Episode 37 – Life After Beth (2014)

or “Night of the Living Ludgate”

Featuring: Aubrey “The To Do List” Plaza , Dane “The Amazing Spider-Man 2” DeHaan , John C. “Step Brothers” Reilly

Director & Writer: Jeff “I <3 Huckabees” Baena

Origin: USA


“I’m not dead, I’m alive. I can’t be both!”

Hey kids. Long time no see. Sorry about pulling the old “I’m going to the Chug ‘N Plug for cigarettes” routine on ya. I didn’t plan on leaving you guys and gals in the lurch with no Death God-spun reviews and ridicules for the last two months. Unfortunately, your Uncle Anubis is a Quixotic Casanova, and this hopeless romantic was out falling in love with a fling that ended up being just another windmill. But, bruised heart aside, it was one of those relationships that just wasn’t meant to be. “Love” is what you call it when two peoples’ mental illnesses synch up…until they don’t…then it’s called…ah, who the fuck knows, fuck nose. Enough with the heartache, Lord Byron, we came here for a movie review!

On today’s docket is Life After Beth, a zombie-centric tale about love post postmortem and dealing with the regrets and realities of break ups…shit…what an awkward time to do a movie like this…that I fully intended to review two months ago. I guess my Evil Dead Bride is right: I’m a self-fulfilling prophecy! Maybe if I keep telling myself that I’ll become Aubrey Plaza’s canine-humanoid object of eternal lust, I’ll actually become a prophecy I WANT to fulfill! Propheting for fun and profit! Meh. Enough with the life coaching, Tony Robbins, get to the damn review!

Aubrey Plaza stole my heart as the foulmouthed Julie Powers in Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World, and has since kept a stranglehold on said life pump as April Ludgate, the modern day Darlene Conner in “Parks & Recreation”. Her quick wit and paralyzing sarcasm are like 500cc’s of liquid Viagra right into my happiness parts. Because you can’t pronounce “happiness” without “penis”. I wrote a haiku about it in sixth grade English. True story.

Ms. Plaza plays our titular “Beth” – a barely legal gal who lives with her parents Maury (John C. Reilly) and Geenie (Molly Shannon) in their well-to-do, whitewashed paradise in the Los Angeles suburbs. Life’s not all sunshine and sugar-free gum for young Miss Slocum though (whose last name is one letter away from the first girl I feel in love with, and thus makes this review all the more awkward than it already was…THANKS, MOVIE!). Recently she broke up with her beloved skinny, emo walking corpse of a boyfriend Zach Orfman (Dane DeHaan) for reasons of, I don’t know, “teen stuff”. Possibly because he’s so creepy looking. Did you see Harry Osborn in Amazing Spider-Man 2 after he was exposed to the Green Goblin gas? That’s Dane DeHaan without makeup! It’s true! Imagine that on top of you, humping away, making all those horrible sex faces… Yeah… Blart.

While out on a little hike through the 1% of unmolested LA countryside, our adorable antagonist runs afoul of an unfriendly serpent (not to be confused with my very affectionate trouser snake I’d like to introduce her to) who penetrates her alabaster legs with its venomous love tap, killing our angel-with-resting-bitch-face before we even get to the opening credits.

Would I still? Oh, I would. You know what I mean. It’s not necrophilia if it’s done out of love, it’s necroamory. Just because I can’t legally marry Aubrey Plaza’s bloated, discolored corpse doesn’t make our love any less real than what you have, you fucking Nazis! Ah, who am I kidding. Corpsey Plaza would probably just break my onyx-encrusted jackal heart too.

After Beth’s unexpected expiration, Zach bonds with Mr. and Mrs. Slocum in their shared grief, playing late night games of chess and sparking up jazz cigarette doobies full of the marijuanas together. Zach also starts wearing one of Beth’s old winter scarves (During summer in California? Fucking hipster.), to which he forms a bond that…I’ll leave up to you to view. Just keep a barf bucket handy for your eyeballs. Anyway, their little three-person support group is cut short when the object of said grief suddenly returns! Was Beth brought back by the Slocums’ minority housemaid a la Zombie Nightmare? Was she possibly bombarded by cosmic radiation from a crashed satellite? Was the ground she was buried in saturated with a failed experimental marijuana defoliant created by the US government? Did her parents have her buried in the Pet Sematary by accident?! Whatever the case, their Life After Beth has just become…uhm…life with Beth? Re-life with Beth? Life with re-Beth? Bah. Enough with the shitty re-titling jokes, Rex Reed, get to the rest of the review!

All weirdness and mystery around Beth’s resurrection (not to be confused the with res-erection she gives me) aside, mom and dad are just pleased as (spiked) punch to have their little girl returned to them by the grace of “God”. But, they’re also well aware of the potential shitstorm it would cause if anyone else ever found out about this miraculous event, so they opt to keep Beth in the house and away from the outside world. Attempts to keep Zach away were unsuccessful though, and his snoopery ended up getting him in on the big secret. He immediately wants to take her out and use this second chance at shared happiness to experience the world with her, bucking the adults’ better judgment as teens are oft to do. To paraphrase a Texas propane salesman though, that Beth ain’t right. She has no recollection of dying, now insists on living in the attic, keeps talking about how she has some test she needs to study for and goes through violent mood swings while displaying signs of superhuman strength. She also has an odd aphrodisian proclivity for smooth jazz and she doesn’t remember breaking up with Zach, thus she’s still madly in love with him…a bit more madly than prior to her death. Weird, right? Nah. I’d still let her put a gimp mask on me and lead me around on a leash. Enough with the sadomasochism, Donatien Alphonse François de Sade, is the movie any good or not?!

As a dark comedy, Life After Beth works. The movie delves into pretty dark territory more than once. Not Under Siege 2: Dark Territory either, but actual dark territory. Like, “that’s some upsetting shit” type dark territory, not terrorists-on-a-train type dark territory. Just wanted to make sure that was clear. Sadly, the bite of some of said darkness is blunted later on like a crocodile with corked teeth, but there’s still some sad to be had that throws off the comedic ballast of this boat trip just a bit. But hey, any comedian will tell you that comedy comes from suffering, and the whole movie’s all a big metaphor for getting over a bad breakup. Heartbreak is the worst pain of all, right? Just don’t tell that to people with cluster headaches. No, seriously, that shit’s supposed to be worse than giving birth. I read it on a “Top 10 Most Painful Medical Conditions” website…GO LOOK IT UP! Enough with the snap diagnosis, WedMD, let’s get this over with!

As a zombie flick, LAB‘s makeup work is pretty damn slick, while the gore is pleasantly graphic and gets abundant later on. It’s no Braindead, but it is a bit of a shock at how much of the red stuff comes out once they open the floodgates. It’s like a suicide bomber going to Heaven and finding out that ALL 72 of his promised virgins get their period on the same cycle. Speaking of misery, the stages of Beth’s zombie transition and Zach’s handling of it are a horror movie embodiment of the five stages of grief, and I appreciate the metaphor. It doesn’t come off as too “punch you in the face” with the approach and actually made me feel a little better about my own recently deceased bout of romantic human interaction.

Personal therapeutic biases aside, overall I thought it was an okay movie. Not bad for the guy who wrote I Fart Fuckabees. Nothing to set the world on fire, and I think I’m a little too old for romantic teen zomedies at my advanced state of chronological decay, but it’s a charming little flick to share with the horror lover in your life. Or, just watch it by yourself while crying into a pillow after said horror lover leaves you for any of the myriad of reasons you’ll be spending the rest of your miserable life alone eating microwaved mac & cheese while jerking off into that sock they lost under your bed the last time they were over.

Amusingly enough, in addition to dear Aubrey, someone else I first found out about by viewing Scott Pilgrim also appears within these scenes. Anna Kendrick (who played Scott’s caffeine slinging sister Stacey) shows up as Zach’s school peer Erica, who becomes Mopey McGaunt’s potential new girly girl while he’s on the rebound and down. As you might guess, things go all 90210 when our titular living dead girl, in her heightened state of bestial ferality, discovers said rival for her hunk of man meat…well, maybe “thinly sliced scraps of off-brand boy meat substitute” would be more fitting.

I hate looking at Dane DeHaan so much. Just look at him. Take a good long look.

Feel that mass trapped in your throat? That’s not the hamster you swallowed last night (you weirdo), it’s a chunky cocktail of rage and vomit. The guy’s like the Rage virus spliced with Ebola and stabbed directly into your eyes and ears with foot-long hypodermic needles.

And that’s that. Sorry it took me TWO MONTHS to write so little about the movie itself. It’s a new release, so I didn’t wanna spew too much and ruin it for viewers-to-be who just wanted to find out if it was worth a watch, or just came for some laughs without a buttload of spoilers. Thanks for joining me here for magical Episode 37. Or, as Kevin Smith afic(ionados) would call it “The ‘Sucked Dicks’ Episode”….hmmm, really should’ve thought this through and reviewed Dogma instead…fuck it. I’m sure this review wasn’t worth the wait, and may very well have fellated proverbial phalli in the process, but it’s over. Now, much like Zach (and yours truly), we can all get beyond this Thunderdome known as love and move on to greener pastures…especially if said landscape is the verde dyed pubic hair of some no-strings-attached punk rock rebound fuck.

By Osiris’s Prince Albert, I am one romantic son of a jackal bitch.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m really nervous for the test tomorrow and my Evil Dead Bride and I are going hiking. Sjáumst!

Moral of the Story: In the land of the dead, Kenny G is king.


Miss Plaza, seen here dialing the police after the last bout of drunken texts I sent her… I think the bestiality pics I sent may have been a little much… I STILL WANNA MAKE A LITTER OF PUPS WITH YOU, BABY! PLEASE CANCEL THE RESTRAINING ORDER!

The vent cover watches its prey, waiting for the moment to pounce and claim the car as its victim. The circle of life continues.

“That’s checkmate AGAIN Mr. Slocum! Off with the pants!”

“Filthy, nasty hobbitses! They have stolen it! My Precious!”

“You fucking poser! You call yourself a Whovian?! That looks NOTHING like the 4th Doctor’s scarf! Take it off before I go all Dalek on your ass!”

If some studio tries to pull the Twilight bullshit on the Frankenstein mythos, here’s your YA Monster. “Girl hottie… too hottie… FIRE BAD!”

He looks like she just told him the pee strip turned blue… THOSE ARE MY PUPPIES, YOU SON OF A BITCH!

Molly Shannon’s great, but she’s got one of those frighteningly over-gummy smiles that looks like her dentures are falling out…

A young Matt Frewer after a fortune teller’s crystal ball shows him what the future holds for his hairline. Poor kid.


Anubis will return next time in
“The Grand Kill-the-Rest Hotel”

Enjoy the review? Hate the review? Have a movie you’d like to see judged in The Tomb? Fill out the feedback form! Never has it been easier to make contact with a deitic being!

All materials found within this review are the intellectual properties and opinions of the original writer. The Tomb of Anubis claims no responsibility for the views expressed in this review, but we do lay a copyright claim on it beeyotch, so don’t steal from this shit or we’ll have to go all Farmer Vincent on your silly asses. © October 1st 2013 and beyond, not to be reproduced in any way without the express written consent of the reviewer and The Tomb of Anubis, or pain of a physical and legal nature will follow. Touch not lest ye be touched.

Crappy Anniversary

One year ago today, I re-opened the gates of the Tomb to return my criticisms and unsolicited complaints to an apathetic internet. Obviously not for the attention (since only a handful of people see the site anyway), but because I like being angry and frustrated for no apparent reason. And because I like bad movies. Anyway, I’m still trying to reprogram my brain to get beyond Thunderdome (i.e. recent personal events) and though I have my next review prepared, the actual will and attention to write said review are being held in quarantine. But, I would like to take this time to thank my few but faithful followers who come here to laugh, learn, and love it all in the butt.

Also, fuck you. You know who you are…

A Momentary Prolapse

Sorry for the lack of updates in recent weeks, kiddos. Uncle Anubis has been a very unfunny state of mind these last few weeks, and though I’m sure some of you would say I wasn’t funny to begin with (fuck you, by the way), if I can’t make allusions to my genitals or comments about using people as my toilet, why bother writing anything? I’ll be back to form soon (I think), so just stick with me, my cenobites-in-training, and your patience will be rewarded!

Episode 36 [Rerun] – Shoot ‘Em Up (2006)

or “Kill Kill Bang Bang”

Featuring: Clive “Sin City” Owen , Paul “The Illusionist” Giamatti , Monica “Brotherhood of the Wolf” Bellucci

Director: Michael “Monster Man” Davis

Writer: Michael “Monster Man” Davis

Origin: USA


“It gets hotter the more times it’s fired.”

Intro: “You know what I hate?” Yes, Mr. Smith, having seen Shoot ‘Em Up, I know a lot of the things you hate. You know what I hate? Really shitty movies. Boy, did I pick the wrong hobby. Anyway, after suffering through reruns these last few weeks for the unrepentant stink burgers Dead Man’s Hand and Wiseguys Vs. Zombies, I felt I deserved to re-view a rerun I actually enjoyed. While digging through the debris strewn remains of the original Tomb, I found what was left of this original “Shortie” review. For those not in-the-know aboot my old page, “Shorties” were my categorization for what other sites call “capsule” reviews: small dosage, short-term criticisms in an easy-to-swallow format that make less work for the reviewer and provide a “quick fix” for visitors to enjoy on a cigarette break, at a stop light, or while waiting for their John to reinforce his status as a “two pump chump”.

Due to the miniaturized makeup of this particle of an article, my Xtro tonight will be more of a “all the shit I forgot to touch on” rundown for the movie, which the original review sorely neglected to note. I was pleased to see that my current self seems to be pretty well in-tune with my 8 years junior self about just how “kicking your face in with its awesomeness” the movie really is. So, let’s snap into our Slim Jims (or in this case, carrots), pop in a fresh magazine and fire a few rounds of high-caliber hype at Shoot ‘Em Up!

Original Review:
Michael Davis. What the fuck, man?! For years you’ve been wallowing in anonymity, playing it low and quiet by making everybody think you were just another throwaway crap writer, working on shit like Charles Band kiddie productions and that colon blocking Double Dragon movie. Then you go and do something like Shoot ‘Em Up?! Forget that I’d actually heard some halfway decent praise for Monster Man before, but after seeing this shining opus of Looney Tunes run & gun parody I’m actually tempted to bump your “redneck monster truck serial killer” movie up on my viewing list! Wow, I guess Shoot ‘Em Up just goes to prove that today’s $10/hour b-movie writer very well can become tomorrow’s next cult action movie fan favorite! It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re on a path to making much more money, but at least Mikey “Dynamite” Davis earned some legitimate names to star in his flick and got it pushed into a national theatrical release! It’s more than most names from the direct-to-video shelves ever manage.

The art of film parody is a tight rope act: you can either choose to go all out and make a movie that’s straightforward slapstick comedy (a la Airplane or The Naked Gun), or you can go for a more subtle parody by making a movie that less-than-insightful audiences may mistake for being just another spawn of the genre you’re elbowing in the ribs. Fortunately, the more cerebral viewers amongst us will understand the underlying winkwinknudgenudge humor beneath all of the muzzle flashes and piling bodies, so there’s always hope. The goofy option is not as easy to pull off as most people would think (Epic Movie and Date Movie, go sit in the corner and think about what you’ve done), but the latter is five times harder. And Davis moonwalks across that tightrope with what appears to be ease, but no doubt required years of practice to achieve. Somehow, Beanstalk and 100 Girls was the training he needed. It’s just like Mr. Miyagi making Daniel-san wax his car and catch flies with chopsticks – it doesn’t make sense at the time, but it all comes together when somebody has to kick William Zabka in the FACE!

Originally written right around the time that the self-proclaimed “Trenchcoat Mafia” decided to gun their pimply faced teen angst into the history books, Shoot ‘Em Up was, ironically enough, shot down by all of Hollywood. Fortunately, all the Columbine hubbub eventually cooled off enough that writer-director Davis was able to impress just enough people with his ideas that he could get his feature made. Lucky for us, he did so before fatal mass shootings became something school cafeterias could schedule their lunch calendars around. Any longer on the Tinseltown back burner and Shoot ‘Em Up would’ve become just another pile of wasted ingredients doomed to a future as primordial ooze alongside some Steak & Hepatitis Quesadillas at the bottom of a Chi-Chi’s dumpster.

Shoot ‘Em Up starts off as a simple enough tale: our hero is the mysterious, carrot-chomping (good for the eyesight, better for jamming through bad guys’ faces), pet peeve riddled Fellini of firearms known only as Mr. Smith (Clive Owen at his most cool and collected state of bad-assedness). Oh, and If you’re over 40 and wear a ponytail, stay the fuck away from this guy. He finds you neither hip or young, and certainly not cool. Smith’s just waiting for a bus one night when he falls into one of those “only in the movies” wrong-place-at-the-right-time scenarios as a preggo woman on the run just happens to find herself being chased down by her pursuers within (fire)arm’s reach of our hero. Smith intervenes in protagonistic fashion, and while fending off the small army of henchgoons (he literally kills eleven guys in the movie’s first 5 minutes), our gunstar hero delivers the baby (shooting through the umbilical cord) and escapes with the rugrat intact after momma gets a bullet in her forebrain. The villain for which said goons were henching is a depraved former FBI Profiler troll (I’m sorry, “Forensic Behavior Consultant” troll) named Hertz, played sickeningly perfect by Paul Giamatti with deranged delight. Though we never get to hear his first name, I like to think it’s Richard, because “Dick Hertz” is a name that never gets not-funny.

Fortunately, the good guy has a fetish friend named D.Q. (Monica Bellucci) who works out of a whorehouse set up in an abandoned church. She lets guys nurse on her mommy juice for a price, so Smithy hands the kid over to her to keep the rugrat fed and happy. Also, pacifiers be damned, as the only thing that keeps this baby from crying is heavy metal music, making him already more metal than any baby any of you will ever have. Babysitter hired, our mangy hero sets out to uncover just what it is that Hertz has up his sleeze-sleave, why the manhunt for a seemingly harmless mother-to-be, and what it all has to do with [deep breath] an up and coming presidential candidate, gun control laws, Smith’s mysterious “tragic hero” past, a big time firearms manufacturer, stem cell experimentation, a baby harvesting operation, AND [*wheeeeze, gasp, deep breath*] a secret service agent who loves his gun in unnatural ways usually only reserved for the NRA’s “Lifetime & Beyond” membership levels! Whew.

Some people might expect the movie to wind up crushed under the weight of its own clusterfuck, but if you find you can’t handle the plot twists and story elements, just switch off your logic chip (or tear the damn thing out) and play “Count the Bodies” (patent pending) instead!

When I initially rented Crank, I realized that I’d missed what could’ve been a pisser of a theatrical experience. When I first saw the trailers for Shoot ‘Em Up, I did not wish to let my past mistake repeat itself and knew I’d instead be adding another ticket stub to the collection. Oh please, like you don’t have a drawer full of stubs for every movie you’ve gone to since the 5th grade! Between this and Children of Men, I’ve become an increasingly bigger fan of Clive Owen over the last year. I actually considered going to see Elizabeth: the Golden Age because he’s in it! I didn’t, mind you, but I considered it, and that’s saying something in and of itzelf. Yeah, there’s a ‘z’ there. You read right. I found a case of Zimas walled up in my office by the house’z previouz owner. Zo what?

Anyway, Clive Owen, Paul Giamatti, and to a lesser extent, (for you guys just looking for a piece of ass to stare at) Monica Bellucci all play up their parts in parodic performances. Owen’s action hero one-liners can get annoying around the movie’s mid-section, Bellucci’s overdone accent tends to do the same and Giamatti gets to the point where he’s just too gross to look at. But that’s what they’re SUPPOSED TO DO. Even if you can’t get past the acting-to-extremes, all of the absurd over-the-top action, the movie’s unexpectedly positive message about gun control amidst the inclusion of every ’80s NRA boner flick cliche, the killer soundtrack, cringe worthy gestapo-like torture moments, a phe-fucking-nomenal car chase scene, a Home Aloneian shooting orgy in an armory, the coolest damn aerial action sequence since Crank, and the general enjoyment that comes from your stomach muscles hurting because you’ve been laughing at the fact that a man was just killed with a carrot, all make the trip from worthwhile. Besides, when a movie can actually make me sit through an entire playing of “Kick Start My Heart” without feeling bad that I’m listening to a Motley Crue song, that’s just magic.

Xtro: Having re-watched SEU for the first time in years to do this rerun, I forgot just how much fucking fun it is to behold! So much fun, it’s the only movie out of the 36 reviews I’ve done since the reopening of the site to actually attain GOLD FEATHER status! The absurdity is just pure, uncut, Colombian enjoyment candy. You know how so many movies anymore are the product of music video directors trying to fudge an aesthetic that works best in small bits into a 90min marathon, and they just end up winded, wheezing, and clutching their burning chests in career agony while their nipples bleed, shit runs down the backs of their legs, and they blackout into obscurity? Shoot ‘Em Up? This is the type of movie where that shit (rather than the aforementioned poo-poo pudding) works!

Smith is the definition of the cool guy hero: he spews painfully stupid one-liners and witty retorts with confidence, he’s the balance of macho and sensitive that make men want to be him and women want to be on top of him and he can split a horsefly’s butthole from a hundred yards from 100 yards. I mean, the guy’s the Jackie Chan of gun-fu! The Annie Oakley of ass kicking! Motherfucker makes Hawkeye look like Mr. Magoo! Just having the deadest of deadeyes isn’t enough to make widows of an entire goon army’s wives though, so naturally Smith has the action hero trait known as the “GI Joe Gene”, thus making him immune to actually being shot. He’s so untouchable, his first name’s probably Unus!… little geek humor for my nipples deep X-Men fan boys and girls out there in the world wide wasteland.

In an interesting twist on the bang bang movie tropes, Hertz isn’t just another scumbag boss who won’t get his hands dirty. He’s always in the thick of the action, and makes sure to tell everyone about it in case the audience didn’t notice. Because he’s not allowed to die prior to the big finale showdown, Hertz too has the Joe Gene (well, the Cobra strain), allowing him to avoid even the slightest scratch in spite of the myriad corpses piling around his ankles from Smith’s bullet barrage. Worry not though, as our hero eventually finds a technicality in the script’s “bad guy can’t be killed by guns” rule by taking the term “firearm” to new literal heights that could change the way the Supreme Court looks at enforcing gun laws.

Since we’re well past the shelf date for spoilers on this can of kill soup, if you thought Honey Bunny and Ringo picked the wrong day to rob a diner, that’s nothing compared to the last scene of Shoot ‘Em Up.

Sadly, this rerun doubles as an epitaph for a career that ended too soon, because it looks like Shoot ‘Em Up may have been the nail in the coffin for Michael Davis’ time as a movie maker. The gent has not had a worthwhile film credit in the 8 years since. This saddens me. Anubis no like. Bad medicine. I’m sorry Mr. Davis, but your vision was too beautiful for this world. May you find the renown you deserve when Hollywood inevitably remakes Shoot ‘Em Up in 2037 and you’re wheeled to the to premiere as a living head in a jar…like a candle in the wind.

Moral of the Story: What’s worse than a bullet in your ass? Two.


“Ain’t I a stinker?” Well, you look like you haven’t showered in a week, so I’m gonna say… yes.

Paul Giamatti responds to critics of Fred Claus.

“I don’t know Mr. Giamatti. I mean, I actually liked Lady in the Water… well, kinda. I thought you were pretty good, at least.”

Don’t want a gun in your face and your life under threat of immediate termination? DON’T CASUALLY FART IN THE FACES OF PEOPLE BEHIND YOU ON THE ESCALATOR!

What the fuck is with the human wall?! Did someone switch out reels with a Hellraiser movie on me?!

Exactly why I don’t pop a zit right before going out with someone. I keep eyeball stickers on hand for concealing such emergencies.

Okay, I know enlistment rates are down, but I think the US Army’s going a little far with their recruitment tactics these days.

Clive Owen auditions for the part of The Rat King in the next Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sequel.

“Wait… you’re Marilyn Manson, aren’t you?! I love your work! I have all your albums!”

“Wait… you’re Cher, aren’t you?! I love your work! I have all your albums!”

“Well Junior, you’re almost 4 hours old. You’ve sucked your first hooker tit and I think you’re ready for your first concealed weapon!”

Someone misunderstands the concept of having “protected sex”. This is what happens when your sex ed class is taught by the head of your local NRA chapter.

Gas-X had mixed results from their new “sexier” ad campaign.

Okay, these fucking Terminator sequels are just getting silly.

Robert Patrick’s uncle, ladies and gentlemen. Paul Giamatti is not amused.

One of the most metal deaths you can have? Torn to pieces by helicopter blades! One of the least metal faces you can make before your big death? This guy’s.

That’s pretty much how I feel about Shoot ‘Em Up. *SPLOOSH!*


Anubis will return next time in
“Night of the Living Ludgate”

Enjoy the review? Hate the review? Have a movie you’d like to see judged in The Tomb? Fill out the feedback form! Never has it been easier to make contact with a deitic being!

All materials found within this review are the intellectual properties and opinions of the original writer. The Tomb of Anubis claims no responsibility for the views expressed in this review, but we do lay a copyright claim on it beeyotch, so don’t steal from this shit or we’ll have to go all Farmer Vincent on your silly asses. © October 1st 2013 and beyond, not to be reproduced in any way without the express written consent of the reviewer and The Tomb of Anubis, or pain of a physical and legal nature will follow. Touch not lest ye be touched.