Star Asbestos Felt takes a break from his regular twitching, popping open a good book (maybe The Bell Jar).
"Starring Asbestos Felt”. Let those words sink in, start becoming accustomed. No, it’s not an unfortunate brand of housing insulation, but rather, a man, the man, poised to transform the world. His “Woody Harrelson meets Jesus, soaked in cold black coffee” presence achieves a frothy, everyman id. Director Tim Ritter (the mastermind behind Truth or Dare?: A Critical Madness) has done his part. Now it’s up to the rest of the world to catch up.
In his earthly guise, Felt builds airplanes with his bare fucking hands, transforming bundles of sheet metal into angelic wings, whilst slivers of steel get caught in his bushy facial hemp. Yep, Felt doesn’t need to smoke weed, he is weed. He probably owns a spaceship made out of hemp. It lies stashed away in a cave somewhere, ready to go in case the apocalypse hits.
Despite his transcendent aspirations, he still succumbs to the occasional paranoid delusion, like when he imagines his wife having sex with other men (although he may be dead on with that one). If that isn’t enough to push a phenom over the edge, his annoying old lady neighbor steals his copy of Fangoria (with Freddy Krueger on the cover). Ain’t that some bullshit.
An id is no ubermensch, just as Kraftwerk is no Can, but sometimes shit happens and people get killed. The aforementioned killing spree becomes a temporary haven for Asbestos from the unrelenting barrage of stupidity that comes with modern living (i.e. human relationships). One such barrage involves his friend, a 65 year old pilot, who is dating an 18 year old punk rock girl with orange hair (I’m truly jealous). Good for the old man, but bad for Felty’s douchebag tolerance level. When dude comes over to Asbestos’ house and asks for some cocaine to “party” with, Felt decides to pull the old “You want a cocaine party, bitch…here’s your fucking party…I’m gonna decapitate your girlfriend, give her severed head a kiss, and toss it with awe inspiring force directly at your noggin, killing you, before promptly burying you in the backyard” trick. All delivered with an almost unsurpassed level of pathos, actually making the viewer believe that, given the moral quandary of whether to pull the cocaine party/decapitation/severed head toss/murder bit, or turning the other cheek, I think the former was the correct decision given these particular set of circumstances.
Killing Spree also features the patented fan blade noggin slicer, which involves soldering machete tips on the blades of a ceiling fan, and lifting a victim’s head towards said fan. This kind of creativity usually allows the killer to get a “moral pass” from the audience, as he is perceived as being all clever and shit, and is therefore exonerated.
Asbestos also cuts out a guy’s large intestine and electrocutes it (and him, by proxy), and chops up a curly mullet headed dude with a lawnmower. Not to mention, he drops a screwdriver from above and into the skull of some guy. Oh yeah, he also rips the jaw off of that old lady neighbor with a claw hammer. While the last one is not particularly clever, she was fucking annoying, and didn’t have much time left anyway. Anyway, morally speaking, you just gotta let some shit slide.
Asbestos gets crazier and crazier, and becomes haunted by the spectres of these dead turkeys, before finally meeting his demise. But that’s okay, because now that his cinematic body (i.e. the character) has whithered way, his ashes will recycle as asbestos in the atmosphere. The world will become covered in microscopic felt, thus laying the foundation of Felt mania. Disenfranchised modernites the world over will crave further Felt product (sequels, sitcoms, action figures, maybe a posthumous bid for political office) to satisfy their id soaked depravities.