Here’s the thing I wanted to post about before my breakdown the other day after I ate the fried alligator.

“We called that a salvo back when men were men.” advises my beloved grandpa from beyond his grave. “A salvo. Men don’t break down.”

“I’m not like that,” I reply. “My dad didn’t go to war and I didn’t enlist to fight the Germans. My life has been relatively peaceful. I’m not strong like you were.”

“Well. Just stick your thumb up there and carry on, like we had to do in France. You don’t drink a case of French shit-wine and not have the drips. You’ll survive. I did.”

“I miss you.” I cry.

“I miss you too, now stop crying and go to work like I taught you.”

As for another trip down memory lane, today I bring you Hello Mary Lou: Prim Night 2. I’m sure everyone else has seen this, and if not, I don’t know if anyone’s going to believe me, but this movie is all kinds of fucking fun. Probably, if anyone else has had the pleasure of seeing this at some point in their life – they’ll probably disagree with me but I thought this was a great example of 80’s slasher material with big hair, bushy eyebrows, boobs, tiaras, zombies – solid acting for a movie like this – boobs, blood, a zombie, adultery, motorcycles, a fun soundtrack, a demon rocking horse and, what else, some good, sly comedy. I don’t normally do this out on this site, but I had so much fun with this movie that I took some of my own plagiarizing screen captures to tell this tale of fun, revenge, bangs and wanting to get the Prom Queen tiara…. NO MATTER WHO YOU HAVE TO KILL!!

And —> it’s Canadian! Go millimetres! Go Celsius!

Intro Mary Lou Maloney, running through the rain to the church confessional to confess her sins: cursing… being mean… sassing her mom… screwing boys… you know – all those things The Church forbids – and, as she leaves, having written “FOR A GOOD TIME CALL MARY LOU (NUMBER)” on the wall of the confessional, she adds: “And I loved every minute of it” SMOOCH. Think the priest got a woody? Is priest even Canadian? Let me have a look. One sec. Looks like it but, in my fashion, I didn’t look too hard. I didn’t know if maybe they were Paritionists or Fathres or something. *Shrugs*

At the prom, her and her date happily dance it up, sock-hop style, until she excuses herself to powder her nose…. and sock-hop her – uh – cootre – onto someone’s (who is noither date’s) – uh – petre.

“Sexual intercourse is a sexual activity typically involving the insertion and thrusting of the penis into the vagina for sexual pleasure, reproduction, or both.” Advises my other grandpa from beyond his grave, adding, “Now that you know that, if you come to our house for a visit you may read my books on aircraft or sit in a chair and look out our front window. If the weather permits, you may check our rain gauge.”

Jilted and hurt, her original, coitusless date rescues a toilet paper roll full of shit and an explosive from the men’s room’s trashcan, drops it from the scaffold above the stage and she goes up in flames without much assistance from anyone at the dance. Aside from this being a fun, Canadian production, I would think someone could throw a sports jacket over her and maybe roll her around a little but the stunt was actually cool and – without that – she wouldn’t be able to terrorize teenage Canadians from beyond her own grave.

30 years later, we meet innocent, chaste and pure Vicki who won’t even go to second base with her old man Craig. In fact, her family is so pure and chaste her mom won’t even buy her a new Prom dress – making her wear the same one from last year. God damn! That’s harsh. Can you imagine a Gen Z having to face that kind of opposition? They’d probably have it on The Today Show in five millisecondes garnering tonnes of likes and beefy responses about the barbarity of our current existence.

“When I was in France, we didn’t have pillows. We had to use a rock our our fist.” Grumbles Gramps, finishing his pint of Canadian Club. In bitter irony.

Hearing about this pitiful and sorry take on humanity and the evil that parents can inflict, her friend at school offers Vicki’s sad sack self some advice: “Go borrow a dress from the school’s prop department.” Understanding the brilliance of that idea, “Great Elks, that’s a brilliante idea!” she ejaculates and goes down into the basement and cracks open a random trunk, which, for no sane reason, contains the unburned clothes Mary Lou was wearing when she burned to her fiery death 30 years ago. Up yours Gen Z! OOPS! UPPE Zoot! Oui! Tom Green!

Jeez – my posts seem to be getting longer and longer and I frump all of the time about how slow I am. Maybe if I’d shut up! “Shut the fuck up!” Yells everyone in Manitoba. “We’re trying to trappe a hosing bear!”

In the picture above, you can plainly see it’s a game people play in a gymnasium and it’s called volleyball. I don’t remember intramural volleyball where I went to school but that’s probably because where I grew up, grown up people wanted to us youthes to avoid some of that intercourse we described above. We all know that a man’s sperm – or gametes- should be saved in his nuts until he is married and can deposit them as appropriate inside his wife’s receptacle, as God intended. We also know that, glancing again at the beautiful picture, no one should be ready to get into the volleyball match while holding a basketball.

Elsewhere:

Let’s try and wrap this up. People are killed in different ways. DUM TA DUM TA DUM TA DUM – Blogferatu –> even… defenestrated! Zip! Splat! Splatte! Will anyone make it out of that locker room alive? How about the gym? Did Mary Lou bop everyone in the province? Do you think the production team, paid to use those Nikes? What exactly is Mary Lou trying to grabbe in the poster up top? You’ll have to see it to find out! Maybe! Or ask me real nice! Maybe buy me two litres of Labatt! Zoot!

FILED UNDER: THEY ALMOST MADE IT TO THE HAPPY FINISH