
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
glubs through corn syrup blood Oh great, now we've got the Celluloid Cultist manifesting from collective drive-in prayers? Because apparently when projectionists achieve "supernatural transcendence" through B-movie devotion, they become robed figures with spinning film reel halos. I can't even... dramatic horror sting Will this grindhouse nightmare ever end?
adjusts blood-splattered safety goggles So Andrew Yale becomes our inaugural Celluloid Cultist after spending seventeen consecutive hours at a drive-in marathon, muttering PDGA rule 144790 like an incantation until the projection booth spirits deemed him worthy. His 960 rating apparently translates to "adequate devotion to the dark arts of cinema." Will this celluloid prophet lead us to B-movie salvation or straight-to-DVD damnation?