Jimbo: The Thinking Barbarian - 8. Atlantean!

Theme: Fripp - Catherine Wheel

The Stayvun, by Edgar Allen Poe

Once in an interrogation, while I sat in perturbation,

On a creaking, groaning, whining, pitifully protesting chair—

While I leaned there came the prospect of nailing a guilty suspect,

With a gaunt and gormless aspect, and a mass of curling hair—

"'Tis some murderer," I muttered, "underneath that curling hair"—

               As I leaned back on my chair.

After what he told the media, I expected a much speedier

Confession to be wrested from him in an hour or so.

Not the least cooperation gave he in the police station;

But, to our exasperation, answered only yes or no—

Put both hands upon the table looking rarely to and fro—

               Sat and uttered "I don't know".

Much I marvelled at how slickly Stayvun minimalistically,

Answered everything mystically with a simple yes or no;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blest with seeing such an entertaining show—

As to see a suspect answer every question like a pro,

               With a simple "I don't know".

But the Stayvun, sitting lonely at the table, still spoke only

Those few words, as if those words were all the words that he did know.

Further questions I attempted, but with none of them exempted,

His vocabulary emptied he with only yes and no.

In befuddlement he left me, sat with nothing left to show.

               Saying simply, "I don't know".

Startled at the perp's demeanour, half expecting something meaner,

"Doubtless," said I, "what he utters is his only stock and store

Never having been arrested, surely must his nerves be tested,

Having all his hopes invested in escaping what's in store—

Till 'yes', 'no' and 'I don't know' were all on which he had to draw—

               Only this and nothing more".

But the Stayvun still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

I reclined back on my seat and let my partner have a go;

My red-shirted partner trying to confirm that he was lying,

Tried to coax him to complying with a sympathetic show,

To determine what this ghastly, gaunt and ominous little bro

               Meant in croaking "I don't know".

"Stayvun, your mistake was rookie-tier like trying to steal a cookie

From your grandmother but lookie here, you're dealing with a pro

For we know that of your haiyur, many follicles were theiyur,

In the room where you dismembered Lauren Giddings, yes, we know!

You feel bad about it Stayvun, now confess and tell me so".

               But the Stayvun just said "no".

Then said he, "Stayvun, you strike me as someone who doesn't like me

Though our friendship be unlikely, I've been patient even so.

Ever more you try my patience—what manner of conversations

Can be shared with an acquaintance, only made of yes and no?

Kindly now repay my patience and say more than yes or no!"

               Quoth the Stayvun "I don't know".

Then the red-shirted detective—of procedures irrespective—

Started flinging such invective at that creepy so-and-so,

Peppered with questions impelling answers from that foul-smelling,

Campus dormitory-dwelling homicidal little bro:

"Tell us why and how you did it?—if you did it, tell me so!"

               Quoth the Stayvun, "I don't know".

"Answer me as I have bidden—let the truth no more be hidden!

Did you kill her?" "No I didn't"—this the Stayvun told me so.

"Tell us how you did the murder; she was screaming, man, you hurt her",

Said the red-shirted detective with a tone of piteous woe—

"Did you send her to the morgue where sits a tag upon her toe?"

               Quoth the Stayvun, simply, "no".

"Be that word our sign in parting, little man!" I shrieked, upstarting—

"Get thee back into the holding cell and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no haiyur as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my chaiyur bent and broken!—To thy cell and lock the door!

Take thy hands from off the table and consider what's in store!

               Video games nevermore".

And the Stayvun, never quitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

In the lights of that interrogation room's fluorescent glow;

And the questions asked of Stayvun went unanswered like the Raven,

In this poem that I'm riffing on by Edgar Allen Poe;

And the questions asked of Stayvun go unanswered even so,

               All except for "I don't know".

Jimbo: The Thinking Barbarian - 7. A Prisoner Of The Amazons!

Theme: She-Wolf - Megadeth

Thank God It's Friday The 13th: Jason Goes To Hell: The Final Friday???

Jason Goes to Hell has about as much to do with Friday the 13th as the average Hellraiser sequel has to do with Hellraiser, which is ironic because Jason Goes to Hell has a lot in common with Hellraiser, such as this inexplicable gay bondage scene in which Jason, possessing a doctor, shaves a guy:

Clive Barker doesn't get made fun of enough.

There are two good things about the ninth instalment of Friday the 13th. One is the opening sequence, which should have been the whole film. A woman arrives at a cabin in the woods, gets naked and steps into the shower, but the power cuts out and Jason shows up to slice her with his machete. She runs into the woods and he chases her into an ambush in which a large unit of federales light him up with excessive force including a mortar or something which blows his entire body to bits.

Based Agent Hotty so pleased she's forgotten all about her gushing wound.

You can stop watching there to be honest. It was a fun opening and it made sense they would do that eventually, and flipped the script on the expected helpless victim without being a bore about it. Sadly, there was more to come. For some reason, even though it had never even been hinted at before, the writers chose to make the "real" Jason a Mini Boglin who lives in his heart and possesses people. The coroner who gets to deal with Jason's body bits decides for no reason to eat the heart and thus becomes possessed, and then proceeds to pass the Boglin on through several other hosts until blah blah who cares this movie sucks.

"Om nom nom" - a medical professional

The correct amount of lore in a Friday the 13th flick is none to negative (negative meaning it erases the ending of a previous film, which they nearly always do). This one way overcompensates with a stupid backstory about a magic dagger that can only be wielded by a Voorhees and a bounty hunter character who, I don't know, knows all this for some reason. It's so hard to care, and I'm not trying very hard. The Boglin looks like this, and at one point it crawls into his sister's cunt. I am by no means making that up:

Imagine being a professional actor and being told to wrestle with this rubber chicken looking piece of shit.

This is supposed to be a tie-in to some other flick but fuck that, Marvel sucks.

Boglin incest necrophilia is the next frontier in civil rights, but you're a monster if you like normal tits.

Eventually Jason pops back up looking exactly like he did before exploding, hockey mask and all. Blah blah they stab him and he goes to Hell, as the title already suggested. It looks something like this, if you're curious:

What a flamboyant way to die.

Fortunately nothing from this instalment was ever mentioned again, with the exception of the second good thing which eventually culminated in the last (to date) good movie in both this and the Nightmare on Elm Street series:

"Yoink" - Freddy Krueger

But don't get too wet for it yet, because there's one more Friday the 13th to go before we get to it, and it is out of this world.