New Years Eve, 1999!

Celebrating the end of the millennium with Jason Voorhees, Prince and microwave lasagna!
November 12, 2009
J. Swift's New Year's Eve, 1999 Retrospective Spectacular!!(*)

(*)of remembrance!

1999 was a weird time to be a thirteen year old in America. The year began with Columbine and ended with Y2K, so yeah, there was quite a bit of fear-mongering going on in that 365 day epoch. The thing is, when I reminisce on the year, it may very well be the most innocuous time period of my life; at the time, I thought things were going pretty smooth, and looking back now, I definitely consider 1999 to be one of the better years of my being.

I was a fairly confident kid at the time frame; I really did not feel the necessity to engage in prolific social discourse to make myself feel vaunted and significant, and I spent a majority of my time locked away in my room, reading, writing, catching old horror movies on VHS and of course, playing Dreamcast as if the next day it was to be outlawed. That isolation, for whatever reason, made me a happier and more confident soul; whereas the spring and summer of that year had been sort of a transitional phase, it really was not until fall of that year that I realized just how much I had changed.

Yeah, forget about the lax gun laws in the country and lousy parenting, THIS is what turns kids into killers!

There was something. . . different about the new school year, and no, it was not the notion that we were forced by mandate to sport tucked in shirts at all times (thanks a lot, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, you Doom-playing jerk offs). For some reason, girls actually talked to me, and instead of being called a weird little freak, I found myself in league with the quote en quote cool kids on campus. The thing is, I had no realization of my newfound popularity for the longest time. It was not until I went to a local big box store and was hugged by two of my classmates that I realized, holy crap, maybe I am not as much of a loser to the general populace as I thought I was.

This was but just one of many boons of the time frame; whilst I no longer had to fear societal scorn or analogue gender ridicule, I was still the same person as I was before: I still had the same taste in music, I still had the same taste in video games, and every week, I proudly dropped $1.98 plus tax upon the local video store to envision the absolute best bad horror movies the 1980s had to offer.

Simply put, if you were a pop cultural kind of guy in 1999, you were basically in heaven. I think that, of all the years I have encountered, 1999 may have been the most rewarding in regards to entertainment influence and impact. Seriously, I could sit down and watch NOTHING but commercials from the year on an endless loop and never tire of them; this was sort of the awkward transitional bottleneck of the economically sound 90s and oh-god-why-why-so-much misery new millennium.

1999 is a really unique time to explore, because it is virtually in betwixt my adolescent recollections and my blossoming into adulthood, the very bridge between that which is retro and that which is modern day. As the big 2-0-0-0 approached, the totality of the world was on edge; we were in for some BIG changes in the next decade, so this was basically our last year to enjoy a non-sucky existence. Although the planet was rightfully on edge (you know, that whole computer crash sending us back to the dark ages cloud that hung overhead and what-not), I was, well distracted by seemingly lesser things.

You speak the truth, borderline offensive racial caricature spokes-mascot.

Remember when that one daytrader guy went crazy in Atlanta and shot a whole bunch of people? Well, I do not, because I was too busy trying to convince my mom to let me install astro-turf in my bedroom. If I am not mistaken, that was the same afternoon in which I ate eighteen dollars worth of Taco Bell produce and watched Near Dark for the first time. Looking back on it, that was a pretty cool day.

Hey, remember the establishment of the European Union? Well, me, not so much. You see, the local Winn-Dixie began selling Playstation games, and that royally screwed with my mind. What the hell, being able to buy video games at a grocery store? What is next, being able to watch movies over the Internet?

Uh, mom, why are there video games from 1997 in the produce aisle?

God, it is amazing just how much trite and meaningless stuff I recall from that epoch. I cannot recall my childhood phone number, but boy oh boy, do I have fond recollections of coming home from school each day and cracking open a Dr. Chek cola, jamming a wad of cotton candy Bubble Yum into my maw and watching two straight hours of The Match Game on The Game Show Network. I have virtually no remembrance of the JFK Jr. plane crash, but that one time I made same really kick ass spaghetti while watching Louie Anderson on the new iteration of Family Feud? The aromas are just as vivid in my nostrils as it was when it occurred.

The highlight of Louie Anderson's career.

The last three months were really memorable. Of course, we are all aware of my Dreamcast forays, so I shant reheat that dish. Around Halloween time, I began noticing these funny little CDs in stores, only instead of playing music, they played, get this, feature length movies! What a weird ass concept. It will never take off, I say.

So anyway, one day, I'm sitting down at my word processor (capable of rendering both black AND orange characters), and I cram the final row of, oddly, black and orange Oreos down my gullet. The New Addams Family just went off (in case you were wondering, yeah, crappy show), and I saw an ad for a special edition DVD set containing ALL SEVEN Nightmare on Elm Street movies. At was at this point that I officially surmised that the future had arrived. I mean, screw rocket cars and interstellar travel, every single Freddy Krueger movie ever made on one compilation, in vivid, crystal clear digital quality? I would have butchered to have gotten my hands on that set, but alas, the newfangled DVD technology was a bit out of my price range, as the player itself was priced around 400 bucks and the Ultimate Nightmare collection cost a cool Benjamin. Perhaps as a sign of just how much reality can change in only ten years time, you could have strolled into a dying Circuit City retailer and picked up both that set AND a brand new player for under forty bucks. That does not exactly make me smile, either.

DIE, capitalism, DIE!

So anyway, Halloween was awesome. In the interim, I went to two local fairs, which is practically thirteen year old heaven. Let us see, you have free rides, nonstop Alice in Chains and AC/DC tunes, and enough fried junk food to kill several porpoises PLUS all of the girls from school are traipsing across the fair grounds while dressed like total and complete skanks. Yeah, those were good times all right, even if the Halloween spook houses I attended that season were fairly lackluster. That being said, nobody could slight my costume: Whilst wearing a knock-off (glow in the dark, even!) Jason Voorhees mask and an even cheaper Hawaiian shirt, one colleague of mine declared that I resembled the bastard amalgamation of Weird Al Yankovich and Michael Myers. At 120 pounds, soaking wet with bricks in my pockets, I kind of felt more of a resemblance to Chunk from "The Goonies" and Leatherface, but hey, opinions are opinions.

= thirteen year old me?

I spent the 30th of October watching Halloween 5, The Blair Witch Project, and The Mutilator. I have no qualms with the book-ends there, but as I proudly proclaimed then and promulgate to this day, man, did The Blair Witch ever suck. I immediately cleansed my pallet the next day with a special showing of Childs Play 2 and Phantasm on Monster Vision (alongside seeing The Misfits video for Dig Up Her Bones about a million times on The Box), which while not as eventful as my previous years shindig (wink, wink, it was still pretty gosh darned enjoyable. Do they still make those peanut butter rice paper Frankenstein chocolate bars, by the way?

Anyhoo, October comes and goes, and here comes Thanksgiving. Never really been a fan of the holiday, but meh, it is a few days off from school, so no complaints from me. This really was a good time to be alive; I mean, NHL games on ESPN on a nightly basis, ECW wrestling on TWICE a week, and although Id never admit it publicly, wow, did ABC Family have a really good afternoon TV lineup. The Three Friends And Jerry ruled.

It TOTALLY kicked the ass of Walter Melon, that's for sure.

It really was not until the last two weeks of 99 that I realized just how screwy things had become. I mean, yeah, it was kind of telling when Woodstock turned into a scene from the Ray Liota box office disaster No Escape, but by the time my parents started freaking out, I mean REALLY freaking out about Y2K, I kind of felt a little on edge, too. Still, I had my world, for only a couple of more days, anyway. Things were, for all intents and purposes, good.

One of the all time great SWERVES of my childhood occurred on Christmas Eve. I had spent all summer breaking my back and sweating like a roasted hog to pony up enough cash to purchase a Dreamcast, and what do my parents go out and do for Christmas? That is right, they go out and buy me a god damn Playstation. In a weird way, it is almost as if they WANTED to slight me for my individualistic propulsion, to kind of say yeah, well, we are still in control, so nyah. Still, as far as comeuppances go, that one is a pretty beneficial one. Here I was, thinking that I was just going to get that one electric paintball handheld game and a Sabu action figure, and before me is a brand new video game apparatus. Sometimes, surprises can be awesome, you know?

You'd think that Spock, of all people, would have found the whole Y2K hullaballo to be quite illogical, no?

I was actually kind of indifferent to the new millennium, to be honest. To me, the extent of its impact on my current lot in life is that Leonard Nimoy was now making survival videos and every drug store in town was hawking teddy bears that counted down to the year 2000. Even then, I kind of wondered what in the hell a supplier does with that kind of instantly dated surplus.

One of the neat addendums to the household at the time was a kitchen television. The very first time I made utilization of it was for a midnight screening of Red Dawn; even now, I look back on that momentous occasion, of chowing down on a turkey sandwich whilst scribbling pro wrestling related notes and watching Patrick Swayze tell kids to piss in radiators and feel a bizarre sense of futurism at work. It did not take a lot to wow thirteen year old me, and perhaps it takes even less to stir my spirits today. Improvement?

Eh, it beats having to stare at Lance Henrikson's craggy mug...

I had NO clue as to what my plans where for New Years Eve. It was a Friday night, so my options were kind of limited to watching Millennium on Fox or hearing that Wanna Be A Balla, Shot Calla song on the radio for the gajillionth and fifth time. Truth be told, I really was not looking forward to either.

To the best of my recollection, this is how I spent the last day of the 20th Century:

8:23 am

I awaken to the smell of microwave sausage patties. You know, those frozen little discs that were sold in oblong bags that had the ringing endorsement of RESTAURANT QUALITY stamped upon the label. Although I am now a proud vegetarian, I had to admit, those things were quite delectable. As a health-oriented youngster, I elected only eat five of them for breakfast that morn, before washing it down with a pot of Folgers.

9:01 am

The filthy, dirty irresistible slut that almost ruined my marriage with Sega.

I stare at my bedroom television for about five wasted minutes. For some reason, it is just otherworldly to be the owner of TWO current consoles simultaneously. In a way, I almost feel like a polygamist. Of course, I was about twenty eight undefeated games deep in NFL 2K, but since that shimmering PS1 was situated directly underneath the display cabinet, I could not help but give it primacy over my self-bought console.

Of course, my folks did not buy any games to go along with the new machine, so the only thing I had to play was a two year old demo disc that featured snippets of Metal Gear Solid, Medievil, Fighting Force and Intelligent Qube. Now, those are all fine and dandy games in their own right, but it really was not until spring of the next year that I really uncovered a cache of stellar games for the system, so for just an hour or so, it is me snapping necks and avoiding deadly rectangles (I call them death-tangles). Enjoyable enough, I suppose.

The black block of destruction STILL haunts my dreams...

10:14 am

I waltz by the kitchen TV. It suddenly dawns on me that if the Y2K end-of-civilization thing comes to fruition, this may very well be the last time I EVER see Montel Williams face. Suddenly, as many a contemporary was fond of spouting, shit got real.

Farewell, sweet prince?

11:15 am

READING TIME! I have always been a huge bookworm, and since I love horror movies so, I was positively delighted to receive two huge ass books of genre film reviews for Christmas. That being said, I kind of have to disagree with the reviewer in one of them. According to the so-called expert, Dr. Giggles is a better movie than Re-Animator. To riposte, I merely state "horse feces".

Really, THIS is better than Re-Animator? Really?

12:04 pm

So anyway, I am flipping through the channels when I land on that one Christian network. These guys are absolutely playing up the whole humanity-is-going-to-end card, going as far as to advise viewers to load up on firearms (!), withdraw their life savings from the bank (!!), and place it all in GOLD (!!!). Man, I wish I would have taped that, you know, just as proof that the people that run the network are kind of retards.

Pat Robertson of the 700 Club, proudly informing us of his IQ number.

1:01 pm

If it ever comes up, do not put your dial on ESPN 2 on a weekday afternoon. When you are reduced to showing cheerleading and sumo wrestling, you know that there is not anything going on in the sports world. Now, cheerleaders sumo wrestling, or sumo wrestlers cheerleading on the other hand. . .

Whoever wins, WE lose...

2:53 pm

Eight minutes until Braceface comes on. I pass the time by staring at a recently purchased lava lamp.

3:42 pm

I finally stop staring at the lava lamp. Sorry, man, but that thing is HYPNOTIC!

4:05 pm

Great, a rerun of the Feud. I prop my feet on my old, candle wax stained coffee table and flip through some VHS and ECW catalogs. Why in the hell I felt the need to prominently display a canister of dillweed seasoning upon the mantle is one of the few quirks of my early teens that I cannot fully rationalize a decade later.

5:01 pm

If you don't know who this person is, odds are, you've never spent more than five minutes in the city of Atlanta...[/align]

Once again, I am assailed by the could-it-be-the-last-time train. After putting it on Channel 2, I ponder: is this the last time I see the Queen of Atlanta, Monica Kauffman, or the last time I see a commercial for Gallery Furniture, now with two locations in Decatur and College Park? Man, what an incomparable feeling, the fear that the totality of existence could come to an immediate cessation in just a few hours.

I don't know about you, but I ALWAYS asked for Wolfman...

It is around this point that my step-dad comes walking through the door, carting an enigmatic black encasing. He plops the sumbitch atop the 48 inch screen TV in the living room, finagles with some cables for awhile, and suddenly, it dawns upon me what just went down.

Holy crap, we have a moded cable box. As in, the kind that gives you all of the awesome channels for free. In other words, the kind that is not necessarily legal in the lower 48.

This. . . is kind of a big deal.


I will never really comprehend my step-fathers logistical processes; assuming the potentiality for a global blackout, I guessed he no longer feared such menial things as legal recourse. I mean, really, who wants to risk jail time for such minute rewards as free WWF pay per views?

Anyway, there it was, and yeah, it was instantaneously AWESOME. Flipping though the gray folios of the latest (and mayhap LAST?) TV Guide of the millennium, I suddenly begin to scan through the eve's uncensored cable offerings. And lo and behold, what shall be going down that VERY night?

That is right, a god damned dusk to dawn Friday the 13th movie marathon. And this time, the movies were going to be uncut, which meant I was soon to be assailed by all of the extreme gore, boobs, and curse words that are excised from typical TV broadcasts. Now THIS was the proper way to end the millennium; by getting a SECOND chance to avenge my previous years failure to survive the VERY same cinematic challenge.

Ladies and Gentlemen, IT IS ON!

6:34 pm

Huh, now here is a delightful little swerve; my folks have elected to partake of a social gathering for the evening (READ: get piss-drunk on moonshine). Of course, this makes me positively enthused, as it means that for the eve, it is just going to be me, whatever comestibles are lodged in the deep freeze, and oh yeah, TOTALLY UNRESTRICTED ACCESS TO R-RATED FARE.

Man, that last day of the millennium is going to RULE!

7:05 pm

Ah, the first Friday the 13th film. . . to quote a certain Ren and Stimpy supporting cast member, no sir, I don t like it.

The movie is just too focused for my tastes; the guys that made it set out to craft a quasi-mystery story, and the whole documentary-style camera shots just blow it for me. When I watch a Jason movie, I do not want cinema verite styling or whodunit fodder; I want to see a mongoloid mangle retarded high school kids with lawn care equipment, so veritably, I want the SEQUELS.

FUN FACT #001: At one point, people actually PAID to see Mike Myer's movies.

Hmm, they are showing the second Austin Powers movie and Big Daddy (you know, the 1999 Adam Sandler vehicle) on PPV. . . that via the workings of some unscrupulous low-rent entrepreneur with fancy screwdrivers, I am NOT paying for. Take that, 1999 economy!

7:43 pm

Oh, the rousing finale to the initial F13. The totality of the movie may have sucked it, but the finale is just all kinds of shades of ass kicking. Watching Betsy Palmer s head do the triple Lindy in slow motion after getting decapitated by some ginger chick NEVER ceases to be awesome.

80s slasher starlet Adrienne King, seen here in better times...
For whatever reason, watching twelve year old Jason drag what s her name into the Crystal Lake during the dream sequence makes me somewhat thirsty. Dr. Pepper, I require your medicinal expertise at this hour. . .

8:01 pm

...and 80s slasher starlet Adrienne King, seen here in WORSE times...

Decisions, decisions: Do I forego my typical Friday night ritual of catching my beloved ECW on TNN and partake of the 1981 excellence that is Friday the 13th Part 2?

Wait a minute, the TV in the kitchen! This way, I can catch large screen slasher mayhem whilst SIMALTANEOUSLY missing nary a second of my favorite scripted pro wrestling carnage! So by shifting the kitchen TV to the side ever so lightly, and stationing my fanny at a certain angle on the couch, I shan't miss a moment of ANYTHING. Assuredly, this is the life of a king, I muse.

The last ECW World Heavyweight champion of the 20th century, Mike Awesome...well, that, or Billy Ray Cyrus started taking steroids.[/align]

Anyway, this is sheer early teen bliss right here; watching Mike Awesome and his equally awesome mullet beat the mess out of Masato Tanaka while concurrently viewing the scene in which Jason strangles that weird hermit guy with barbed wire. And yeah, here comes the notorious "ass jiggle" scene. My wedding day shan't be as joyous as this occasion.

9:02 pm

After Justin Credible (get it?) beats the crap out of Mikey Whipwreck with a Singapore Cane, I find myself flipping the smaller of the two televisions to the around-the-clock coverage of the new millennium. Thanks to that whole time zone concept, I am allotted the ability to see 2000 ushered in all over the world (or at least the part that is to the east of me, anyway.) So far, Europe has yet to fall into societal ruin, so mayhap that is a good sign for America, no?

Note to self: Must visit Tonga someday.

Anyway, in betwixt the double hump spearing and the wheelchair brain greasing segments in the Academy Award winning Friday the 13th part 2, I elect so scour the fridge for some late evening snackery. Unlatching the semi-frosted package of marinara sauce and greasy noodles, I elect to chow down on some microwaveable lasagna, which for the most part, made up a good forty percent of my teenage diet. Hey, it got me this far, did it not?

Mmm, It's latchkey-a-licious!

Dr. Pepper count for the night thus far: Just 2. I am taking it easy for this one.

10:11 pm

Two hours until the proverbial hour of appraisal; truth be told, the trepidation is starting to kick in pretty severely right now. I mean sure, it is a source of placation to know that Germany has not been plunged into darkness, but at the same time: who cares about the Germans?

FUN FACT #002: Before becoming a popular Internet meme, Hitler was a brutal dictator that authorized the systematic murder of millions.[/align]

All right, Friday the 13th Part 3(D) is up next, and this is one of those cheesy flicks that I just seem to enjoy a tad bit more every time I see it. Got to love the Michael Jackson knockoff techno opening theme, right?

11:23 pm

Our first Dick Clark sighting of the night. I shall not trudge up Bill Hicks legendary routine, but I must agree with the Dark Poet: Old Richard is more than likely the Antichrist.

Probably the spawn of Satan.

There is about half an hour to go until society collapses. . . maybe. No more Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, no more songs about girls that cried rivers and drowned the collective of the world? Hey, it could happen in just a few minutes. . .

11:50 pm

NIGH JUDGMENT IS AT HAND. With ten minutes to go, I am assailed by the dual visage of a zombified hillbilly gawping at a terrified woman on a kayak and a throng of New Yorkers ready to C-E-L-E-B-R-A-T-E. Since I do have that new fangled PPV access, I elect to spend the final ten minutes of the millennium doing what any rational human being would. . .

. . . I listen to Prince perform 1999 for what is reputed to be the last time EVER. Regrets, I have none.

12: 01 am

Hey, he REALLY didn't let the elevator break him down, did he?

I close my eyes as the final countdown begins. As a million reveling New Yorkers celebrate the ensuing year/decade/century/millennium, I am quite relieved that the totality of existence DID NOT come to a screeching, apocalyptic halt. Well, now that society has not been eradicated, I jam to the strings of Prince one last time and prepare for my first act of the 2000s: a midnight screening of "Friday the 13th Part 4: The Final Chapter".

Dude, the year 2000 is already kicking some major ass, is it not?

12:44 am

Sure, sure, THE LAST CHAPTER. Yeah, I believe you...

Ah, this movie is just terrific; sure, I suppose part 2 is the best overall, and parts 6 and 8 have some pretty outstanding moments, but there are so many freaking awesome moments in this movie that I cannot help but vaunt it so. It is scientifically IMPOSSIBLE to loathe a movie in which a fat girl gets macheted to death while eating a banana AND Crispin Glover dances like an electrocuted jack-off. It just is.

1:15 am

Wow, I am really making some good time here. I might actually manage to make it to sunup THIS time around. With only four Dr. Peppers lodged in the recesses of my kidneys, this may very well be the night that I conquer the Jason Voorhees cinematic challenge. OPTIMISM: It just isn t the religious faith of Optims, you know. . .

1:50 am

Holy shit, cable television RULES!

. . .and for the first time in my existence, I get to see the 100 percent, totally unedited finale in which Jason gets FUBAR-ed by Corey Feldman. Oh man, the machete sliding down Jason s eye socket. . . yep, this IS worth serving time in the pokey for. Abso-freaking-lutely.

2:20 am

Such a STAR-STUDDED cast!

So Friday the 13th part V kicks up, and yeah, we have already covered this ground a jillion times. At the time of course, this was the red headed step child of the franchise, but in hindsight, I actually kind of enjoy it. In fact, here are the top ten reasons why Friday the 13th Part V DOESN'T suck:

#010 Corey Feldman is only in it for like five minutes.

#009 The final scene in which Tommy Jarvis goes BALLISTIC in the hospital.

#008 That one chick spraying perfume on her boobs.

#007 A guy getting killed BY A ROADFLARE.

#006 The scene where the stuttering guy tries to hit on that one punk-looking chick and fails harder than that one armed drummer from Def Leppard at opening a pickle jar.

#005 That mongoloid on a motorbike getting decapitated.

#004 The chainsaw and impalement paint-the-barn red finale spectacular.

#003 The fact that it is, you know, kind of a mystery, and therefore, something different than the last four movies.

#002 The retarded guy getting AXED TO DEATH IN BROAD DAYLIGHT by that one crazy guy. . . OVER A CANDY BAR.

And number one, of course. . .

Pacino, DeNiro...Nunez, Jr.

#001 Miguel Nunez, Jr, in the immortal role of Demon, the Jeri-Curled Michael Jackson wannabe that lives in a trailer with eggrolls, tacos and pizza and sings to his girlfriend while he takes a shat in an outhouse. Seriously, his performance is reason enough ALONE to freaking love this movie.

. . . and just before I can relish the superlative acting prowess of Mr. Nunez, my parents decide to come a stumbling home. Crap.

Needless to say, this means that I was not going to have access to the newfangled "totally legal, yes that is what it is" cable box for awhile. As my inebriated folks waddled to and fro like tortoises coated in molasses, I return to the sanctuary of my bedroom. This sucks, horrendously.

3:13 am

Nothing beats severing spines in Sarah Palin's backyard, eh?

I am bored, so that means I boot up the demo disc once more. Sigh, even snapping spinal cords in Alaska cannot cheer me up at the concurrent. I flip out over to Comedy Central and intake a few moments of The Daily Show, with its new host, Jon Stewart. Psh, like he will ever be a substitute for Craig Kilborn, am I right?

Yeah, like this guy will ever replace Kilborn. PUH-LEEZE.

So anyway, I begin to hear LOUD shotgun blasts in the background. Now of course, you have to keep in mind that in Northwest Georgia, that is, sadly, a pretty COMMON contribution to the local noise pollution. Peeking my head out from the enclosure of my quarters, I realize that my piss-drunk step-dad is ringing in Y2K by shooting at the early morning heavens. Oh hell, I have a feeling that I will be explicating on this to a lawman in the morning. . .

Growing up in a dysfunctional home, this face became QUITE familiar.

3:52 am

Huh, things are oddly silent in the den. As I slowly creep my way back into the living room, I note that the house is, fundamentally, empty. This means, of course, one of two things. Either

a.) The scriptural rapture just occurred and somehow, my parents made it (jeez, talk about lax restrictions!)

Or. . .

b.) My folks. . . were out humping somewhere.

Considering the notion that the late 90s straight-to-video erotic thriller classic Femalien 2 was proudly displayed upon the big screen television frontage, I would have to cast my ballot for the latter option.

WAY better than Femalien 1, if you ask me.

4:30 am

So, I managed to slurp my way through an entire sixer of Dr. Pepper, as I slowly and daintily sip upon my 5 and 1/2th soda of the early morn. I actually hear roosters crowing in the background. . . you know, that whole living in the southeast thing, remember?

Ah, the sixth Jason movie; where to begin? I guess we all have our personal favorite scenes and character exchanges: I, for one, am quite fond of the scene in which the cop gets his vertebrae readjusted TOTALLY THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION, my self. I don't know though, the paintball scene is pretty filling too, so I would say that are officially TIED in my estimates in terms of cinematic levels of awesomeness.

So, we meet again...

5:31 am

And now, (yawn), Tommy is beginning to realize that the only way to stop Jason is by tying a rock around his. . . you know the drill. Man, is that ever a goofy idea, I mean, I have stated such in prior articles, but honestly, a super-murderer reanimated by lighting that no-sells shotgun shells, and you want turn the zombie bastard into a 300 pound anchor? It never ceases to. . .(yawn)

5:49 am

All right, just eleven more minutes, and I have FINALLY conquered the all-night Jason movie marathon that has plagued my cerebral cognitions for the last year and a half. All I have to do is keep my eyes open LONG enough to declare myself victor, and then, it is immediate shut-eye. Now, just let me place this maroon aluminum can to the side here, and stretch my legs out just a little further. Oh, man, this is a really comfortable pillow. I will just try to squint with one eye open so that I can still see the TV. Come on, that is it, just ten more minutes, no matter how insultingly stupid the conclusion is and. . .

1:03 PM

. . .Dammit, I did it again!

James Swift is just a teenage dirtbag, baby. . . even though he is actually in his mid twenties at the concurrent. Check out his videos at:

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