Somewhere on the outskirts of your best friend’s backyard, Nathan Schiff was living his dream. That dream consisted of mustaches and a secret community of lepers taking up residence in the outskirts of Long Island, feeding on human flesh… but we’re not here to judge. We open up with a student enjoying some solitude and getting herself tied up by a lunatic wearing a sack over his head. Her screams are in vain as there ain’t anybody but her and the goggled creep around. Those screams are eternally snuffed out when he does her in with the highly convenient lawnmower he has on hand. He bags up the viscera and heads on out to god knows where. ROLL CREDITS! A cranky detective stares ponderously out over the water, his girlfriend tries to get him to have some fun but he’s far too busy tackling the existential dread his job has imprinted on him. He may have a wonderful mustache but he’s a bit unbearable to be around. Wandering the beach, Detective Cameron, now sporting a less-impressive mustache, stumbles across a mutilated head buried in the sand. Before he can raise the alarm, another more impressively mustachioed man pays him off to keep silent and reburies the head. Mighty mustache drives off and meets up with sack-head and a pube-stached blonde biker who proceed to beat the shit out of him. He’s late for a payoff and after his bribe from earlier, he’s short on what is owed. The bikers threaten to burn the bags of long-pig but luckily for Mr. Mustache he’s got a gun. He gets his human meat and tells the bikers the deal is still on, then off he drives to deliver the garbage bags of flesh to the mutated monster that wanders the wastelands of Southeastern New York that he calls dad. Detective Cameron goes to visit his chief and let him know what he came across on his day at the beach. He’s supposed to be working undercover but, much to the chagrin of his Gene-Shalit-looking boss, he decides to keep digging into the suspicious activities. The detective teams up with his buddy and quits the force to deliver justice the only way he sees fit. On the other side of things, Mr. Mustache is crumbling under the pressure of his unfortunate situation and it looks like papa has become pretty damn powerful and his leper colony of four is dying off due to his selfishness and hunger. In between poorly choreographed scuffles and non-convincing performances we get butcher shop scraps, fake blood, discussions about love with a garbage bag full of lady parts, Budweiser, leprosy displayed with oatmeal and peanut butter and the papier-mâché nightmare that is Mr. Mustache’s father. Daddy speaks like a pompous literature professor doing a Harvey Fierstein impression and every performer looks like someone in the background of a photograph of your parents from before they were married. Sure there’s a bit of a drag but then our mentally-deteriorating lead shouts: “You don’t know what it’s like to be the son of a leper! What is a brain without eyes to see?!” and we forgive the boredom that just proceeded. It’s all wonderfully cheap and comes to a close with a ridiculous revelation and a whole lotta very dangerous chainsaw violence. Just another slice of time-capsule-oddness from the sadly overlooked Schiff.
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