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Cloverfield: So Bad, It Hurts!

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The following blog posts were found at the site formerly known as lazyslackerslugsdeservetodie.com.  Government codename: “Cloverfield is a shameless Blair Witch Project rip-off, isn‘t it?"  ITEM NO.: 37-X2267-001-4A.

Tuesday,
JAN. 22, 2008
6:48 a.m.

Wake up groggy in a naked pile of MTV-type models after an all-night orgy with other decadent members of my mind-numbing, video game-playing, generation. What a glorious day to be blasé!  I peek out the window at the Kurt Cobain-inspired gloom and ponder what the day holds for me out in the cold, cruel world. Certainly not a Godzilla-sized, man-eating monster, I muse!

Tuesday,
JAN. 22, 2008
6:52 a.m.

After realizing it is only 6:52 in the freaking morning, I make a pro-active choice and go back to bed. I sleep to noon.

Tuesday,
JAN. 22, 2008
12:01 p.m.

After sleeping to noon, I check my text messages, my email, the voice mail on my cell phone, my home answering machine, the comments section on my blog, the comments section on the blogs of each and every friend of mine, my Blackberry, my Facebook account, and my profile page on MySpace for any updates. And then, rather suddenly, I realize that I was supposed to be at work four hours ago. That’s a slacker for you!

Tuesday,
JAN. 22, 2008
2:31 p.m.

Lazy slacker girlfriend finally wakes up. Upon thoughtful reflection over a bowl of Frosted Flakes she informs me that it’s time we “take a break from one another.”  When I ask why, she matter of factly reminds me that “it’s not you… it's me.” When I politely inform her that she’s ripping off Seinfeld, she leaves my tastefully decorated loft that I could never possibly afford on my salary in a huff, slamming the door behind her. Then and there, it suddenly dawns on me that I never told my girlfriend how much I care about her, you know, in case she gets gobbled up by a gigantic space monster (or something) that randomly decides to terrorize the city today. Ironic.

Tuesday,
JAN. 22, 2008
2:34 p.m.

I shrug in a shallow fashion, crack open a beer, and toss myself on the tangled, naked pile of supermodels on my bed. What else can you do?

Saturday,
JAN. 26, 2008
8:37 p.m.

After several days of self-agonizing, constant brooding, supposed soul-searching, and watching endless hours of videotape featuring my ex-girlfriend and I having meaningless sex in the bathrooms at Chuck E. Cheese, I decide it is finally time to “grow up” and move on with my life. And, I surmise, there’s no better way to do just that then by throwing “a kegger.”

Saturday,
JAN. 26, 2008
9:46 p.m.

There’s nothing like an announcement of “free beer” to fill your life with love. Friends I never knew I had suddenly flood my overpriced loft like a faulty septic tank. Thoughts of my ex-girlfriend are soon washed away with the tides of good conversation:

FRIEND #1: “Dude, what’s up?”
SAD-SACK ME: “What’s up, dude?”
FRIEND #2: “Dude, what‘s up?”
SAD-SACK ME: “Nuthin’, dude. What’s up with you?”
FRIEND #3: “Dude …what is up?”
SAD-SACK ME: “Dude! I don’t even wanna talk about it, dude!”

Saturday,
JAN. 26, 2008
10:23 p.m.

Our dazzling debates are unexpectedly interrupted by a massive eruption that shakes the very foundation of our misguided souls. We all instinctively grab our camcorders and race up to the roof like lambs to the proverbial slaughter. Explosions ignite the sky as someone – or something – begins to attack the (name of a beloved historical landmark in your city, province, hamlet or town). “Holy shit, dude!”

Saturday,
JAN. 26, 2008
10:41 p.m.

Like some lab rats all “hopped up” on Diet Pepsi Max, my friends and I race to the street below to get a better look at whatever CGI-creation awaits us. I just hope my best friend in the world gets to tell me what “a loser” I am before this mega-marketing behemoth delivers its final death blow to us all.

Saturday,
JAN. 26, 2008
11:57 p.m.

A shadowy monster and/or space alien attacks! A shadowy monster and/or space monster breathes fire and demolishes the town in a zealous fit of rage! A shadowy monster and/or space alien devours a group of my beloved friends like an unmotivated teenager devours McDonald’s double cheeseburgers on the Dollar Value Menu. Why, (name of politically correct deity), WHY? And, then, the money-shot: We gasp in horror as the decapitated head of the nearby Jerry Springer statue rolls to a stop at our frustrated generation’s feet, symbolizing … nothing.

Sunday,
JAN. 27, 2008
12:22 a.m.

The remainder of my friends and I race to the safety of the bridge … or the subway … or any underground place where we can pause for a moment and reflect on the state of our sad, sorry lives. Why, I wonder, didn’t I work harder on my past relationships? Why, I wonder, didn’t I work harder to tell my ex-girlfriend (who is probably the monster version of Hamburger Helper by now) how I felt about her? Why, I wonder, didn’t I work harder on things that really mattered in life, like my writing career or my pretentious novel — No Country For All The Pretty Horses On Brokeback Mountain (working title)?

Sunday,
JAN. 27, 2008
3:14 a.m.

The city is in flames and nearly destroyed now – an empty shell, just like me. My friends and I could have escaped hours ago, but instead (for some retarded reason) I decided to drag them all back into the city to rescue my ex-girlfriend and, most likely, meet their untimely deaths. I ponder how this cruel twist of fate could have possibly happened to me — especially when this cruel twist of fate comes from the creator of Lost, J.J. Abrams!  But then, unwittingly, as death looms near, I realize  — it must have been Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse all along.

Sunday,
JAN. 27, 2008
6:57 a.m.

This may very well be my final post. My friends are all dead now. Most likely, eaten by witches (I told them we shouldn’t go camping!). Wait – I’m delirious. It’s that monster, I mean. That mean old monster has destroyed the city and is coming for me now. Hopefully, it is merciful and devours me before they make the sequel, Cloverfield 2: Film Cheap Or Die Hard. And, similar to the slug-like generation of my ilk, I am simply too lazy to go on … or write a proper ending to this story. Tell J.J. Abrams, I’m sorry … and (gasp) … can I have a job …?

END TRANSMISSION.

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About Chris McVetta

Chris McVetta is a writer and comedian from Cleveland, Ohio. He is a graduate from Cleveland State University and an alumni of The Second City comedy writing program. His first job in journalism was as an Editorial Assistant working with Harvey Pekar ("American Splendor") at The Free Times. Most recently, his was invited to speak at the Ray Browne conference on Pop Culture at Bowling Green State University.
  • xtianrz

    I hated the blair witch bullshit- …..zzzzz boring ZZZZZZ. This movie is the same???? ZZZZ

  • Chris McVetta

    I think you’re missing the point here:

    The monster(s) from “Cloverfield” eat shallow, misguided, twenty-something financial bankers …for no apparent reason.

    The witches from “Blair Witch Project” eat shallow, misguided, twenty-something film school students …for no apparent reason.

    Wait. I’m boring MYSELF now (shallow and misguided) …for no apparent reason.