Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; arson is only acceptable against houses that give out pennies on Halloween. We have emerged from our coffins yet again to bring you the dankest, dingiest, most malodorous horror films we can scrape from our blood-stained basements. We will cut into the flesh of these films with sharp lampoon and serrated mockery, spilling all of their faults onto the ground with a satisfying splash. But then we will take that hollow corpse, stuff it full of love and whatever legitimate praise we can muster, and raise it high upon a post in the middle of our cinematic cornfield to scare away even worse films. Then, as we all sit in a circle around it reciting our hymns to the great Cthulu, I will pass around a tray of snacks themed to the film to help ensure your gut grows to the size of The Great Pumpkin himself. This Week’s Cauldron Offering: Killer Party The basic story here, and I only say “story” because they’ve yet to come up with a word for the result of highlighting every fifth word in the newspaper and then filming it, is that years ago on a sleepy college campus an April Fool’s Day prank ended with the death of a young fraternity brother. Years later–after the world had, after much doubt, decided it could in fact continue spinning with one less frat boy in it–the now vacant frat house where the accident occurred is designated as the spot for [Due to Content Scraping and Theft, we have been forced to try abbreviated feeds. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause and woud very much appreciate you clicking through to view the full article on FilmSchoolRejects.com]

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; we’re so metal we can’t get through airport security. Every week during the month of October we will be showcasing the shockingly schlocky, the horrifyingly horrible, and the most terrifyingly terrible horror films we can get our claws on. We will drive a lampooning stake through the film’s heart and laugh maniacally as it takes longer to die than Paul Reubens in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But then, because we learned nothing from The Evil Dead, we will resurrect the film by reciting passages from the necronomicon of pure adoration. To complete the blood ritual, we will pair the film with a insidiously delicious snack food item in the hopes that we can create for you a completely interactive horror film experience by actually shortening your life. This Week’s Beast: Black Roses The basic story here, and I do mean basic, is that a very popular rock band called The Black Roses has decided to begin their world tour in Mill Basin, Ontario, Canada USA. The kids in town are all super psyched, but the parent groups seem to have their collective undergarments in various stages of entanglement. They feel that The Black Roses is a group that promotes evil and the corruption of youth. Eventually, the parents see the error of their ways and let the band play all four (?) of its consecutive shows. Turns out they were right because much evilness and corruptitude ensues.

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; now incapable of discerning tricks from treats. In case you’ve been binge drinking for the last week and chucked your wall calendar, cell phone, and computer–in which case how are you reading this–onto the lawn in a fit of rage, October has arrived. As such, it is time for Junkfood Cinema to set its beady little eyes upon the campiest, the cheesiest, the frighteningly schlockiest titles that the horror genre has to offer. Every week from here until we reach glorious Samhain, I will carve up a Samheinous horror film like a helpless jack-o-lantern. But then I will set a candle of pure adoration inside its hallowed out carcass so that it shines like a beautiful goblin. To top it off, I will prescribe a  tasty treat themed to the film that will haunt your waistline in the same fashion that the film haunts your sense of better judgment. This week’s ghoul: Dead Heat

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; 100% medically accurate. Because Salisbury has staked the reputation of his chubby little column on my abilities to pen something that will be even in the same neighborhood as his consistently hilarious musings on bad movies and bad food, I will honor him in the only way I know how – by writing about a romantic comedy that centers on a lady in a coma and the dude who loves her. You’re regretting your decision now, aren’t you, Briguy? TOO LATE. I’ve hijacked your precious little column and we’re going straight to the most glorious reaches of heaven above (with a wee detour along the way). What’s the plan? Well, it’s the usual plan. I’m going to roast a terrible film over the coals of a hellfire, gently turning it on a devil-approved spit, and dance around all that horrific burning while the screams stretch up through eight other levels of Hell, said bad film begging for mercy and forgiveness. Then, we’re just totally going to skip Purgatory, because it’s super-boring, but then and only then will I shower the film with love, tickling it gently with little white feathers, with a brief pause to run through a sunlit meadow while a blonde lady plays a harp nearby. Then we’re all going to eat cake. Please open the pearly gates for Just Like Heaven.

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; already too old for this shit. If you are reading this, you are probably doing the internet wrong. This is the weekly movie column that has maintained a hearty resilience to quality since 2009. Every Friday I fricassee a truly bad film, skewering it upon its own ineptitude. But then, just before it’s burned past the point of being palatable, I glaze it with a BBQ sauce of unabashed love and shove it directly down your throat. If you find you aren’t dead from internal bleeding, you are welcome to then enjoy the snack food item I pair with each film. Because honestly, name one person obesity ever killed, right? This week’s heart-clogger? Ernest Goes to Camp.

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; got a back-up weapon? Yes kids, after last week’s ridiculous invasion of your local multiplex, your favorite film column’s favorite film column is back where it belongs, digging into the vast catalog of older films searching for diamonds in the rough. This week we reach all the way back to 1998. As per usual, I’ll start off by listing all the reasons to avoid this film like the swamp lands of Kentucky, but I’ll finish up by lovingly wrapping it in one of those emergency blankets that look like aluminum foil. I’ll also recommend a tasty if health challenged treat to warm your cholesterol-laden insides. So what are we waiting for? This week’s cinematic indulgence is…drum roll…U.S. Marshals!

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; constantly in need of a bigger boat. Remember when Junkfood Cinema only covered crusty old cheese that you didn’t care about or crappy movies out of theaters just long enough to have completely vanished from your consciousness forever? Those were good times, simpler times. You were safe from it as long as you stayed in the boat and didn’t venture into my usual feeding grounds. But now, like some God-awful 3D gimmick, I am bursting through your computer screen and invading your local movie theater to take a massive bite out of a brand new movie. I will chomp apart all of this film’s many, many faults and drag it down to a watery grave. But then, like Matt Hooper, my love for this movie refuses to stay submerged and comes bubbling to the surface. I’ll wrap it up by chumming the waters with a tasty snack food themed to the film. Today’s Catch: Shark Night 3D It is a true rarity that brand new movies, in those fancy shmancy multiplexes with their hoity toity 3Ds, XDs, and D-students, perfectly exemplify the core values of Junkfood Cinema. But in the case of Shark Night 3D, the confines of a traditional review would simply do no justice to the complex, near-paradoxical experience of seeing this terrible/amazing film in a theater and, despite all its best efforts, loving it so much that you unironically hope it wins an Oscar so that a hundred more movies just like [Due to Content Scraping and Theft, we have been forced to try abbreviated feeds. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause and woud very much appreciate you clicking through to view the full article on FilmSchoolRejects.com]

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; your check is almost certainly in the mail. Yes my unfortunate dupes, you’ve stumbled upon the weekly bad movie column that seriously calls into question the acronym TGIF; unless you reassign the letters to mean Tell God I Forfeit. Every Friday, right before you shuffle off for the weekend, I slap you upside the face with a film that fell well short of greatness long ago and is now selling insurance and renting a double-wide in a little town called Schlocksburgh. My job is to walk the dirt roads of Schlocksburgh under cover of night and hurl rocks of mockery at said double-wide until somebody calls the internet police. But then, just as I’m about to be booked for a hate crime, I tear off my shirt and reveal a crudely drawn homemade tattoo across my chest professing my undying love for said film. I then offer a disgustingly tasty themed snack as an act of contrition, and in the hopes of avoiding a bothersome restraining order. This Week’s Target: Blackjack

Yes, we know we let suspect pictures containing very little health benefits drown us in their half-nakedness and drag us through the dirt like a barbarian here in this column, but we like it rough and prefer our movies to treat us like ragdolls from time to time because after we’ve mended the scrapes and burns we have ourselves a little snack reminding us of our experience because you should never forget when you’ve been triumphed in life.

Today we visit one of the greatest sequels ever released in June 1984 and Schwarzenegger’s best film of that year’s first 9 months. Sit back, chug some mead and let us tell you about the days of high adventure in Conan the Destroyer.

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; fatter than Jesus. This is the weekly column that celebrates the myriad ways a film can fail. Every Friday I take you for a ride on the SchlockCoaster; careening through each of the movie’s wild faults. I then level things off and explain how I still love the film despite those faults. Then, after your confidence in my tastes plummets at thrilling speed, we exit the ride and I treat you to a gooey, sticky snack food that is sure to unsettle your stomach. With today’s inexplicable release of yet another Final Destination movie, I believe it’s called FIVEnal Destination Goes West, I thought it would be fun to look back at the only entry in the franchise that I find enjoyable. This week’s snack: Final Destination 3

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; lords of the gridiron…or at least the waffle iron. Strap on your helmet and conceal any benefits you received from agents during college because you have just been drafted to the NFL; the Nefarious Film Lovers…League. Ok, so it’s the NFLL, shut up! Every week we tackle a bad movie to the roaring delight of over eight people. And we don’t just tackle the movie, we tackle it like we’re Ray Lewis with a playoff game on the line and the ref’s just been stricken with blindness. But then, just before the internet starts throwing penalty flags at us, we enter free agency, join up with the film, and use our unabashed love for it to help this underdog win a championship of warped film appreciation. Finally, after months of heated debate that ultimately muddied the issue and pushed us closer to the edge of complete anarchy…the NFL lockout is over. We can finally stop troubling ourselves with petty nuisances like defaulting on our national debts and get back to what really matters: overpaid sweaty guys knocking the snot out of each other. In honor of this jubilant occasion, I decided to run an all-out blitz on a film from  2000 whose premise eerily mirrors recent events. This week’s play: The Replacements

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema…looks like I’ve got all the horses. Here at JFC we like to look back over the vast expanse of cinematic history and revisit a particular film which may be low on technical filmmaking merits but which always delivers the goods when it comes to the “can you eat popcorn to this” meter. The answer to that scientific device’s inherent query is, in this case, a resounding hell yes. As we always do, I’ll start by eviscerating my chosen  film, stabbing it to death with a golden dagger. But have no fear! After that, I will return with a human sacrifice and the book of the dead to lovingly resurrect the film and stroke her jet black hair. As if this won’t be enough for you already fragile state of mind, I’ll propose a junkfood pairing that will delight your tastebuds as your heart screams for mercy. As you may have guessed from the title, this week’s selection is The Mummy!

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; the home of the brave. Here at JFC, we are one nation united under our love for schlock. Every week we salute the standard-bearers of terrible films. First we savagely thrash at the film’s faults; clawing at it like a bald eagle startled into rage by a thunderous fireworks display. But then, once we’ve knocked the stars and stripes out of it, we dust it off and slowly raise it back up with our unabashed adoration like Old Glory at Iwojima. We sing its praises like we’re Toby Keith in September and prove that yes we can…unironically appreciate crappy films. To punctuate this, our other national pastime, we will pair the film with a patriotically delicious junkfood item to storm the beaches of your intestinal fortitude much in the same fashion that the film declares war on your brain cells. This week’s treat: Captain America.

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema: we’re on a mission from God. And that mission is to bring you a weekly catalogue of the best of the worst that cinema has to offer you. Broadcasting live from the free Wi-Fi signal we picked up sitting behind that McDonald’s, each week we pick a deliciously awful film and tear it apart piece by piece. But then we remember how much we actually love it, and try, futilely, to convince you why. We’ll top it off with a tasty treat for you to enjoy while watching that will go with the film like peanut butter and ketchup. So grab a spork and let’s get started! This week’s treat? Bloodsport! Bricks not hit back this time!

Welcome back to JFC; we ain’t gonna play Sun City. Written from within the Bad Movie Archives nestled comfortably below the surface of the Earth somewhere underneath Dolph Lundgren’s wombat ranch, Junkfood Cinema is, according to critics, “arguably worth your time.” Every week I flash fry an entire movie in the white-hot oil of merciless mockery. But then I cool it on a baking rack of unabashed reverence letting it congeal into something unironically delicious. Then, after coming to the terrifying realization that I can’t actually eat a metaphor, I will substitute a real-world snack item paired to the film in the hopes that my writing will no longer boast the greatest offense to your bowels. Today’s treat: Demon Knight

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; we will not go quietly into the night. You are about to read one of the worst internet columns in the history of mankind. No longer consumed by our petty need for legitimately good films, we here at Junkfood Cinema are united by our common interest in the utterly schlocky. First we will examine how the chosen film has earned its freedom from the tyranny of nuance and the oppression of critical measures of quality. We will then triumphantly raise our voices to proclaim what it is about the film that allows it to survive total annihilation and win not only the day, but our hearts as well. Finally, we will pair the film with an appropriately themed snack food item in order to prove that our waistlines will not vanish without a fight. Today we celebrate Roland Emmerich’s Independence Day!

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema: if you don’t leave now, it’s consensual. This is the part of the internet where your intrepid host (or, in this case, your intrepid host’s wife) dons her finest Middle Age-y costume, unsheathes her silver Nerf sword and just starts whaling on an awful, maleficent movie. And yet–probably as a consequence of some ambiguous plot device early in my childhood–I check the killing stroke, throw down my weapon and extend my hand in peace to this humbled, repentant film. I cement our bond by throwing a feast in its honor and invite our reader (yes, singular) to indulge in a snack specially tailored to the film: not only not fit for a king, but probably not legal in any monarchical government. This week’s mistake of draconian proportions: Dragonheart

After watching your third hour of golf (that Mcllroy sure can play!) and giving your father the same tie from last year, enjoy this special Sunday edition of Junkfood Cinema in honor of all of the fathers that didn’t try to murder us and move on to the next family. Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; your mother and I are very disappointed in you. Kids, fetch me my slippers and my flagon of Scotch because it’s time for me to tell you about another fantastically bad movie. Stop that whining and sit still while I breakdown the birds and the bees of what exactly makes this movie so bad. Then, if you finish all your chores and refrain from soiling yourselves for once, I will tell you all about what makes me love that same movie so much. Finally, I will whip up an appropriately themed snack food item to ensure your wild, sugar-induced frenzy just as you are supposed to be getting ready for bed. As today is Father’s Day, this week’s very special treat is The Stepfather 2.

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema: we have come here to chew bubblegum and worship bad movies…and we’re all out of bubblegum. Pursuant to our mission statement, hastily written in soy sauce on the wrapper of a Zagnut bar, every week we will tempt your cerebral taste buds with all the most decadent, delicious treats it doesn’t want to admit it craves. We will slice, dice, chop, and screw the movie; basting it in its own faults along the way. But then it will lovingly bake in our hearts at 98.6° for 3-5 paragraphs until it becomes golden brown with our misguided affection. We will then transform metaphor into substance by offering an actual snack food item paired with the film in order that no part of your insides remain unaffected by this odious column. If losers are always whining about their best, we achieve the complete opposite effect by lauding the worst with a barbaric yawp. Today’s Blue Plate Special: The Rock

Welcome back to Junkfood Cinema; stuffiness is the disease, we are the cure. This is the only weekly internet column to actually be slapped by Jamie Oliver, slapped right in its meaty face. I am like the mean older brother, each week slapping around the black sheep of Hollywood until they cry. But then, like any good older brother, I release them from the grip of my sardonic Indian burn and give them a loving bro-hug of ridiculous praise. I then take them to Stuckey’s and treat them to a delicious, movie-themed snack item. Whether you like it or not, this is Junkfood Cinema. This week’s target: Cobra