Ah… the good old days.

"I want my two dollars!"

The days when creepy dead kids would float  outside your window, whispering to you to open it and invite them in.

Back then, you were pretty damn sure that seriously f*cked up sh*t would go down if you opened that window. Hell, I had nightmares about that evil kid, and every scratch sound from my window kept me up at night. In those day vamps were things to be terrified of. They would murder you… and becoming one meant the REAL you… your mind and soul… would be destroyed and replaced by an evil spirit that would likely kill everyone you loved. Your mom, your wife… your kids.(even babies)

Now we have euro-trash metrosexuals AT BEST… and sparkly emo angst-wussies at the bottom of the genre barrel. And they are being sold as the thing we all aspire to. Now, I’m not a stick-in-the-mud.(how many hyphens can I put in this post? I-Don’t-know!!!) I totally dug Interview with the Vampire and The Vampire Lestat, even if both of them made me long for the taste of a fresh taco, what with all the Sausage Lover’s Pizza Anne was selling me.

But, enough is enough. We NEED the return of the Vampire as The Thing To Drive A POINTED STICK INTO! We need Sarah Michelle Gellar in all her golden glory, using her awesome slayer powers of shapely splendor to drive a few stakes into the hearts of the entire cast of Vampire Diaries… and set fire to Edward and his band of fruit f*ckers.

I *heart* Penny Arcade.

And now… cry for the lost vampires of old.

“Gan, why the hell did you see this tween-pron flick?”

I’m asking myself the same thing. I had downloaded it for my babysitter, who has nothing but the hard crush on “Edward! (*Sigh*)”. So, weeks later it is still on my harddrive looking oh so delete-worthy. But, never wanting to throw out junkfood without a little taste, I decided to keep it until a particularly entertainment free night.

That night came… and I cannot believe I actually watched the entire thing.

What a dreadful dreadful hateful film. The story…the characters… everything about it…was (and I know I’m going to get some PC crap over this) unrelentingly GAY!

The plotline, such as it is, concerns this emo high school chick who is staying with her “Ham and egger” dad in Fork, WA… a dreary overcast hamlet. Her name is Bella. Her lot in life is to mope. She mopes in her room. She mopes at a diner. She mopes in her new school.

While moping, see spies a family of pasty metrosexuals who are pretending to be students, even though they look like they are 25 and constipated. She meets Prince Fruity with the big hair, and he runs from her like the little bitch he is obviously meant to be. This vexes Bella and she (you guessed it) mopes about it. His name is Edward(*sigh*)

Then! Action! Genre effects! Excitement! Edward races across the parking lot and uses his supernatural powers to keep a van from crushing Bella! Bella then mopes about it. Edward mopes with her. I want to cuts my wrists.

They fall in love. Not the poetic love of the ages, but the irrational hormone frenzy love of teenage girls who  scream at the parents “You don’t understand! I LOVE HIM!!!” before slamming their bedroom doors and crying the night away.

I’m getting sick just writing  about this drivel. I can taste the regurgitated bile in my mouth.

Anyway, we learn that Edward(*sigh*) is a Vampire in a family of Vegetarian Vampires…i.e. they don’t feed off humans. In other words, they are a bunch of pussies.

There are some interesting interjections from three bad ass vampires who are all about killing and stuff, but why bother going into those brief details? Bottom line: This is a horrid film. Utterly irredeemable.

I want to take this farther, and if I offend any readers here, well…that’s the price I have to pay for my keen sense of reality.

Simply put…if you liked this movie…you are a raving shithead.

More precisely, if you are a woman who liked it, you need the harsh intervention of psycho-therapy to help guide you back to being a rational female with the proper context for your attraction to men and all things masculine. Electro-convulsive treatment should not only not be ruled out, I would err on the side of caution and just set the dial to 11 from the get-go.

And more… if you are a man who liked it, you are so gay that even other gay men would scorn you. No, really. Nathan Lane would implore you to butch up. The ghost of Charles Nelson Reilly would haunt you with the spectral voice calling “faaaaagggg!” every midnight.

Boo!