Friday, June 27, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
When I become your beloved Philosopher-King -- and I will be, once this hangover wears off -- there are going to be a few changes 'round this place. There are certain people that seriously need to attend "re-education camp". I will not kill them, for I will be a benevolent dictator, loved by all but most especially and explicitly by several ladies at once.
People of normal sanity need not fear my whisky fuelled mood swings but several people have earned my wrath as of late. Most notably:
who wrote a letter, published in the June 2 issue of People magazine:
"I do not understand how Jennifer Aniston can be interested in John 'love 'em and leave 'em' Mayer. He has blown through so many sweet girls. I hope Jen wises up."
Margaret...if you have enough time to commit that banality to print, you have enough time to labour in my undergound Nethicite mines. Umm...I mean, attend an informational week-end retreat where you can be shown the error of your ways.
And that goes for anyone else who writes a letter to People that doesn't include the salutation "Dear Fuckwads" Or anyone wondering why I was reading People magazine.
That fucking MARMADUKE,
who seriously glamourizes disobedience among dogs. Don't we have a hard enough time keeping Great Danes off of our sofas and not chasing the mail-man who is, afterall, only trying to earn an honest living, pay his allimony, keep his mother in a rest home that hasn't been seen on Sixty Minutes and afford a bottle of scotch after a long day of hauling flyers, bills and pleas for money from African orphans and the NDP? With the internet, he has no job security. Do you think he doesn't know that MARMADUKE? Why do you continue to torment him? Off to pull carts full of Nethicite in the mines with you! Shit, I mean, off to a seminar where we sit down, talk about our feelings in a proactive way and devise ways to become more tolerant.
PEOPLE who get cashiers to check their LOTTERY TICKETS for winners while you stand in line BEHIND THEM trying to buy SMOKES,
because my time is less valuable than yours. We all know lottery tickets are a tax on the stupid - unlike cigarettes which are a tax on the self destructive -- but who knew they were too stupid or lazy to read some numbers in a newspaper and then check to see if the were on the piece of paper they bought. They won't be as lazy when they are sentanced to the Nethicite mines, err, I mean sent to a esteem building conference where we learn to appreciate the value of other people's time.
FRED PHELPS and the WESTBORO BAPTIST CHURCH of TOPEKA, KANSAS,
would have made my list - if I had a list - long before this. He and his followers at the Westboro Baptist Church (known as the WBC for brevity's sake) have picketted gay-bashed-to-death Matthew Sheppard's funeral (you may remember them as the charming folk holding tasteful GOD HATES FAGS placards). They picketted dead American soldiers funerals - dead because of America's alleged tolerance of the homos. They celebrated the deaths of Princess Diana (AIDS charities) and the Queen Mum (something to do with worshiping false idols, but I didn't really get it) in press release form. They are douchebags ... Attention loving douchebags.
They hate Ronald Reagan and Jerry Falwell for being too liberal. Seriously.
Usually I'm a 'Live and Let Live' kinda heathen but this time - as a fellow potty mouthed athiest and filthy blasphemer - it's personal.
The WBC’s Press Release declared,
“George Carlin - the filthy blasphemer - the obscene potty-mouth skeptic, agnostic, and profane atheist - who had nothing but disdain for God and the Bible all the days of his tragic life - is now, at this minute and for ever writhing and screaming in exquisite pain - pleading for mercy from that God he flipped off while performing for HBO for lucre. Carlin made lots of money making fun of God; now he must deal with God - face to face - for ever. ‘The Lord thy God repayeth them that hate him to their face, to destroy them; he will not be slack to him that hateth him, he will repay him to his face.’ Deut. 7:10. When Carlin died yesterday (June 22) he split Hell wide open at once”
First, how can you be both an agnostic and an athiest? it would be like describing Fred Phelps as a moderate and fundamental Christian.
Second? Aw, Fuck it. There is no second. I'm not even going to pretend I won't send them to the Nethicite mines where Fred Phelps and his ilk will be constantly anally violated by Nethicite miners and their pet HOWLER MONKEYS who deserve a break every now and then. Sodomize on, MARMADUKE. Sodomize on.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
A dazzling exploration of faith, politics and sexuality in China soon after the start of the Yuan Dynasty, KUNG FU PANDA makes the point that, maybe He is lost, maybe abducted, or maybe absconded, but God is certainly gone.
Self reliance is the central theme in Dreamwork's latest animated epic. Po, the titular panda (voiced by Jack Black) is chosen by a turtle as the Dragon Warrior and must look inside himself to find the strength to save his village from a villain at the gates.
In a sense Po is the literary descendent of HAMLET - charged with a duty that he both knows and feels is right, yet is unwilling to carry out.
Mr. Black is a bravely idiosyncratic actor whose extravagantly mannered Ignatio in NACHO LIBRE was much talked about. He brings a showy energy to the panda's vacillations, turning introversion into an extroverted activity that certainly commands the attention.
The characters (particularly Seth Rogen's Mantis and David Cross' Crane) are presented in such a way as to give us a good understanding of the complexities and the pain of their choices. We are given a rare glimpse, beyond the dialog among characters, to the inside of their minds - a look into the processes that are leading them to the choices they will end up making. These conflicts and the way they are presented are what make the drama so effective, and the comedy, which is plentiful, so necessary. Dustin Hoffman deserves special praise as some sort of rodent, his most believable role in a decade.
Ablaze with intellectual vigour, political passion and incendiary emotional energy, KUNG FU PANDA is a beautiful work of art that everyone should see.
at 8:41 p.m.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
As a newly inaugerated Man of Leisure, I find my days fill up pretty quickly. I mean, there's watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer, re-mastering the three-chord magnificence that is Hotel Yorba, obsessively cleaning random things and drinking way more whisky than I think I should but much less whisky than I thought I would.
Never once in the last five days did I wear khaki pants that show-off that I didn't shake my cock well enough after taking a leak. I did try to charge Joan $4.99 to make sure the garbage made it out to the curb correctly. Old habits die hard.
I would like to thank the peope who have recently gifted me with BBC comedies on DVD, cigarettes, Family Circus anthologies, Stuffed Simian Companions, Doesoevsky novels and pepperoni.
The love has not been unappreciated but it has resulted in unreturned phone-calls. I don't answer the phone. I just don't. In a perfect world I'd have a girl who did that for me. Her blouse would be low-cut and her voice would be suitably breathy. Quite frankly, the ringing of the phone scares me and I won't answer unless I'm well drunk or think I could make a few shekels.
So don't phone before noon unless you are offering me money.
at 11:31 p.m.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Anywhere I Lay My Head
Hmmm ... twenty-three-year-old starlet ...gets a record deal ... and releases an album full of Tom Waits cover songs.
We all knew that this was going to be either a work of utter transcendence or a foul, hang-over black pile of bowel movementry.
We were wrong. It's neither.
Some of the songs are truly God Awful - "No One Knows I'm Gone" and "Who Are You" being the worst offenders. I completely dismissed this release the first time I heard it - mocking it mercilessly to friends if my drunken memories are correct. But since I commandeered the radio at work and tuned it to an "Adult Alternative" station, the title track has grown on me. I decided to revisit the album and found that "I Wish I Was in New Orleans" and "Town With No Cheer" also have their charms. That charm was just obscured by the various studio shennanigans needed to mask Ms. Johansson's, ahem, average voice.
Please don't misunderstand that a beautiful singing voice is a requirement for a good Tom Waits song. Witness, well, Tom Waits. The beauty of Waits songs are that, for five minutes, you believe Waits is one of the skid-row bums or carny-folk that populate his songs.
I just can't picture Scarlett as a hobo. She can't pull off a line like "How do your pistol and your bible and your sleeping pills go?" without causing excessive giggling in this writer.
I respect Johansson as an actress - I enjoyed her in Lost In Translation, Ghost World and Home Alone 3. Interviews reveal her to be smarter than most people with perfect breasts. She apparently has exceptional taste in music. She really, really likes cheese, according to Wikipedia (God, I love Wikipedia). Anywhere Scarlett wants to lay her head - especially my lap - is fine with me. As an unemployed, bald, kinda doughy thirty-nine-year-old, I do realize my window is rapidly closing.
I really, genuinely, truly, kinda wanted this to work.
It didn't. But neither does it suck as many monkey balls as I feared.
Which was seven.
at 9:36 p.m.
Monday, June 2, 2008
I don't think there is anything I can add to this.
Pipedream Productions has an entire line of these inflatable sex dolls. Paris, Lindsay, Tori Spelling (Tori Spelling?) ... all your favourite celebrities are at pipedreamproducts.net. Just follow the link to your right (NSFW - and quit loafing).
Three Fabulous Love Holes? Outstanding.
at 9:56 p.m.