Anyway, mom ignores Ralph and tells him about her day. None of this matters. Until mom tells Ralph that before EVIL arrives that she wants to tell him that now that he is twenty-five that the Summer Isle Country Club is officially…and EVIL interrupts. EVIL gifts Ralph with the world’s tiniest Thesaurus to help him find words when he’s writing his little stories. Okay, did anyone involved in this cinematic hell KNOW what a thesaurus was or what it looked like? This is like twenty pages.

Ralph zones out on mom swirling scotch. Probably thinking if she’d drink just a tiny bit more then he could sneak into her room and smother her with a and put us out of our misery of watching this poor woman humiliate herself in a windsuit and a party hat. Wait, I was thinking that. Skip it. First we see a flash of the lake. And the water IS the same color as the scotch which is bad I think. Then we see a close up of Ralph. And Alenon Ruggerio needs to invest in some Stridex pads. Then we see a badly burned and implemented with fake skin body pulling it’s self out of the lake. Ralph snaps back and spills a drink on LBTM. It’s not like that dress came from the sale rack at Dress Barn. Polyester wipes right off, get over it. But predictably she throws a fit. Ralph follows her. EVIL tells his wife it looks like they’re on their own and she says and I quote “whoopee fucking do”. This from a middle aged woman in a purple wind suit and a party hat is actually quite funny.

Ralph stands outside the ladies room and whines. Brunette girl (name?) wanders by with a tray of…Sam’s Club mini-quiche and whispers whiiiippped to him. Naturally, he follows her because..well. They go to the bar area. Brunette expositions that she and her bartending sisters are from…Chipanovia? I swear that’s what the CC says. And that her people were farmer’s before dad hurt himself. Ralph threatens he will return to harass her more. She then goes over to talk to her “sisters” which oddly are all the same age and have different accents. They say that it is a bad idea to be playing mattress meringue with the owner’s son. But she doesn't care. For some reason. This is all very odd and pointless. Maybe she’s really nearsighted?

Crabgrass shack-Otis still screwing with mower. He asks Ralph to hand him some tool out of the back room. Surprise it’s…a bike? Ralph is very touched that it has a horn and a light and everything. Okay.

And could we get to the killing already! Damn.

Ralph is pulled over on his bike by gay policeman. I’d just skip this all together but to tell you that the “police car” has a spray painted freakin’ star on it! Spray painted. I love it. Someone is watching from the bushes. Some one who ranks the “scary” music.

And now the best thing so far. Ralph’s trailer mates are sitting around watching a movie on TV. The Milkman I presume. He has a girl with HUGE breast strapped to a conveyor belt pouring milk over her. He’s wearing a milkman delivery uniform and has a milk mustache. (This immediately puts me in mind for some Oreos. Mmmmm, Oreos.) I should have rented The Milkman instead. After a debate about whether the movie “rocks” the funniest thing ever happens. Ralph says that it’s okay. The movie has a hook, a some what original campy character (The Milkman), coming back from the dead and killing off promiscuous teens, and throw in some nudity and some killing, toss in some grade C stars for five minutes and make a quick buck. I’m so in love with Ralph right now that I’m going to call him Allan as he was named from birth. I love you Allan!

The phone rings at the Casa of Waitresses which is decorated in..Mexican kitchse. We get a disturbing close-up of Allan’s feet as he chats up his dream girl.

We get a musical montage of the Thong trio in underwear and the PC’s in their underwear preparing for a big night of getting’ it on at the Club.

The half moon and The Beekeeper sharpening up him implements of torture and destruction. He’s doing this by rubbing his open sheers up and down a stick. You make the call people, I’m just recapping. All prettied up for the evening, we see the door of..I think it’s the Crabgrass Shack but it may be the OLD RUSTY SHACK IN THE WOODS THAT NO ONE HAS TORN DOWN FOR NO APPARENT REASON.

Allan rides up on his bike, which by the way he can not ride. And meets the Lambs to the Slaughter group and lets them in. Woo-hoo. Full party mode. Jumping off the diving board in SPEEDOS! Listening to Kip Winger on a boombox larger then my Corolla. They’re doing that thing with the girls on the guy’s shoulders in the pool pushing each other and trying to look like they’re having fun. I suspect a top is going to come flying off any second. Allan has been watching all the “fun” from the lifeguard stand and now has a view as the waitress (name?) comes around the corner wearing her acid washed, pleated jeans and a long sleeve shirt. Perhaps that is party wear in wheveretheyarefromthatmyspellcheckhates. The PCs come over to grab Allan totally ignoring HER. They throw him in the pool. Such hi-jinks, these youngstas!

And enter the Tennis Pro. You know, this guy is a DJ on 96 Rock which is a local station. My husband went to high school with him and swears I met him at the class reunion. I’ll be honest, if I’d run into him at the Wyndham Gardens Buckhead that evening I probably would have told him the ladies room was running low on toilet paper if he wouldn’t mind seeing to that and tipped him a buck. I’m just saying it’s good that radio has no visual component. He’s going to give some sweet young (and not long for this world I assume) thing a private lesson.

Back to the pool where The Red Shirts are snorting more cocaine. Okay, we hear at Dark and Stormy never endorse drugs but we will say that by this point, these guys would be in the long term coma unit with a note on the chart that said “permanent brain injury expected outcome”. Allan is looking longingly as he can over at the waitress. She is smiling and laughing at..something? Perhaps the parking sign has moved poolside and is charming her as it did EVIL. It doesn't look like anyone is paying any attention to her. Perhaps it’s the acid wash jeans?

Oh Lord! Another Allan flashback triggered by a crack lighter! Huge explosion, John Rocker looking over his shoulder, oil spill being ignited on the ground. Great.

Oh, thank God! Some killing opportunity provided by the Solo-300 ball machine on the court. Tennis Pro is lobbing a few waiting for the PYT to join him. Dude, NEVER turn your back on a tennis ball machine when there’s a demented serial killer on the loose! But he does and the Boot of Torturous Death is shown and then some nails being tossed into the Solo-300 with the balls. And FINALLY….Okay, tennis pro, one nail to the forehead. One down, let’s keep going.

I like my mayhem, prompt and efficient. In the bathroom PYT is oh, yuck, using it. She finishes, pulls up the Granny Panties (finally someone with some sense) and is promptly grabbed around the ankles and I assume a hideous death afforded those who wear hot pink pushup bras. Wait, the Beekeeper obviously feels the same and hangs her on the bathroom door, sticking the hook through her. Seen it done. What else do you have? Two down and we’re really moving now.

One of the PCs screams Marco Polo and jumps in the water, hacking off the rest of the crew for getting the cocaine soggy. The girls huddle Scooby Doo style and make a plan to get him back that we hear only in whispers. Nice. And this will involve one of the girls taking off her top (Miss Silicon 2003) and tying it over PC’s eyes. Never allow someone to blindfold you when there’s serial killer on the loose! Geez. Did none of you see Scream 1-3? Oy. Then the whole crowd runs off leaving the lone PC to face certain death.

Oh my, the Boots of Torturous Death have arrived. Do you suppose there’s like an Evil Doer Footwear Store somewhere? The Beekeeper has snuck into the pool without our notice. He jumps up behind PC and grabs him. I’m going to admit it. I jumped here. I really did . I never thought The Beekeeper would actually get wet! I was expecting a good head whacking with a cleaner net or something. Anyway, PC meets a watery death and nice job of honoring Friday the Thirteenth.

You know it occurs to me that maybe we’re supposed to think that Allan is The Beekeeper. Not that the chubby little muffin could have picked up that girl or held down PC long enough to drown him but maybe we’re supposed to think this is some like father like son, revenge, deranged, channeling serial killer rich kid thing? Just a thought, let’s continue.

One of the Penis Cookies and one of the Mary’s are taking the golf cart for a spin. And then try and have sex in it. Which is awkward given that Penis Cookie is gay- oh, sorry I meant that there isn’t any room. They move to the front of the cart where I can not imagine what sort of stage direction was getting called out. Let’s just gloss over this before I have to gouge out my eyes with one of my antique dessert forks I picked up for a song at a roadside antique shop in Carnation, WA. And now we get to see Penis Cookie’s naked ass as he takes a leak on some poison ivy with Mary Slut looking the other way of course. I find it interesting that we’re seeing more manly nudies then women. And now the most phallic thing ever to appear on a screen large or small. The Beekeeper grabs Penis Cookie, carries him to…a post…a fence post top? I don't know. And sits him on it. Of course Penis Cookie is screaming his little lungs out but when you do that much crack you just don't have the lung power. Not to mention most of your nerve endings would be dead so he was really only like hours away from death from OD anyway and that’s how my attorney would be spinning it if I were being hauled into court on this one. Okay and now the really phallic piece begins. The Beekeeper picks up something, maybe it’s his machete but it looks more like a paper cutter or something and makes Penis Cookie, just Cookie. And he thrusts it up and down like fifteen times. Are they doing this on purpose? Did this start out as gay porn? Were the Merry Sluts originally the Merry Men? Oh the pain! Between my eyes. I have to get more Oreos.

Which ever Merry Slut this is hollers for Chet, who of course is busy being castrated. Because she can’t hear this? Bizarre. She turns around just as a convenient flash of lighting occurs and sees…Bea Arthur. Well, the Beekeeper is looking like Bea Arthur with that damn hat and all. Anyway you know the next part, screaming, running, chasing. She falls; he’s coming after her in the golf cart. In the golf cart? Hi-larious. I wonder if he keeps some sort of score card. Divits? He must make hella divits. This is the kind of jerk you have playing in front of you who just junks up the course and packs his clubs with his freakin’ monogram on his Georgia Bull Dog colored golf bag into the back of his Mercedes and…this is just me isn’t it? We’ll, fine. So he’s chasing her with a golf cart and due to the inclement Georgia weather we get to see parts of it via lightening. Now he gets out of the cart because you just can not kill anyone effectively from a mode of transport that was mainly designed to strap a beer cooler on (or can you). The other serial killers would laugh if they heard about that at the next Anger Management meeting. So he gets out and does a nice big breaking ball…er throw of his shears straight into poor Merry Sluts back.

Okay now this is weird. Yes, I know it seems unlikely that one thing would stand out but try to hang with me. She’s not dead. She’s lying there having watched more then one bad teen killer movie in her life and is playing dead. The Beekeeper rides over (cause eight feet is too far to walk) and grabs the shears out of her back and kicks her a little to make sure she’s dead but doesn't check her vitals by slicing off her arm or anything. Slop-E. Oh wait, now she pushes herself up a bit and we get a very tight close-up of her face. And she starts screaming and we hear a distinct beeping noise. Like the Beekeeper has requisitioned a garbage truck to come back and finish her off. Which would be…awesome. But we’re not to see it.

We’re watching The Milkman, which I love. This time he has The Rack tied up and he’s all “I’m the milkman and I’ve brought you fresh dairy products. Do you want half and half or my heavy cream?” Now why didn't they write this movie like that instead of just the snippets of the movie in a movie? THAT would have been a recap. Sigh. So we’re watching this with Otis who’s looking put out by the whole thing and eventually says “Dumb ass honkies”. Word to that, Otis. Word to THAT. Where is Foxy Brown when you need her? Foxy versus Beekeeper? Who’s getting out of there alive? My money is on the woman in the maroon double stretch polyester pantsuit. He hears a noise…goes outside of Crabgrass Shack and the screen goes dramatically DAARRRRRK.

Next we see one of the remaining Merry Sluts and she’s cavorting across the crabgrass with the last of the Penis Cookies. I’m sorry but I would not have sex with a man on a golf course. Especially one in a SPEEDO. Have some respect for yourself girl! Make him take you to a Holiday Inn. Damn.

Uh-oh, the Lightening of Coincidence. And yep, there’s our boy standing with the ball hole maker thingy in his hand again. You know, you should really mix your MO up a tad. Really. He shoves the ball holler thingy through them BOTH and makes a new…eighteenth hole. My husband would like me to point out how much torque one would need to make a hole not through just one but two human bodies stacked on each other. Think about that. Skin, spine. Ribs, and then again. This definitely eliminates…everyone as a suspect. Then he chucks out the…, EW, middles on the course. This is just BAD FORM Mr. Greenskeeper. Does anyone in this movie know anything about course etiquette? Someone is going to have to take a penalty for moving a ball around that steaming pile of guts. And then he sticks the flag into the new hole. Hee. The final Penis Cookie is gone. What a shame. Penis Cookie, we barely knew ya. We hated what we did know but still.

And we’re back at the pool. Alan (our foreignism waitress now christened) inquires of Stu (Formerly Penis Cookie #1) as to where the party moved to. Because she’s been where? Mixing drinks? Counting tips? Inventorying the Midori? I don't know. Anyway, Stu has thoughtfully been placed in his lifeguard chair with a beer in hand. She flips him around and he’s been strangled with HIS WHISTLE! And what a fitting and justifiable end to anyone who wears a damn whistle. And she screams of course. You know, these ladies could really use a lesson from the great Linnea Quigley, B Queen Extraordinaire. Yes, THE Linnea Quigley. She ought to start a school or something. The Beekeeper grabs her from the back. Can I just say that that golf cart can MOVE. He’s everywhere!

He’s carrying her through the lightening and thundering but not raining woods to THE RUSTY OLD SHACK IN THE WOODS NO ONE HAS EVER TORN DOWN.
And then he kills her and has sex with her in that order. Oh he does not but it wouldn't be atypical at this point. Alana is not only awake now she brought her Bic (?) and is checking out her surroundings. She’s peeking between some slats at the Beekeeper who is…cooking something? I always think a nice grilled tuna steak or a beef burgundy works for company. Although sometimes it’s a lot easier to go deli with a group so everyone really gets what they want. Now, because none of this makes sense anyway, he leaves. No really, he just opens the door and wanders out for more basil or to grab another bottle of Beaujolais from the wine cellar or whatever and she just pushes open the slat door and walks out into the room. It’s called Ikea, dude. Get on the mailing list. You can outfit a studio apartment such as yours nicely for a couple of hundred.

She decides to go over and read the notice board behind the counter instead of say, running for her life. As she scans the notices for the Serial Killer Luncheon and the Deadly Gardeners newsletter she sees a picture of Allan (it’s his employee of the month picture) and an article about “man killed in country club fire” And here we have one of my favorite pieces of the evening. In a total Miner Forty-Niner old school Scooby Doo move the Beekeeper breaks through the slatty door with his arms and is all “Arrrggh arggghhh!” I love this movie. Naturally Alana holds the door shut with ONE HAND and NOW decides to use her cell phone to call the police. Who are in the middle of wearing blue Speedos and dancing on the desks with handcuffs. I’m…not loving this as much suddenly. And was there a sale on Speedos at REI or what? Anyway, they’re tied up and can’t help her. That is so your tax dollars at work right there.

More argghhh arghhh and beating on the door and she’s making ANOTHER CALL. Now she calls her sister who ignores the phone because she is…riding a man like a horse including a riding crop. This reminds me of one of those HBO “documentaries” I saw where people had this pony play fetish. It’s not quite as out there as the movement of Plushie but it’s weird. Third phone call and now she’s not even holding the door that had no lock two minutes ago and calls Allen.

Allen is at home typing his little heart out on his Commodore 64. Allan is all Huh? Killer? Huh? And then he hangs up on her. No really. I guess either he realizes that she’s wasting peak minutes or he doesn't care or something. No wait, he’s sort of rushing away from his desk. And I’d like it noted that he is the only man in this movie thus far not to appear in a Speedo except for Otis and EVIL. But we still have about twenty minutes to go.

Miner Forty-Niner has stopped with the arrggghhing. Hmmm, wonder if she’ll back up against the wall and he’ll pop out and try and get her? Let’s see, shall we. Yep. And she screams and then gets away AND PUSHES OPEN THE DOOR THAT HE COULDN’T GET THROUGH ONE MINUTE EARLIER. And now, for some really cool Scooby Gang action. She stands to the side when he opens the front door and runs by her. And she slips out unseen. Nice. And she’s off. And he just realizes he’s been duped and he’s off behind her. He doesn’t even stop to get the cart. Or maybe he had to plug it in for a recharge at this point.

She’s chosen to run and hide behind a pine tree that rivals my basil plant growing in a pot on the lanai in lush thickness and coverage. You know, she could probably stand right in front of him since he’s wearing A VEIL and its NIGHT. And now she’s giving us the commando crawl and sees…hey, wait a minute we were CHEATED! It’s LBTM and she’s tied to a tree with bent golf clubs and has tees sticking out of her head. When did this happen? Why were we denied? She was sort of a main character. If they edited that out how bad must the acting have been? All thought provoking questions. Oh no, I just got it. She’s crucified and has a crown of tees. What is with you people? That’s just tacky. That’s like dark meat in the chicken salad tacky. I hate this movie again.

She’s running, he’s chasing, she sees Merry Slut number #2 (formerly with shears in her back) and half of her face is missing. So it wasn't a garbage truck? It was…a big bottle of KABOOM he sprayed on her and left more than the recommended ten minutes? BTW, I bought some of that since it promised that I wouldn’t have to scrub the shit out of the hard water goo on my shower door and it DOESN’T WORK. Damn advertising monkeys.

I’m feeling gipped that again we’re just getting the icky parts glossed over. I am never going to be able to craft a clever drinking game out of this at this rate. So she FINALLY gets to the Crabgrass shack and runs in for Otis. Who unfortunately greets her at the door with the damn shears hanging out of his back and falls face down as the Beekeeper comes swishing toward them. You know this is how you loose good gardening tools. You loan them out and you can't remember who has them.

Now inside the Crabgrass shack a baseball bat has materialized next to the door. Yes, I don’t think it’s possible to make this anymore obvious either. Except that the lawn mower that‘s been the star of five scenes is STILL sitting on the table in the back. What do you think happens here? No really? The Beekeeper busts in through the door. Now slats were too much but solid core he’s cool with? Whatever, as long as we’re going to wind this up.

Okay, Alana has a little spunk. She sneaks up on him and hits him with a rake. Not the best tool for the job but better then say…a stick of butter. But alas, the rake is no match for the powerhouse that is the Beekeeper and they struggle in a very coordinated, practiced way. I’m not sure what they’re going for here since he doesn't make any effort to actually harm her unless he’s going to make her sit through the sequel to this or something. Allan races in RIGHT NOW, grabs the BASEBALL BAT and bunts the Beekeeper. And I call personal foul. One shot and he's down? Alana says “Oh Allan, I’m so glad you’re here! He’s killed all of your friends!” and Allan's all huh? And now in a truly awesome moment The Beekeeper pulls up his veil (and there’s a wedding joke in there but I’m getting tired here) and reveals…

Allan’ s mother! Oh it is not. But that would have been totally great.

No, it’s a scared and disfigured John Rocker. Maybe. Or it’s not. Or it’s a stunt double type person. My husband the Czar of Baseball Knowledge informs me that at the time this was filmed Rocker was still technically playing with a team in Florida. As he gasps out that he had no idea that reporter was going to treat him like that and that he was misquoted and blah blah blah..oh, wait, no. He just gasps and there’s a gunshot. And EVIL is standing there with a gun. He comes over and gives the “thank God I got here in time” speech. Allan says that this unknown person has killed a bunch of people. He says this in exactly the same voice as I went up to the counter at Wendy’s yesterday and told them that I had ordered no mayo on my hot and spicy chicken sandwich and there was indeed white greasy stuff coagulated on it. You know, more of a miffed and annoyed tone. We see a big fat close-up of Alana and she checks out a bite mark on EVIL’S wrist. I guess she did this? Oh, she did. We get to see it replayed three times in her memory. Great. And instead of waiting and shutting up, she says Allen, he's the killer. Cause it’s not like he’s standing there with A GUN or anything.

And since EVIL got his bad guy credentials via correspondence or perhaps on-line at an accredited university, he tells them to sit and he’ll tell them what happened. My god, death by exposition! It’s too cruel! Too cruel I say! Okay, Cliff note version. John Rocker aka Allan’s father, who is now gasping on the floor or maybe he ran down to Steak and Shake for a Strawberry Shakes-Alive since we aren’t seeing him and no one has mentioned him, is standing around looking all handsome listening to a baby cry. He married, had a baby and somehow inherited the country club via being married to Allan’s mother. Because it was entailed or something? And I can not imagine that the windsuit mamma was ever John’s type. For some reason the heir to all things golf was working on a lawn mower, fuel leak, EVIL set it on fire. Bug explosion. John gets tossed in lake, regenerates in a cinematic love letter to Swamp Thing and crawls out. Wow. How unexpected.

Okay, we all no where this is going. Alan inherited the club on twenty fifth birthday; EVIL had to kill him to get the club. Why would anyone want this place? Why? Made it look like random killing spree so no one would be suspicious of him. And he goes on and on and blah blah. Wait! As we all know, nothing deflects suspicion of murder like a mass killing at a country club that you own and run and have keys to and can go to in the middle of the night.

We watch the scene in the cabin with Alana from a different angle and see that The Beekeeper was actually making a pretty glittery homemade birthday card for Allan. No really with heart stickers on it. Awwww. No really. NO REALLY. I’m going to say that we’re supposed to understand that John Rocker was simply misunderstood and that he is at heart a glittery heart sort of guy. Or something.

The Beekeeper stirs under his veiling on the floor, reaches over for the Rake of Opportunity and swacks it right through EVILS Saddle Oxford. He and The Beekeeper start to tussle. EVIL is all, I was jealous of you're beautiful family, don't kill me, we’re brothers! And then as Beekeeper thinks about the importance of family and what’s a little disfigurement, wife coveting and murder betwixt siblings, EVIL grabs a freaking sprinkler head and stabs him with it. It’s the kind that you buy at Wal-mart and screw on your garden hose and then stake into the ground like we had before we smartened up and got a system installed so that at five in the morning our lawn looks suspiciously like the Bellagio and one day I WILL coordinate lights and music to the spectacle. Possibly at Christmas. Where was I? Oh, yeah, the best thing ever. So now he’s lying on the floor and the sprinkler is going off shooting BLOOD! This reminds me that it didn’t rain today and I need to turn on the sprinklers. But if I turn them on it will rain. Where was I again? Oh, John sprinkling Crabgrass Shack with his bodily fluids. This is hilarious. I love this part. He’s squirting gallons of blood! Gallons! And it’s turning around and making that sprinkler noise like thlack, thalck, thalck. This is the funniest thing I’ve seen since they declared a winner in the New Orleans Mayoral Election.

EVIL turns around to do in the Couple Least Likely For Me To Care If They Die and suddenly we hear a lawnmower start up. It’s Otis! Hi, Otis! And he turns on the lawnmower, forcing the loosened cutting blade to fly across the room like a boomerang with awesome bushman type accuracy and behead EVIL.

And there’s like a little teeny squirt of blood straight up in the air. It’s like they were running low on fake blood having just pumped it all out the sprinkler head with abandon and no one wanted to mix up anymore so they were like, yeah, good enough. Funny stuff. Allan and Alana kneel down and defrock the Beekeeper; the tidal pool of blood has mysteriously dried up. And in the greatest homage to Return of the Jedi ever, the hideously burned and scarred body of The Beekeeper minus his protective headgear, mumbles…something and dies. While I realize that John Rocker is no more likely to be in possession of a SAG card then an ALCU one, it seems that the one line he gets in the entire movie should be coherent or at least…have decent annunciation. I’m also taking a guess that old John didn't get to say anything since he’s fairly twangy with the accent and unless you’re doing a Deliverance revival then? Not so scary.

And now Allan kisses the girl because that’s what I’m doing if my father is laying in a massive pool o’blood and my beloved sidekick has a pair of shears sticking out his back. But during the kiss the Well-Spring of Corporal Juices comes on again and sprays them .Which they laugh at. Ew. Because. Just ew.

And now we see the doors of Crabgrass Shack opening to let out a laughing and cheerful Otis with the kids on either side of him in blood soaked clothing.

And mercifully The End.

So the numbers'
Number of times they used stock clubhouse front footage: 8
Number of times they used stock Crabshack footage: 5
Number of ‘men’ in Speedos: 3
Number of Breasts unclothed: 4
Number of times we actually see John Rocker: 3
Number of John Rocker’s words we understand: 0
Number of times they use picture of EVIL getting out of car and giving his parking sign the thumbs up: 4
Number of times I plan to sit through this movie again: 0
Number of drinks that I now need to have to forget about it: Many. Oh God, so many….

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