I mean really, who plays the French Horn anymore. Sheesh. Had I seen that dude on the side of the road, I would have run over him myself, and I'm not even Evil. But I bet I would have gotten a very appreciative call from Evil saying "hey thanks, you saved me a trip." But mostly, I couldn't stop thinking about the car. I mean The Car! I watched it tear down the open road, mowing over pedestrian after pedestrian at top speeds and I couldn't help but think to myself... that thing must get really shitty gas mileage. It's a 1971 Lincoln Continental Mark III after all.
What do you think we're talking here? 12 in the city and 18 on the highway? There's no doubt that Evil has good taste, but I'm hoping that he has deep pockets as well. I can only imagine that Evil was probably at the pump twice a week filling that gas guzzler, making small talk with the gas attendant "Yeah, me again. Fill it with premium and if you can get that brain matter off my windshield, there's a nice tip in it for you. Thanks."
This entry is part of Final Girl's Film Club.