Hi all! Kelby McFurryballs here again! After a month or so in Denmark, enjoying all the hippy drum circles, goth strippers and guilt-free weed the money I've been making as a fluffer on a furry-porn set can buy, I woke up one morning, took a long nap, stretched a bit, napped again, and then finally woke up again for an hour or so to take a long hard look at my life. Then I went back to sleep because the afternoon sun exposure in this abandoned hotel is like freaking crack.
So I've decided if I'm ever gonna get home to Indiana my first step should be to get back to Germany. You see, between my brief spell working at the Vatican and my unfortunate incarceration in a Russian prison a few months back I was living and working in Berlin. By working, of course I mean pimping. My girls were terrific. They loved me like a father and were as honest as the day is long. Except for that that one-eyed Hungarian wench Tessa who was always short-changing me. I'm nothing if not a compassionate, loving and patient guy, but if Tessa's still working that warehouse on the Rheinstrasse when I get back there I think maybe kitty-daddy's gonna have to cut a bitch.
So I'm wandering around the dirty back streets of Esbjerg today, looking for some naive and vulnerable-looking rube to try to rob, when I meet Herick, the 53rd Steampunk enthusiast I've encountered out here just today, and we instantly hit it off. Can you believe he's a fluffer in fetish porn, too? Small world, huh? Anyway it turns out there's a freight train that goes out from Esbjerg, changes engines in Hamburg then goes straight on from there to Berlin, and he swears he can get me into an open freight car when the train slows down at a bridge underpass near the edge of town. He assures me that with my svelte little figure I should easily be able to squeeze between the crates of havarti cheese and pickled herring and evade the customs authorities at the border. I feel like a common hobo, of course, but this is my best chance in weeks to get my journey home back on track. Unfortunately there's a catch: Herick has a scratched-up DVD of his favorite Danish post-apocalypse action movie and he won't take me to the train until I've reviewed it. I'm beginning to see a pattern developing here. I guess I'd better get it over with.
WAR! NUKES! DEATH! DESTRUCTION! Blah, blah, blah. So, according to this movie's internal logic, the entire population of the planet has been reduced to about two dozen 20-25 year-old, slim, white, Western European fashion models. They're all leather-clad BDSM enthusiasts, wearing little more than dog collars, football pads, motorcycle boots, and studded leather bondage gear. Not the high quality, hand-made, S&M aficianado stuff, but that shitty Chinese mail-order knock-off crap that you can never trust is gonna be the right size, smells like WD-40 and always ends up chafing right around the balls. Not that I know this from personal experience.
Oh goodie, it's that same Crossroads nuke test shot I've seen in 24,937 other b-movies made since the 1950's.
The survivors spent all morning applying sunblock and teasing out their hair.
What's left of society has devolved into a quasi-primitive, warlord-based dystopia and these ladies are mostly armed with a variety of simple hand weapons. Swords, dirks and clubs are the order of the day, but there are also a couple of aluminum baseball bats, crossbows and axes from the garden department of Home Depot. One woman even has an iron mace that's almost as big as her head.
They all have perfect teeth, too and wear gobs of smoky eye shadow, smooth even foundation and thick mascara, because apparently they're just a stone's throw from the last surviving Sally Beauty Supply warehouse.
It's right between the last surviving Bondage Bin Leather Outlet and the last surviving Medieval Weapons R Us.
Nothing they're wearing or carrying looks the least bit weathered or worn and their skin and hair is clean, pristine and radiant like they've all just stepped out from an expensive spa day at their local salon. You'd think proper oral and hygeine care would be difficult to maintain, especially considering they all live in a rock quarry with no shelter, no visible sources of food or water, no malls, no Netflix, no cell-phones, no goose-down pillows or bespoke monogrammed bath towels. So how do they stay so healthy and bright? Do they lick themselves clean? Can I watch?
I really want that belt, though. Seriously.
It's almost as if these ladies are actually contract models from a EU-licensed, Scandinavian casting agency and not actually battle-hardened survivors of a nuclear apocalypse.
Also where are the Asian girls? I don't want to live in a world with no Asian girls.
They do have Vasquez from Alien, though.
They all seem to have seething anger issues and an affinity for unnecessary violence, constantly punching, yelling and cussing at each other over the least little perceived slights. So why are they all so darn mad? Is it because they missed the final Taylor Swift concert? Is it because Taylor Swift is the only music they have left? Is it because the 75% off sale at Burberry ended when the first warhead struck? Is it because some kind of biological agent has wiped out all the men in the world? Yes, I think it's that last one, probably. Some women would probably be fine with their men getting wiped out, though. Like Bradley's wife for example. Yeah, I went there.
Say...speaking of seething anger issues, you know what? I've been boozing and pimping and stealing money from Nate for like 15 fucking years, but did he ever once call the police, hire a private detective or send Interpol after me? No he did not. Bradley's a dick.
Like Queen Bitch in the middle there. She's old and she's an asshole. Just like Bradley.
Seems the Queen sent out a messenger to some Loner Chick who lives in a tent by herself on the other side of the quarry. Instead of just delivering the message and coming right back with an answer the messenger stayed overnight and enjoyed some sweet lady-on-lady loving, landing her solidly at the top of the Queen's Special Shit List.
Elvis Pompadour Messenger Chick.
It seems there's a fued between the gang in the quarry and Loner Chick over somebody called "The Last Warrior," a mythical male survivor who, rumor has it, holds the future of all humankind in his hands, and by "future" they mean "genitalia." Supposedly he's gonna repopulate the entire planet with just his one set of junk and these two dozen Scandinavian uber-fraus.
This hot Asian geneticist (you're welcome, Nate) calls bullshit on this movie's shenanigans.
Ah but what heady intrigue is this? The Angry Asshole Queen of the Last Two Dozen Women on Earth has been hiding the "Last Warrior" dude in her tent all this time, mostly just so she and her second in command can hump him whenever the mood strikes them, and all the while she's been assuring her subjects that he doesn't exist. I hope he's not really the last man left on Earth because you can tell just by looking at him the guy is a real douche. He kinda looks like Kerry King from Slayer, but if he really let himself go.
"Metal and doughnuts 4 Ever!"
To be honest I think this guy was in a really shitty tribute band before the war and has since been wandering the wastelands, playing air guitar and screaming off-key metal tunes to the radioactive lizard people. Well, thats what he was doing until Queen Bitch captured him and shoved a ball gag in his mouth to shut him the hell up. We should probably thank her for that.
After a lot of screamin' and cussin' and posin' and humpin' by Queenie and her girls, Loner Chick finally shows up to call out Queen Bitch on keeping Last Warrior Kerry King hostage in her tent.
You, yes you, need a shower.
All hell breaks loose. The whole gang of them start fighting Loner Chick to the death over who gets to bone chunky Kerry King...or maybe they all want to kill him so they can have hot lesbian sex without him filming it on his phone like a perv and uploading it to PornHub...or maybe only Loner Chick with her frosted tips and perfect cheekbones wants to bone him so they can save the human race from extinction together, and the others just want to preen and fight and lick each other clean even though they know they're all gonna die out and leave no progeny behind. Yeah, it's number three, because when presented with multiple options this movie will always pick whichever one is the most stupid.
There's so much stabbing and cutting and dismembering now, and lots and lots of blood. They use a little bit of homemade corn-syrup-and-food-dye stuff and a ton of really bad CGI. Sometimes it's dark red, sometimes almost black, and sometimes it's even purple.
That looks like Klingon blood.
But what's this? Elvis Pompadour Chick has set Kerry King free from his bonds and he shows up with a little sawed-off shotgun equalizer, the only firearm we'll see in the film.
"Where's the Fyre Festival, dude?"
So Kerry King picks off a few of the quarry gals with his last three remaining shells and most of the rest of them get taken out by Loner Chick and Elvis Pompadour Messenger. Despite the best efforts of the poor, underpaid editor, it's painfully obvious the model playing Loner Chick is the only one here with any kind of athletic ability. The others run and scream and swing their little weapons around and really give it their all, but it's more like a college sorority cosplay party than a deadly melee where the fate of humanity is at stake.
Sign your liability waivers! First aid supplies are not in the budget!
By the end of the battle Loner Chick has dispatched all of the quarry chicks and killed Queen Bitch in an anticlimactic, one-on-one showdown that's undercut by some lame, confusing flashbacks of when the two of them were children together. Kinda late to be throwing in a dopey, hackneyed backstory, dontcha think?
Oh, and Last Warrior Kerry King is mortally wounded, lying in the dust and bleeding to death from like twenty places.
So, yeah, I guess that didn't work out as intended. I know she wanted to save the last man but did she have to murder the literal rest of the humanity to do it? I get that these chicks were angry...believe me, pimpin' ain't easy and I know all about angry chicks, people...but couldn't they maybe have called a truce for an hour, had a couple scones and some chai lattes and tried to work things out without committing genocide?
"I killed everybody and now I haz a sad."
But wait! All is not lost because the Last Warrior Kerry King can still get an erection even though he's been stabbed like twenty times in the ribs and maybe been bashed with a hatchet! Man, I seriously can't even perform sometimes if I have a bent whisker or there's a dog in the room...this guy is a sexual superman!
"Oh, yeah, baby...oh, shit that hurts..."
Immediately after he climaxes he dies. When I die I also hope it's under a hot girl after dirty, sweaty sexy-sex, but more than likely it will be in a cardboard box under a bridge somewhere in Kentucky. I have weird premonitions sometimes.
Fast-forward 9 months and despite years of exposure, deprivation, radiation and disease Loner Chick lucked out with a healthy baby boy. Good for her. I hope she's ok with diapers made from flint and shale, because Pampers went out of business a long time ago.
Sorry kid but there aren't any wet wipes either.
Fast-forward again like 18 years and the kid is now calling himself the "First Warrior." I'm not sure how he can be the first when his dad was the last, but whatever. He totally looks like Hayden Christensen and I know I keep thinking I see him up here but I really think it's him this time.
"Nooooooo!"
So intense. Wait, wait, wait...so the human race has now been reduced to just this one woman and her own biological son? I do not like where this is going. Not one bit. I hope they're not still planning to repopulate the planet because their kids are going to have like three arms and weird eyes and shit and that's no way to save a species. Maybe just let it go and hope something less stupid evolves to take your place. Anyway it's better to go extinct than have the whole world look like West Virginia. Amiright?
Can't we just have more of this? No we cant. Everybody's dead.
Shit, the train to Germany is here! Herick, get ready! Hold up! That tail ain't a handle, bro! What do you mean you you have to toss me onto the moving train as it goes by? Herick, you dirty mother...!
The End.
Written in February 2019 by Kelby McFurryballs.
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that's between you and the vengeful wrath of your personal god...