Greetings, movie fan. I see you've decided to rent CORKY ROMANO. Really? On purpose? Maybe not. There is no way for me to know, for instance, that this isn't an evidence-planting scheme on the part of some crooked FBI agents, or maybe your frat initiation required you to rent this while wearing only Crisco and a child-size Speedo. But more likely than not you just needed something to put on top of the "Truck Stop Skanks" DVDs so the kid behind the counter doesn't think you're a total perv. (Unfortunately, now he thinks you're a perv and a weirdo with no taste, and quite possibly a crippling addiction to paint fumes.)

If that's the case, congratulations. Enjoy your skanks. If, however, you picked up this film deliberately and you are not, say, legally blind or suffering from a rare, incurable disorder that causes sudden, overpowering compulsions to rent Chris Kattan movies in broad daylight, which I highly doubt as such a disorder has a suicide rate that approaches 98 percent, then I must ask you to reconsider. Please. I'm begging you. Begging! This film has powers you can't comprehend. CORKY may seem innocent, with little Chris Kattan dressing up in silly outfits and giving cocaine to dogs, but it does things to you. Evil things. I have documented proof of people who only saw the preview and they were later spotted lighting orphanages on fire while quoting dialogue from "Blossom."

It may not be too late. Some video stores have a lemon policy that allows you to return awful movies the day you rent it. If they don't, take it back anyway. Better yet, scratch the disc deeply and then take it back. If you have to, tell the clerk it was that way when you got it, but chances are the minimum-wage slave behind the counter will be too busy arguing about the gender of that monkey-dog thing in "Battlestar Galactica" to notice.

God forbid you find this note after you've already started the movie. Oh, sure, it starts off innocently enough. Look, there's Peter Falk! He's been in some decent movies, right? He was Columbo! And there's Peter Berg! Chris Penn! And that one guy from that one movie! You know, the astronaut one. How bad can this be? you say. Sure, every critic on the planet hated it, but you took the time to drive to the video store, you put up with the sneering kid behind the counter who is still ticked off from when his Film 101 instructor gave his paper about the ethical implications of Scott Baio getting telepathic powers in ZAPPED! a C-, and paid your hard-earned money, so you may as well watch it.

That's just what CORKY wants you to think.

Before you know it, Kattan is tossing hamsters, assaulting obese Mexican women's cats, and pulling snakes out of his pants. And then it's too late. It starts as a vague itching in the back of your head when he's singing to his crotch. But the itch won't go away. You try to ignore it and watch more of the movie. Oh look! Corky's stepping on a corpse! It's wacky! The itch just gets worse. Oh no, Corky just took a whole bunch of cocaine and now he has to speak to a class of second graders! That's even wackier! Also insulting to your intelligence, and the intelligence of the second graders, but, hey... wacky! Still, your itch. You scratch and scratch, but it seems to be inside your head. And it's more like a burning. It feels like someone took a hot whiz on your brain.

In fact, you find yourself unable to tell whether or not someone is, in fact, whizzing on your brain. What if it's Star Jones? In desperation, you shut the movie off. All better? Not at all. It's still playing! Even with the TV off, you can distinctly hear the sound of Chris Kattan getting punched in the testicles. Satisfying as that is, it's also incredibly maddening when it just follows you around everywhere. And when you close your eyes, there's Corky, dressed as a Girl Scout. Or fighting a midget. Now sleep is torture. Work is pointless. You can't hold a job anymore because you continually interrupt meetings with clients by repeatedly shouting "Shut up, Corky!" like you're Becca from "Life Goes On" on crack.

And it never ends. Never. Soon, you're wandering the streets, the sound of Chris Kattan echoing in your head, his beaver-like smile tattooed behind your eyes, and your brain basted in hot Star Jones pee. You've become one of Those People. If you're lucky, you're just a burden on those loved ones who can still tolerate your constant mutterings about The Evil Incarnate Who Is Called Corky. And your night terrors. If you're really lucky, you've got a rich deaf aunt. If not, well...

But, hey, don't listen to me. Do what you want to. I know that the lure of seeing a grown man fart on another man's head on film can be tough to resist. Hell, I directed the thing. But what do I know? Watch your movie. Go ahead. I dare you. Sucker.

Sincerely,
Rob Pritts

PS Can you believe this counts as community service?

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