This week:

This week we have a very special treat. Every day this week, my nephew Jimmy will be camping out in line at the Olde Town Colorado Cinemas for Friday's first screening of The Two Towers. In exchange for the price of a ticket, Jimmy is letting me publish his new journal entry each day.

Many of you remember Jimmy. He is the president of his high school's "Dungeons and Dragons" club, claims to live on the blood of virgins, and is also leading a sit-in protest to make "The Philosophy of Star Trek" an official class on campus. A year ago he changed his name from Jimmy to Necron, Romancer of Death. We in the family still call him Jimmy, and you can too. It pisses him off.

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By 16-year-old Jimmy Critic

Six a.m.

This is Necron, Romancer of Death, with a dispatch from the netherworld of my nefarious existence. For those of you living in the narrow world of the present, today is Sunday, December 8, 2002 A.D. For me, it is the first day of the rest of my life... and death. Simultaneously. Try to wrap your puny little brains around that one.

I rose before the sun this morning, greeted the darkness and then waited for the gathering gloom of daylight while my sister hogged the bathroom. I nourished myself by draining the life force out of a crow with my mind. Then my mom made me some oatmeal and told me to wear a warm jacket under my trench coat. But I have my mind to keep me warm.

I wanted to get in line for The Two Towers last week, before all the weaklings started showing up. But my earth-bound mother, the bitch, said I had to go to school. Oh, yeah, like algebra and health are more important than J. R. R. Tolkein. Helllloo? Derrrr. I guarantee you that in twenty years, arithmetic will be long forgotten. Our bodies won't even exist. I'll live entirely in my mind, entering the lowly physical world to gather nourishment from virgins and to trade "Magic: The Gathering" cards.

7:40 a.m.

Because of my mom, and because she wouldn't drop me off until she was leaving for work, I'm sixth in line, not first. I should be one millionth, because if you aren't in line you're a loser. What do you have to do that's more important than sitting in line for The Two Towers? Nothing, so shut up.

Barry Warner is first. Tolkein's spinning in his grave because to have Barry Warner get the best seat is an insult. He hasn't even read all of the books, and we wouldn't let him join our Vampyre Den because he doesn't know the words to "Skullful of Maggots" by Cannibal Corpse. Fucking loser. Tolkein wanted me to be first and now I have to go through eternity, knowing not a day will go by that I don't think that I let Tolkein down.

Second in line is this really fat, disgusting, funny-smelling guy about 30 with red hair who laughs at his own jokes. He talks a lot, but he knows everything about Tolkein. It's hard not to look at him and admire him. He's let his body deteriorate to the point that he obviously isn't living in the physical realm, or at least worrying about morbid obesity. I can hardly wait until the day I graduate from the terrestrial prison called Arvada West High School. On that day, the universes will open and all roads will be available to me. I will have the strength, mental acuity and opportunity to do anything I want. I will choose to get as fat as humanly possible and sit in my bedroom all day long, communicating with like-minded souls via psychic waves, or chat rooms. This fat pig is my idol.

People three through five are members of the Vampyre's Den: Black Angel, Ash Muerto and Cyberius X. We agreed to meet at six, earthling time. But then my mom would only give me a ride on her way to work, so I was late.

8:20 a.m.

It's really cold. I have to retreat into the wondrous realm of the mind to remind myself that temperature matters not. Otherwise, I have to piss.

10:07 a.m.

There are now 15 people in line. I wonder why everyone is white and male? Also, I think Barry Warner is jerking off in his pants.

12:15 p.m.

There is a real sense of community developing in line. We are people with a common goal: to see The Two Towers before anyone else and thereby have a competitive advantage over the rest of society. We share common interests and while some of the people in line behind me are shockingly ignorant about "Deep Space Nine" I believe that they share my goals and interests. They are the cream of the crop.

1:30 p.m.

Looking around at my linemates, it's obvious we have assembled one of the most powerful brain trusts the world has even seen. If the terrorists really wanted to win, they would bomb us because who would moderate the "Babylon 5" newsgroup then?

This group could create a self-sustaining and peaceful ecosphere right now. I will call it the Necrosphere. If you put us in a dome over us, we would have the power and intellect to survive without any help from the outside world. We'd create our own oxygen, our own waste recycling, water filtration and governance. Oh, but we'd need a Taco Bell, one that serves Mountain Dew.

3:17 p.m.

My mom just stopped by, honked her horn and asked if I wanted a ride home. No, Mom, Cyberius X won't hold my place in line. And his name isn't Wayne any more. God, she's so annoying.

5:08 p.m.

It is dark now. The night creatures will be coming out to prowl and feast on the flesh of the weak. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howls. Every time a coyote howls, a baby has been sacrificed at the altar of Satan. Good. I hate babies.

7:12 p.m.

There are 37 people in line now. We are all still white and male. If I were a girl I would be in line just so I could hang out with me.

The people after the first twenty are too lame to live in the Necrosphere. They will have to stand outside and wish they could be me and that fat guy. A man stood in our line for two hours before he asked if it was the line for Extreme Ops. Nobody else has left. Ash made a run to Taco Bell because he gets an employee discount and he pissed in Barry's Coke before he got back.

The theater won't let us use their bathrooms. I want to go behind the building, but what if some other guy comes and tries to sneak a peek?

8:30 p.m.

I will conclude my first day of journal. This is only the first step in a long journey to Rivendell. Not all the warriors in line will complete the journey. And if someone dies, I have dibs on his jacket. It's so damn cold.


7:15 a.m.

I didn't sleep well, but I woke up and my hands were frozen to my face with drool. It was so cold last night that I still can't feel my fingers and I have a splitting headache. I reiterate, I cannot wait to be free of the shackles of this mortal coil. But every moment of torture and discomfort will make the movie that much better.

At about midnight, my body gave out on my and I had to piss in a bush. I pretended I had a Romulan cloaking device so nobody could see my wiener.

Last night, two people left the line when the temperature dropped below freezing. A man near the end of the line yelled "Fucking homos!" Then he chased and tackled them.

There is no way I'm getting out of line now.

9:47 a.m.

There are now 68 people in line, and only four sets of "Star Trek" RPG cards to go around. The first girl got in line a few minutes ago. She has the best-looking homemade Galadriel costume I have ever seen. She's too far back in line for me to get a good look at her, but she's probably hot.

12:14 p.m.

Well, word has made it up the line. Everyone says the girl is hot. The guy behind me said that on a scale of one to ten, she's a Class 6 Druid.

She can live in the Necrosphere with me and we will breed a race of super vampyre babies. I know I said I hate babies, but I love vampyre babies. Once they get their teeth.

1:13 p.m.

That was the best gordita I've ever eaten.

2:34 p.m.

I can tell she's pretty because all the guys around her are trying to outdo each other's "Stargate" trivia in really loud voices to each other, but not to her.

Barry Warner claims he made out with the girl in the Digimon video display booth at ComiCon. He's a liar. Galadriel is too much of a lady to swap spit with him.

4:48 p.m.

The more I think about it the angrier I get at Barry. He didn't kiss her and I want to tell her what he said. It is my duty to protect her honor. I would, except I don't want to lose my place in line.

6:12 p.m.

My lame mom just came by and dropped off a jacket. It would be totally embarrassing if 20 other guys moms didn't do the same thing. I bet Galadriel is shivering. White gauzy dresses aren't warm and no amount of bragging by the jerks around her will keep her warm.

8:20 p.m.

Word was passed up the line that Galadriel might have to leave the line. She's cold. I don't want my super-breeding vampyre to leave. I know that with 84 people in line that my odds of winning her heart are 83 to one, but that's way better than at any of the sci-fi conferences.

9:19 p.m.

Galadriel left the line. I don't know what strength possessed me, but I lost my spot when I ran after her. Well, first I yelled, "Hey, you, come here." But she just kept walking. I thought if she came, everyone else would let her get in next to me because she's a girl and they like girls.

Galadriel's real name is Shawna and she is the most beautiful, graceful woman in the world. She's pooping behind the theater right now. I will sign off because I have a long night of mind-melding ahead of me. Two Towers rules!


6:17 a.m.

The beauty of night's darkness is about to be devoured by the werewolf of daylight. I didn't write that; the lovely and mysterious Shawna did. Now this is me writing (but Shawna is watching): I fear that the wonder of the night will be shattered by the Sun's unwelcome arrival. Was I awake all night or has it been an incredible dream, like the time I dreamt I was bathing Neil Gaiman's feet?

We're at the end of the line, 92nd. Shawna is 93rd in line, but number one in my heart. I know what you think, why not let her be 93rd? Because I am the man, that's why. I liked being sixth, but life is about sacrifices. So is death.

8:24 a.m.

Shawna hates eggs just like me. Only total jerks like eggs. We split a Double Big Gulp of Mountain Dew and a bag of Gem Donettes for breakfast while the roads around us clogged with dead-eyed commuters going to their pointless jobs. It's hard not to feel better than everyone else, so why fight it?

11:17 a.m.

Shawna and I have spent more than two hours arguing about whether Frank Herbert's son should keep writing Dune books. The arguing got heated at time

It is almost worth losing 86 places because I found a woman of unusual beauty, both inside and outside. She's not as fat as most Trekker chicks and she only has a little acne around her mouth. Not like me. That's another advantage of being the immortal undead. From everything I read there are no zits. It's a cute ring of white dots, like Centurion warriors guarding the treasures that lie within. I call them my little Tribbles.

I know she is pretty inside because we French kissed and I totally slipped her the tongue right in the middle of it. Frenc kissing is the best because when your tongues meet, it's like your minds meet. And when they wrestle, it's like an argument. That was so boss. So many girls act like they're into hard sci-fi and fantasy just because they want to fuck wizards and get favors from the dungeon master, but Shawna is different. She is really into it. She even has a scar on her arm where she carved "Piers Anthony" with a protractor.

Finding Shawna just goes to show that J.R.R. Tolkein is looking down on us from that great Rivendell in the sky.

1:44 p.m.

Shawna and I liked the Donettes so much we bought more for lunch. It is cute how she likes the powdered ones better. When I sell my vampire-robot novel and move out of my mom's I am totally going to eat Donettes for every meal. They are the perfect food.

To drink, you ask? MOUNTAIN FUCKING DEW!

I want to die in Shawna's arms.

3:17 p.m.

I just threw up. I am hiding behind the theater and my stomach hurts so bad I think I‘m going to puke again. Shawna and I were making out and I joked about Barry Warner. She said she did kiss him.

It made me want to curl up and die. I stuck my tongue in her mouth and so did Barry. Not at the same time, but I did some calculations and she's only brushed her teeth about 1400 times since she kissed him, and that's assuming she brushes three times a day. I don't know. Now that I think about it, her teeth are sort of gross.

If I wasn't sure before, I now I know I have not made the transition to the undead yet because my heart is breaking.

6:12 p.m.

Shawna is looking for me. I am hiding behind the dumpster and she came back here calling my name and saying she was all sorry. Probably sorry that she didn't French kiss Barry Warner some more. But I don't ever want to see her again. I never want to feel her soft touch or run my tongue across the roof of her tender mouth. I can never forgive her.

8:14 p.m.

She has my jacket. She has my jacket and I am freezing. And I lost my place in line and I bet Barry Warner is laughing at me right now. That is, when he isn't French kissing Shawna and drooling in her mouth.

I want to go home. This isn't fun anymore at all.


12:14 a.m.

I am in hell, with the tongue-like flames of eternity licking at my legs, only they are covered with Barry Warner's spit. I could swallow my pride just like Shawna is probably swallowing his wiener. I could call my mom and ask her to pick me up, but she'll be mad that I don't have my jacket. I can't sleep, partly because I am crying and partly because the rotten hot dogs in the dumpster smell really bad.

The cold doesn't bother me. I guess I'm used to it, even with this gaping cavity in my chest where she ripped my heart out.

4:35 a.m.

I am a creature of the night. I thrive on the silence, when people are sleeping in their beds all soft and warm and completely unaware of the hell the Vampyre Den will unleash as soon as w get our drivers licenses. Even with my broken heart, even with the bitter cold and the horde of jackals out in front of the theater laughing at me, I am making lemonade from the lemons life has given me.

I have been thinking about my robot novel titled "I, Bloodthirsty Robot." It is over 730 pages long now, but I just came up with the perfect paragraph: "In the murky depths of Dr. Phetys's laboratory, the recharger clicked off. Robocula's electronic eyes fluttered open and the apertures adjusted to the dim light. In his metallic gut he had a deep craving for the iron that only human blood could provide. He jerked to life, tearing free of his cables and chasing the doctor through the lab. ‘No!' screamed Phetys as his own creation's needle-sharp teeth sunk deep into his neck. As his alloy reticulum filled with energy-giving blood, Robocula's artificial intelligence server recognized the irony of what he was doing. He had just killed his master and now he would rampage, leaving red rivers in the streets."

That's so fucking scary. If the Random House people read this they'll probably start shitting bricks.

6:27 a.m.

I finally dozed off only to be woken by Ash Muerto. He said Shawna left the line. I guess she French kissed Barry enough to last her a while. So, I am going back to the line.
I know I'll be made fun of, but I don't care. Tolkein needs me. Besides, I will take names and kill my enemies later.

9:43 a.m.

I am now number 112 in line. That's like being 12th loser. Even if I cracked the top 100, people would think I'm a poser. But now I am back here with the people who bring sleeping bags, frisbees and barbecues and act like this is a picnic. It's not. This is our atonement, a way to cleanse ourselves before feasting on The Two Towers. Anyone who thinks it's supposed to be fun is an idiot.

11:22 a.m.

Barry Warner hasn't woken up yet. I wonder why. That was sarcastic. He fell asleep last night and he hasn't moved, they said, and he's sweating really bad. He probably got herpes from Shawna.

1:14 p.m.

There are now nearly 150 of us in line. I know that the news crews will be here soon and then Two Towers mania will hit fever pitch. I wrote up a bunch of 3x5 cars with all of my thoughts about Tolkein so if local anchor Ed Greene asks me I can prove that I am the number one fan.

2:04 p.m.

They are sending an ambulance for Barry. He finally woke up and vomited some blood.

3:13 p.m.

Cyberius X said that before Shawna left she was crying really hard. He said she didn't even ask anyone to save her place in line.

5:44 p.m.

Ash thinks I was too hard on Shawna. He said that if she had made out with Barry twice I should be upset. But she only did it once and maybe she knew it was a mistake. He said that at least she was honest, but I would have rather she lied. I mean, if I am going to do something as unhygienic as French kiss a girl I at least want to believe I'm not sticking my tongue in some moldy, moist tunnel of past love. I swear I can taste Barry's spit in my mouth.

Besides, being a vampyre means never having to say you're sorry.

8:12 p.m.

The line has taken on a depressing party atmosphere. I bet up near the front people don't have boomboxes and ice chests.

It's cold and I wish Shawna were here, but only because she has my jacket.

10:19 p.m.

Shawna was wrong to kiss Barry and I can never forgive her. I don't know why I keep thinking about her. She was pretty and nice and she got my jokes, which very few people are smart enough to get. But I am over her. I don't even think about her anymore.

But I wish there were another girl exactly like her, but who didn't have Barry's germs all over her mouth. That would be my soulmate.


6:17 a.m.

Shawna. What have I done?

I have awoken with a lucidity that they say only comes with old age. Except, I'm not old. I'm just really smart. I know now that I am human because no android's heart could hurt this much. This means I can stop drinking colloidal silver.

I have entombed myself in a series of mythologies that are meaningless. Jr. Tolkein? He wrote children's stories about an almost exclusively white male world that's gayer than a Robert Mapplethorpe exhibit. Robots? Vampyres? What the hell was I thinking?

I'll tell you what I was thinking: I thought the "y" made it cool. And deep down I thought that if I burrowed far enough into the minutiae I could drown out that little voice in the back of my head that told me I sucked. If I surrounded myself with enough similarly doughy, underexercised role-playing gamers that our opinion actually mattered. That if all of us got together and collected pewter dragons as one we could change the world.

I was so blind. Only one thing can change the world: love. This world of fantasy and sci-fi is for weaklings and losers who can't face the real world.

8:23 a.m.

I'm out. Out of line. Fuck this shit, I need to find Shawna.

I asked every person here if they knew where Shawna lives. Nobody does. Nobody but one person, and they hauled to Lutheran Medical yesterday morning.

Do I go to the hospital and face my nemesis?

10:17 a.m.

It's taken three buses to get here, but standing at the doors of Lutherna Medical proves my love for Shawna.

My heart is pounding in my chest like it's about to rupture and all my blood will run down into my legs. It's worse than the time I drank eight cans of Red Bull. Am I scared? Yes. Falling in love means being scared. I read that in a comic in the classified section one day but I didn't realiz ewhat it meant until now.

I can still turn away, give up on love and not be afraid to face Barry Warner.

12:45 p.m.

I am sitting by Barry's bed, waiting for him to wake up. The doctor's said he is going to be all right. Apparently he's a diabetic and didn't bring any insulin with him to the theater. Derrrrr. I told you he was a retard.

When Barry wakes up I will ask him where Shawna lives. He is in a weakened state, barely able to move. When Barry tells me, it will heal the rift that exists between us. I am sorry I called him a fake, I regret not letting him into the Vampyre Den. I am sorry that I treated him the way the popular kids treated me. I will tell him all of this.

1:31 p.m.

Barry beat the shit out of me. He woke up, yelled "Son of a bitch", ripped out his IV and started wailing on me. I tried to fight back, but he was all arms and hands, slapping and pulling hair. I screamed for help when he started biting but nobody came. Luckily an alarm was triggered when the IV drained out onto the floor and the nurses arrived. They broke up the fight.

2:17 p.m.

I think Barry broke my nose. He can slap really hard. He never told me the address. I never even had a chance to ask. I am back on the bus now, the key to my happiness in the iron grip of Barry Warner. True love is for stronger men than me. It is for not only romantics, but romantics who can put up or shut up.

I'm going back to get in line for The Two Towers.

Jimmy has asked to end his journal here. He needs his time to re-establish his badly-damaged credibility with the other members of the Vampyre's Den.

Want to tell Filthy Something?

Filthy's Reading
Robert Evans - The Kid Stays in the Picture

Listening to
Pavement - Slanted and Enchanted


Citizen Kane

The Pride of Canada, Mose Persico, of Entertainment Spotlight

Star Trek Nemesis:"The franchise is alive and heathy! Warp speed ahead to theaters"

Maid in Manhattan
is "the ideal and perfect movie for the holidays!!"

With Eight Crazy Nights "You'll laugh out loud!"


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