Don't feed this into your crappy old VCR after midnight! Watching a Damon Packard movie is like breaking your girl's compact mirror or deep frying that stray black cat lurking in the back alley. In other words, you will not have sex for at least seven years, run out of money faster than you can say American Express and kiss your cosmic karma goodbye as well while you're at it, why don't you? Less severe cases will move back in with their grandparents, others will straight-up opt for perpetual homelessness. There's no running from the Pulse, it will screw up your diet, it will wreck your tires, it will sully your laundry and misplace your toothpicks. It will mess with whatever little sanity you had left after Reagan's election. This is the Pulse. It's the fly in your ramen noodles and the splinter in your third eye. Every time you feel the Pulse a crooked cop is writing your next parking ticket and you just know that the landlady is already filing for eviction. Beware the Pulse, it will suck you into a maelstrom of eternal malaise. Run from the Pulse, your first class ticket for being jinxed into a second-rate loser. The Pulse will beat you into submission like a mindless bully who haunts, harasses and humiliates you with all the banalities of your daily struggle for survival. The Pulse is pulsating, like a Jane Fonda video on how to squat away your ever dwindling life force. The Pulse is harmful, the Pulse is addictive, soon you will find yourself compulsively crowdfunding the director's gold membership card at the all-night gym. You have been warned, do NOT excite Packard's Pulse!
Review of Fatal Pulse
