Well folks, this is it. By this time tomorrow, I'll either be lounging comfortably in my chair, still breathing the longest sigh of relief in history, or I'll be meeting my new cellmate. Put in a word with the man upstairs for me, eh? I don't wanna' be somebody's girlfriend.
After all, there's too much hair on my tits.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
Leave the driving to us!...but if a cannibal gets hungry, you're fucked.
Once upon a time, I took a Greyhound bus to Florida.
Shut the fuck up and let me finish!
Anyway, couple years back, hopped a Hound. No real rhyme or reason, pretty much the same situation as when I moved out here to Cali, only I didn't get busted for possession on federal property. Pretty straightforward process though, you walk into the station, you buy your ticket, and you look around at all the other social rejects with whom you're going to be sharing a cramped, poorly ventilated tin can on wheels with for the next day or two. I vaguely recall a few guidelines, no drinking, no smoking (great idea when you're in close quarters with people who're just as pissed off about their station in life as you are, by the way) but for the most part, there wasn't a whole lot of jargon regarding the rules and regulations attached to the experience.
Well, apparently Greyhound needs to either see about getting the rights to the name "Meals On Wheels", or throw in an addendum to the passenger conduct expectations about not eating your seatmeat. For those of you who live under a rock or just plain have no fucking clue what's going on outside of your apartment, a few days ago a Chinese man who'd immigrated to Canada was apparently so fed up with hearing "Eh?" at the end of every sentence that he took it into his mind to make his seatmate's innards his...well, outtards.
In case I lost you there, let me clarify. A Canadian. Was Killed. On a Greyhound.
Am I the only person who couldn't wait to hit up YouTube and see if someone caught some video of this shit? The guy was Canadian, for fuck's sake! What could he have possibly done? Gotten so drunk on piss beer that he spilled maple syrup on the murderer's leg and only apologize fourteen times instead of twenty? Folks, I've met Canadians. Granted, the first one I met was a little dim, evidenced by proclaiming that she originally hailed from "Canadia" (sorry Missy, but it needed to be said), but I've never had an argument with one.
While sober.
So this guy, Tim McLean, is just sitting in his seat, probably thinking about maple leaves or some such Canadian nonsense, everyone's watching Zorro which had me floored the first time I heard the story, and Lee Wong Stabbyface over here goes ballistic and starts chest-fucking the poor guy with a knife. Obviously everyone on the bus panics, the driver slams the brakes and everyone piles out like this fucker just turned into a coked up Godzilla. As if killing this guy isn't bad enough, dude cuts the victim's head off and holds it over his head like it's the Olympic gold medal in brutality, then decides to celebrate by eating McLean's various severed body parts.
Yeah, you heard me. He goes Michael Myers on the victim's chest, cuts his head off, starts choppin' other bits and pieces off and downs 'em like they're something he picked up at McDonalds.
Cops finally showed up and brought the guy down and hauled him off to what I hope was a private cell with an open vending machine, and the world is left with yet another astounding "What the fuck?" So, basically, we can't fly because of terrorists, we can't ride busses because of...what, diabetics?...we can't hitch, am I missing anything here? What's next, the BMX Sniper? The Kick-n-Go Strangler? Are we just supposed to chill in our own patches and pray to God nobody decides to paint a taxi's backseat with our brains? It's a fucked up world we live in, folks, and apparently it ain't gettin' any better.
Especially if you're in Coach.
Shut the fuck up and let me finish!
Anyway, couple years back, hopped a Hound. No real rhyme or reason, pretty much the same situation as when I moved out here to Cali, only I didn't get busted for possession on federal property. Pretty straightforward process though, you walk into the station, you buy your ticket, and you look around at all the other social rejects with whom you're going to be sharing a cramped, poorly ventilated tin can on wheels with for the next day or two. I vaguely recall a few guidelines, no drinking, no smoking (great idea when you're in close quarters with people who're just as pissed off about their station in life as you are, by the way) but for the most part, there wasn't a whole lot of jargon regarding the rules and regulations attached to the experience.
Well, apparently Greyhound needs to either see about getting the rights to the name "Meals On Wheels", or throw in an addendum to the passenger conduct expectations about not eating your seatmeat. For those of you who live under a rock or just plain have no fucking clue what's going on outside of your apartment, a few days ago a Chinese man who'd immigrated to Canada was apparently so fed up with hearing "Eh?" at the end of every sentence that he took it into his mind to make his seatmate's innards his...well, outtards.
In case I lost you there, let me clarify. A Canadian. Was Killed. On a Greyhound.
Am I the only person who couldn't wait to hit up YouTube and see if someone caught some video of this shit? The guy was Canadian, for fuck's sake! What could he have possibly done? Gotten so drunk on piss beer that he spilled maple syrup on the murderer's leg and only apologize fourteen times instead of twenty? Folks, I've met Canadians. Granted, the first one I met was a little dim, evidenced by proclaiming that she originally hailed from "Canadia" (sorry Missy, but it needed to be said), but I've never had an argument with one.
While sober.
So this guy, Tim McLean, is just sitting in his seat, probably thinking about maple leaves or some such Canadian nonsense, everyone's watching Zorro which had me floored the first time I heard the story, and Lee Wong Stabbyface over here goes ballistic and starts chest-fucking the poor guy with a knife. Obviously everyone on the bus panics, the driver slams the brakes and everyone piles out like this fucker just turned into a coked up Godzilla. As if killing this guy isn't bad enough, dude cuts the victim's head off and holds it over his head like it's the Olympic gold medal in brutality, then decides to celebrate by eating McLean's various severed body parts.
Yeah, you heard me. He goes Michael Myers on the victim's chest, cuts his head off, starts choppin' other bits and pieces off and downs 'em like they're something he picked up at McDonalds.
Cops finally showed up and brought the guy down and hauled him off to what I hope was a private cell with an open vending machine, and the world is left with yet another astounding "What the fuck?" So, basically, we can't fly because of terrorists, we can't ride busses because of...what, diabetics?...we can't hitch, am I missing anything here? What's next, the BMX Sniper? The Kick-n-Go Strangler? Are we just supposed to chill in our own patches and pray to God nobody decides to paint a taxi's backseat with our brains? It's a fucked up world we live in, folks, and apparently it ain't gettin' any better.
Especially if you're in Coach.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Matrimonial bliss my ass
Really, guys? Eight people married in the last three months? Really? Are you fucking serious? Look, I'm sure you're all lubed up about finding that special someone to spend the rest of your miserable, nine-to-five life with, but give me a fucking break! This shit is spreading faster than AIDS in Africa and I'm getting a little sick of hearing about it, so guess what? You get to read about me trashing what you're calling the greatest thing that ever happened to you, and what you'll probably call the biggest mistake of your life a year from now.
First of all, think about how many people there are in the world today. Hell, up the odds in your favor a bit and just think about how many people are in your fucking state. Are you honestly naive enough to think that you found the one person out of every example of the genetic AmTrak that takes place when a race is propagated from two people (or amoeba if you're an evolutionist, I don't really give a shit, somebody took their sister to prom at some point either way), you actually managed to find your so-called soulmate? Are you fucking kidding me? If you were so spiritually connected to one another, you wouldn't bitch at each other like one of you just got caught finger fucking the family dog every time the cable bill came in the mail. Shut the fuck up.
Second, life-long commitment, and don't give me that "people have been getting married for millenia" bullshit, either. Look, life-long commitment was all fine and dandy when the average human life expectancy was rivaled by the shelf life of a gallon of milk, but this the twenty-first century for fuck's sake! People live long enough to see their great-grandchildren fuck up just as bad as they did when they were kids, and you're telling me that you're going to share living space, a bed, financial burdens and bodily fluids for the rest of your life? Hey, here's an idea. Why don't you adopt a unicorn while you're at it, jackass?
Third, procreation. Yeah, that's right, pooling your wretched, polluted genetic data into one (or ten if you're Catholic) bundle of cliche joy that, despite it's deceptively unthreatening stature, is going to assrape you out of every spare cent you're ever going to make? I can't even manage to love one person, and you honestly think you're going to glide through putting up with two other people under your roof that you're legally obligated to devote yourself to without question or complaint? Which fucking truck did you fall off of, exactly, and what kind of mind-altering substance were you packed away with before you did?
Look, I've been to the movies, too. Y'know why they never show what happens after the charming, Hollywood-handsome male hooks up with the sweet, innocent, big-titted closet nymphomaniac female? Because it's all downhill from there, fucktard! Marriage isn't the solution to your problem. A six-pack, a magazine and a lock on your door is more cost-efficient, less stressful and a hell of a lot less soul-crushing than putting a ring on someone's finger ever will be.
And it doesn't bitch about curtains and wallpaper, either.
First of all, think about how many people there are in the world today. Hell, up the odds in your favor a bit and just think about how many people are in your fucking state. Are you honestly naive enough to think that you found the one person out of every example of the genetic AmTrak that takes place when a race is propagated from two people (or amoeba if you're an evolutionist, I don't really give a shit, somebody took their sister to prom at some point either way), you actually managed to find your so-called soulmate? Are you fucking kidding me? If you were so spiritually connected to one another, you wouldn't bitch at each other like one of you just got caught finger fucking the family dog every time the cable bill came in the mail. Shut the fuck up.
Second, life-long commitment, and don't give me that "people have been getting married for millenia" bullshit, either. Look, life-long commitment was all fine and dandy when the average human life expectancy was rivaled by the shelf life of a gallon of milk, but this the twenty-first century for fuck's sake! People live long enough to see their great-grandchildren fuck up just as bad as they did when they were kids, and you're telling me that you're going to share living space, a bed, financial burdens and bodily fluids for the rest of your life? Hey, here's an idea. Why don't you adopt a unicorn while you're at it, jackass?
Third, procreation. Yeah, that's right, pooling your wretched, polluted genetic data into one (or ten if you're Catholic) bundle of cliche joy that, despite it's deceptively unthreatening stature, is going to assrape you out of every spare cent you're ever going to make? I can't even manage to love one person, and you honestly think you're going to glide through putting up with two other people under your roof that you're legally obligated to devote yourself to without question or complaint? Which fucking truck did you fall off of, exactly, and what kind of mind-altering substance were you packed away with before you did?
Look, I've been to the movies, too. Y'know why they never show what happens after the charming, Hollywood-handsome male hooks up with the sweet, innocent, big-titted closet nymphomaniac female? Because it's all downhill from there, fucktard! Marriage isn't the solution to your problem. A six-pack, a magazine and a lock on your door is more cost-efficient, less stressful and a hell of a lot less soul-crushing than putting a ring on someone's finger ever will be.
And it doesn't bitch about curtains and wallpaper, either.
Friday, June 13, 2008
The Mean Green Redeeming Machine
Ever since the news came out that Edward Norton and Liv Tyler were starring in the new Incredible Hulk movie, there've been naysayers coming out of the woodwork insisting that this "sequel" was nothing but a bunch of big-name actors trying to make up for the cinematic fiasco in which Eric Bana and Jennifer Connell shamelessly displayed their respective suck-factors. To those people who groaned in disbelief that Marvel could showcase their raging steroid gamma monstrosity without disappointing the world, I have five words for you.
Nah, nah, nah nah, nah!
From the flashback sequence that swiftly retconned the dismal 2003 attempt at bringing Bruce Banner's alter ego to the big screen to the much-anticipated Robert Downey Jr. cameo at the end of the film, The Incredible Hulk breaths life into the big green walking anger management issue. Edward Norton's portrayal of a man who must constantly ration his emotions is both enjoyable and saddening, as we see the effect that desperation and isolationism has on someone whose genius would otherwise likely garner him everything in life that he could want. The fact that Norton also had creative liscense with the film proves that he's not only one of the best actors in Hollywood, but also one of the best imaginations.
As for Liv Tyler, gone are the days of Empire Records. Instead, she's at a point in her life and her career where she can do just about anything she puts her creative mind to, as evidenced by the way she surpasses Jennifer Connelly's take on Dr. Betty Ross by leaps and bounds. Tyler shows the audience that Bruce Banner isn't the only tragic character in this story; a woman who believes the man she loves is dead, only to be reintroduced to him as a fugitive that she must risk everything to reunite with. Where Edward Norton brings his fair share of action and drama, Liv Tyler brings something that's sorely lacking in female love interests in cinema today: heart.
As for William Hurt playing General Ross, I'm not really sure what he brings. Granted, the man's made a name for himself as a stoic personality, and the military strives to convince the world that stoicism is it's stock in trade, Hurt's performance brings little to the story but someone to hate for being a tool of his own ambition and distorted sense of patriotic duty. The only scene where he shows any sign of life is his meeting with Tony Stark, and I'm not entirely convinced that the positive impression I gleamed from their interaction wasn't due to Downey Jr.'s unfailing presence in the billionaire industrialist turned superhero's shoes.
Tim Roth as The Abomination. Need I say more? Now, first of all, I enjoyed Ted the Bellboy as much as anyone, but the man was born to be a villain. There's something about that cockney intensity that just screams "You need to be afraid of me, even though I weigh about as much as a fourteen year-old Asian girl." From start to finish, the man oozes that sort of unassuming tough-as-nails hard-ass persona. If anything, his mutation actually makes him seem like less of a threat. There's something about a gigantic freak with skeletal protrusions that will never have a chance at combating a soldier who's out of ammunition and still walks up to The Hulk and says "Is that all you got?", knowing full well that the latter juggernaut could grind him into the asphalt.
The rest of the cast, while none of them individually noteworthy, did a terrific job of contributing to the story, with the exception of Mr. Blue (no, despite Roth's presence, Tarrantino had nothing to do with the picture to the best of my knowledge). The implications made by his character and fate were amusing, but let's face facts. An annoying scientist will always be an annoying scientist. That aside, The Incredible Hulk succeeds in every area that it's predecessor failed in. If you need any further incentive to go see it, I couldn't even force myself to sneak into another show afterward. I was that impressed.
Even though there was no Sam Jackson appearance after the credits. Damn it.
Nah, nah, nah nah, nah!
From the flashback sequence that swiftly retconned the dismal 2003 attempt at bringing Bruce Banner's alter ego to the big screen to the much-anticipated Robert Downey Jr. cameo at the end of the film, The Incredible Hulk breaths life into the big green walking anger management issue. Edward Norton's portrayal of a man who must constantly ration his emotions is both enjoyable and saddening, as we see the effect that desperation and isolationism has on someone whose genius would otherwise likely garner him everything in life that he could want. The fact that Norton also had creative liscense with the film proves that he's not only one of the best actors in Hollywood, but also one of the best imaginations.
As for Liv Tyler, gone are the days of Empire Records. Instead, she's at a point in her life and her career where she can do just about anything she puts her creative mind to, as evidenced by the way she surpasses Jennifer Connelly's take on Dr. Betty Ross by leaps and bounds. Tyler shows the audience that Bruce Banner isn't the only tragic character in this story; a woman who believes the man she loves is dead, only to be reintroduced to him as a fugitive that she must risk everything to reunite with. Where Edward Norton brings his fair share of action and drama, Liv Tyler brings something that's sorely lacking in female love interests in cinema today: heart.
As for William Hurt playing General Ross, I'm not really sure what he brings. Granted, the man's made a name for himself as a stoic personality, and the military strives to convince the world that stoicism is it's stock in trade, Hurt's performance brings little to the story but someone to hate for being a tool of his own ambition and distorted sense of patriotic duty. The only scene where he shows any sign of life is his meeting with Tony Stark, and I'm not entirely convinced that the positive impression I gleamed from their interaction wasn't due to Downey Jr.'s unfailing presence in the billionaire industrialist turned superhero's shoes.
Tim Roth as The Abomination. Need I say more? Now, first of all, I enjoyed Ted the Bellboy as much as anyone, but the man was born to be a villain. There's something about that cockney intensity that just screams "You need to be afraid of me, even though I weigh about as much as a fourteen year-old Asian girl." From start to finish, the man oozes that sort of unassuming tough-as-nails hard-ass persona. If anything, his mutation actually makes him seem like less of a threat. There's something about a gigantic freak with skeletal protrusions that will never have a chance at combating a soldier who's out of ammunition and still walks up to The Hulk and says "Is that all you got?", knowing full well that the latter juggernaut could grind him into the asphalt.
The rest of the cast, while none of them individually noteworthy, did a terrific job of contributing to the story, with the exception of Mr. Blue (no, despite Roth's presence, Tarrantino had nothing to do with the picture to the best of my knowledge). The implications made by his character and fate were amusing, but let's face facts. An annoying scientist will always be an annoying scientist. That aside, The Incredible Hulk succeeds in every area that it's predecessor failed in. If you need any further incentive to go see it, I couldn't even force myself to sneak into another show afterward. I was that impressed.
Even though there was no Sam Jackson appearance after the credits. Damn it.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Indiana Jones and the Ruined Franchise
The only thing that could possibly make this film better is fire, directly applied to every copy in existence, and the execution of George Lucas, whose status as an alzheimer's patient is made blatantly apparent by this fourth installment in a series that, once upon a time, made me happy. It was bad enough when he ruined Star Wars, not once, not twice, but three fucking times, and every time the public lapped it up with the abandon of a cum-addicted whore working overtime. Fuck you, Lucasarts. Fuck you, George Lucas. Most of all, fuck you, Harrison Ford, for allowing your second greatest character to be completely destroyed in the eyes of everyone unfortunate enough to be suckered into paying eight bucks to watch this sub-par genre piece. If I hadn't theater jumped after the flick, I'd probably be on my way to kick your ass.
In other news, there's a new Mummy flick comin' out. I'm warning each and every one of you, if I find out that they replaced Rachel Weisz for any reason other than she's too busy reading my rants and fantasizing about the more integral portions of my anatomy, I'm going. To kill. Everyone.
Except Rachel Weisz.
In other news, there's a new Mummy flick comin' out. I'm warning each and every one of you, if I find out that they replaced Rachel Weisz for any reason other than she's too busy reading my rants and fantasizing about the more integral portions of my anatomy, I'm going. To kill. Everyone.
Except Rachel Weisz.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Re: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Please tell me I'm not the only one thinking about the finer points of having sex with Summer Glau's version of the Terminator. I mean, c'mon, they can bleed, they can sweat, they can have bad breath...there's gotta' be something at least resembling a vagina on that thing.
...Sweet Jesus, but I need a hobby...
...Sweet Jesus, but I need a hobby...
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Time to put the brakes on your sex organs, people.
Look, I know my friends and I are all at that age where we start thinking about how warm and fuzzy we'd feel if we settled down and started our own families. It's the curse of getting older, we start worrying about our own genetic progeny, we start entertaining thoughts of how wicked cool our offspring would be. We play mental scenerios of baseball games, birthdays, sex talks and embarassing the shit out of them in front of their first serious significant others.
Sorry to burst your bubble folks, but in case you've forgotten, life sucks. S'true.
There isn't enough food on the planet at this point in time to adequately feed the current population, and at the current rate of knocked up prom dates per capita, it's only slated to get worse. Overpopulation and resource scarcity is an escalating problem, and guess what? It's our fault! Yeah, I know, it's a buzzkill, and having been raised Catholic I'm probably in no place to preach, but humanity's rapid spread across the globe is destroying this planet.
While I'll grant you that after the inevitable death of one of God's most disastrous oversights, more commonly known as the baby boomers, things'll get a little better, it isn't enough. What would be enough is if someone got America and China together, sat them down in the biggest gymnasium in history and instructed our respective cultures on how to use a fucking condom. At least China's trying. Killing babies isn't the coolest thing they've ever done, but they're putting forth an effort, and I respect that. America, on the other hand? America rewards it's populace for fucking like rabbits with free money. Free. Fucking. Money. What kind of incentive is that to pay a little fucking courtesy to the rest of the world? "Y'know, overpopulation is going to result in planet-wide food shortages, and we're not gonna' have enough space for these little bastards to stand and wave their arms around without smacking their neighbors in their scrunched up little faces, but hey, we're fine at the moment. Here's twenty bucks, Miss Legswideopen. The rest is in the mail."
And yes, I know how this is gonna' go over with those of my friends who already have children and think that they're the greatest thing since Nintendo, but y'know something? Every parent on the planet thinks their kid is going to grow up to be a Nobel Peace Prize winner. They're not. In all likelihood, they're gonna' end up just like everyone else; subsisting on frozen pizza and working some stupid, underpaying job, driving like idiots, and generally wasting more oxygen than they're worth.
"But Rem, the sanctity of life, the miracle of childbirth, the first time they burp, baby blue walls with rubber ducky wallpaper and-" shut the fuck up. Children are loud, obnoxious, and smell funny even on the best of days. I refuse to respect any human being as a worthwhile individual until they can wipe their own ass, and by that time they've usually picked up enough jackass habits that I hate them anyway. Long story short, pop the pill, wear the patch, make your skeezy-assed boyfriend double wrap it, I don't care. Just stop multiplying, and stop pretending it's a miracle.
Fuck's sake, you shit all over yourself popping the little bastards out. What's so miraculous about that?
Sorry to burst your bubble folks, but in case you've forgotten, life sucks. S'true.
There isn't enough food on the planet at this point in time to adequately feed the current population, and at the current rate of knocked up prom dates per capita, it's only slated to get worse. Overpopulation and resource scarcity is an escalating problem, and guess what? It's our fault! Yeah, I know, it's a buzzkill, and having been raised Catholic I'm probably in no place to preach, but humanity's rapid spread across the globe is destroying this planet.
While I'll grant you that after the inevitable death of one of God's most disastrous oversights, more commonly known as the baby boomers, things'll get a little better, it isn't enough. What would be enough is if someone got America and China together, sat them down in the biggest gymnasium in history and instructed our respective cultures on how to use a fucking condom. At least China's trying. Killing babies isn't the coolest thing they've ever done, but they're putting forth an effort, and I respect that. America, on the other hand? America rewards it's populace for fucking like rabbits with free money. Free. Fucking. Money. What kind of incentive is that to pay a little fucking courtesy to the rest of the world? "Y'know, overpopulation is going to result in planet-wide food shortages, and we're not gonna' have enough space for these little bastards to stand and wave their arms around without smacking their neighbors in their scrunched up little faces, but hey, we're fine at the moment. Here's twenty bucks, Miss Legswideopen. The rest is in the mail."
And yes, I know how this is gonna' go over with those of my friends who already have children and think that they're the greatest thing since Nintendo, but y'know something? Every parent on the planet thinks their kid is going to grow up to be a Nobel Peace Prize winner. They're not. In all likelihood, they're gonna' end up just like everyone else; subsisting on frozen pizza and working some stupid, underpaying job, driving like idiots, and generally wasting more oxygen than they're worth.
"But Rem, the sanctity of life, the miracle of childbirth, the first time they burp, baby blue walls with rubber ducky wallpaper and-" shut the fuck up. Children are loud, obnoxious, and smell funny even on the best of days. I refuse to respect any human being as a worthwhile individual until they can wipe their own ass, and by that time they've usually picked up enough jackass habits that I hate them anyway. Long story short, pop the pill, wear the patch, make your skeezy-assed boyfriend double wrap it, I don't care. Just stop multiplying, and stop pretending it's a miracle.
Fuck's sake, you shit all over yourself popping the little bastards out. What's so miraculous about that?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)