Dingleberry Lemonade

Netflix has debuted the trailer for the new Texas Chainsaw Massacre film.  Everyone is agog over this thing.  I will admit, it's a good trailer.  Big deal.  Okay, I can tell you're ready to muzzle any signs of an oncoming cloudburst of codger-screened dyspepsia (where did I leave my Tums?).  Hear me out!  My cynicism is warranted.  TCM is my favorite film of all time.  In the 90's, I was already having to put up with commoners confusing the classic with 1994's The Next Generation.  Granted, the subtitle was de-emphasized on the VHS cover, so much so that it seemed intentional.  Noooo, couldn't be...

Then came the remake.  A respectable effort, but now, I had to clarify my response when asked, "What's your favorite movie?"  The original, damn it.  The original!  Sequels retched themselves into existence.  In accordance with prevailing trends, one of those sequels is simply called Texas Chainsaw.  Who needs numbers when you have dingleberry dipsticks?  Don't think it's a trend?  Tell that to Scream 5--I mean Scream.  Or Halloween 11--I mean Halloween.  I can't tell who is lazier, the edacious studios or the apathetic audiences who turn out in ever-proliferating gaggles.

But that isn't the fault of Netflix's Chainsaw reboot/refuck.  It stands independent of previous installments.  Too bad!  I don't have to share your enthusiasm.  It might be decent, but I don't know if I'll ever watch it.  The older I get, the more I realize that intellectual properties are destined to be recapitulated time and time again, catheterized of all sanctity.  Makes you wonder.  Were there any jaded genre fans around in 1958 protesting the release of Hammer's Horror of Dracula?

Wait a second.  I'm countering my own point.  I better stop typing before I disagree with myself.

Album Cover of the Whatever

Woah!  I can't vouch for Burial's music (haven't heard it), but again, woah!  That's an awesome album cover.  The band deals in death metal, so I'd probably like them.  Give 'em a whirl.

Interview: Lydia Manson

Yep!  I do interviews now.  Notables from the film industry (and the music business) are more accessible than ever in 2022.  I'd be cracked not to take advantage of this unprecedented creature comfort.  The first batter up to the plate is budding horror starlet Lydia Manson.  For further info, check her out HERE and HERE.

Generic question, but what is your favorite horror film of all time?

My favorite horror film would have to be Nightmare on Elm Street. I think this is my favorite for a lot of reasons, first of all because it’s the first horror movie I remember watching as a child. Second I really like it because I feel like it as far as really “mainstream” horror goes I think it’s the most relatable if that makes sense. I mean we all have dreams that’s something we can’t avoid so I always see Freddy as being the most realistic as far as a villain goes.

What is the first fright flick you remember seeing and how old were you?

Ha! I just kinda answered this! But I think I saw Nightmare on Elm Street for the first time when I was about 5 or so.

You're still fresh on "the scene," but what project are you most proud of?

This is such a hard question to answer because I’m proud of all the work I’ve done so far! But I would have to say “The House That Eats Flesh” because I put so much work into that project and I honestly can’t wait to see the finished project and share it with everyone. 

You have a producer credit on The House That Eats Flesh.  Would you like to do more producing in the future?  What about directing?

As proud as I am to have been Producer on The House That Eats Flesh right now I want to focus on my acting. I want to really focus on developing a good technique, like you mentioned before I am still fresh on the scene so I still have a lot to learn. However I am working on a screenplay so I eventually would like to direct that one day but not for a long time.

What kind of music are you into?

I mostly listen to Rock music but my musical taste is all over the place. I have playlists for every mood pretty much. Bands that I am really into right now include I Prevail, Rob Zombie, Badflower, Korn, Citizen Soldier, and My Darkest Days just to name a few.

QUICK!  Coke or Pepsi?

Definitely Pepsi.

I'm going to assume that Lydia Manson is not your birth name.  If I'm wrong, feel free to immolate me.  How did you choose your stage name?

Of Course it’s my real name 

Tell me about your current and/or upcoming features.  Open-ended, I realize, but inquiring minds want to know!

My next project that I will be filming is “Reunion from Hell 2” where I will be playing Alaina. I get to work with Lisa Wilcox, Mark Payton, and Danny Hassel all Nightmare on Elm Street alumni so I’m pretty excited about that! After that I have a few conventions lined up which are always a lot of fun! I think I enjoy those the most because I get to go in my cosplays. 

QUICK!  Pizza or burgers?

Hmmm does the pizza come with wings??? Oh gosh I don’t know!! This is tough I love food!! I can’t pick!

What is the best independent horror film you've seen in the last five years?

I would have to pick the Orphan Killer. Now I just have to see the sequel!

Will you be making any convention appearances in 2022?

Yes! I will be at The Cult Classic in Bastrop TX in February. Followed by Monster Mania in Cherry Hill NJ where I will be with my friends from Troma. And then NJ Horror Con in April again with Troma.

QUICK!  Freddy or Jason?

Freddy all the way!!!

Do...do you like me?

Of course I do!! Who wouldn't!!!

Thanks to Lydia for taking time out to answer my dinky questions.  She's a good egg.  I'm giving her the Random Reviews stamp of approval!

Night of the Bloody Apes

Lucha libre has a limited audience.  It rules the day in Mexico, but here in the land of opportunity (try to stifle your laughter), it's a flighty side dish.  It's gaga, Daddy-o.  Hell, its abettors don't take it as seriously as Mexican patrons.  Myself, I see all professional wrestling as a giant b-movie, although I do respect the passion that funnels into it.  On a purely cosmetic level, lucha seems to incorporate b-movie trappings.  I mean, look at it.  This film was produced and released after Psycho, after Night of the Living Dead, after Rosemary's Crotch...it's safe to say that writer/director Rene Cardona wasn't aiming for the vault of heaven.

It was fairly common at the time to break your movie up with wrestling matches.  The bouts were used as points of transition, and hey, they were entertaining.  Bonus!  In 1969's Night of the Bloody Apes, buxom Lucy is a popular luchadora.  After an alarming accident nearly kills an opponent, she approaches her handicraft with timidity.  She might retire, but before she can even have a proper retirement match, she gets roped into a wacky scheme.  Granted, the scheme isn't so wacky to Dr. Krallman.  His son is besieged by leukemia, and at present, blood transfusions haven't kept the disease from spreading.  Plan B?  A heart transplant.  Oh, and it's a gorilla's heart.

If you're thinking of sipping from this beaker of bile, I hope you're down with heart surgery.  Y'know, like how Naughty by Nature is down with O.P.P.?  There are two scenes that exploit footage of an actual open-heart surgery.  I wasn't bothered, but those rushes were enough to append Bloody Apes to the prolix list of Video Nasties.  The gore isn't confined to sterile bits of a xenograft, however.  Our monster man scalps victims with his bare hands.  Pretty metal, eh?  We also see naked female flesh, and while these actresses have well-built bodies, context is key.  You won't find any wank material, unless you're stiffened by crying.

The dubbing is laughable.  The actors don't get out unscathed with the exception of Jose Elias Moreno.  It would have been easy for him to sleepwalk through this absurdity, considering this was a single paycheck out of 190 (!) screen credits.  But no!  He gives Dr. Krallman a poignant pathos.  I actually felt bad for the guy when his son expired before him.  I better not receive catty messages on social media in response to the spoiler I just detonated.  If it peeves you that much, I promise that you will live.  Bloody Apes isn't the most suspenseful picture I've seen.

Overall, I had fun with this cult spectacle.  It was meant to be seen in a crowded theater cramped with carnage connoisseurs, but regrettably, you won't get that chance anytime soon.  Night of the Bloody Apes is far from perfect.  This is a grindhouse feature you'll have to meet halfway.  Do meet it, though.  It's bonko.

   

Rassle Inn #26

It's hard for me to write a truly topical wrestling column.  It would pose a challenge to just about anyone.  See, in the wrestling world, headlines are ephemeral.  Things change on the quick, and unless you're live streaming, you won't be able to make relevant comments.  I mean, I guess I could affix a laptop to my person (dear God, I'm imagining a "body horror" eyesore involving rivets and...well, blood), but fuck that noise.  Do people still say that?  Anyway, Cody Rhodes cut an interesting promo on this week's Dynamite.  He cited CM Punk's infamous "pipe bomb" promo to paint himself as the bona fide voice of the voiceless.  He's the one who went to Japan, he's the one who perambulated from promotion to promotion, he's the one who built the forbidden door...

...but he's not a heel.  Honestly, I don't want to jump in on the "heel or babyface" debate.  I don't need to know his intentions or his ultimate plans, should they exist.  I want to critique his promo.  Cody has always seemed comfortable on the mic.  He has his detractors, but I've always rallied 'round his promos.  On Wednesday, he delivered another impactful masterstroke.  For the most part.  There was a word that made me cringe.  Every once in awhile, I understand that insider terms are going to breeze in, especially in the modern age.  But for the love of Koko B. Ware's kaleidoscopic ring attire, be careful!  Cody explicitly said that he was not going to turn heel.

Ugh.  He could just as easily say, "Hope you enjoy this next match.  So-and-so is going over."  Why not?  They are both examples of wrestling jargon.  Where does Cody draw the line when it comes to shoptalk?  The fans may know that it's a predetermined pastime, but fans also appreciate it when the wrestlers take kayfabe seriously.  I don't want to hear shit about heels or babyfaces when I'm watching Dynamite.  Make me believe that the angle is real.  Fucking sell!

Personally, I think that Cody is a full-blown heel.  You didn't ask, but there you have it.  I would offer WWE observations, but I haven't watched Raw or Smackdown in full since Christ did a dead-on impersonation of a zombie.  Was that a pun?  Was it???

Dead Review Collection #12 - PLAGUE!

We are subterranean now, deep into the discography of death metal's most accomplished troopers.  The fact that I've made it to Cannibal Corpse's eleventh studio creation is impressive, but not for immodest, self-congratulatory reasons.  Speaking of which, how about a hand for trudging this far?  Please, please...sit down.  I'm blushing.  No, it's impressive because 2009's Evisceration Plague is the first speedbump that I've encountered.  That means what you think it means.  I've never been a fan of this record, although a certain writing project (the one you're reading) forced me to glance at the music from a different angle.

Following ardent arbitration, I have come to the conclusion that Plague isn't so bad.  It will never find its way into heavy rotation at my pad, though.  Supervening Kill and The Wretched Spawn was no easy task.  I vividly recollect receiving my copy in the mail and rushing to stive it into my ears.  In the album's defense, my expectations were fucking stupid.  Anything less than Corpsegrinder oozing out of the speakers and ripping off my limbs would have disappointed me.  At the outset, I was happy.  This putrefactive banshee starts with "Priests of Sodom," which is easily the best cut.  To me.  Don't make me go through the whole opinion spiel.

Paul underpins the riffs with stuttering rhythms during the verses, and it has to be the heaviest piece of music that ensures you can't comfortably headbang to it.  Naturally, George sounds demonic.  Everyone performs well, but before you know it, the track is over.  There are further radiant flashes of brilliance ahead.  I'll cover them, but if you're listening to Plague front-to-back, you have to deal with "Scalding Hail."  It's like a mini-boss.  Thankfully, it's short (less than two minutes), but why doesn't it kick ass?  I don't hear any standout riffs.  The vocal delivery is remarkably fast, but none of the patterns are memorable.  The patterns, man.  The patterns!

Up until this long player, each record has brought its own vibe to the table.  It's hard to describe, but Plague has no such vibe.  I'm reminded of the episode of Seinfeld where Newman and Kramer posit that specific days have "feels."  Y'know, Thursday has a feel, but Tuesday?  No feel.  Fuck Tuesday.  Using the same metrics of minutiae, Plague has no feel.  The problem lies, in part, in the production.  Erik Rutan manned the boards a second consecutive time, though I hesitate to point the finger at any one person.  The guitar tone, the skins, the way the instruments are interbred...Plague sounds exactly like Kill.

It's such a bizarre sentence, but I must type it.  This Cannibal Corpse album is mundane.  Eek, was that even English?  There are capsheaves hidden in dispersion through the grain.  "To Decompose" slams itself into your nasal cavity.  The breakdown in the middle is tubular.  Yeah, I'm bringing "tubular" back.  "A Cauldron of Hate" is the only other tune that passes my litmus test.  It rules, basically.  I suppose that "Skewered From Ear to Eye" has a sweet chorus.  But see, I'm already grasping at straws, trying in vain to find highlights where none exist.  It hurts to give a CC oeuvre an unflattering review.  I'll just close by reiterating that "Priests of Sodom" is gnarlier than thou.

  

Ultimate Nerd Trivia

Gun to your head...the above monster is from which film?  I'm tempted to leave you hanging, unless you've seen it before.  C'mon, think.  The dank setting, the spider legs...I've already said too much.  Yep, you guessed it.  I'm speaking of Leprechaun 4: In Space.  As I recall, we weren't given a cogent explanation for the scientist's mutation.  It was as random as this post.  Am I planning on reviewing the entire Leprechaun series?  No.  And fuck you for asking.

The Good Son

I remember seeing TV spots for 1993's The Good Son.  It was a big deal that Macaulay Culkin had shot an R-rated film, much less one where he played the villain.  None of the other factors seemed to matter.  His co-stars, the plot, even the genre...Culkin was such a solvent vendible, his drawing power obscured the rest of the project.  Remember, he was in a Michael Jackson video.  The kid was fucking huge, and if you were the right age, you wanted to be him.  Then you hated him (he was too high-profile).  Nowadays, I just want to bang him, but that's beside the point.  Is Son worth watching?

Did I admit to wanting to bang Culkin?  I mistyped.  I meant that I wanted to bang him.  Anyway, this is an above-average domestic thriller.  All of the varnish and trimmings can't hide the simple fact that Son is another "evil kid" flick to add to the ever-distending mound of variations on The Bad Seed.  But is that necessarily the nadir of entertainment?  No!  This is not an original picture, but it's still a reasonable way to spend 87 minutes.  Elijah Blue plays Mark, a boy whose mother dies young as a result of...cancer?  I don't believe that we are ever told the specific illness that claims her life.  Mark must li--PARVO!  No, that's not it.  I want to say leptospirosis, but only because it's a cool word.

Mark is sent to live with his aunt and uncle until his father returns from Japan (he's there on business).  They have a couple of kids.  Connie is a cute, precocious little girl.  Harry is a seemingly normal boy.  Seemingly.  I appreciated the agile pace, as Son doesn't burn daylight getting to the point.  Why shilly-shally?  I do have a complaint to lodge.  Harry is a cunning, calculating son of a bitch, but that's where the script parts ways with reality.  He's too clever.  I'm merely guessing, but I'd wager that he was 11 or 12 at the oldest.  The things he says, the way he says them, and the things he does reminded me that I was skimming leaves of Hollywood fiction.

Making the best out of a tipsy situation, Culkin gives an amazing performance as the venal, dissolute Harry.  It would have been easy to go over the top.  I'm sure it was tempting, seeing as how Mac wasn't offered these types of roles very often.  Instead, he stays cold and aloof.  If Michael Myers ever talked or acted like a regular child, he would be Harry.  And I want to clarify something, if I may.  Earlier, I joked about banging Culkin.  To set the record straight, I want to fuck Culkin's hands.  Woah, woah!  His skull.  I want to fuck his skull, not his hands.  I'm not a sex pest.

Elijah Blue is perfectly sympathetic as the actual good son.  I was in his corner from the first frame to the last.  Clearly, director Joseph Ruben succeeded more than he failed.  I typically veer away from domestic thrillers, but this whippersnapper kept my attention.  Don't disown The Good Son.  Robert Z'Dar says, "I would also fuck Macaulay Culkin.  Yes, with my chin."

   

Matches That Time Forgot #69

Sometimes, hitting "randomizer" on 90's WWF will bring you sweet tidings.  That is what I bring you today.  The year?  1992.  Neither HBK nor the Big Boss Man could afford to absorb a clean loss, as they each had significant matches in their near future.  The solution?  Nailz!  He would cause a distraction, thus constituting the need for a disqualification.  The little slice of action we see is pretty damn awesome.  I mean, it's no "nightstick on a pole" match, but what can you do?

Blood Capsule #119

MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE (1971)

In a perfect world, I'd watch this film again to ensure that I sopped up all of its tinges and niceties.  I don't mean to imply that I dozed off at intermittent intervals; actually, I do mean to imply such a misdeed.  Calm yourself.  I saw enough of Rue Morgue to fashion a primed opinion.  For instance, it sags in the middle.  It's almost more fact than opinion to say that the exposition - the meat of the matter - is monotonous.  Conversely, there are spikes of adrenaline scattered throughout.  The first ten-ish minutes are delightfully pulpy, and that drive-in charm extends to the acidic death sequences.

The kills are literally acidic.  Motherfucker (pictured above) just pours a vial of the oxidizing agent onto an unsuspecting face in such a matter-of-fact way, you have to give vent to nervous laughter.  It's not funny, but it's so very funny.  I think you understand me.  In defiance of the source material, director Gordon Hessler chose to scrounge from The Phantom of the Opera.  Our villain sabotages performances of Grand Guignol plays.  Ironically, he subverts productions of "Murders in the Rue Morgue."  Credit Rue Morgue for being an early subject to exploit the meta trope, even if it doesn't exploit it well.  But as I avowed, it has its moments.  As many times as it bobs and weaves, it was bound to strike it rich once in awhile.

If you're keeping a running tab, I prefer the 1932 version.

Album Cover of the Whatever

Now that's a fucking album cover.  I demand to see a Syfy Original about those ropey hammerhead serpents.  Okay, maybe it could be a good movie with an actual budget.  Either way, that's a monster meant to be seen on the silver screen.  The record is wall-to-wall death metal that smacks of Decapitated, Morbid Angel, and mid-period Behemoth.  In other words, In Chaos Ascend is a lethal charger of fuel-injected riffs and damaging beatdowns.

It's middling.  I wanted to dig it more, but it doesn't offer anything new and it doesn't even contain guitar solos.  Snort!  But this is about the cover.  I can sign off on that stuff.

Top 10 Metal Albums of 2021

Now that everyone has posted their "year end" lists and moved on with their lives into the new year, I will post my "year end" list, proving that I'm a perennial slow draw.  I'm doing things a little differently this time around.  I don't get much mileage out of these posts, so I'm keeping the annotations to a bare minimum.  Sure, I could jabber about cool records for 1,478 fortnights, but moderation is key.  An impossibly thick block of text won't inspire anyone to listen to lo-fi black metal.

Honorable mentions!  Basically, these albums are tied for the eleventh spot.  Aquilus's Bellum I is a grand, stunning piece of orchestral black metal.  If I had discovered it sooner, it would be on the list proper.  Replicant's Malignant Reality kicked my sternum into shards.  What is it?  Death metal with riffs.  Another acceptable classification would be riff metal with death.  So good.  And fucking Paranorm's Empyrean was my thrash pick of the year.  Don't let the fact that I rarely listen to (modern) thrash deter you from experiencing this beast.  The solos are flammable, and you know how much I love solos.

Oh, and Suffering Hour's The Cyclic Reckoning is sick.  Let's get to the list already!

10) VOLA ~ Witness| Jagged djent crossed with pop?  Somehow, it works.  Beats me.

9) Lamp of Murmuur ~ Submission and Slavery| Raw black metal fused with inventive riffs that grope melody (ew) with rib-tickling strokes.  The 80's new wave influences ensure that everything feels fresh.  90's Metallica meets Depeche Mode.  Kinda.

8) The Ruins of Beverast ~ The Thule Grimoires| One of the best one-man projects going.  His sixth long player pulls goth into his heaviness.  If the first half was as captivating as the second, Thule would be flirting with the top spot.

7) Grima ~ Rotting Garden| Atmospheric black metal that places the listener in a tent, sequestered in an outlying forest, encircled by timber and frond.  The owl hoots are a nice touch.

6) Mare Cognitum ~ Solar Paroxysm| When it comes to melodic black metal, this disc was unrivaled.  I won't pretend to grasp the overarching concept (the sun is hot?), but I love losing myself in the mosaic compositions.  The way that the tremolo streaks intertwine...it's righteous, man!

5) Cannibal Corpse ~ Violence Unimagined| It gives me an undue sense of pride to include the latest CC offering.  I didn't write it, but it assures me that I go to bat for a credible group of sickophants (l'm too clever for my body) when they release music this threatening.  These riffs are not fucking around.

4) Obscura ~ A Valediction| Most tech bands bounce off of my metal skin on account of there being too many notes.  I don't care how fast you can play; if I can't remember a single passage of your blasted rhapsody, it's crummy.  Obscura do not create crummy modulations.  In actual fact, they create unbelievably harmonic music on a consistent basis.  A Valediction is a victory.

3) Unto Others ~ Strength| I wasn't into this band when they were known as Idle Hands.  Something clicked with the name change.  It's purely arbitrary, but I'm glad that they were facing legal action.  I do realize that this album would sound the same as an Idle Hands composite.  Whatever.  It's unique.  The contoured clean vocals are catchy and there is an abundance of twin guitar bravado.

2) King Woman ~ Celestial Blues| I got the blues!  This sucker came so close to nabbing the spoils of first place.  It's eerily melodic, intensely personal, and thematically abstruse.  The title track is my song of the year, if you're curious.  Did I mention that this thing is fucking heavy?  Because it is, and from an outside perspective, it doesn't ring as a record that would appeal to metalheads.

1) Khemmis ~ Deceiver| Simply put, I adore the grade of doom that Khemmis peddles.  It's tailor-made for my earholes.  You can expect to tune into sullen vocal lines, expressive leads, layered lyrics that can be interpreted in multiple ways.  Fans cream their clam diggers over 2016's Hunted, and for good reason, but I rate Deceiver as the band's finest hour.  Take a liberal dose of "Shroud of Lethe" and call me in the morning.

Readin'

Yesterday, I partied with Christmas gift cards that I had not used yet.  Namely, I partied at Barnes & Noble.  I still have a hangover from the iced lemon loaf and...Sprite.  Thanks to Mom for holding back my hair during my vomit sessions.  So what did I procure at B&N?  Reading material!  I've never been one to designate New Year's resolutions, but I do have a low-pressure declaration for 2022.  I want to put more time aside for reading.  Satan knows that I have plenty to read.  Hell, I had plenty to read before yesterday.  I have compounded my "problem," though as the quotation marks suggest, this is a decent problem.

Print is dead, but that will never keep me from picking up horror magazines.  I bought issue #39 of Screem (sic).  I just started perusing its contents.  Currently, I'm poring over the unique career of producer Sam Katzman, the bloke who commissioned the production of 1956's The Werewolf among a few other drive-in titles.  I was surprised to learn that he turned his nose up at monster movies.  Producing 1957's The Giant Claw will do that to a man.

In terms of fiction, I got my claws on Clive Barker's Books of Blood: Volume One...super stoked!  I hope that I can find time to read it before the baby gets here.  Oh, no one is pregnant.  I'm not even seeing anyone; I just try to set realistic goals.

Haunt

I'll level with you.  I'm not in the best frame of mind to write, be it fictional or something with the same tenor as, say, a movie review.  Irritability is the culprit.  Thinking back, 2019's Haunt made me irritable as I was watching it.  So this is relevant information!  I thought that we were done with torture porn.  Didn't we leave it to exsiccate in the callous streams of summer sunbeams?  Wait, I might be onto a lyric.  I'll write a sludge song called "Torture Porn Still Sucks," and the chorus will be an anthemic gang shout of "This!  Is!  Not!  Novel!"  Haunt acts like it's too clever for the room, but everyone has already left the room.  Clowns are creepy.  We get it.  Now do something interesting.

Average Girl is sad at a Halloween party.  She meets Cool Dude and the two of them ride with their friends to an isolated haunted house attraction that is so sketchy and open to question, no one in their right goddamn mind would stop there.  See, I'm already peeved with the shit-by-numbers plot.  The first half of Haunt takes an inordinate amount of time getting to where you know it's going.  I'm assuming that the idea was to peg away at character development, but despite presentable performances, I couldn't bring myself to care about these muttonheads.

The pace is trying.  I had to employ the benefits of two separate "screenings" to finish this thing, but fortuitously, I paused the action at the halfway mark.  That did make Haunt easier on my horror digestive system.  Still, the film should thank me for seeing it through and writing anything about it.  That's a tad harsh.  I mean, I did throw a couple of Z'Dars into the change cups that Scott Beck and Bryan Woods - the pair behind the picture show - held in their possession.  But why?  In my microcosm of genre critique, entertainment value is paramount.  Should every other measure of quality fail, I should still be able to observe the mania you have projected without wanting to chug peroxide.

I have come to the conclusion that the second half of Haunt is...so-so.  It's well-lit, well-staged, well-choreographed, and well, shit.  I didn't hate it.  The villain masks and costumes are spooky.  There is a little, and I do mean little, bit of suspense.  What we have here is half of a torture porn corpse tethered to half of a thriller, a Shudder exclusive that is clinging to life.  I say, end its suffering.  I'll gather the chaplain and notify the loved ones.  By the way, this review is merely an opinion.  It is a correct opinion.  If you disagree, you are wrong.  Thank you for understanding.