Sleepo Man

The Saturday night we saw "Revenge of the Cheerleaders" at the drive-in, it played third on a dusk-to-dawn quadruple bill with "Repo Man" (1984), "13 Ghosts" (1960), and "Switchblade Sisters" (1975).

We would have a good reason to skip church.

I was ready to watch "Repo Man," but this car wreck of a movie about wrecked cars, wrecked flying saucers, and Emilio Estevez's wreck of a career soon made me consider the error of my ways.

I knocked on the door of the projection booth, a little building in the center of the parking area. The kindly operator peeked out from behind a clutch of burgers and a teeming mountain of Ketchup Packets of the Gods.

"May I borrow your 'Methodist Hymnal?'" I asked. I thought I'd practice for church after all.

He shut the door in my face.

My burden had grown wearier. I returned to our seats and gazed up into the gigantic, tired face of Harry Dean Stanton.

I like Harry Dean Stanton, but he is not the most animated of actors. Walt Disney took off after him with an art gum eraser. Pixar would be stumped.

I looked at Harry, The Nap in a Tatty Suit, and knew I was in desperate need of a caffeine infusion. Otherwise, I had no hope of remaining alert through four full-length features.

I stepped to the front of the refreshments line and said, "Hi, there, I'd like coffee, please."

"We ain't got no coffee," said the young lady.

"Ummm," I yawned, "let me have some hot chocolate."

"We ain't got no hot chocolate!" she yelped.

I raised the left eyebrow. "Espresso Crème Brulée?"

She stared at me.

"Nope," I translated.

I chewed a lip.

"Then, I'll have a Diet Coke. The biggest--"


I stared at her.

"If I give you 10 dollars, will you slap me in the face?"


I zombie shuffled away.

I had lost my quest and even the will to inquire of vichyssoise.

Previously in This Thread: Two for the Chow | "Revenge of the Cheerleaders"
Next: Spectacles in the Dark

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