Necropolis (Bruce Hickey, 1987)

The last sound you will ever hear is that of her high heel shoes hitting the floor as she walks away from your soon to be rotting corpse. Oh, and before you start accusing her of murder, remember this, she simply told you to kill yourself, which you did, without hesitation. Okay, maybe there was some hesitation, but not a lot. Either way, there's very little you can do once you have come face-to-face with the intoxicating allure of the platinum blonde demon goddess at the centre of Necropolis, the epic supernatural thriller from writer-director Bruce Hickey and producer Tim Kincaid (Riot on 42nd Street) about a three hundred year-old witch, one who, get this, uses her long, alabaster legs, which, of course, are sheathed in the blackest pair of black fully fashioned stockings money can buy, to persuade big haired and regular haired New Yorkers alike to do things they wouldn't normally do. Watching her slowly develop as an actress, a cameo in Bad Girls Dormitory, a bit part in Psychos in Love, and, who could forget, her scene-stealing turn as the forthright pleasure droid in Mutant Hunt, this is the film that proves once and for all that LeeAnne Baker is one of the greatest B-movie actresses of all-time. Hold up. Did you just say, "B-movie actresses"? Fuck that noise, LeeAnne Baker is simply one of the greatest actresses of all-time, period. At least from my unique perspective she is, and why wouldn't she be? You know how some people have shoe fetishes, or how some are obsessed with opera gloves? Well, I have a LeeAnne Baker fetish. Now, I know what you're thinking. What exactly does a LeeAnne Baker fetish entail? Excellent question. First things first, you'll need to watch all her movies. And you don't merely watch a LeeAnne Baker movie, you inject yourself into the film like a heroin user shoots up with a syringe. Except, in this case, LeeAnne Baker is the drug and your eyes are the addict.
 

 

Okay, now that I've cleared that up. What you need to do next is take what you have seen in her movies (it doesn't matter if she's in the movie for five seconds or is in it from start to finish), and write overlong passages that describe in exhaustive detail what Miss Baker did in each movie. And I'm talking about everything: the style of her hair (since LeeAnne only worked as an actress between years 1986 and 1987, her hair is usually short), the type of clothes she wore, the way she moves, the quality of her acting, etc.
 

 

Stealing individual scenes is one thing, but carrying an entire movie squarely on your creamy shoulders is quite a different story. And that's exactly what LeeAnne Baker has to do in Necropolis; a film that not only requires her to be the star (it's the first film where her character appears on the poster), she has to ride a motorcycle along the West Side Highway, grow four additional breasts right underneath her already existing pair, and dance in front of a pentagram in 17th century New Amsterdam.
 

 

History majors will probably notice right off the bat that the opening title "New Amsterdam, 1686" is somewhat erroneous (the name "New Amsterdam" was changed to New York in 1664). But don't let a minor detail like that ruin your appreciation for the scope of the storytelling employed throughout this classic tale of good vs. fabulous; I know I sure I didn't.
 

 

Speaking of things that are erroneous in nature, did they have "jazz hands" in 1686? I wonder. Anyway, in a misty forest on the outskirts of New Amsterdam circa 1686, a white woman is being followed by a mysterious black man. Why is a mysterious black man following a white woman? Judging by her long, platinum-coloured hair and equally long, black cloak, I'd say the woman in question likes to dabble in Satanism.
 

 

Dabble, you say?!? Hardly, she's the leader of a Satanic cult. And not only that, she's the leader of a Satanic cult during a time when being the leader of a Satanic cult actually meant something. Tell someone nowadays you're the leader of anything, let alone a Satanic cult, and they'll probably laugh in your face while they calmly call in a drone strike using the airstrike application on their smartphone. But back then, any extracurricular activities that didn't involve the Bible were usually greeted with an angry mob wielding torches.     
 

 

My instincts regarding the white woman with the white hair were right on the money, as we see her standing in front of giant pentagram (the official symbol of Satan). While it looks like she could be the opening act for a Ratt tribute band, don't be fooled, she's up to some seriously evil shit. After wowing the shifty-eyed rabble in attendance with her erotic, well, erotic for 1693, dance moves, she summons a bride away from a nearby wedding using her Satan-approved brand of telekinesis. The plan is to kill the virgin bride with a special knife in order to please her master. Unfortunately, the mysterious black man, and, not to mention, the entire wedding party, show up to ruin her ritual. Swearing to avenge this injustice, the cult leader vows to return.
 

 

When and where do you think she will return? Please return to New York City in the mid-to-late 1980s; I don't ask for much.
 

Panning up a leg encased in lace nylons that is attached to a torso sitting on a red motorcycle to the sound of "Rock & Rock" (yep, the same song used in both Valet Girls and Killer Workout), the next twenty minutes are easily the finest twenty minutes ever to be captured on film. Don't get me wrong, the stuff that happens after the twenty minutes are up is just as awesome. I'm just saying, this particular chunk of celluloid represents my aesthetic point of view like no other chunk has done before.

 

 

While that's great and all, let's get back to the camera panning up that leg. Sitting atop a red Yamaha XJ 400 Seca (thanks, IMCDb) motorcycle is a figure in lace and black leather. And you know what that means? That's right, Satan's girlfriend is back, baby! Removing her helmet, the first thing we notice is that her the long locks have been replaced with a shorter hairdo (the kind that would make Lois Ayres and Sharon Mitchell nod approvingly with a snotty grace). Looking around at her new surroundings, Eva (LeeAnne Baker), her eyes smeared with about five cans of black eye makeup, flashes a sly smile, and hits the road.
 

 

A close-up shot of her left hand revving her motorcycle's engine, her red fingernails juxtaposed nicely with her black, stud-covered leather fingerless gloves, is the epitome of cinematic cool as far as I'm concerned.
 

 

The first stop on her journey is an occult pawn shop run by a guy named Rudy (Gy Milano), a beer-drinking asthmatic who lost his hearing for a week when he was six years old. How do you know all that? Ah, yes. The thing about Necropolis that sets it apart from other films in the genre is that it takes the time to flesh out each character's backstory. You see, if Eva wants you to do something, but you, unwisely, decide to resist her, she'll poke around your subconscious until she finds a traumatic event from your past and use what she found to bend your will. In the case of Rudy the pawnbroker, she wants him to tell her who he sold "The Devil's Ring" to, as it possesses great power. And when he won't tell her (LeeAnne Baker's New York accent really shines through when she says, "You're Lying'!" in response to his floundering), Eva reminds him of the time when he lost his hearing as a child. The ringing sound in his ears drives Rudy mad, eventually kills him. But as he's dying, he tells Eva what she wanted to hear. And that is, the location of the ring.
 

 

Making her way to the youth outreach centre run by the Reverend Henry James (William K. Reed), who strangely looks exactly like the black man from the 1680s. It's during this scene when we get our first taste of Eva's menacing-sounding footsteps. Pretending to be a troubled teen, Eva confronts the reverend in the men's room. On top of being the first instance where we get a clear shot of the star earring dangling from Eva's left earlobe, it's also the scene I would submit to anyone out there who wants to learn a thing or two about the art of acting, as LeeAnne Baker is remarkable. Trading in her tough chick persona for a more vulnerable one, LeeAnne will melt your tear ducts with the range of emotions she displays during this particular scene.
 

 

Since her meeting with the reverend didn't get her any closer to her precious devil ring, Eva decides to use a different approach; one that involves psychological persuasion, and, of course, her raw sex appeal. When we hear a beat pumping, we know it's time for Eva to slip on her black stockings and attach them to the garter belt, which is no doubt lurking seductively somewhere underneath her short-as-can-be black leather skirt. Using the back room of Rudy's occult pawn shop as her temporary base of operations, Eva takes her black stockings for a test drive by dancing up a storm as "Say You Do" by Zoom Zoom throbs on the soundtrack.
 

 

Choreographed by Taunie Vrenon (Elaine from Mutant Hunt), what takes place next is probably the most alluringly staged dance number in film history. After she's done making sure there are no creases in her stockings (she does so by running hands, her black, stud-covered black fingerless glove-covered hands, over the surface of the stockings multiple times), and she finishes applying some more makeup, Eva dances erotically in front of the makeshift Satanic altar she has set up.
 

 

Hopping on her motorcycle, Eva arrives at the youth outreach centre just as a reporter in a red turtleneck dress named Dawn Phillips (Jacquie Fitz), a woman who looks like the virgin bride from the 1680s, is about to interview The Reverend and a troubled youth named Philly (George Anthony-Rayza) for some hard hitting piece for NPR. In order to break things up, Eva manipulates Philly (she's outside the centre) by causing him to go into withdrawal (he's a recovering drug addict). Since everyone with the exception one volunteer has gone to the hospital with Philly, Eva can get the key for the safe that contains the ring without as much hassle.  

 

 

All that stands in her way is a guy named Tony (Andrew Bausili), a man who looks like the preacher from Dawn's botched 1686 wedding. Luckily for Eva, Tony is no longer a puritan era preacher. He's now a man who is easily swayed by the sight of the exposed thigh skin languishing between two distinctly different textile realms.
 

 

Starting off with a close-up shot of the seams that run up and down the back of her stockings, Eva enters the youth outreach centre with a certain swagger.
 

 

Asking if he can help her, Eva replies, "Sure, Tony," even though they have never met (well, at least not in a couple of hundred years). Resting one of her legs on a chair, which purposely exposes a generous helping of ashen flesh thanks to the leg's placement and the zipper slit on her leather skirt, Eva toys with Tony in a way that can best be described as "cat and mouse." 

 

 

The sound of her footsteps echo through the office, as she circles his desk in a predatory manner.
 

 

Audible footsteps, brilliant streaks of rouge makeup, a dangling star-shaped earring, and exposed thigh skin inundate my psyche as Eva slowly approaches Tony's desk.
 

 

Grabbing a switchblade from one of Tony's drawers, Eva places it on his desk and tells him to kill himself. Using his suicidal tendencies against him, while, at same time, making sure his eyes remain focused on the first-rate absolute territory she was putting out there, Eva eggs him on by saying, "Do it," over and over again.
 

 

You have to wonder why Eva needed keys to open a safe in the first place. I mean, don't most safes use combination locks? And secondly, why couldn't she just zap it open using her witch powers like she did the lock on the fence? Well, to be fair, she did open the fence lock after she acquired the ring, so, she might not have had access to that witch function yet. At any rate, with the ring on her finger, Eva drives to her necropolis, a dilapidated warehouse up in The Bronx, which still contain the bodies of her long dead Satanic cult. After some great leggy shots of LeeAnne Baker walking through the warehouse are implemented, Eva summons her followers to arise.
 

 

Meanwhile, a no-nonsense cop named Billy (Michael Conte), a dead ringer for Alan Vega from Suicide ("America, America is killing its youth"), is trying to investigate Tony's death. What do you mean, "trying"? Well, even though Benny the medical examiner (Paul Ruben), a man who's on friendly terms with Dorothy, tells him, "it's a suicide, honey," Dawn and Reverend James are convinced that there's something strange going on in Tribeca tonight.
 

 

While Alan Vega's twin brother and the neck sensitive Dawn (seriously, don't touch her neck) make goo goo eyes with one another (the latter invites the former over to her Japanese themed apartment to drink wine and talk about reincarnation), Eva is out collecting souls in a pair of animal print leather pants with a matching bustier. The first soul she grabs belongs to a guy from Queens named Snake (Jett Julian), then she targets his big haired girlfriend Cat (Jennifer Stahl). Their souls are consumed as ectoplasm, which she later expels through her nipples so that her minions may grow stronger. Whoa, how is she supposed to feed an army of minions with only two nipples? Um, she develops four more breasts. Duh.
 

 

A rare instance where everything seems to be in perfect harmony with one another in terms of cohesion, Necropolis is a movie that works on so many levels, that it's not even funny. It's got homemade crosses used as weapons, a skeptical red meat advocate who looks like Alan Vega (a man who gets to fondle Eva's stockings at one point), it uses "On the Run From Whistler" from the Trancers soundtrack not once but twice, has a flamboyant M.E. ("That's 'Dr. Parker' to you, honey"), features scenes where a tall (LeeAnne Baker must be at least 5'10) blonde who looks like Anne Carlisle from every angle harasses a hooker named Candy (Nadine Hartstein), and sports a lead character whose clothes are styled by none other than Celeste Hines. Okay, I don't know who that is (Nancy Arons and Jeffrey Wallach are credited as the film's costume designers, and probably deserve most of the credit for Eva's many stunning ensembles), but I like the idea that LeeAnne Baker had her own stylist on this film. Anyway, capturing the nervous energy of New York City after dark, Necropolis is what cinema should be: A steaming wad of diaphanous nectar dripping from the nipples of a soul-sucking witch from the Lower East Side. 

uploaded by GoldEydLer

Special thanks to Thomas Duke, the beer-drinking dandy who runs the newly refurbished Cinema Gonzo (check it out, man, it's taint-tastic!), for doing me a solid and recommending that my Vorta-esque eyeballs make a date with this wonderfully crafted piece of filmed entertainment.

Mutant Hunt (Tim Kincaid, 1987)

You know what they say: You can't keep a stretchy-armed cyborg handcuffed to a radiator for long. I don't know who "they" are, or why exactly they're going around saying such nonsensical gobbledygook. But as far as stupid utterances go, this one happens to be soaking in truth sauce. The amount of time you can keep a cyborg handcuffed to a radiator is fleeting at best–and, believe me, I should know, as not a day goes by that I don't find my place of residence infested with drug addled cyborgs. Even though I'm someone whose walls are completely devoid of machetes, cyborgs are still managing to find machete-based ways to break free from their restraints. Isn't it weird how that happens? Anyway, enough about my nonexistent cyborg problems, let's see a show of hands: How many people out there lurking in the darkness knew I was going open with a bit about handcuffed cyborgs? Interesting, hardly anyone. Okay, how many people were shocked that I didn't start off with a woefully misguided yet crotch-pleasing tangent about the forceful manner in which Mary Fahey crosses her shapely legs while sitting on a bed? Really? That many, eh? The reason I began with the whole cyborg handcuffed to a radiator routine—you know, instead my "I'm obsessed with organic materials" one—was because I couldn't get over the fact that the cyborg in question was attempting to cut off its hand in a manner that seemed counterproductive. You see, the cyborg, who's been handcuffed to a radiator during a close-quarter melee by our hero, decides to free itself by chopping off its hand with a machete that wasn't close by (it had to employ the extreme stretch feature of its unshackled cyborg arm to grab the out of reach machete). While it might seem rash to the non-cyborgs in the audience to remove one's own hand like that, to a cyborg, it makes perfect sense, especially when you consider the fact that its cyborg partner in crime was currently enganged in one humdinger of a pickled situation, and needed some swift assistance.

The only problem, and this succinctly sums up the wonky appeal of Mutant Hunt, was the shackled cyborg was cutting at the wrong side of the manacle. It didn't matter in the end, because when the hand is lopped off, the cutting area is clearly located on the other side (the side most commonly associated with extreme handcuff separation). But it did give me something to think about it. Which, I've been told, is somewhat of a rarity when it comes to films that are written and directed by Tim Kincaid (Riot on 42nd Street), the master when it comes to low budget science fiction, horror, women in prison, and gay porn films that are set in New York City. Opening with a shot of the city's iconic skyline at night, the film (which was apparently "too gory for the silver screen" upon its initial release) quickly ushers us into the offices of Inteltrax, a multinational corporation who produce cyborgs, digital alarm clocks, and childos (hands-free dildos for the woman on the go). Of course, I didn't know that right away; silly me thought that "Inteltrax" was the headquarters for the Manhattan chapter of the Front 242 fan club. Sporting sunglasses, black utilitarian jumpsuits, and industrial haircuts, these cyborgs are Delta 7's, and they're the top of the line. What makes these cyborgs so special? Why, they're jacked up on euphorine, that's what, the drug of choice in the twenty-first century. Since the marginally deranged cartoon villain/CEO of Inteltrax, Z (Bill Peterson), needs tons of euphorine to keep his all his cyborgs sufficiently intoxicated, he's stockpiled enough to last a lifetime.

A rival cyborg manufacture named Domina (Stormy Spill), who is upset over the fact that Z is hording the drug all for himself (she's addicted to euphorine). As you would expect, Domina spends most of her waking hours planning his downfall. When two of Inteltrax's employees catch wind of Z's diabolic plan, they make a feeble attempt to stop him. Unfortunately, Dr. Paul Haynes (Mark Umile), the designer of the Delta 7's, is apprehended before he can sound the alarm. On the other hand, his sister, Darla Haynes (Mary Fahey), manages to escape on foot. Pursued by two cyborgs who are shooting lasers at her, Darla runs straight to the sparsely furnished apartment of one Matt Riker (Rick Gianasi), the city's most accomplished mercenary. It's a good thing he lives just down the street from the Inteltrax offices, or else Darla and her little black dress would have been zapped into oblivion.

Following Darla upstairs, the two cyborgs, their skin dripping with yellow slime, enter Matt Riker's apartment. Big mistake, fellas. Standing there in nothing but a pair white underpants (it's nice to know that his genitals are always nestled in practicality), Matt greets the unwelcome house guests with a good old fashion ass kicking. After utilizing almost every weapon at his disposal (what his apartment's decor lacks in visual flair, it more than makes up for it in wall-mounted crossbows, machetes, and unloaded shotguns) to destroy the mutant cyborgs, Matt is probably thinking about celebrating his victory by penetrating his pleasure droid (LisaAnne Baker), the Lois Ayres/Sharon Mitchell/Anne Carlisle/coked up Helen Hunt lookalike, with his workaday penis.

As much as I would love to see you probe the insides of her soft, allegedly synthetic flesh, I'm afraid you are going have to keep it in your pants; which you can put back on, by the way (it's hard to take you seriously while you're wearing nothing but that particular style of underwear). Why can't he, have sex with her, that is? Well, the reason Darla ran to your apartment, and not to one belonging to the thousands of other mercenaries and bounty hunters who live in the neighbourhood, was because you're the best, and she requires your cyborg-stomping expertise.

While Darla is explaining the situation (the cyborgs are sex maniacs who need to kill every six hours) in her usual deadpan manner (the effortlessly seductive Mary Fahey is the best when it comes to recitng ridiculous dialogue in a dispassionate, "I don't really want to be in this movie," sort of way), the pleasure droid chimes in by asking, "Who would want to get robots high?" Excellent question. In fact, her question was so excellent, that it caused me to dispute Matt's post-mortal assertion that the attractive blonde in his bed was merely a "pleasure droid." I'm no rocket scientist when it comes to pleasure droids, but if there's one thing I know about pleasure droids, it's they're not exactly known for their inquisitiveness. Their sole purpose is to serve the needs of their owner, not to ask pertinent questions regarding the drug habits of sex-crazed cyborgs.

Suddenly, just as Darla was regaling us with tales of the "space shuttle sex murders," another slimy cyborg bursts into Matt Riker's apartment. The pleasure droid, for some strange reason, starts to scream (she didn't make a sound during the previous encounter with the cyborgs). This alerts the cyborg, who, without hesitation, picks up the pleasure droid, and proceeds to throw her out the window. She protests this action by screaming louder and kicking her legs, which are now dangling from a blue nightie. But it's all for naught, as her body crashes to the pavement below. Sure, it looked there was a pool of egg yolk-coloured brain matter (all cybernetic organisms in this particular universe have yellow blood) congealing on the ground near her head as she lay in the street, but that mess could have easily been left there by some lame as fuck news reporter trying to prove how hot it was by frying an egg on the sidewalk. In other words, I'm not fully convinced LeeAnne Baker was a pleasure droid. My theory is that the reason Matt Riker told Darla she was a pleasure droid was to mask the pain he was feeling over her death (keeping your emotions in check is one of the keys to being a successful mercenary).

Let it go, man. Pleasure droid or not, she's gone. But I thought LeeAnne Baker was going to be Matt Riker's plucky blonde sidekick. "But I thought LeeAnne Baker was going to be..." Ugh. Stop being such a baby. It's not going to happen. Try focusing your energy instead on Darla, or, better yet, check out the next scene. Itching to assemble a team (yep, even the best mutant cyborg hunter in the business needs help on occasion), Matt Riker heads down to Club Inferno to meet a colleague named Elaine (Taunie Vrenon), a bounty hunter/private ops/dancer of the seven veils (she moonlights as a dancer), and enlists her in the fight against Z's rogue cyborgs.

After eavesdropping on a conversation that took place between Darla, Matt Riker, and Elaine (she was sitting on the bar stool next to Elaine), Domina calls up Z on her mobile communications device, and uses what she overheard as a bargaining chip to acquire a freakishly large amount of euphorine. Why does she need so much euphorine? Is her habit that bad? Don't be naive, Romina is working on her own cyborg project, and needs the euphorine for a project she's been working on. Developing a "Delta 8," Domina hopes to unveil her bandaged creation at Z's warehouse during the film's action-packed finale.

You'll notice I said, "mobile communication device," well, that's because futuristic gadgets are quite plentiful in the Mutant Hunt universe. Along with cell phones, the film has tablet computers, a global positioning system that helps locate mutant cyborgs, and bluetooth technology. Most of these gadgets come courtesy of Johnny Felix (Ron Reynaldi), a bounty hunter whose sneakers allow him to run as fast as a cheetah. This unique ability enables him to come to the rescue of Elaine when she finds herself face-to-face with one of Z's Delta 7's in a dark alley behind Club Inferno. Luckily for her, the nonexistent length of her black heterosexual mini-dress is what permits her to run fast. It's too bad she doesn't own a pair of cheetah shoes–or maybe she does, but didn't want to wear them tonight because they didn't really go with her heterosexual mini-dress. Either way, Elaine is somewhat embarrassed by the fact that she had to be rescued like a damsel-in-distress ("I hate it when men save me"). Sure, it sounds like someone's a tad ungrateful. But you have got to remember, she's a highly trained bounty hunter, just like, Matt Riker and Felix.

Admiring the cut of her Klaus Nomi-friendly shoulder pads in the mirror (her rival, Z, obviously shops at the same store), Domina is chatting with her personal assistant, a Delta 6 named Hydro (Doug Devos). While she's complimenting him for his loyal service over years (to which Hydro responds with the often repeated line, "Thank you, Domina), I couldn't help but notice that Domina and Hydro had an interesting rapport whenever they appeared onscreen together. It's not a sexual thing, either. You could just tell that they had a deep respect for one another. Which, I've been told, is a rare occurrence when it comes to the majority of master-slave relationships.

Regrouping at Matt Riker's apartment, Johnny Felix gives the team an impromptu demonstration of his latest gadgets; the coolest being a time delayed explosive device. Feeling more or less upstaged by this glorified appliance symposium, Darla tries to draw everyone's attention away from Felix's newfangled gizmos by crossing and uncrossing her legs three times in quick succession. Judging by the bemused expressions on their faces, I don't think they noticed the leg crossing cabaret that was transpiring right before their very eyes (bunch of non-leg cross noticing ingrates). I know this won't bring her any solace, but I knew exactly what Darla was up to the moment she sat down and implemented her first cross.

Not one to be outdone when it comes to flashing some knee skin, Elaine, who is still wearing her heterosexual mini-dress, invites Matt Riker to her apartment to "talk about old times." Standing near a giant shelf containing hundreds of books (girl, you have got to be kidding? there's no way you have read all those books), Elaine reminds Matt Riker of that crazy night they spent in at the Sri Lankan Hilton, and, before you know it, they're filling each other up with globs of buggy wuggy. Oh, Matt Riker. You're such a slut. The body of the pleasure droid isn't even cold, yet, here you are, making it with some floozy who thinks her legs are just as sexy as the ones attached to Mary Fahey's supple frame. Hell, Elaine doesn't even know how to sit with her legs crossed. Fucktard.

I don't why I'm taking all my frustration out on Elaine, when it's Matt Riker's fault the pleasure droid is dead and that Darla's leg crossing theatrics bore no erectile fruit. At any rate, while Felix and Matt Riker battle cyborgs (or "jellyheads," as Felix likes to call them) up in Spanish Harlem and on the Lower East Side, Elaine takes off her heterosexual mini-dress and heads down to the waterfront to search for large quantities of eurphorine with her trusty euphorine detector. The sight of Taunie Vrenon wearing a grey jumpsuit and red high heel boots standing with the city's skyline in the background, her red hair blowing in the wind, is the film's defining Elaine moment.

If you think about it, there would be no Janice from Friends, Lady Starlight, Frank the Entertainer in a Basement Affair, or even Fran Fine if it wasn't for Stormy Spill's subdued performance as Domina, the undisputed queen when it comes to scheming without the aid of pants. Oh, and don't let her thick Queens, New York accent fool you, Domina could careless about kosher grade pastrami or her reputed timeshare in Muskoka, it's cyborgs that scratch her delicate itch; that, and an ear full of euphorine. With the pleasure droid out of commission, Elaine searching the waterfront for euphorine, and Matt Riker off fighting cyborgs (like in Bad Girls Dormitory, the fight scenes do go on a tad too long), it only makes sense that my two favourite Mutant Hunt characters would inadvertently battle it out at Z's super-secret euphorine factory. Finally ready to unleash her Delta 8 to an unsuspecting public, Domina is shocked to find an equally pantless Darla waiting to greet her creation with a laser pistol.

I don't want to start any controversy, but I've heard that some jellyheads (on top of being Felix's nickname for cyborgs, it's the unofficial monicker for the worldwide network of Mutant Hunt fans) were mildly disappointed by the film's anticlimactic ending. What they fail to realize is that, to these characters, hunting mutants is an everyday part of life. Saving the world on a regular basis is what they do, and I thought Tim Kincaid captured that nonchalance perfectly. In addition, I thought the film had a lot to say about the ho-hum nature of twenty-first century heroism. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go light a candle in honour of a dead pleasure droid.

uploaded by mrparka

This tedious slab of overstated nonsense is dedicated to LeeAnne Baker, Mary Fahey, Stormy Spill, Taunie Vrenon, and, of course, Thomas Duke, a man who knows exactly what's going on in my alley, and isn't afraid to tell me when he's come across something that might be up it.

...