Truly Bad Films

Monday, November 07, 2005

Category 7: End of the World

If you love really bad movies like I do, then you cannot miss the second half of Category 7: End of the World airing next Sunday night. I’ll fill you in on everything you’ll need to know to catch up:

The Extreme Weather Lab in Washington, D.C. (I’m sure Robbo has coffee with these guys all the time) is staffed exclusively with Abercrombie & Fitch underwear models who get on CBs and yell for their folks in the field to “Do it now! Now!!!” That’s their only job. Oh . . . yelling on CBs and saying “It’s a Cat 5!!! The wind is gusting to 150 MPH!!!” which here in the real world means it’s a Cat 4 at most, and as Pep says, if its only “gusting” to 150 then it’s probably really a Cat 3, but why let reality intrude? To continue . . .

FEMA is directed by Judith “Botoxia” Carr who is forced by circumstances to consult the brilliant rogue weatherman Ross; her lover in college. And she so does NOT like him now. Not anymore - Does not! No, she doesn’t! Un-Uhhhh! You do!

Anyway, Ross is busy doing “independent weather” on a grant from Greenpeace, so Botoxia has a hard time convincing Ross to jump ship and join FEMA. (It’s probably the free gambling junkets on the Rainbow Warrior he doesn’t want to give up.) Ross begins to assemble his team of rogue weather peeps once he joins FEMA and the first ones he calls are Randy Quaid, reprising his role from Category 6: Day of Destruction, and Shannen Doherty. Shannen looks like a floozy with a bad perm pouring shots in a coyote bar, but she’s really a gifted “package scientist” with a Master’s degree in weather. Many have long suspected her of being a package scientist of some sort . . .

Pep – he likes him some Shannen. Here are his comments:
Here's the thing about Shannen Doherty. If you're in a bar, and she starts coming on to you, there is NO WAY you're not going home with her. Around 3 a.m., just as the really kinky shit starts happening, you black out. The next morning, you wake up with a bloody pentagram painted on your stomach, and your signed contract with Satan is stapled to your genitals. Ah, Shannen...

Sounds like he's been there !

Next, Biblical curses a la the book of Exodus begin powdering D.C. like mocha from a Starbucks shaker, which is to say, there are only two “plagues;” very localized and really, really small. The first one is Poisonous Frogs On Plates, where there is no way to understand how the they got on plates other than to assume that a worm hole in a poisonous frog exhibit . . . somewhere, allowed them to beam themselves directly onto the croutons. The other one is a few flies trapped in a Congressional hallway. What with the constant stench of sulphur and the everlasting demonic pricking the real Congress people have to put up with, adding a few flies to the scenario doesn’t seem like much of a pestilence. But we find out later that it is just a prank pulled by James Brolin and his wife, Swoozie Kutz, a Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker-style preaching couple. They want to cash in on the bad weather, so they added some pestilence to up the ante. Pretty soon Swoozie is gettin’ it on with a young assistant to their godly empire and James Brolin is dead.

Then Tom Skerritt, Hurricane Hunter, eases his 72 year old rectum into a Mach 41 Six-Blade Flying Razor and burns a hole into the Cat 7 hurricane. Suddenly the Abercrombie models want Shannen to fire her package into a cloud. Now! And then she and Randy Quaid have to run to save the hippies in Pink Flamingo Town! Watch out for the air born velvet Elvii! Damn, Shannen barely comes up to Randy Quaid’s belt buckle. What tiny evil pixie!

The upshot of all of these ludicrous multiple tornado scenes is, we’re told by Ross and his Abercrombie underwear models, that chunks of mesosphere fall on rising columns of heat from cities, and this pisses off the heat columns mightily, causing them to pitch and roar into category 7 temper tantrums – or some such malarkey. Catch phrase: tipping point.

So – tune in Sunday. I promise you will be no more mystified than everyone who saw part one! It’s better than a Philly cheese steak pizza and no cholesterol.


At 8:21 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Wow, I'm almost sorry I skipped it.

Not really. ;)


Post a Comment

<< Home