BEWARE OF SLAVIC ACCENTS!

In the meantime, wear garlic. No, a crucifix won't do, that Christian nonsense never worked on the undead. They scoff at it. Nunneries were always a favourite hunting ground.
For obvious reasons.

Very silly vampire movie last night. Couldn't stop watching, because it was splendidly bad. With lovely coffins, though. Kudos to the props department. As with many horror films, characters kept doing things that anyone in their right mind would have not done. Leading to bad things. That could have been avoided.

Still don't know why one of the characters wore sunglasses all the time, but he may not have wanted to be recognized by talents scouts.

It was a typical nineteen seventies Southern California production.

"Honey, there's something I should have told you when we got married. All my relatives in Europe were bloodsucking monsters till they were killed by the villagers. I cary their genes, and our daughters may roam the night looking for victims."

"But they're only two and four years old!"

"Yes, but my genes are strong!"

"Now you tell me?!?"

"There's a hearse slowly following us."

"A hearse? Make it go away!"

"It's there for security."

"What security? It's creeping me the hell out!"

"It will all be okay. Trust me."

"Why do you have a box of silver bullets?"

"I want my dog!"

"scream all you want, stupid dog lover, no one can hear us!"

"That was no ordinary dog."


Basically, worst vacation movie ever.

With a mobile home.

Between the two of us, my apartment mate and I concluded that they really ought to hire us to script-write the remake. It couldn't be any worse.

By darkfall, it was already raining, and in the middle of the evening when I stepped out briefly, the streets were soggy, with few people about. Perfect for a smoke. This being San Francisco, we don't have many Eastern European Undead walking the streets, we have other things.
I didn't bother heading past the nearby church where the druggies sleep in the doorway, nor the further one with the loonie. When I got back home the front hallway smelled strongly of trasi bakar, unpleasantly so. The old Indonesian woman who lives downstairs may have been preparing a supply to last for several months.

A few hours earlier, when I got to the bakery for tea and a pastry, it smelled of sandalwood incense there. The owner usually burns a few sticks for the earth spirit late in the day, as well as for Second Brother Guan in his decorated hutch high on the back wall, fiercely looking towards the door to keep the bad things out.

Considering the odour of trasi bakar, I rather wish the Indonesian woman did the same.
The downstairs reeks powerfully like an Eastern European tomb.
Daemon dogs and the undead.


The makers of the movie spent little or nothing on special effects.
It was a horrible waste of plywood.


You burn incense to keep away the skeevie Eastern Europeans.
Surely everybody knows that?



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