When Rob over at The KO Picture Show was taking volunteers for a "Vs." roundtable, I had no choice but to throw my hand up (having eaten it the night before *rimshot*) and toss my hat into the ring. At first all that came to me were the always reliable Godzilla flicks, since 90% of them have "Vs." in the title. Since Rob had already planted his flag in King Kong Vs. Godzilla, I thought it would be in the interest of diversity to seek my opponent elsewhere. I was going to go for the Mexican Dracula Vs. Frankenstein, or any of the numerous Santo flicks, but then I was struck by inspiration. It was during my daily voodoo ritual in which I attempt to align the consmos just right so that Adam Minarovich gets an unfortunate “handshake” with a candiru fish, that I remembered Mr. Minor-Anal-Itch had befouled the world with a home movie abortion of his own that fit the criteria perfectly: Wiseguys Vs. Zombies. I'd always been looking for another chance to lay a steel toe into the back of the head of the guy who makes Ed Wood look like Albert Hitchcock for reasons that, well, this review should explain. As if that weren't bad enough, last week I made the complaint that directors should never be allowed to star in their own movies, followed by a similar comment earlier this week that writers should be subjected to similar cinematic law. Well, guess what kids, today's star happens to be both the movie’s writer and its director! Minaroviiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiich! Somebody get me a fresh needle and a hit of mountain lion testosterone (stolen from Ted Nugent's medicine cabinet of course), cuz I'm fixin' to get ornery!

Last time Minor-Ass-Itch attacked us, it was with a litter box amalgamation of Blade and The Terror of Tiny Town. This time he duct tapes copies of Pulp Fiction and Return of the Living Dead and tries to lodge them into our rectums with no consideration as to whether or not any of us actually wants movies planted amidst our un-expelled fertilizer. The stinkweed that grows from such a botanistic nightmare of Guinea Pig proportions goes down as such: a government experiment (given the uninspired named of "Project: Lazarus") to reanimate dead soldiers is deemed a failure and all remnants of the waste of tax payer money is destroyed, with the exception of... wait for it, cuz here comes the part we could all see coming as soon as the words "goverment experiment" clacked out of my keyboard... a single portion of the chemical that them high-falutin' army types managed to lose. The missing stash was snagged by a low-level gambling addict at the base who stole it to use for barter with his loan shark, hoping the silly little man (who talks like he's fresh out of the trailer park) will take it and sell it in exchange for the $6000 he owes. The shark even ends their conversation with "Have a good day sir", no doubt an ad lib because he probably finished his shift at KFC before coming out to shoot his scene. Of course G.I. Joke has to sample the shit first before Sharky will accept it, so immediately after Sharky leaves, Joke of course feels dizzy and blood starts squirting out of his head. It hasn't even been five minutes and already I've sat through poorly shot scenes of the camera trying it's best to focus on a Hummer with a homemade military "upgrade" job, and way too much camera time spent looking at Sharky's gun instead of the characters... The movie's going down faster than Bill O'Reilly in a mens’ room at the Republican National Convention and I can already feel those wildcat hormones starting to kick in.

In Miami, a dime store Tony Montana (who can't even keep his shitty fake Cuban accent in check) is upset that he's yet to receive his latest shipment of street candy from his supplier. As such, he calls a friend in New York to address the matter for him, hence how we meet hitman Gus (Minaroviiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiich!) and his preacher man partner Freddy who are both sent out to collect Mony Tontana's goods... which are the only thing in this movie that will come close to the label of "good" in any way, shape, or form and that’s only because of a technicality in slang usage. Though I'm not positive, I'm at least 87% sure that the four different rooms used to shoot the scenes introducing each of these four characters were all shot in the same house. I'd need an interior decorator's opinion to be sure, but I’m pretty sure I’m right on this one. Gus will be referred to from here on as Assy (because of the whole "Minor-Ass-Itch" joke I'm wailing on like a deceased equine) and Freddy will be referred to as Douchey. I would've called Gus Douchey instead, because of who's playing him and because of the half-wit shit-for-brains Travis Bickle impersonation he pulls in front of a bathroom mirror as part of his asshole affirmation exercises, but we'll stick with Assy. If Robert DeNiro gets out of his Craft-Matic bed and uses his old man arch-support loafers to kick Assy’s teeth down his throat, Minor-Ass-Itch would be a lucky man. Fucker sweats like Hillary Clinton at a Celine Dion concert too.

Assy and Douchey's journey starts with an interrogation scene, where Assy spends 5 minutes telling the tubby slob (who I remember, painfully enough, from Ankle Biters) how much he's going to hurt him, then spends 5 more minutes standing with his back blocking the camera as he pretends to pummel the guy. This is followed by another "beating" scene, as Assy throttles another redneck incest case and his pals in what looks like my grandma's bedroom, only with a handful of Chopper movie posters strung up in an effort to balance out the flowery bedspread and old lady dresser. Maybe Eric Bana can sue somebody over this. Either way, all three yokels end up with new breathing holes in their chests.

After packing a handful of dead hillbillies into their trunk and commandeering Mony Tontana's "drugs" (the army zombie fruit punch, naturally), Assy (and his extra sweat gland) and Douchey stop over to start trouble in South Carolina. They clash with the local Sheriff at a Greasy Spoon, their ride gets impounded, and before you can say, "Wait, is this a Redneck Zombies sequel?!", the dead rise from Assy's trunk and we finally get some ghouls... 45 minutes into this 2 hour exercise in cruel and unusual punishment. This is turning into the spiritual successor to Zombie '90 and I am officially in b-movie Hell. There's no other explanation for what I'm going through, this must be my own personal fucking Purgatory!... and there's still an hour left to it... ARGH!

When Assy and Douchey start up with all this bullshit about the living dead, both their fake-Cuban and their fake-Italian associates decide the two are on drugs themselves, so they send a rival of Assy’s into South Carolina to find them. Fuck the spoiler alerts: the guy shows up and gets shot by some NASCAR mama who mistakes him for a zombie. Meanwhile, Assy continues to run around making stupid sound effects and trying his hardest to be a toned down Robin Williams, as his shotgun blast sound effects play like an actual shotgun half of the time and somebody breaking a rack of billiard balls the other half. Speaking of auditory sodomy, one of the zombies (which are unkillable by the way, furthering the RotLD scam) sounds like Chewbacca passing a kidney stone. Not in that freaked out, berserker way either, but in that, "Holy shit man, I didn't know Chewbacca could cry!" way. And you can't even call him a pussy for it because Chewbacca or not, passing a stone will make skinned knee bitches out of the most 'roid raged of he-men. Oh, and to prove that he's not done ripping off Blade yet, Minor-Ass-Itch makes it a point to include a scene where Assy has to kill his older, father-figure type partner, as Douchey is bitten by a zombie and begs for death before undeath. Remind you of something? Yeah, he did the same fucking scene in Ankle Biters (only it was with a midget) hence why I’m chalking it up to a Blade rip-off rather than your average Dawn of the Dead swipe. To further show off his Blade theft, Assy starts killing the zombie by injecting them with more of the army drug, which apparently overloads their systems. To put his own hillbilly spin on it though, he makes sure that each ghoul's death is succeeded with a voiding of their bowels. Then again, that was probably one of the requirements to warrant a Troma distribution.

In an effort to win back the audience that he never had in the first place, Minor-Ass-Itch tries to toss in some zombie chainsaw violence. Unlike Zombie '90, which at least got the chainsaw gore kinda right, Assy fucks this shit up too, giving us close up shots of himself getting fake blood tossed into his face while all of the actual chainsaw shit happens off camera... Either he's an ego maniac for making all of his scenes consist of close-ups of him, or he realizes the special effects ain’t so special, so showing them on screen would be cinematic suicide... well, further cinematic suicide. As a quick aside for all of the wrestling fans out there, if you close your eyes while watching this movie (something I did many times), you'd swear that Minor-Ass-Itch sounds exactly like Jim Cornette when he's talking. From the accent to the way he yells and talks down to people, it conjures up images in the mind of Big Jimmy C running around in his glasses and his goofy jacket, his face swollen and beet red as he's whacking the undead upside the head with his trusty old tennis racket... does he even carry the tennis racket around these days?

As you can guess, Assy wins the day. More crap happens, he kills zombies, he sorts things out with his bosses, blah blah blah. Yes, that’s right, I “blah blah blah”ed most of the movie. Every scenes lasts twice as long as it should, and that's of course taking into consideration whether anything from this fucking movie deserves to exist as it is. The dialogue seems like it's made up entirely on the spot by a cast of people who have never done improv acting in their life. When Minor-Ass-Itch put himself down for a writing credit, I'm guessing it was because he wrote the general plot down on a square of toilet paper while voiding his bowels, because I don't think any of these lines were so much "written" and the cast was given the gist of what they were supposed to convey in each scene right before shooting. Speaking of shooting, is it too much to ask for a Brandon Lee moment or two here? Couldn't Minor-Ass-Itch just get shot in the face, die, and leave the dingleberries that he calls a filmography as is?

You don't need a big budget and high class actors to make a fun zombie flick, butWiseguys Vs. Zombies is definitely ten times more irritating than it is entertaining. What the fuck is Mr. Director's fascination with frequently shooting ceiling fans? Were the profits from Ankle Biters so good to him that he can finally afford ceiling fans in his house and he wants to show them off to everybody to prove that he's "made it"?! Even the references to Assy's scratchy nut sac and a radio song about licking testicles, the closest things to partially funny running gags we can come up with, lose their humorous half-lives with over usage. And what's with the fucking yappy dog whining off-camera for half of the outdoors scenes?! Were they all shot in somebody's backyard and nobody had the balls to tell the neighbors to put their fucking mutt inside for 20 minutes?! Osiris damn it would I love to napalm South Carolina right now!

Long story short? That's just it: this movie's way too fucking long and needs to be a helluva lot shorter. Terribly acted, horribly directed, abominably written, and hideously edited. Southern fried crack baby Adam Minor-Ass-Itch has apparently conned his way into two other projects since W Vs. Z, directing, writing and acting (I use all three terms very loosely) in a movie about a gangster working at a flea market, as well as writing and acting (again, loose as Lohan's labia) in some "Thriller" currently in production that's being directed by someone who's likely romantically involved with Mr. Assy. Good for him. The man may be worthless and contributes nothing but pain to society, but even he should be allowed to find love in another man's arms this day and age...