Having been awake for almost 43-hours, with his brain shorting-out, and his eyes no longer functioning properly, our valiant B-Fester has finally given up the ghost and tries to catch a few winks, hoping to recharge for the afternoon back stretch. Turns out, however, that B-Fest was on to this plan, and soon conspired to foil it...

Dementia 13 is hard to describe because it doesn't make a lick of sense. I have a copy of this film at home, and I've tried to watch it a couple of times but can never make it to the end. I either fall asleep or the film loses me and I wander off. The dubious directorial debut of Francis Ford Coppola, Roger Corman sent him off to Ireland with about a $1.50, no script, and orders to make a film using a castle. And you wonder why it didn't make any sense? So I finally saw the end of this tale of family trouble, and axe murderers, but now I can't recall the beginning -- so it still doesn't make any sense! *sigh*

As I glance at my watch, it pains me to think how long I've been up without any real sleep. My brain is buzzing, my stomach is nauseous because I've had no real food since Arby's yesterday in Iowa. And what's the cure for nausea? Why a combination of Oreos and Pringles. Duh.

I headed back to the seats to dig out some more junk food. When Mike hears me and wakes up, disoriented and out of sorts, I tell him he's just in time for the gawdawful -- even for a wrasslin' picture -- piece of "dookie" known as...

The Hulkster has some problems with an evil cable mogul, who wants to start his own wrestling channel with Hogan as his centerpiece. But the wrestler refuses by stuffing the ill-tempered mogul's check into his mouth, quipping he won't be around when it clears; the first of many poop jokes to come, I'm afraid. Undaunted, the evil mogul (-- and did they mention he's evil?) recruits the mighty Zeus to sucker Hogan into a survival of the fittest, no holds barred Texas Death Match. Zeus's knack for mono-syllabic dialogue started another running gag, as repetitive cries of "Arrrrgghh!" filtered through the audience that makes me giggle against all better judgment. But Hogan still refuses to fight until Zeus cripples his younger brother, putting him in a wheelchair -- which leads to more laughs as a Frank Stallone power ballad cranks up while we watch Zeus train intermixed with scenes of Hulk helping to rehabilitate his brother. What a swell guy. When the death match finally happens, just when you think the Hulk is gonna go down, he sees his bawling brother. These tears then inspire him to rise and kick Zeus' butt, while the evil media mogul manages to electrocute himself.

When the lights came up again, we were way, way, way ahead of schedule, thanks to The Happy Hooker fiasco, so the breakfast break would be longer than expected. Wandering out of the theater toward the cafeteria area, Mike gets in line for a bagel and some coffee but I've had enough to eat and drink for awhile. I find a table and try and get my head together, pinching myself hard to make sure this wasn't all some fever dream brought on by The Black Hole of Des Moines. Megalemur, sans his wizard robes, joined me and we discuss the social and political ramifications of No Holds Barred, where we both concurred that it would be impossible that a pure, and noble spirit like Hulk Hogan should have blood on his hands, meaning the filmmakers made the right choice of having the media mogul kill himself. 'Lem also explained that during an earlier scene, the bad guy who had crapped his pants had said it was "dookie" not "pookie" in his pants. Ah, that makes perfect sense now.

Mike, Freex, Telstar and Marlowe join us, Hen and Jen Grenade are a table over, and as we try to express our feelings on what we've seen so far, I break a promise and reveal that Mike, acting in an official capacity for the newspaper, and not of his own free will, had interviewed the artist formerly known as Vanilla Ice. And while Telstar reveals how he became Telstarman the White, everybody else is so sleep punchy they're easily distracted by a news feature on the TV about a little rodeo monkey riding a dog. There is much sadness when it ends and Doc Freex pines for the monkey's return. As the party broke up and headed back to the theater, I laughed heartily at the poor souls who hadn't seen what was coming next ... They had no idea what my strange, obscene hand gestures meant or name the tune I whistled, but they soon would. Oh, yes. They would...

We open on a planet in a galaxy somewheres else, as a family of thee ugliest alien critters clumsily stumble around the lunarscape and come upon a probe from Earth that's busy collecting rock samples. When it cranks up a vacuum cleaner to collect more, the curious aliens prove extremely malleable and are stretched out, sucked in, and compressed into a holding tank. And then the probe rockets back to Earth (-- I'm assuming several decades have past during transit), where the aliens are uncorked and manage to escape the high-security facility. Somehow, I don't remember too much 'cuz I was laughing so hard, the littlest alien winds up in the minivan of our protagonist -- a wheel-chair bound kid whose name escapes me. It's not important. Much insanity ensues as the little critter becomes addicted to Coke, Skittles and McDonald's fast food. But all of that incredulity is then topped by the "Hide the alien in the teddy-bear pelt" scene, where they spontaneously combust into a dance number at Mickey-D's, while Ronald McDonald approvingly looks on. *shudder* Near death, the alien family is reunited out in the desert and brought back to life by the power of Coke. Then they all blow up, but the critters prove fire-proof, too, and manage to resurrect the wheel-chair bound kid who was caught in the explosion. And in the film's final insult, the alien family is rewarded for their good deeds with American citizenship. Okay. Do they have any appreciable skills other than whistling and making obscene hand gestures? 

It was almost noon, and aside from that abortive nap, I've been up for almost 50-hours. Two whole freaking days! All apologies, but the rest of the films are kind of a blur, including this one. It's a great film and was a welcome respite, but, dang it, Where was the pain this year? When I was complaining about the line-up earlier, my major beef was that the films in this year's line-up were just too good. This year's films were loopy enough, but not all that painful. Sure, Mac & Me was soul-suckingly awful but nothing compared to the vileness survived last year. Merkin, anyone?

End of rant. Back to the film ... The Last Dragon focuses on Bruce Leroy, a young man from the ghetto, who has completed his kung-fu training and spends the rest of the film searching for a new master. When he's not searching, he keeps saving Applonia from another evil media-mogul who wants the V-jay to play his girlfriend's video on her popular show. When the evil mogul's normal goons (-- including Chaz Palmentari and William H. Macy!) prove no match for Leroy, he hires the ultimate bad-ass, The Shogun of Harlem! Along the way, Leroy finally discovers who his true master is, saves Applonia and his little brother, and learns how to glow in the dark and vanquishes all the bad guys with true fists of fury. 

Like I said, a great film, so we just sat back and watched and cheered. And like I also said before, it was lunchtime and my stomach was rumbling for something more than Doritos and Oreos, so I ask Mike and Paul if they wanted to head to the cafeteria for some grub. Mike declined, saying he's going to try and catch some more sleep. With that, we stick around long enough for the next film to spool up, 'cuz there's one more thing I got to do first before we eat.