The lights went down and everyone settled back into their seats. According to the program, the next feature was to be a midget short -- and that got the crowd very excited. It was called Movie Maniacs, and it featured a drunken and surly midget dressed up like Charlie Chaplin running amok. He eventually pisses off the wrong people and has to make a run for it. The running looked vaguely familiar, and just as I realized it reminded me of The Wizard of Speed and Time a lone audience member stormed the stage and started kicking the floor.

Despite the audience’s pleas, the short was not repeated backwards.

Fifteen films into a bad movie marathon and the team of Golan/Globus finally shows up. It’s a typical tale of spoiled upscale kids versus poor downtrodden kids whose lives have been honed by the mean streets of the city. But here, instead of knifes and chains, the class war is fought with the power of dance. Dance! DANCE!

After being expelled from a formal dance troupe that was crimping their style, two break dancers, Shabado Quinonas and Bugaloo Shrimp, team up with Lucinda Dickey and Christopher Macdonald and try to win a spot in some big dance revue. Our little troupe preservers and lands the coveted last spot in the revue by dazzling a panel of judges and gradually win them over, eliminating their arch enemies of the formal dance troupe in the process. 

Oh, yeah. The guy singing the theme from Flashdance in the back of the theater? That was me.

I tell you, there ain't no justice in this world.

I wonder if the cafeteria is open yet?

I belong to a select group of people who comprise the Battlefield Earth Club. To talk about Battlefield Earth Club can get you into trouble. What little I can tell you is the video was given to me, with instructions to watch it, and then pass it on to someone else. I did as I was told, and last I heard that single copy had exchanged hands at least a dozen times and was now somewhere in Wyoming. In other words -- seen it, and don’t want to see it again. Never liked John Travolta. Never will. 

On the way to the cafeteria, I curse Quentin Tarintino’s name for giving John his career back. What was he thinking? I don’t know...Travolta always had that face that screams "Punch me!" I buy a couple of cheeseburgers, fries and a big soda and find a table with a nice scenic view of Lake Michigan. At this point, I’m still not sure where Paul is and I hope he’s okay. And factoring in all the circumstances, those were the best dang cheeseburgers I ever ate.

Satiated, I found one of the computer stations situated outside the theater empty and checked my e-mail and dropped by the B-Message Board and logged in on the Live from B-Fest thread, and then made it back inside the theater just in time to see Big John blow the cows apart. *sigh* 

I settle back in my seat, marking time until this -- thing -- ends.

Nothing can restore your faith in humanity by having a classic come along to wipe away the memories of the previous film -- no matter how beat up the print is.

The repairs completed, the film wheezed back to life, and despite several key scenes that vanished completely, Clint Eastwood still napalms the eight-legged nightmare into a big fiery mess. And I don’t care what anybody else says, the special-effects in that movie are pretty darn good.

Christopher Lee drew the short stick, again, and had to go under wraps as Kharis, while Peter Cushing got to play the good guy -- again. Cushing and some others desecrate the tomb of Princess Ananka, and accidentally awaken Kharis -- Ananka’s guardian. The scene switches to England where a high priest of Ananka sics Kharis on those who raided her tomb. He buzzsaws through most of them, but turns out that Cushing’s wife is the spitting image of Ananka. So Kharis catches her and tromps off into the bog where the high priest is killed, the girl is saved, and poor Kharis sinks into the muck until the next sequel.

I’m still laughing at that big honking elephant gun that the spindly Cushing was hauling around. That thing was lifting him! And it also should have knocked him right on his English-keester every time he fired it.

And believe me, brothers and sisters, I had the best seat in the house. I saw everything. I had the seats memorized of all the laser pointers, flashlights, and the "GYMKATA!" guy. In fact, I encourage everyone to try B-Fest from the back row at least once. It’ll give you a whole new perspective.

The Japanese have found a UFO deep in the ocean and accidentally activate it. Meanwhile, Godzilla is rampaging along the coast. And I find it funny that they don’t even bother to evacuate anymore when he attacks, and the military doesn't give a hoot about civilian casualties. After a rousing battle between the Big G and the military, the UFO shows up, and after a quick DNA check on the monster, blasts him back into the ocean. The UFO then settles on a building and hacks into the world’s computers and starts gathering data on Godzilla. A scientist, his cute kid and a feisty reporter figure out that the aliens have come to Earth to colonize and will adapt to the most dominate species, which is obviously Godzilla.

Godzilla resurfaces and stomps into the city. He’s here to kick a little alien ass and chew bubble gum. And he’s all out of bubble gum. Heck, he doesn’t even like bubble gum. The UFO poops out an alien that quickly transforms into a bizarre combination of Godzilla and Gamera. He takes out half the city, but Godzilla manages to destroy the UFO and then turns his attention on the alien. The alien in turn tries to eat him, but quickly finds out that Godzilla is bad for the digestion -- and is flash-fried from the inside out.

Unfortunately, that can only mean one thing.

As the lights came up, I took a couple of seconds to soak up the carnage left over from the last day and half. Wracked with pangs of regret, I came to terms with the fact that one of the greatest 24-hour periods of my life had come to an end. I wanted it to keep going, but it was over.

So, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed for next year. 

In other words -- See ya’ll at B-Fest 2003.

We made it back into Omaha about 2:30 in the morning. I could have pressed on to Grand Island, but chose instead to borrow a bed again. As I fell onto the bed, the next thing I knew it was almost 1:30 the next afternoon. Having put all my stuff in my car the night before, all I had to do was jump in the Barneymobile and head home. I made one quick stop at Krypton Comics and bought a copy of The Star Wars Holiday Special and several back issues of The Hulk. And then it was back on the road where home, my own bed and a nice long shower was waiting.