Originally posted by FeceMan
What?
They're talking about a scene in John Carpenter's infamous remake of "The Thing": one of the people at the antarctic research-station "dies" of a heart-attack. He's defibrillated twice, and on the second attempt the dead guy's abdomen turns into a mouth [complete with teeth] and bites the doctor's hands off. The dead guy then turns into a most awful monster; he only looked human, he was actually this alien "thing."
The other guys manage to kill the body of the monster with a flamethrower, but the dead guy's head detaches itself, sprouts six legs and attempts to escape on its own. [I s*** you not.] Luckily it's spotted and torched before it gets away.
So yeah, defibrillating aliens might not be that hot of an idea... 😈
If you haven't seen it, its actually a pretty good movie. Don't have a weak stomach, though because there's a scene in it where the alien attempts to take over the station's team of sled-dogs, and it's not easy to watch. Kill every single human but NO HURTING ANIMALS, at least this is MY creed.
Speaking of antarctic research-stations, sled-dogs and aliens, the time is now for me to sign off and get started on my Venom fanfic. Yep. Now is the time. Later, people. [waves 'bye]
Originally posted by FeceMan
I don't like screwy animé, so, no, I don't like it.
Figures! You don't know anything about
the Japanese syle cartoon like most
Anime loves do.
I know all of the Anime expressions 😠
Do not defy or juge my wisdom, mortal!!!!! 😠 😠
Or I shall crush your puny mind with my mind bending
powers of telekinesis!!! 😎
Hey, I began a short fic- I'd like to post some here. It's gruesome. Lots of murder. Maybe I'll just post the first page. Its working title is Carnage:Thanksgiving. Now, I know that's lame; I'll take suggestions for something snappier. Here's the first bit, quite tame, all violence is implied...
On November twenty-fourth, the sun showed late, starting a dark, calm day.
Fog mixed into the low-beams of a rolling semi. It hissed and growled down the alley, sending a thick rumble into the brick walls.
The semi moved toward a warping mass of illuminated fog, at the intense lamp that marked one door. In the light, the semi’s long flanks squirmed. Its metal ran with cold water. It smoked with a thick, icy mist. In the devilish shadows, it rolled watchfully, guided by the hands of Cal Payton.
Cal was happy to see the open door under the hanging lamp. The staff was ready- good folk- they didn’t cost a man one second of log-book time. He saw darkness huddled in the doorway, rocking, restless. Passing the shadows, he saw one man had cast them all. One man wasn’t going to unload this whole shipment. He supposed the bitter cold had pushed the volunteers into the hot kitchen, and this guy was watching for the truck. Cal waved as he went by.
In the side mirror, Cal saw the man walk along the wall, following the passing body of the semi. Cal didn’t know this man. Normally, the staff at the homeless shelter was steady. This new face would be a court-ordered placement.
Walking slow, holding his hands where they could block and grapple, this guy had a paroled look. Cal had sympathy for that. It was a hard thing- working your @ss off, hung up on paper that could be revoked if you missed a bus.
When the engine shut off, the worker stood right at Cal’s window. He had climbed on the running board; now he pulled at the door handle. The man outside rapped lightly on the window, flashing a smile.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” he called. He wore a red winter hat, low on his brow, and had a hard face, glowing with Irish pallor. His eyes widened boyishly for this shout. When he saw Cal opening the door, he jumped back down in the alley.
“Hey, buddy, I’d say this is your last run. Tell me I’m right.”
“Last one, yes. Hey, where’re the guys to move the turkeys?”
“They’re inside. Have a smoke. It’s a Godly holiday; shouldn’t you be sinning?” The guy laughed, pulled out a loose cigarette. He slapped it onto Cal’s hand; he grabbed the trucker by a shoulder. “Come on in, there’s coffee, and I’ve got the ovens hot… Light that coffin nail. Here!”
He flicked a lighter out, popped it open. Cal leaned, poking the cigarette into the flame. In the fire, the fog sweltered, muggy as summer air. The trucker inhaled. “Thanks…”
“Can’t waste a minute of this holiday, can we?”
They walked to the open door. Cal lagged; he wanted to stop. Finally he did, mulishly, with the man’s hand pressing at his shoulder.
“I should finish this out here, huh?” Cal pressed his lips on the cigarette. He wanted it badly, now. He wanted the nicotine, the odor-killing smoke.
Something stank- with sharpness, with flooding force; it made his nose wet; his mouth bitter. A butchery odor. When he loaded up at the meat plant, Cal had thought- this is the rarest smell- blood, by the gallon. Now here it was… Cal studied the worker.
The tall man wore a t-shirt, showing a hard chest, a gut pulled tightly to his back-bone. His long arms were packed with smooth muscle. Short and lumpish, Cal had no way to back this guy off.
Sweat and fog shone on the worker’s pale flesh. Oozing in the slickness, were smears of blood- so he’d unloaded a shipment before this one. They must be sending meals to off-site churches. A long day’s work.
The man wasn’t looking at Cal. He had fixed his gaze on the open door.
“No, f~ck that! You think the health department’s coming by to count the roaches? He!l, no. It’s Thanksgiving. We’re all gonna be with our families, right? So come on in. Say hi to mine.”
“Your family’s here?”
“Oh, we’re a family here. A second family. I ran out of my first.”
“What?”
“Come on… You want to stand here talking all day?”
Cal didn’t. He wanted to go in now. There would be others inside...
He cast down the cigarette, headed to the open door. Heat blew into a full-body contact, steaming into his clothes, carrying the blood scent with a cooking aroma…ham, holiday ham.
Behind Cal, the worker made a face of twisting, hateful contempt. “Yeh, go on in. Join the herd.” He snarled softly, moving fast, following tensely.