Microwave Massacre

So I'm beaming at 1983's Sledgehammer with intentions to review it, and Allah drowning in a gravy boat, I can't finish the goddamn thing.  I tried.  Twice!  It's too awful.  I know I don't necessarily have to enjoy a film to review it for this lovely site, but I do need to be able to view all of it without immolating the videocassette.  Since Sledgehammer was a no-go, I looked to the socketed meadows of YouTube for inspiration.  Of course, I found Microwave Massacre, a b-snack made in 1981 but released the same year as shot-on-video slog Sledgehammer.  This is the better watch by far, but it's not quite as advertised.  To be clear, it's not quite a horror movie.

There is dismemberment, cannibalism and a severed head with vague supernatural powers, but no, Microwave Massacre is not quite a horror movie.  It's a comedy!  Okay, by looking at the various DVD/VHS covers, I could tell that this reel didn't take itself too seriously, but I still expected, y'know, horror.  It's only "horrifying" in snippy fusillades, and even then, it's pretty much played for laughs.  On the bright broadside, the snorts are actually funny.  I didn't snort myself, but I did laugh.  Hey, maybe you'll snort.  There is no shame in snorting, unless you're snuffling lines of cocaine off of an aborted fetus.

MAN, that was dark.  Let's get back to talking about a guy who kills his wife and eats her.  In his defense, the murder was accidental, although he spurned her (sapid, full-flavored) guts.  Why did he abhor her so much?  Because she prepared fancy, haut monde meals for him day in, day out.  That's a sensible justification for parching hatred, right?  No.  No, it isn't.  That's one aspect of the plot that dashed my enjoyment of Microwave Massacre, another being the ease with which graceless halfwits bed beautiful women.  Our main characters are construction workers, and their stereotypical catcalls work.  They fucking fuck unbelievably hot chicks after putting in zero effort!

Speaking of the hot chicks, oh my goddamn.  Two words, laydeez and gym rats...Marla Simon.  If you've seen the film, she's the busty blonde at the beginning who nudges her bodacious blinkers through a knothole.  It's not just her mazabas (I don't know...it's on Urban Dictionary); all of her flesh is to my liking.  Wow, I sound like a serial killer.  Moving on!  This flick has a fun energy that marries one scene to the next.  It has a sweet flow that fathers a festive pace.  Why, it's so festive, that you're surprised when the script runs out of pages.

Ironically, that's the biggest problem.  The ending sucks eggs, eggs laid by a free-range hen with an unpredictable diet.  And yet, I recommend Microwave Massacre.  It's a gas with tits, shitty effects and Marla Simon.  Did you know that the albumen of a quail egg is eighteen percent Jell-O?

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