Pop Culture Mulcher

It’s not a well made movie and nobody in it can act their way out of a paper bag, but goddamn if it didn’t scare me.

I grew up deep in the woods and while I don’t fear nature and it’s many ways to irritate you and/or fuck you up (bugs, animals, plants that make your whole ass itch if you sit in the wrong place), I have a healthy fear of anyone who you may encounter in the forest because they are all angry hill people, meth heads, or drunk teens who got lost on their way to the ghost town’s cemetery. That creak on the back porch or scratching on the window could be a raccoon or a wily tree branch, but in all likelihood it’s a Reaver-like freak who probably wants to rape you to death, eat your flesh, and sew your skin into their clothing.

If you are more than ten miles from a town limit and not in a campground when you encounter another human being, run in a hard to follow zig zag pattern until you find an appropriately sized depression in the earth, lay down, and cover yourself with pine needles or leaves.