If this doesn't make you want to watch the movie...
If you’re too young (or classy) to remember The Lost Boys, this little 1987 Joel Schumacher gem was, on the surface, just a vehicle to get both of THE COREYs to share screen time. No qualms there. But then it messed around and was awesome.
The story is pretty simple: Teen punk vampires (headed up by Keifer Sutherland) feast on the inhabitants of a hapless coastal town. But sometimes they have to recruit, expand the eternal gene pool.
Normally, eternal life, much like Keifer’s blonde mini-mullet and dangly earrings ensemble, sells itself. But he actually has to work to solicit Jason Patric’s membership to the club.
Keifer’s like a personal trainer, hovering over Patric, chugging whey protein, spouting about muscle confusion and free first sessions. And all Patric wants to do is pound out this set of squats, finish this Cannibal Corpse mix.
“Join us, Michael,” Keifer coos. “Be one of us, Michael. KEEP YOUR FUCKING KNEES IN! Be one of us. By the way, drink some of my blood. But mostly, be one of us.”
Parents are the same way, always trying to bully you non-parents into drinking from our bottles of sleepless sorrow. And most of us have mini-mullets, shifty eyes.
Join us, non-parents. Have a baby. What are you waiting for? Our kids could have play dates, we’ll babysit, it would so AWESOME. Don’t you want our kids to be the same age?!
No-goodniks through and through, us parents. Classic manipulators:
Join us, non-parents. What do you want to do, see the world or something? Buy a National Geographic, man. Much cheaper, and you don’t have to take vacation time or get duped by a fast-talking tuk tuk driver. Less mosquitoes, too.
Assholes, the lot of us:
What’s that, you want to make manager? What greater promotion could you possibly get in life than becoming a parent? Think about it. But not too long. Clock is ticking. Increased risks and whatnot. Join us.
We’re so desperate, we’re likely to say anything to get you to turn:
You know how much tax credit we got for our kid? Cha-CHING, buddy! Also, my penis grew an inch. TMI?
Pathetic. It’s not even that we want you to commiserate with us. No no, we’re much more selfish than that; it’s more like we just want you to empathize with us. We just want you to really know what this is like. And you can’t do that until you’re a card-carrying member.
Of course, the real fallacy of our sales campaign is the product itself. You can put a bow on a turd, but that doesn’t make it a good gift. Babies, much like turds, cannot be returned or re-gifted. Keifer was selling eternal life and motorcycle gusto and sexytime with Jami Gertz. I’m covered in spit-up and haven’t showered in three days. So, join us. Grow a mini-mullet. Keep your fucking knees in. But mostly, be one of us.