Ah, the ghostie shows again. Their utterly hideous line deliveries make television’s worst actor, David Caruso, look positively Shakespearean.
Last night, as the Thriller watched one of these “SyFy” (synonymous with horrendously bad screenwriting and acting — and if you think ghostie shows aren’t totally scripted and craftily edited, you’re mistaken) gems, I transcribed what I heard. Brilliant stuff. Behold…
(Spoken with infernal, nonstop banging sound in the background)
“Hey, what was that?”
“Something just went FOOoOOOoOo!”
“I heard something behind me, bro.”
“Don’t show fear!”
“I just saw a shadow.”
“I saw a mist grab Nick’s leg!”
“Smell this. We are smelling sulfur, which is a bad thing.”
“It’s pandemonium right now.”
“I got eyeball pain really bad.”
(Calling out) “How many spirits are here with me right now?”
“Dude, that’s not good.”
Next: the country’s only haunted tattoo parlor. I cannot wait. Heh heh. Makes me laff. Maybe that’s the reaction they’re looking for.
Ghostie shows: closet comedy. Kind of like Pat Robertson’s recent boneheaded comments.
This is a Freightliner truck. Its cab is designed to hold four people. It was behind the wheel of this kind of truck that Miami Dolphins DE Randy Starks was found in Miami early Sunday morning, inching down Ocean Drive, in the company of not three other people (which would have maxed out the seating capacity), but thirteen — one of whom was sitting on Starks’s lap while he drove.
Anyway, Starks was arrested because he refused to stop when police chased him down in bumper-to-bumper traffic on foot, banging on the windows and commanding him to get out. (I can only imagine what that looked like.) One officer almost got pancaked between the creepaway truck and another car. Delicious.