What began as a routine doctor visit became a day and night of unparalleled savagery, unmotivated hatred, unrepentant cannibalism, unnecessary name-calling, onions– and I had to watch a horror movie.
Elbow to sweaty, obese elbow in that damned office building elevator, like cattle. No muzak, just an unsteady chorus of human exhalation against the hum of the monstrous cables pulling us upward. Then the lights cut off and the elevator groaned from everywhere at once.
The big metal box stopped, albeit awkwardly.
I’d say we were plunged into darkness, except that everyone save me has a mobile phone. No one, however, had reception. Silence gave way to nervous small-talk, which birthed misunderstandings, which led to frustration and fisticuffs. Hours passed. There was another fight, this time over a granola bar.
Shortly thereafter, we formed a democratically elected government (amid voting fraud and bribery allegations) and divvied up the food and water. When our reserves ran low Martial Law was enacted to ensure order. Still, someone/s killed and ate a slight ginger man named Henry (or Harry, maybe).
Everyone accused everyone else. New tribes formed, fought, reformed, negotiated and made mutual protection pacts. This process repeated until there were two main groups: the young and lithe, and the older and not capable of climbing up through the ceiling to hang out in the VIP.
Once up above the rabble, we could ignore their name-calling and pleas, begging us to stop defecating into their elevator. We select few had fresh air, granola bars, condoms, and a laptop. After several hours of singing songs of praise to the elevator maintenance gods and holding orgies and human sacrifices to their glory, someone suggested maybe passing a couple hours by watching a moving picture show.
I took a sharp hit on the noggin during an altercation afterward, but here’s what I remember:
“The Dead and the Damned II” has very attractive packaging. Shiny. Mislead me a little, I think, showing a Western looking zombie and undead dog that never make an appearance. Set in the modern world and shot almost entirely in Californian suburbs, a Western it isn’t. So here’s the synopsis: zombie apocalypse; soldier loses wife and daughter, vows to bring their remains to the Pacific; along the way he meets a deaf hottie and a sage old man with a dam plan.
Points of interest: they really should have gotten an actual deaf chick to play the deaf chick– but she does show her boobs; that same boob-scene has the least-scary zombie; we can all agree that zombies are only really scary if they have teeth; the zombies have technicolor blood, and don’t require head shots; the soldier’s armor and helmet are badass; the Acting President of the United States commits suicide after apologizing to America on TV. Oh, and I bet the old man would be a trip to get smashed with.
Rating: 17.5 out of 25 Rayton Stars.
At any rate, we were eventually rescued from that elevator. Most of us. A few refused to leave their new home, vowing to continue our traditions and way of life, and a few were cannibalized like I mentioned earlier. There’s one thing I’ll never forget: that I still need to see the doctor about my medical marijuana recommendation.