Below is a letter for Henry Rollins. But first, let me explain why I’m writing him.
Forty-five minutes and fifteen seconds into Wrong Turn 2: Dead End, Henry Rollins begins kicking the first of many homicidal inbred cannibal asses. It is also the very moment this film becomes worth anyone’s time (previous Henry Rollins footage excluded). His sheer righteousness saves Wrong Turn 2, because this is a terribly written – but solidly directed – film. Yet I watched the whole thing, choosing not to fast-forward through lame jokes, annoying characters, and plentiful clichés, knowing it would make Rollins’s screen time all the sweeter.
So, anyway, a message to Henry Rollins:
Dear Mr. Rollins:
Damn you. Damn you, Henry Rollins, for making me watch Wrong Turn 2: Dead End and films like it. Because of you, I’ve watched Keanu Reeves, Dolph Lundgren, and a weird-ass talking dolphin…in the same fucking movie. Do you know how much that weighs on my soul? And what I have I got in return for it? Where is my compensation? I mean, you’ve only entertained me more than any other person on the planet…
…oh, nevermind. Shit. Scratch that. Keep up the good work, Mr. Rollins, you magnificent tattooed bastard.