Review by David Mumpower

September 21, 2001

Greetings and felicitations. I am The Creeper, and I have been asked to review the movie based on my life story for you, the unwitting fools who might inexplicably be considering spending your hard-earned money on tickets to see it. I am summarizing the events after they have occurred, so if you haven't seen the movie as of yet and plan to do so, I'm afraid the details below will give away too much, so I would advise your not reading any further. Of course, I would also advise that no one be dumb enough to slide down a dark tunnel to investigate the existence of potentially still-living hostages prematurely mummified in body bags, yet you know from the trailer how well those far-too-spunky siblings, Trish and Darry, follow these sage words. In short, proceed at your own peril but since you humans are such slow learners, I have little doubt you'll continue.

My origins are something of a mystery, but let's just say that I take my license plate message, BEATINGU, to heart (no pun intended). My difficulty in life is that I am forced to hibernate - for lack of a better word - for 23 years before I am allowed to come out into the world and feed for 23 glorious days before returning to the underground realm. Clearly, I am driven to make those three weeks a flesh buffet of epic proportions, so my unusual circumstances have forced me to become quite the connoisseur of human skin. By merely licking and sniffing a person, I can tell just how much satisfaction I will get from devouring his or her various body parts. That's right; I can smell a person's fear and use it for culinary purposes. Sure, it sounds nasty and looks indescribably ridiculous on camera but hey, you people have made David Hasselhoff a famous TV-show celebrity not once but twice. Maybe you shouldn't be casting the first stone about the overall quality of my life on film. Also, in my defense, my olfactory gift makes for some nifty party tricks.

But I digress.

Anyway, my film is based on an unusual few days I had back in the spring of 2001. Here I was, driving down the interstate in my souped-up tank truck, a vehicle I had purchased at a Mad Max lame-props auction. Now, I should probably point out at this moment that as a serial killer, it's important for me to live in areas of the country where I am unlikely to be investigated by competent police officials. For this reason, I have picked a church nestled between the hick towns of Pertwilla and Poho as my domicile of choice for a couple of reasons. I enjoy the irony of performing my eating rituals in a religious institution, and the cops here make Ralph Nader voters look intelligent (just because I hibernate doesn't mean I couldn't watch CNN last year).

Don't believe me about the police protection here? At one point last week, I was feeding on a prisoner in the local precinct's jail cell when the sheriff came down stairs and started doing a bed check. What did he do when he witnessed my removing the foot off of the criminal and attaching it to my own knee? Why, he stood immobile and watched me in action for a good 30 seconds rather than calling for back-up or attempting to interrupt my meal through the use of artillery. Compare that to Texas, where I likely would have been assaulted with a rocket launcher, drawn and quartered to prevent further resistance then sentenced to die in the gas chamber. All in the same evening. Mass murderers should always avoid living in redneck, reactionary states as a modus operandi. It's just common sense, people.

So there I am, driving down the road. I don't mean to brag, but I was having a good hair day; I was enjoying an unseasonably warm spring day - which enhances the smell of decaying human flesh quite nicely, I might add - and I was rocking out to my favorite song, Jeepers Creepers. See, when the lyrics go, "Where'd you get those peepers?", I get the goofiest grin on my face, because I have taken people's eyes. Get it? Aren't I clever? This is high-concept stuff right here!!! OK, it's totally lame and I apologize for the innate stupidity of it, but this pinhead Hollywood director named Victor Salva swears that movies always dramatize for effect and he thought it really added something to the eerie nature of my tale. Personally, I am embarrassed to have my reputation as a Hell Devil sullied by such a pedantic interpretation of old song lyrics but his check cleared, so whatever.

Getting back to the story, as I was driving, I got behind this ugly convertible and decided to have a little fun with them to get a whiff of their fear. Boy howdy (gargoyles can be colloquial, you know), did I ever get a sniff of the good stuff! I couldn't figure out which one of them was giving me the nasal hard-on, but my curiosity was certainly piqued. Alas, I had a bunch of other victims in the back of my truck, so I had to pass for the time being. I flipped them off, passed them and kept on truckin' (see?) down the road. Kismet was kind on this day, though, because as I was tossing the bodies in the basement, my nefarious activities were witnessed by none other than Trish and Darry. Circumstances now dictated that I go after them and make them my next victims, and since they were your run-of-the-mill scared teens, I ran them off the road in record time.

In fact, I got a little cocky about it and decided that since they weren't going anywhere, I'd go find a snack before the main course. When I got back, that stupid Nancy Drew wannabe's smell was all over my front yard and Magnum PIYOY had left footprints in my basement. This is the problem with the youth of America. I mean, seriously, how stupid do you have to be to here? They stumbled across a backwoods nut who rammed them and ran them off the road yet rather than flee to the next state ASAP, they decided to investigate my house for potential corpses. I mean, from my perspective as a creature from the abyss, I figure holy water is probably bad for me. You know what that means I do when I see holy water? I DON'T DRINK IT! The educational system in this country is shit.

After thinking about their snooping for a minute (all criminals hate those darned meddling kids), I decided that I would probably need to keep an eye on those brats, so I went and sniffed the dude's underwear. Like you've never done it at a laundromat. Anyway, something hilarious happened around this time frame, as the kids entered a local truck-stop restaurant and tried to tell their story to the locals. These guys are drenched in mud and blood and are severely wigged out. Do the town residents believe them? NO! Even worse, I walked up to their car and stood there sniffing their unmentionables for a good three minutes while this was happening. People, I'm scaly and brown with razor sharp...well, you can see my picture above and see my point here. I'm standing outside in broad daylight, inhaling underwear while people watch. Do they say anything as it happens? HELL NO! They just look at me like I'm doing some weird avant garde theater performance and then go back to reading the newspaper. Inbreeding is bad, m-kay?

From there on, things kept getting better for me and worse for them. Honestly, if I hadn't been trying to brutally slay the kids, I would have felt sorry for them as they dealt with the single dumbest police force known to mankind. In addition to beheading one and sucking out his tongue (not like that, ya pervs), I was able to walk into a station with dozens of officers, kill them all and fly away with a hostage. Sure, a lot of it can be traced back to my extraordinary gifts as a minion of Hades, but even I have to admit a lot of my success stems largely from the atrocious, uniformly idiotic behavior of my counterparts in the area. It's hard to fail when all of your opponents make Ralph Wiggum look like an intellectual.

Now that you know what a piece of garbage my story is, I guess I should also come clean on one other tidbit. This whole review has been nothing more than a transparent attempt to make you scared out of your gourd by the thought of having to see my movie in theaters. I just wanted to smell your fear so that I can figure out which of you I am going to eat next. The rest of you will have to actually see the film. Hmm, having your skin and eyes removed and heart eaten by a winged servant from Hell, or having to watch Jeepers Creepers? Tough call