Jacob Kelly's Funeralopolis Vol. 3 Issue 3: Can't You Hear Me Knocking

Whoever Wins We Lose: Fear and Cowardice in the UK Tennis or At leastThat's What the Kidsare Calling it

Sunak has finally announced the UK general election will be held on Thursday 4th July. This was a tough game for the clown as legally speaking he was running out of time but wanted to hold these off as long as possible in order to win back some votes. His party have fallen out of favour and will most likely see the door come this date but what real alternative do labour offer? An even bigger question is why is Funeralopolis covering this? We couldn't call ourselves Gonzo journalists if we didn't cover the campaign trail to some extent like our forefather Mr Thompson did in '72. This piece covers the Tories decline over 2 decades and side by side what was happening in this country during each election, resulting in a very personal journey comparable with Assayas's A Post May Adolescence.

The trailers gave away nothing and Luca Guadagnino's history of hits and misses didn't help but here we have what could be referred to as generational gold bursting with cool hipness that goes on to define a generation. I guess it was hard to communicate in the short space the vibe of the film, which was pure sex.

Genuinely, this horny fucker of a film could be the best thing we get this year.

"Do You Not Like The Yabba?"

Eddie Lingo begged me not to send him back to Epping Forest for another review in this month's issue from The Highwayman after the violence he was subjected to last time. Told him people love The Highwayman's post and so if he didn't get down there he could forget his job. After a panic attack featuring lots of sweat, he went to retrieve the goods. He came back with a review on Ozploitation classic Wake in Fright. According to The Highwayman, The Yabba is a lot like Epping Forest, except with the gender roles reversed.

We return to the state of found footage. A disappointment in the overhyped Late Night with the Devil and a near decent attempt in a 10 minute YouTube short called Exposure. Those looking for this month's short story will find it here. A tale somewhere between Night of the Living Dead and I Am Legend but set in a Dixieland dreamscape where a night watchman debates the nature of performance whilst battling with his own sanity and the monsters at his door.

"Hear me ringing big bell tolls Hear me singing soft and low I've been begging on my knees I've been kickin', help me please!"

Whoever Wins We Lose: Fear and Cowardice in the UK

Part 1: "There never was much hope. Just a fool's hope"-Gandalf.

My first foray in to politics was disastrous setting the shape for years to come. Pen hit ballot for the first time back in 2015, when I hesitantly voted Labour. Green Party had been debated for some time but that voice in the back of my head had been shooting its mouth off saying repeatedly, "wasted vote!". Unfortunately, it's a two horse race in this country unless you want to achieve some minor victory at local level. Anybody who says it's any different is just kidding themselves. I put an "X" next to Margaret Greenwood, some adorable looking woman. There was no chance I'd have voted that Esther McVey, who loved to hide her homophobia with the classic statement that politics and church shouldn't mix. She also despises immigrants. One time I saw her by the West Kirby train station campaigning with a few reprobates holding up signs trying to catch some attention. I gave her some attention alright. To let her know she wasn't welcome in my town, I pulled down the window of the car, twisted my head through the gap and screamed, "Esther, you're a lizard!"

Despite not minding Greenwood, I couldn't feel the same towards Labour's leader, Ed Miliband. What an ugly freak. Dude looks like I tried to draw Wallace from the Aardman cartoons. Sure, he's environmentally concerned but hardly all that effective. It didn't matter. The main story at play here was Liberal Democrats dropping so many seats. Their coalition with the Tories set up after the last election had been viewed as cowardly and a sell-out of all their principles for power (which they hardly got anyway). All of this I can understand, the Lib Dems are mostly melts and always have been. The coalition only made this clearer. What I can't understand is why these Lib Dem voters would then shift to conservatives. They let us down. As Balthazar Marie put it, "The Lib Dems lost more deposits than we did when we rented that house for a week in Abersoch".

Abersoch was our 2nd trip away. The first was a camping holiday in Ffestiniog, which ended in us seeking refuge in a disabled toilet after abandoning our tent. We'd been sold on what I now perceive to be a dumb idea of a river side campsite and had opted to pitch as close as possible to the water. On the website, there was a minor warning that the area was occasionally prone to flooding but what did occasionally mean to some teenage kids? Try convincing them. You got more chance of seeing the Seattle Mariners in a World Series.

In the early hours of the morning, I had been woken up to the reports that we were, "under water". Having fallen asleep in the middle of eating an angel cake with the evidence still in my hand, one could say I was useless to the world. I had to sit out the tent moving mission on the count of my current disposition. The rest of the gang didn't fare much better and soon gave up on the task. You'd think being from a seaside town, we'd do well in water but we behaved like true Ho-Dads 'til the end. We abandoned ship and sought refuge in a nearby disabled toilet, passing around a single bottle of vodka that was unforgettably dropped and smashed in to pieces on the floor before it was finished. The culprit has never been forgiven and never will.

Our 2nd holiday together was actually going rather well until our female companions announced that they were going out in to the town of Abersoch to have a girl's night. Big mistake. Not long after their departure, I suggested that rather than wallow in our own misery that we have a boys night. Only fair right? That infamous night cost us greatly. Using Project X as our guide, we went about our own destruction bit by bit.

We set off fires outdoors and indoors. There may have been some explosions. A picture of U2's Bono was not spared and became nothing more than a pile of ash by the end of the night. You have to remember some of the men, including myself, hadn't forgiven Bono for his little stunt of forcing Songs of Innocence on to our iTunes without our permission. Household items were thrown out of windows. All finished bottles were launched in to the street, regrettably causing a serious problem for the locals. We hot boxed rooms. We kicked down the landlords perfectly kept notice board. No regrets here, it had it coming. We mattress surfed down the stairs. We staged water fights that caused the electricity to go on the fritz. We threw items of food across hallways. We blasted each other with the fire extinguisher, leaving white residue all over...

Ever the considerate one, it dawned on me that our female companions would need some form of apology for this chaotic act. Otherwise, they wouldn't understand how and why the house got in to this state. It was decided we would write a note and leave it for them. "Sorry, things happened, love the boys", was etched on to piece of paper and left on the entrance gate. To spice things up a bit, one of the guys picked up a few flowers from the garden and placed them next to our note. Personally, I thought it was a real work of art. We stood admiring our masterpiece, each of us hoping that this one note would explain why this all had to be done.

Barely a few hours in to the depraved mischief, the girls returned after the landlord had called them when the locals had informed him of some dangerous and troubling behaviour occurring at one of his properties. They walked right in observing all the evidence of a good night. It is fairly possible that the hardcore pornography being blasted in full surround sound in the living room did not help things. We hid behind the sofas, terrified of the wrath the girls were about to unleash. Those who couldn't get a spot behind the sofas, hid behind the bannisters on the stairs.

When one of the girls noticed our numbers were greater than previously, they pointed to the strange intruder and shouted, "who is this?". One of the guys blurted out, "that's James!", like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I'd damn near forgotten about James. A local that in our drunken debauchery, we'd kidnapped and dragged over from the streets to be submitted for questioning. He had to swear to the police the next day that he was absolutely there of his own accord and certainly not being held against his will. The icing on the cake was one of the girls asking why we had done what we had done. This is when I pointed out maybe they didn't see the note on the way in and earned a well-deserved slap with a sound that could be heard in a galaxy far far away.

The infuriated landlord came down like a ton of bricks with threats of deposit removal. In the morning, we called a boys meeting in the kitchen. The mood was clear, we had let down our girls and you don't do that. In front of us was a list of items that needed replacing. Ranging from a mop to a fire extinguisher. The first was easy, this could be picked up in any shop in town. The latter very difficult. Where could one purchase a fire extinguisher out in Wales on a Tuesday afternoon? Well, where there's a will there's a way. He who dares and all that. One of the boys was adamant that he knew a place we could steal one. A nearby family campsite had loads just begging to be stolen. It wasn't like we'd be putting any kids in harm, it was simply that our needs were greater than theirs right now.

We drove past the camp site slowly on a reconnaissance mission sussing the area out. There was our fire extinguisher by the reception. We pulled up a few yards down the road. A diagram was placed on the hood of the car detailing the mission like we were one of Melville or Mann's criminals about to pull off a heist. Leon The Professional without the kiddie diddling.

Side note but anyone that doesn't use physical media these days revealing the full plan is a fucking amateur. None of this digital age shit, it has to be a physical form. Whiteboards and blueprints all the way. If we lose this, we lose ourselves. "We pull this off and we get our deposits backs. Let's get our deposits back!", said one of the crew. "And we get back on good terms with the girls", said another. Amen to that. "Oh and when it's all done that’s when we drink the stone wines", I said. We got back in to the car and drove back to the campsite to complete the heist that would make us. As we drove along, we boosted our spirits by singing, "When Johnny comes marching home again. Hurrah! Hurrah! We'll give a hearty welcome then. Hurrah! Hurrah! The men will cheer and the boys will shout. The ladies they will all turn out. And we'll all feel gay. When Johnny comes marching home!".

"Should we cover the number plate of the car?", asked one of our gang. "Na, that would only make it worse, we're in and we're out", said the getaway driver as he upped the volume on Chromatics Tick of the Clock Slowly, we drove through the 5mph entrance speed limit not to arouse suspicion. Pulling over by the red and black booty we required. Our grab man slid the passenger door open, dived towards the loot and scooped it up in his hands like a new born baby. Oh no, a woman playing tennis had seen this thievery and sprinted off to find the camp site security. "Drive! Drive! Drive". "Not without the grab man!". With the grab man and the haul safely back in the car, the getaway driver floored it 0 to 60, sadly in first gear. He was no Ryan Gosling.

It didn't matter though cause we made it without being caught. Al Pacino would have been so proud, he'd declare it to the world, "this crew is good". Back at the house, we may have had too many stone wines because we ended up busting out the new fire extinguisher and spewing out that white residue again. Wasting our noble efforts and putting our lives on the line for nothing. The Lib Dems lost their deposits. We lost our deposits. I wonder who lost out more. Probably our integrity. You'll be happy to hear our third holiday to hell on Earth, Magaluf, didn't go any better but that's a tale for another day...

Part 2: "False hope makes you cynical"Bill Maher.

The 2017 election was a whole new ball park bringing about unexpected results and false hopes. Jeremy Corbyn and John McDonnell had transformed the Labour party in to a half decent outfit the youth could get behind. Not quite as radical as the '70s but certainly a shift back in the right direction following Tony Blair's total corruption of the party through his acceptance of Thatcherism. Some people have never trusted Labour ever since and quite frankly I don't blame them. There was no denying thought that some of the propositions being discussed in 2017 were rather sexy. At the time people laughed at the prospect of free internet, referring to it as a radical policy but after COVID that's now widely seen as an essential living requirement and is moving towards being nationalised.

In the middle of great financial struggle and outrageous austerity, Labour created a fully costed manifesto that single handedly should have won them the election. This proved to be useless though because campaigns are not about what you can do but how you can ruin your opposition in the media. It's pure trash and fighting talk with no concern for substance. All the Tories had to say was, "Magic Money Tree" over and over, a load of nonsense that somehow detracted from their own terrible plans of how to handle the economy.

About the hardest struggle Labour had, other than Greg Knight's bold campaign video, was how to recover from their position on Brexit. It was unclear. A Eurosceptic, Corbyn had always backed leaving the EU but had to rethink this in order to maintain the youth vote, which was highly important due to his popularity amongst the kids. A shame because a left exit would have been highly appealing. Had that been offered at the time, I might have voted leave but knowing full well the Tories would fuck it up, I unhappily voted remain.

I'm sure Corbyn would have been great at sorting the negotiations but there was still such a stink over him backing down, supporting remain and even dangling the idea of a second referendum (which was seen as undemocratic and disrespectful). Corbyn sold out on his own beliefs just to maintain the youth vote. It was always going to be a difficult position for him and there was this great mistake amongst younger voters of making Brexit a race/xenophobia issue dividing the working class and generations when it shouldn't have. Whole thing was way more complicated than that. I don't think younger voters were as familiar with the problems of being in the European Union and misunderstood the older folks resentment towards it.

Generally though, I liked Corbyn and everything he represented. He seemed far too kind to be a politician and maybe that was always his weakness. Could he ever be tough and get dirty if required? McDonnell was more likely to. It wasn't a lesser of two evils situation but here we had a candidate we actually liked and wanted to back for once. How rare is that? Not quite the perfect cabinet (Thornberry and the pro-Israel Gardener were always a bit questionable on a few things) but on the whole a strong one at least on home turf, which may be about as good as it gets in the political arena. Corbyn represented maybe not fully but partially that old school Labour, allowing independents and local parties to step aside and ensure his victory.

Victory is a strange word because he didn't win that election but neither did the Tories either. They lost their majority and had to form another coalition, this time with the Democratic Unionist Party. A bunch of cowardly fellows who are anti-abortion and same sex marriage. Was there no end to how the Tories would sink to stay in power? What did it matter though? Faith had been restored. There was something magical about Corbyn ending speeches in Liverpool to All Together Now by The Farm and hijacking various concerts. Everywhere you looked Corbyn was there. There was this feeling of change being spread that the youth crave. He tapped in to that.

Danny Stern was at Wirral Live but he passed out before he could see Corbyn's speech. He lasted a few Libertines songs before he had to be removed off the floor by security and placed in a medical emergency tent. Ricardo Carvalho and I didn't make it, we were doing some partying of our own up in Sheffield. As though in synch, the pair of us had recently broken up with our girlfriends and were enjoying our new found freedoms. Each of the relationships had grown tense and so we needed the escape.

We sat on top a hill one a cold miserable British morning and we agreed things had to change. The chains had been unshackled and the terms of our release was on the basis that we would not dictate when and where nights would end but would wake up wherever we woke up come sun rise. If someone offered us something, we took it. Be it a bed, conversation or substance. There could be no hesitation. Sacrificing all control to ensure the maximum number of pleasures crossed our paths. The more unexpected the better. We wanted risk. We wanted uncertainty. Because we believed only good things would happen to us. It was sort of like a manifesto, a bond between brothers and for a time it really worked. One night we ended up at this graveyard party after a strangers invite. I find this bottle of red and begin sipping away feeling merry. There's this woman across from me at the table and we get talking. Right at the moment I'm going in for the kiss, I see Ricardo in the back throwing up on someone's gravestone.

During those few weeks, we turned down nothing and we woke up in all sorts of places. Creating unforgettable memories if only we could remember them. The feeling never left us though. Further down the line, when I'd broken up with another girlfriend and Ricardo was still down over the same one, we tried this style of living again but it was a disaster. We were older, I had a child now and it wasn't fun drinking any more, it was alcoholism. Back in 2017 though, we were living the dream. Ok, so we didn't win the election but our enemy was weak and this would soon cost them the war. The collective feeling was come that next election, which would be very soon, it had to be, Corbyn would fight again and this time win.

Part 3: "Everybody knows that the dice are loaded. Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed. Everybody knows that the war is over. Everybody knows the good guys lost. Everybody knows the fight was fixed. The poor stay poor, the right get rich"-Leonard Cohen.

How wrong we were. The 2019 general election was about as soul destroying as it gets. Everybody has that single one election which completely demoralises them and puts them off politics for all eternity. The one where you storm off the pitch, hang up your boots and say, "I'm not playing any more". This was mine. If 2017 was A New Hope, 2019 was definitely The Empire Strikes Back

Having an election only 2 years later was all along the right lines. We had that in the script given the Tories majority loss. A snap election was necessary as the Tories couldn't pass through their shitty Brexit withdrawal agreement. Rushing through the process, a move which would in time cost them. Everything was lined up as it should, ready to see my first Labour government during my voting life. Those in need of food banks, the pain would be over. The results came in, a landslide victory for the Tories. I went for a long quiet walk alone, I didn't want to be bothered by anyone. Where did it all go wrong?

Part 4: "It was never ours to win anyway"-Every Scouser when they fall out the prem race last minute

The towel had been thrown in, I would never again commit myself to any election so emotionally. At the time, I blamed the Scots for all backing SNP. I get their desire for a stronger seat at the table but it was like they didn't get the memo. We had Corbyn, which meant the smaller parties and independents were supposed to back off. Those on left who traditionally wouldn't vote Labour had a candidate worth backing so it was time to step aside. I guess maybe the Scots really felt powerless. Would I have done the same had I come from the same lands as William Wallace? Did they get what they wanted? Has anything changed for them? Genuine question.

Looking back, this was not the main issue at hand. Those antisemitism shouts may have had some effect (the great irony being that the Tories are a hideous party filed with racists and bigots) but truthfully Brexit was all anyone wanted to talk about. Anything else had to take a hike. All social issues were forgotten. Nobody cared about the poor folks queuing at food banks, they just wanted a clean Brexit to go with their fish and chips and whichever party could promise that would prove the most popular.

The Tories made that their entire campaign and so I guess that's what broke down the red wall like Hornburg and won them the election. A divided working class ended their alliance with Labour and the Tories ran away with it picking up all kinds of voters they would never in a million years get. Although reasonably new to the game, it was clear this was unprecedented. Our ranks were divided worse than ever. Humpty Dumpty was broken and was never going back together again. Leaving us dumfounded with the pieces forever slipping through our fingers. Nothing added up any more. Like powerhouse philosopher Bob Seger, I found myself with Two plus Two on my mind.

Part 5: "I don't have any reason to hate anybody. I believe in good karma and spreading good energy"-Vanilla

Ice

Fuck The Hives, I love to say I told you so. Since then, all the Conservative party has done is shoot themselves in the foot. Dixie Collins has more toes left than these fuckers. They did a piss poor job of Brexit making us somehow probably even worse than when we were in it. People are still pissed off about COVID and they're not going to settle for the pathetic cry of oh it would have been a hard job with whoever was in charge. Oh yeah and they've done almost nothing to fix the economy, which was correct me if I'm wrong always (falsely) believed to be their strong suit. Too much time has passed and too little has been done. Time to go!

In the press, they like to say otherwise, envisioning a different world where they were successful in their affairs but their members continue to jump ship. Media manipulation has got them this far but in the eyes of the public their back catalogue of errors has built up too heavily this time like a TV show that cruises by for a few seasons on easy street but ignores its problems beneath the surface, hiding them under the rug and eventually the whole thing collapses in on itself due to the broken foundations. They were going for pace and forgot those slower episodes that develop the characters. You've all seen it happen in one show or another.

In the past, they've used cheap gimmicks to attack labour, hiding their lack of solutions and for the past decade this strategy of destroying the opponent rather than actually winning has somehow worked. But maybe that's just politics. Corbyn's slightly left wing? We'll tell people he's communist. A fully costed manifesto? We'll just pretend it isn't and shout, "Magic Money Tree". As long as we keep repeating, "strong and stable government", it will convince people. Speaking and manifesting itself in to existence. Did they think this strategy would forever? Eventually people are going to realise you haven't actually done anything positive. This is that time.

Part 6: "A Man is an angel that has become deranged, Joe Fernwright thought. Once they –all of them- had been genuine angels, and at that time they had a choice between good and evil, so it was easy, easy being an angel. And then something happened. Something went wrong or broke down or failed. And they became faced with the necessity of choosing not good or evil but the lesser of two evils, and so that had unhinged them and now each was a man"-Philip

K. Dick

Why am I not celebrating so strongly though? What, no partying for months on end, sleeping where the body crashes, riding the wave of a long lost pipe dream? It is 1933 and I am waking up in an overcrowded opium den, laughing in to the camera, reminiscing on a life that never happened as Ennio Morricone scores my final screen moments before the inevitable freeze frame like Noodles. Why does it mean so little? Because Corbyn is no longer leader of the Labour party. After the 2019 disaster, in came fuckhead Keir Stamer. A sleazy lawyer with the least trustable face I have ever seen (and yet people like him). I wouldn't trust him any more than a car salesman. He symbolises a reshuffle back to the centre. I wanted the damn Blairites out and so this move only alienates me. The rotten eggs have taken over the basket and the one at the forefront has a strange affinity for helping releasing child sex offenders. Barely even a smear but pretty common knowledge. I think the Tories have tried to use it and failed miserably.

There is very little that is exciting about what Labour are proposing. When it comes to Israeli/Palestinian conflict, one of the dirtiest, most embarrassing things I can recall that our country has been involved in during my voting years, there are no plans for a cease fire. A government should represent its people and I'm sure we did a nationwide poll on who UK citizens really support in that one it would be the Palestinians. No question about it. I see the Palestinian flags on the street every night. No-one would dare bring out an Israeli flag. The governments motivations are self-interested.

So why are we still aiding Israel's wrongful destruction of the Palestinian people? The answer to that will make you think maybe we need Lord of War 2 more than ever. Our involvement in it makes me sick to my stomach. One thing being passive and standing by while an entire people is being slaughtered but we are actively engaged in this brutal act. Where is the alternative to what the Tories are offering?

So for a long time before this election was announced, I'd have probably been happy to abstain from even voting. Bring on the you can't not vote shouts. Yet, at the same time I have so little faith and confidence in the idea that if labour were to lose my vote they would feel compelled to make changes in order to win me back. 100% would be naïve to think that. So does abstaining have any impact? They're pretty set at the moment on their lousy cabinet of buffoons. This led me in to the possibility of looking in to local candidates and smaller parties. Maybe go for the minor victory and put some pressure on the big boys. Does this even work in such a two horse race? Christ this electoral politics business is nonsense. How did we let it become this way? It's the whole system that needs changing. So we're back to looking at abstaining. Does any move hold any power or is it like the infamous Alien vs Predator tagline of "whoever wins...we lose"?

Finally, the Tories reveal their true nature and in the run up to the election release their appalling plans that horrify me so badly that I have to come out and vote Labour. Not because I have any love for Labour but simply to get the Tory bastards out. Because we have to stand up for the mistreated immigrants, the trans communities and the homosexuals. To stop the racism and the bigotry that comes with not recognising rights and cutting support payments. Is this to be the way it is for the remainder of my political life? Not voting for something but to stop something. What a depressing game. Burn it to the ground.

Nearly 10 years in and the conclusion I have come to is that if we let the Tories have their way, this country would go so disgustingly right wing its untrue. I want to back out, out of it all but I cannot, not completely. Sadly, keeping the Tories out is my only agenda and the best I can really offer at this point. We're not voting for Labour, we're voting against the Tories. That's it. So you just roll out of bed, storm down your polling station, angrily put that cross next to your local Labour candidate, leave and go about the rest of your day. There is no feeling good about yourself. You do not get that option. You don't win in politics, you just lose less.

Part 7: "You mean we're not gonna get the crown, save the town and Mr Krabs?" "I don't even think we're gonna be able to save ourselves, buddy" "Thanks" "Don't mention it" "Well, it looks like what everybody said about us was true, Patrick" "You mean that we're attractive?" "No, that we're just kids. A couple of kids in way over their heads. We were doomed from the start. I mean, look at us"Spongebob and Patrick

As the polls show, Labour are most likely going to run away with this election and so for the first time I will see a Labour government in my years of voting. The Tories are going down like Jack Dawson. Something I've been waiting a long time to see and would have given anything for years ago in my younger days. Yet, now in 2024, I barely even see it as a cause for celebration. In life, you don't get rewarded or feel a sense of achievement from avoiding doing the wrong things, that comes from actually doing good things. So, how can one be happy about the outcome? By voting labour, you're not voting for a party that will do good things, you're merely stopping the Tories doing worse things. Understanding that, there's little satisfaction in what the end result will end up being. Welcome to the world of lesser evils.

Part 8: "Laugh and the world laughs with you, weep and you weep alone"-Oh Dae Su or simply, "No-one likes a moaner"-all of us at some point or other.

Perhaps though, maybe we could find some humour in the Tories pathetic desperation as they try just about anything they can to keep the ship from sinking. After all, we've already seen the totally outdated preposterous proposal to bring back military service (that actually came out of nowhere, I can hear Dale Cooper whispering in my ear, "what year is this?", and the downright corrupted Rishi Sunak trying to buy this election by offering money to town that get his party seats (what a fucking loser). This millionaire couldn't be further out of touch with his takes on the NHS and education. The other day he genuinely blamed strikes as the reason for the NHS's failings. Need I say any more? The iceberg is coming, the ships zooming in!

Tennis or At least That's What the Kids are Calling it These Days

As a young primary school kid, we were invited as a class to Wimbledon, or rather that's what I thought it was, until I was corrected years later when big Danny Stern said, "That wasn't Wimbledon, Kelly, that was just some jarg local tennis competition". Either way, where ever I was, whoever I was seeing play, my eyes took notice of the ball slamming, back and forth dialogue, the aggressive cries of "err!", and "ahh!", and of course the routine head turning left and right from the voyeurs raised above the court. Even at a young age, without the full capabilities to articulate it or explain it, all I could think to myself was, "this is all about sex". Finally, a sleazebag director has come along sharing my sentiments on the sport and with the adequate resources to project that vision on to the big screen. Can I get a hallelujah, brother!

Ladies and gentlemen, his name is Luca Guadagnino and of course he's Italian. You may know him from the time Timothee Chalamet deposited his seed on to a peach and Armie Hammer, who is not adverse to gobbling on things regular society might deem peculiar, thought it would make a tasty snack. You may know him from the follow up, an Armie Hammer biopic, where he's played by Timothee Chalamet and depicted as a young man travelling the country and sinking his teeth in to people. You may know him from when Twitter's favourite females went dancing and things got gnarly. You may even know him from his Italian coming of age miniseries (we don't). There is a clear pattern to his work and that would be operating within the realms of perverse pop trash or as we like to call it at Funeralopolis, "Dinner Table", since it's that kind of nonsense that is slightly off centre in tastes but still manages to invade the family home and become a big talking point.

There's a formula to making good "Dinner Table" and in truth even we don't fully understand it. Who can predict what the public will accept? How to be disgusting and outrageous whilst keeping the maximum possible audience is no easy task. Although highly revered, we don't believe in the past that Luca has been all that great at his job with just as many hits as misses.

Bones and All was too on the annoying side of twee, attempting to evoke Malick and Gordon Green alongside its horror but came as merely juvenile and immature. Despite having some of the most memorable imagery in a horror movie from recent times, his Suspiria remake is far too long with a sloppy narrative in need of serious work. Very few complaints for Call Me By Your Name though. The Psychedelic Furs slap. When it comes to Challengers, Luca has hit gold.

Actually, to put it rightly this is generational gold. The previous generation to me had Trainspotting, we had Gone Girl and Wolf of Wall Street. Not necessarily flawless films but they capture a sexy youthful hipness that defines a decade and overcomes their faults. Nobody came close to looking as hot as Margot Robbie in front of a camera and for what's left of this decade maybe no-one will outdo Zendaya in this picture. We're dealing with a movie that absolutely exudes swag in full Fincheresque fashion. Fincher's generally a master of going creepy without scaring the hoes but in many ways his most recent films Mank and The Killer were very minor and divisive. If we're being honest, I think Fincher wishes he had something so commercial and appealing as Challengers in his hands.

Challengers opens superbly, establishing our two rivals on either side of the court battling it out in the final and the umpire in charge. Then we get this wide shot and a zoom revealing a single woman in the crowd: Zendaya. The real referee of this match. She's pulling the strings. She's the reward. She's why they play. In all honesty, I've not been this fixated on an individual in the crowd at a tennis match since Alfred Hitchcock's legendary shot in Strangers on a Train. Hitch walked so Luca could run. Oddly, this isn't where the comparisons end. Both have their homoerotic undertones.

Challengers has been fairly described as a love triangle with all the sides touching. Allowing it to have this immediacy and progressive appeal that's very of the moment. Reflecting the youth's aims to be as open as possible with sexual identity and experiences.

There's an undeniable naughtiness and cheekiness about the whole thing. Josh O'Connor will flash these evil allknowing smiles and Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross's electronic score just seems wired in to his brain coming in at just the right times as an extension of the character. There's no way we can avoid not talking about Reznor and Ross's score, which follows right on from Kraftwerk's Tour De France with the regular returns to a central catchy motif and erotic panting but embodies the newer trends of EBM, electro and acid techno.

Those who believed the double act was coming too routine and formulaic or struggling to fully figure out how to work the jazz angles like Bowie and Badalamenti, listen up because this is their most innovative work since The Social Network. That score changed the soundscapes of films back in 2010 and they've done it again here. Every single track is the sound of the summer and it may well go on to be as famous as the Trainspotting soundtrack became. Boys Noize has mixed the album of the year so it flows perfectly, keeping you in the vibe of Challengers. What's the vibe of Challengers? Misbehaving so badly the umpires have to deduct points from you like those machines in Demolition Man that fine you for foul language. The badder you are, the better you are.

Of all the tracks on the score, the standout moment for me is The Signal Bringing me right back to the films particular sense of mischief. The two boys in the movie come up with a little signal that if O'Connor slept with Zendaya he has to use a specific serve. I don't have a clue about tennis so I don't understand any of this but the place erupted when he brought out that serve and I assumed what it meant. The second time, I totally missed it, which was stupid considering they literally draw your attention to it with the time wasting.

Since I'm not clued up on what could potentially considered the dark arts of tennis, I turned to The Highwayman sat next to me, who has a little more knowledge of the sport and she had to explain this whole tennis malarkey. Personally, I just came for the sex. After her explaining it to me, I have to say this might be the single horniest act I've ever witnessed in a cinema. Going way beyond genitals and in to genuine erotica. Cannot recall anything so blunt and appalling being released on the unprepared general public since 2Pac dropped Hit Em Up with the infamous line, "I fucked your bitch".

Back to that love triangle though. As soon as Zendaya pulls away and takes leave of absence, the boys are attacking each other's faces or stealing one another's churros (unfathomably phallic). Structurally, it recalls Fincher's Social Network with the majority of the film being told in flashback. Every turn had me hooked for more. Reznor and Ross's score would kick in and I'd be begging for more juicy details, anything to keep this rollercoaster of a movie going. A particular favourite being the steamy sauna scene. The two boys stretching out, showing each other their cocks, sizing each other up and just when you think the games over, there's more twists and turns. Late drama in Fergie time as my fellow football fans would know all about.

Essentially, my warming to a film like this is that it's aware of itself being this game and has very little actually to do with tennis. Instead, it's a 130 minute sex film filled with constant mind games that Jose Mourinho would approve of. Mature too in its approach by barely even needing to focus on explicit sexual scenes and not bowing down to more generic rom com conventions.

There's this stunning scene in which Zendaya and O'Connor switch between sexual positions and stretching with their dialogue firmly on tennis when it should be about sex. Memorably, Zendaya says, "I'm always talking about tennis" (that's like me in the sack, pumping and reviewing movies without hesitation, it never ends). What's the famous quote, usually wrongly attributed to Oscar Wilde? "Everything is about sex except sex. Sex is about power". Although, here it's more like, "everything is about sex except sex. Sex is about tennis". For Jacob Kelly, it's "everything is about sex except sex. Sex is about movies" and you can put that on my gravestone.

Luca highlights that drive for power and control that comes with competition (and sex). O'Connor and Zendaya came to cook. They knew the game at hand and how to play it. Faist's character came in thinking this was all about love and romance. What an utter fool. In this arena, you leave all that at the door. I found his naivety more pathetic than the other characters atrocious acts. Even when you think though that all these characters are bad or evil, they're highly watchable in their drive for creativity and so it all comes back around by the end that you like them all in some weird way because they got the best out of each other eventually.

This is the arts and as much as people want to fool themselves, artists aren't always good or nice people. Personality wise some of these people have to be cold, selfmotivated, indulgent and arrogant to produce that which becomes so celebrated. The end justifies the means with the overall intention being to reach their peaks professionally. That's why it's such a win of an ending.

All the way through Challengers, I had this gigantic fear that they would go a lazy route and pick to either emphasise who the good and bad characters or to have them make up with each other in the last believable way. Thereby killing the mature sex game we all rocked up for in favour of a proper sell-out rom com deal. I am here to report they resolve their issues in the best possible manner that is far from cheap. Everybody gains something and nothing is undeserved.

In fact, it all comes back to Zendaya's belief that tennis is mainly bullshit, a massive joke, a waste of time, apart from the 2 decent minutes where the players actually seem in conversation with each other, communicating through their back and forth strokes (the sexual element). The chemistry is all that matters. Challengers is this long sprawling interconnected story spanning decades but it never loses sight of that vision.

Out came the Zendaya scream that could stir a billion hard-ons. Our two boys embraced each other again. Trent came in singing, "compress, repress" and the credits rolled. I was so ecstatic and lost in the overall joy of it, that I let up and started crip walking down the isles singing along with the Nine Inch Nails front man. Maybe we all won that day. I don't care for tennis, never have, never will but as for sex? Well, I can play that game all day!

Overall Score:

5/5

By The Highwayman

"Do You Not Like The Yabba?"

WakeandFrightis billed as a thriller, but it’s a horror film in disguise. The Yabba may as well be a circle of hell; try as you might, you cannot escape from it. It just expands its awfulness, the heat, the sweaty, hateful hangovers, the cruelty, the boredom, and the loneliness. The entire piece is reminiscent of drinking nights gone wrong; you can almost feel the dread. Wake and Fright follows a schoolteacher, Grant, supposedly only in the Yabba for one night who gambles all his money away and is almost forced into a serious episode of binge drinking by the locals. Through this, he gets some idea of their lives, in which beer is for drinking and water is only for showering.

Perhaps bleakest of all is Jeanette “if she was a man she’d be a rapist”, who sleeps with her father’s drunken friends out of a kind of nihilistic boredom. Some may read this as empowering; there’s also a line about how she wouldn’t be called a slut if she was a man; but it reads as desperate, anything to pierce the bleakness of ordinary country life. When she seduces Grant, she’s almost robotic, zoning out amongst the men, not drinking as they do, only useful to them not for her company but for her body. The most intriguing character is Doc, a self-professed alcoholic who almost philosophizes the madness he finds himself surrounded with. Unlike, perhaps, the other men he is there by choice, living off no money and eating kangaroo meat. He goes from apparently joyful to despairing “all the little devils are proud as hell”, and could be read as an older version of Grant, a learned man who became enthralled by the Yabba and its debauchery.

Overall Score: 5/5 12

"We want monkeys! We want monkeys!" Is the chant every time 20th Century prove they're not a bunch of yellow bellied cowards and release another Planet of the Apes film. Naturally, they can be bad, no-ones saying they can't be, we've all seen Battle for the Planet of the Apes, but we whole heartedly approve of all monkey movies cause that's a hell of an animal, that's the beast I'm ogling at the most every time I visit Chester Zoo as I try to work out whether these things really are our ancestors or is that a load of nonsense as Poppa Wu declared on the opening track for Wu Tang Forever? So, whatever the answer, keep sticking them apes on the screens.

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, ok, what happened to the rumours that this was terrible in test screenings? Going from rock solid blockbuster kingpin Matt Reeves to young adult joker Wes Ball had the rumours almost confirmed too. Yet, I continued to remain optimistic and hope that what it appeared to lose in intellect, it would gain in dumb summer fun to tuck in to along with Godzilla X Kong. Consequently, it's a big surprise to announce that this film is actually really good, boasting an impressive screenplay filled with a few ideas of its own. So don't dismiss it so quickly! Was it saved in the edit or is it a case of you can't trust people, I guess we'll never know.

I've not seen this directly written anywhere but I believe that Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes works as something of a refreshing antidote to the current state of blockbuster filmmaking and in particular the overly familiar MCU model. This is apparent in both structure and themes. What is one of the biggest problems in filmmaking today at studio level? Messy and nonsensical storytelling carried across multiple interconnected films leading to the eradication of solo endeavours and clear individual identity.

Eternal Recurrence

Instead of making one decent film, they'd rather make the same incoherent and incomplete bad film several times over at a serious detriment to both the central character and the directors unique expression. They never make a Spiderman movie any more but another Avengers sequel. Nothing is expressed or resolved in the window of the film. You have to carry so much pointless information across an entire catalogue of movies that it's near impossible to keep up or better yet, care.

Coming in to the 10th film of the franchise that is effectively a prequel, the question here is when is this story set in the overall timeline. Quite frankly, a question I am sick of sometimes asking, wanting to just get on with enjoying the film in question. However, it is undeniably important when you're looking at a narrative involving the evolution of a species. Even the movies villain, Proximus Caesar, shares that he is on some Roy Batty mission, looking for ways to allow his species to increase their intelligence and evolve quicker in his life time by conquering the skies like the Wright Brothers. Anything the humans did, they want to do. Therefore, you'd think that progression lies as a straight narrative? No.

Turn your minds to True Detective's Rust Cohle and his brand of pessimism and nihilism. The master of beer can origami to explain his bleak ideas to the world. In a now famous moment, he slams his hand in to a can and says, "time is a flat circle". But where does that cool iconic line actually come from? Feel free to read the rest of this explanation in Matthew Mcconaughey's voice. It relates to the theory of Eternal Recurrence, originating with the stoics in Ancient Greece and resurfacing in the 19th century with some of Nietzsche's books. Central to the concept is a belief that the universe is periodically destroyed and reborn but each universe is exactly the same as the one before and so we continue to repeat the same actions over and over for all eternity without change.

Fundamentally, I believe this, whether intended or not, is what Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes demonstrates. In the first act, we are dealing with misremembered past and corrupted legacy as a means to ensure that nothing ever changes. What a way to start things up again after Reeves's glorious trilogy. You can't continue smoothly, history doesn't work that way and for cinema it's too clean and convenient avoiding conflict.

The true Casar of Reeves's films was a supporter of human/ape coexistence and fought many battles to achieve this. However, in these times our protagonist, Noa, has had little contact with humanity and so doesn't have the same bridge or connection leading to little trust. Alongside this, we have violent apes pillaging villages in the name of Caesar, something he would never have stood for. They have not only misinterpreted his words but have exploited the meaning of them to give their nasty cause purpose, reason and justification. Look no further than Proximus Caesar's name. The times may change but the battles over human/ape coexistence remain.

In the second act, which is the type of old school plot we haven't seen in a while, Noa and his 2 companions must travel across the land and relearn the history of the two species and why coexistence is important. It's a western given the science fiction spin and told in reverse. Blockbusters today are often at fault of losing the protagonist with too many side characters so I can't describe the pleasure in having an act like this where the characters are reduced and it becomes this observatory act as they travel across the empty roads. Becoming not an epic action spectacle but a visual spectacle. A departure from the herd for the main hero to learn a thing or two, I was beginning to think they didn't make them anymore and that sort of slow character driven approach a thing of the past. Normally, any of these aspects get lost in a disorderly mess once called a narrative and dumb humour is used to hide the holes.

At first, I thought act three was going to be this overly familiar disappointing let down. We've seen plenty of these films have the apes going full Che Guevara revolutionaries, teaming up to escape from prison and fight their oppressors. As cool as it is, it's been done, a lot. Alternatively, this is when it most nails its point of Eternal Recurrence. Inside a sealed military bunker, lies Proximus Caesar's answers to faster evolution within his own lifetime. Weapons he could only dreams of getting his damn dirty paws on. There could have been a nuclear bomb in there too to revive the old Oppenheimer themes of the franchise and this would significantly improve the film but let's be honest, a nuclear bomb would improve most films so this isn't saying anything.

At this point though, I was scratching my head thinking about that old annoying question, well how does this work for the rest of the timeline? Surely, if the apes evolve too quickly, then it makes the rest of the films redundant and loses the potential for other stories covering that slow development? You've sacrificed the future of the franchise for a single big set piece? That's the typical Marvel move isn't it? And exactly what triggers the most ridiculous and unbelievable writing going to keep the story in motion.

Above all, what has always been the appeal of the Planet of the Apes films? Going back to the very first one. And probably even more so than it's anti-war themes. It's that intended surreal lack of continuity and the anachronisms in iconography. The visual spectacle of seeing statues and objects from our present in the distant future. Things can and have occurred out of place. They can go backwards. Teachings can be unlearned. Items can be lost to time. Proximus Caesar's weapons are destroyed before he can reach them and there may be several other hidden bunkers scattered across the planet no-one will ever know about. Reinforcing this idea of time as a flat circle.

Let's be clear, Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes is not necessarily the solution to the flawed nature of serialised storytelling but it certainly has come the closest to making a cohesive artistic statement on the incohesive matter and feels like a big fuck you to those geeks who do try to piece the impossible together. The statement here being that who cares, we're looking for a through line in what's actually a circle. Maybe we need to ease off what is essentially nonsensical continuity and not try to think of the whole but turn our attention to individual level storytelling, that's the lesson here. Rather fittingly as Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes shows us, one we may forget and re-learn several times over.

Overall Score: 4/5

Funeralopolis readers that have been on this trip since the start will know in the early editions there was such dedication to found footage. Refusing to accept the belief that it's a spent force but rather a unique concept that succumbed to oversaturation and continuous rule breaking that tired audiences and hindered its growth as a genre. A smarter neater way of saying I almost lost my mind trying to explore all its avenues that can be at its worst irritatingly dumb and at its best so realistic it becomes downright disturbing. Anyway, we remain on the hunt for all the developments in found footage even if everyone else has switched off.

Last year, the stylistically inviting but arguably empty, Skinamarink, bizarrely became a popular hit and a huge talking point even if there was very little to talk about. This year, everyone's talking about Late Night with the Devil, which is even worse. A mostly dull attempt at recreating the success of Ghostwatch that is being widely celebrated even though it breaks too many rules. What's with the off-air segments, illusions that a camera misses and the radical departure that exists potentially in a character's mind? Why is there such big name actors? If it enables David Dastmalchian to have further starring roles then great but the film itself terrible and that's without discussing the controversial use of AI.

On a smaller scale, there is Exposure, a YouTube short lasting only 10 minutes that is almost interesting before it gets carried away and loses itself in utter stupidity. Director Kris J Cummins has cleverly exploited our technophobia in attempt to bring back found footage. His short is based on reports of home invaders using our own devices against us such as Alexa as part of their schemes to enter properties. Hackers can now take control of your Alexa, using it as an accomplice by talking through the speaker. Therefore, they have already entered your home and your 4 walls don't mean shit. With this in mind, it's not too much of a stretch to suggest they could manipulate the weakest members of the household: the children.

I Hear You Knockin' (But You Can't Come In)

Exposures scariest moments appear in its opening few minutes. A dark room at night where a child is being spoken to through an electronic device. We can't see the ghostly figure and can only hear him, giving the uninvited guest total power. Our mind can only fill in the blanks of who this entity may be. At this point, they're not yet a person, they're bigger than that and that's what makes it so terrifying. Their identity is a mystery and we can't defeat what we don't know, adding to the horror of the situation. The voice plays on the fantastical and naiveties of the child by telling they in need of help as they are stuck in the device and the only way they can be freed is if the child opens the front door. It's that combination of harsh realism and child-like fantasy that makes the scene so disturbing.

Disappointingly, this is where everything falls apart. Cheesiness takes over. We see the intruder in the flesh, who laughably looks like a cross of Frank Gallagher, Aphex Twin and Limmy. Then the mother who comes to the rescue can't act for shit. Both of these clowns are outclassed by a child, which is fairly embarrassing.

All suspense is lost because the acting is appalling. Destroying what was initially a creepy premise and fantastic new entry in found footage. You cannot ruin your own mystery. You do that and you lose all power which you came to the table with. It's criminal. Returning to the GOAT of the genre, Blair Witch never did this and that's why people will remember that film for eternity and Exposure will soon be forgotten. If only they'd have kept it to the simplicity of an unknown voice coming out one of your electronic devices. That part was scary. Everyone involved hang your heads in shame, you almost achieved greatness but you let yourselves down. Home invasion lovers stay tuned, on the next page is this week's short story.

They say man is basically good... up to a point. There is much that is up for this discussion in this world and this is where democracy and politics has served us well. However, conversation can only go so far. You hit a man where it hurts and you'll see him bite. You go right to the top of the hierarchy of needs and you will see man rear his ugly head with the violence he is capable of. The full range of human behaviour. Where does it hurt? The home and everything in it. Man is a very resilient creature, it will do nearly anything it can to ensure its own survival. Once you step through the door way, breaking that barrier, man will do whatever is necessary to protect that which is inside, that which it holds most dear. And if that involves abandoning every principle, every moral he's been taught, then so be it. Good, evil, at that point, what does it matter?

I've been guarding my property every night for a consecutive 227 days. Each sunrise, I clock off, marking another nights completion down on the fridge calendar before making my way upstairs to kiss my sleeping wife. "I hear you knockin' you bastards, but you can't come in!". They come after dark and they don't leave 'til the morning. It used to be on evenings with a full moon but they soon abandoned that and started coming any time after the sun went down putting me on permanent night shift. I am the night watchman, I am the protector and I am the killer. This is my house and if they want in, they have to come through me.

They being pretty much anything you can think of actually. They take multiple forms. Zombified humans, giant tarantulas, gargantuan anacondas, blood thirsty vampires, even shadows in the night. They can manifest themselves as anything and possess any living and dead tissue. What are they here for? They're here for what's in the bedroom at the top of the stairs: my gorgeous wife. As I sit sharpening my wooden spears, preparing weapons for the evening, I can hear the music coming from up above. Doris must be listening to her Dixieland records again. Hisses and crackles sneaked in so regularly I had to admit that I'd long forgotten what they originally sounded like. Oh, they could sound like a long uninspired drone for all I cared. Hearing any sound was a blessing. It was a reminder she was still there. And as long as she was still there, I would continue to fight long in to the night.

Yesterday was long gone but with her there was always a tomorrow. Without her there was no point continuing my work. There would seize to be purpose. Days would have no end. It would all become one endless watch, one endless cycle, slowly deteriorating like The Disintegration Loops. Her presence was vital proof that I wasn't alone out here. Everyone needs to do something for someone. Nobody lives for themself, not entirely and that's the cold truth. Solo adventures are all the same. You go for a long hike in the mountains, you take a trip to the local cinema, you read the greatest book in the history of literature. Eventually, you come out with this overwhelming urge to talk to someone. To explain what you saw, what you read, what you felt. Because something essentially deep within its core is missing from the experience. A certain validity that can only be achieved when it is shared. We have to confirm that it happened. Otherwise it may have all been a trick of the mind.

Oh shit, it was getting close to dark and I hadn't finished bordering up all the windows. I'd got lost in thought again, I was doing that more so as of late. Need to keep an eye on that. Easy to romanticise in times of great darkness. What else can you do? I aggressively hammered 3 nails across every plane of wood like Mario taking down barrels thrown by Donkey Kong. This was not my first rodeo. In my former life, due to an absent father unavailable to teach, I'd avoided near enough all DIY and was famous for having the softest hands of any man my age. Now, I knew my way round every tool and had hands as rough as a badger's arse. My smooth fingertips were the key to allowing Doris to reach orgasm so regularly in our early highly sexually active days, when we were still learning all we could about each other. I didn't touch Doris so much these days. Looking at the pile of sawdust on the floor, I made a quick note to pick up some more wood from the forest floor tomorrow.

Sex wasn't on Doris's mind and hadn't been for some time. Survival was the word of great relevance but that didn't stop me thinking about her wet pussy from time to time. what else is a man to think about on a cold evening when nobody else is around? For all my horniness, I remained loyal, continuously telling myself these were only temporary measures. This all started about 2 years ago. At least for me anyway. There was a great confusion when a giant toad turned up at my door one night asking for my wife. I sliced its head off with a bread knife.

After that, slicing heads off became a regular routine. Their numbers increasing with each night. I took defence lessons to improve my chances. Learning defensive manoeuvres and how to handle large groups of attackers. I scooped up the sawdust and dropped it in the bin. Next to the bin were crumpled up calendars all for this month. This momentarily confused me but then I remembered I stupidly printed off about twelve copies of this month by mistake. I must have not had time yet to throw them out.

Before me, Doris's dad, Charles, had my job. I would ask him how he made them stop. Terrifyingly, he told me, it wasn't him that made them stop. They stopped themselves. But why did they come back? He could not tell me what triggered the secondary return. He had no solutions only small term tricks to keep the bastards at bay. It was as though the monsters were never defeated or destroyed. They only lay dormant, waiting for another moment to strike. A volcano acting along with the rules of nature. Eruptions triggered from somewhere far from view. Only chance was evacuating the majority of citizens from the equation. Having those brave few who tough it out and adapt, dedicating their lives to the struggle, studying the remnants and praying it never comes active again.

When things took a severe turn, we chose to hide Doris out in the country at a secluded place once owned by her departed grandfather. We thought they wouldn't find her out there. We thought endless sunshine and wildlife might cure her once and for all. Location was unimportant, the monsters still found her there.

Nowhere else to go, I make our last stand every night without fail. Rehearsing the tensest play over and over. Performance always bettering with the fear that each one might be the last. Waking the next morning in total shock as the show must go on. A sick sitcom way past its sell by date that existed merely as comfort food for the brainless. It reminded me of the notorious coward Robert Ford and his numerous renditions of assassinating his boss and friend, Jesse James. How would that feel to re-enact your most appalling defining moment again and again, night after night? This repetitive art piece where the audience looks for the most minute changes. Slow cinema where the perception of time is manipulated and every object is lingered on to find a meaning that couldn't be found at normal speed. The actor forced and bullied in to take after take like Shelley Duvall slipping in to madness under Stanley Kubrick's direction. At the mercy of a higher power. Lost in a rhythm. Stuck somewhere between beauty and boredom.

Academy award darling and method acting champion, Daniel Day Lewis, spent 6 months living in the Alabama wilderness to prepare for his role in The Last of the Mohicans. During that time, he learned to track and skin animals, build canoes, fight with tomahawks, fire and reload a 12 pound flintlock whilst on the move at fast pace. Mr Lewis doesn't know how easy he has it. The man could quit at any time and when he snaps out of it, he normally opens his eyes to an Oscar in his hands. Some of us don't have that luxury. I wished that I could wake up and this would be all over. That it would turn out to be some dream and I could soon return to regular life like the normal folk. Except, it was turning in to this long winded joke that had long since outstayed its welcome. Only the invaders knew when it would stop and until then, I would come down every night to meet them. They could not have my wife.

Why do they want her? Why do they keep coming back for more? My wife cannot even answer this question. she's a master of language and communication. She has two degrees in English and media. She takes a strong interest in psychology. And yet she does not know. Or she cannot tell me. Does she choose not to tell me? Can she not verbalise what it is? Or does she have not the faintest idea?

I have often wondered whether it is I, whether there is something in my behaviour that is triggering it. "Can I do anything differently", I ask repeatedly. Either I am not the problem or she does not have the heart to tell me. I continue forwards but at every step worried my endless pursuit may be the cause behind it all. If I was to leave her side would all this madness stop? Or would the dark forces slip in and take her for good in my absence? You see my problem.

I share her hell. I see her demons. I fornicate with her darkest places. Where ever she goes, I go. Down the slippery slope and into the abyss. There aren't many things I fear in this world more than the dark. Once, when I was a child, I was kidnapped and place in a shipping container, where I spent 6 days alone with no contact from the outside world. No watches. No phones. Only the occasional light when the thin slit would open and my daily meal would be placed through. Eventually, the police found my location and I was released back in to the world with very little memory of those 6 days. Ever since though, I've started to develop panic attacks whenever someone close to me goes off the grid too long and doesn't check in every once in a while. So all this lack of explanation and communication between us, as you can tell, is doing me a world of good. In spite of all the troubles that lie ahead, my decision is already made, I will not abandon my post. She's worth it.

How much longer until tonight's attack? I check the clock on the wall. They be here within the hour. I sit down on the floor, cross over my legs and meditate. Must stay calm. Don't let them in. Maintaining rational thought is my greatest weapon. Lose them and you lose your head. Days are spent thinking up defensive strategies, nights putting the in to action. This is a strange enemy, when you think you've outwitted it, it comes back stronger. Its attacks are unmotivated, its logic is random without pattern. Like John Carpenter's The Thing it has no problem playing the waiting game, lying out in the ice for decades, waiting for its next opportunity to strike. The silent sycophant.

Every disease must have its cure and so is the reason my ambition never falters. I may not have the brains of Robert Neville but my enthusiasm is no less. Before all this, I was a librarian, arranging and locating books all day, now I'm attacking unspeakable horrors sundown to sunrise. How did it get to this?

Soon as we moved in to this little shack, my job was the first thing to go. According to the books, I am on sick leave. There's literally no better way of explaining it to them. How could anyone explain any of this? Best to stay quiet and work the night shift. But for many days could I keep this up? Did it matter? Otherwise what's the point in this whole marriage thing? Sometimes you gotta just stick it out. Til death do us part. Then again, I don't remember it being in our wedding vows that I'd have to spend all my nights keeping horrific visitors from our door. Hey, ho, if it was easy, it wouldn't be worth it. It's no singing dancing parade. It's pain and it's sacrifice. But in the right hands, you can really build something beautiful. "Ce la vie!", I cry out manically before jumping in shock as the first explosion is triggered.

Straight after the first home-made trip wire is activated, so goes the second and third. I couldn't see the bastards go down but I knew I'd killed a few. No doubt the next wave would fall victim to the hole spikes. Those leaves were perfectly placed, they wouldn't suspect a thing. One foot in front of the other then a sharp drop and an even sharper spike through toe and on to chin. There's no room for decency in murder, this game was won by the barbaric. Next, the survivors of this trap, may meet their end via swinging logs. Now, anyone making it past all of these neatly pre-arranged obstacles has an even bigger problem: me.

The barricades are strong but enough of them will do some serious damage. I rapidly shift between rooms, looking for potential break ins. Soon as I see a hole opening up, I offload a spear in to the intruder and hammer the boards back up. Over and over, as long as it takes. Never pausing for rest. This is my house. Nobody enters without my say. Usually, I can make it through the night with only one or two getting in. The worst it ever got was one time when I fell asleep on the job and had to push them back down the stairs with a large chainsaw. Tonight was also turning in to a bad night. There was just too fucking many of them. Was it time to finally admit I was unqualified for the job? That I was finally out my depth?

I shot silver bullets in to the chest of a werewolf. I axed off the head of zombies. I staked the vampires through the heart. But it wasn't enough. They backed me up the stairs. Out of options, I entered the bedroom at the top of the stairs and barricaded the door behind me ready for a last stand. In between hammering nails, I looked over at the unruffled bed sheets and called out, "nothing to worry about Sleeping Beauty, just a few nasty guests who don't know what closing time means" Something seemed off. I paused, waiting to hear a single snore, a slight creek of the bed springs. Anything to suggest another presence. Since this never came, I shuffled on over to investigate. I reached out to touch her long blonde hair and my hands unexpectedly met cold pillow. My wife was gone.

On which of the hundreds of shifts did they take her? How many pointless nights had I spent protecting an empty bed. Who had been playing the Dixieland records? I'll never know. As a night watchman, I had failed my duties. She was compromised. Did noone think to tell me? Regular programming without interruption, is that how this worked? How long ago was it that The Simpsons first prepared to set off to the annual Christmas pageant at Springfield Elementary? This sick charade had gone on long enough. Everybody had stopped watching long ago and turned off their TV sets but no-one told the actors to stop. They had crossed over and become the characters. But when did the acting stop? What was my mission now? Who was there left to direct me? My energy was depleted. Nothing seemed to hold much value any more. The monsters had claimed my wife and now they came for me. I had truly lost it. In the silence, the bed side clock ticked on. Out of pure frustration, I elbowed it to the ground and put my foot through it so many times it was left in a thousand pieces. Another silence, which is quickly broken by the sounds of the twisted fuckers tapping at my bedroom door. "I hear you knocking you bastards but you can't come in!"

Overall Score: 3/5