Too Nauseated To Fuck

I walked out of “Saw III” three times last night – and not because of gore. I’ve seen countless horror films over the past 29 years of my life, and nothing has disgusted me enough to turn away from the screen. I made a hasty exit due to the fact that I got motion sickness.

I had two free passes to catch Hilary Swank teaching inner city youth to write in “Freedom Writer’s Diary”. I had won the tickets from work. Woods & I got there 15 minutes prior to showtime only to discover a completely full house. We made a wise decision not to tangle for a seat amongst the ghetto youth occupying the theatre, so we hopped over to “Saw III” instead. I know I know... how ghetto fab of us.

I don’t know what possessed us to sit “closer” to the screen, but it was a definitely bad decision – for me anyway. I made it through the first hour just fine, but when the 61 minute hit I felt the nausea kick in. I thought it was the movie snack food which consisted of popcorn and jalapenos creeping back up my throat. Nope, that wasn’t it. It was the same feeling I get when I read a book or magazine while in the moving car. The same feeling I get when I ride one of those horrible carnival rides that spin in circles. The same feeling I got during “The Bourne Supremacy”. I knew I had to make a run for the door. I jumped over Woods and made a b-line out to the lobby.

I stayed in front of the concession stand for a few minutes to catch a bit of composure. I trailed back inside the theatre and placed myself back next to Woods. More bloody mayhem mixed with MTV style video editing did not sit well with me. Again, I leaped back over Woods’ lap to escape – this time with an empty soda cup. For once, I was able to fulfill the “free refill” option.

While on my way back to the theatre, I spotted Woods walking towards me concerned. I told him what was going on and that I was going to be fine. We returned to the movie.

Upon my third seating, I tried my hardest not to let any movement from the screen upset my stomach. The last thing I wanted was to vomit in that confined space. Actually, it seemed as if someone had beaten me to it since the theatre reeked lightly of puke. I was able to flash my eyelids open and close very quickly to keep the amounts of visuals to a limit. I downed enormous amounts of the cold carbonated beverage hoping that it would make the movie reach its final moments. I did everything I could not to make the matter worse.

Luckily, the grim ending approached. I was able to sit up and stare at the film with a slight feeling of confidence. I knew I would be out of there shortly. I devoted myself to the movie with high hopes of a phenomenal twist of a conclusion that has made the previous “Saw” entries so original. What I got was something almost lackluster and oh-so-typical. This added with eyes that burned red, a stomach that bubbled, and a raging headache made for a Whip not so happy. The credits rolled and the house lights came up. I wobbled out of there more knowledgeable than the 107 minutes before. I knew I would never sit that close to the screen again.