Monday, August 31, 2009

The List! Top 5ive reason to hate life!

     This is the end folks. This is the end of all things good and holy in the universe of nerd. Announced TODAY, sure to be a red letter day in history, Monday Aug 31st 2009, DISNEY TO BUY MARVEL IN A SHARES AND CASH DEAL WORTH APPROX $4BN! 

     This means the most "wholesome" multi-national entertainment corporation since the Catholic Church will now have all rights, creative and alike to over 5000, (count it bitch) Marvel characters including Spider-Man, The X-Men and Iron Man. 

     I have a feeling that Marvel characters won't be allowed to wear high heels or have their ears pierced anymore. Sorry Luke Cage. (We all know why they call him Black Raspberry Thunder in certain circles. Looks like Saturday nights just won't be the same in Chelsea.)

     But this isn't all bad like some people might automatically assume. Sure my first instinct was to throw up in my mouth then go out and buy 2000 issues of The Punisher before he becomes The Forgiver, (or whatever) but this could prove to be more entertaining for cynical youth like myself than ever! Are youth today still cynical or has Disney ruined that too? 

     Marvel Comics was founded in 1934, (as "Timely Comics" back in the day) and Disney was founded in 1923 (as "National Socialist German Workers Party" I think) so they both have a long running history in North American and somewhat European pop culture. Of course we all know that neither will be as popular in Europe as that lovable cartoon guitar-playing ladybug thing known as 'Ferdy' but for the purposes of this little article let's just suppose, shall we? 

     These two juggernauts have been drinking the same malt from different straws for so long it will be interesting to see what will transpire when they start getting mono from this new shared red and white striped plastic tube known as 'Darvel Comics and Theme Park' or 'Walt Spiderman Films' or whatever. Will things stay the same within the thousands of beloved worlds and characters from both creative sources or will there be changes? Will the influence of one company and it's millions of fans overpower and thus alter the characters and worlds of another? Will they finally thaw out Old Walt so he can do a film cameo instead of Stan Lee? Only time can tell I suppose but until then let's just make-believe some wacky Marvel-Disney cross-overs!

This is THE LIST! 


The Jonas Brothers Concert Experience 3-D featuring The Punisher. 
     This one is pretty self explanatory and it's what all the 35-year-old comic nerds who live with their parents and could never get laid are hoping for. 

     Three pre-teen fake rock stars explode on the youth scene with crappy tunes and no musical ability save knowing sort of what a microphone is and which way it should face, (already more than we expected) and already a legion of little girls want to do what they think is the nasty with the Jonas boys. They can wear all the promise rings they want, they're still getting married as soon as they legally can so they can indulge in this great rock-star perk despite how young the girls are. 

     This must really piss the nerds off. "I looked just like that when I was his age! I also couldn't sing and dressed like a gay man's loft apartment* but I never had girls screaming and trying to lock down my bits. This sucks."**

     Do you remember that old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles live stage show on video casette where four alcoholics in turtle suits dance around on stage pretending to play guitar while thousands of little kids scream and go crazy and want to be their friends? Imagine that but with slightly more ugly performers, a lot less karate and instead of The Shredder busting on stage to steal their pizza in a flurry of polite "boo's" a fully armed Punisher kicks in a door and murders the Jonas boys while the audience doesn't quite know what is going on. Be it real or staged THAT would sell! Also the 3-D would look really cool when Punisher 'promises to ring' their necks while winking to the camera.   

* Not all Gay men are stereotypes but we love the ones that are because if we didn't then we wouldn't have all those amazing decorating shows. 

**Typing this with quotations implies the figurative nerd is actually saying this but in fact he's saying it to the only person he ever talks to that isn't a WOW character, his mother. She's only close to him at that moment because she's wandered close to his computer to hand him his breakfast Red Bull and take his laundry. She died a long time ago inside and is in actuality a hollow shell of her former self and in that sense is not a person at all. So the nerd is really talking to himself and anyone who cares to listen on the other end of his PS3 head-set mic while playing Little Big Planet. 

The Fantastic Poor: How White People are Saving Black America. 

Just watch the trailer for that terrible new movie starring that terrible old actor Sandra Bullock; The Blind Side*. 

     Out just in time for Christmas I see. Watch it? Good. Now watch it again but this time imagine the gigantic black kid is The Thing from The Fantastic Four. The movie could end with my buddy Pat's suggestion that the kid accidently hugs Sandra Bullock to death. Disney would like that, there's hugging!

     *Sure it's not a Disney pic but it's everything Disney stands for and you know it.** No matter how much they want to they're just too afraid to make something so pro-white because they don't want to piss off the millions of non-crackers who also buy all their stuff. It's not racism it's business. 

** Also I just wanted a chance to rip on it just a little bit. I mean just LOOK at it. 

Not a Spider-girl, Not Yet a Spider-woman. 
      We all know the inner turmoil between Peter Parker and Spider-Man. Do I have too much responsibility as a crime fighter? Do I even have a personal life anymore? Am I the man or the mask? Nail Gwen Stacey or nail one of the millions of hot Manhattanites that want a piece of their friendly neighborhood sex machine? My web-head is tingling! Maybe it's time the web-slinger had a partner who has already dealt with these kinds of identity problems? 

     Should Miley Cirus stay in the spotlight as Hanna Montana with her hoards of fans and millions of dollars and 50-year-old stalkers or should she live on a farm with the guy who wrote Achy Breaky Heart? Wait what? She chose the dirt farm? Hmmm maybe she isn't the person Peter Parker should be taking advise from. 

     Nevertheless that would make a somewhat entertaining movie. Exploding cakes, mall developers ruining a perfectly good star-studded barn party and the greatest super-villain of all, Tyra Banks*. Before engaging in a no limits cat-fight with Spider-man in a downtown shoe store or something she'll get to the bottom of his fashion or STD problems on her crappy show before awarding her entire studio audience with free samples of Vasaline. Oh I just had a shiver there. So evil. 

* Before you get your training bra all bunched up let me throw out there that I didn't watch the Hanna Montana movie. I read the plot summery on Wikipedia which was excruciating. I feel so bad for parents who had to sit through 90 minutes of that girl-pandering tripe.**

** Wait no I don't. 

     Mickey Mouse meets Wolverine? Er, Something? 
     I don't know, Mickey Mouse teaches The X-Men about jesus and the glory of right wing politics? They all disband, join various evangelical churches and finish eradicating the 'gay gene'. (X-Men 3 anyone?) Then Storm gets an abortion and the rest are forced to kill her. Enjoy your new movie Red States and anywhere in North America that's rural! 

Ho' for Sho'

     Here it is. Sexy female super-heroes show Disney princess how to slut it up in skin-tight cat-suits and about 150 of the creepiest people on earth are delighted. No need to skank up Princess Jasmine or The Little Mermaid. They're already there. Look at those exposed midriffs. So disgusting yet... I can't look away. Oh jesus.  I had better go and pray. 


Sunday, August 23, 2009

Animal Treachery: The Danger-Killer Saga

     "What the shit do you want, Lawrence?" 
That little punk dared to talk to me with that tone? I was through with taking his grade F bologna. Today was my day.  
        "My name isn't Lawrence anymore you jerk. It's J.P. Danger-Killer and I'm here to kick your ass unless you give me what I want!" I clenched my chubby fists so he knew I meant business but with his gang at his side little Jacob wasn't fazed. I knew I should have worn my jeans with the fashionable rips. That would have scared the hell out of all of them.
     "Do you know what hood you're in, homie," That smug bastard chirped as he popped his collar higher than ever. Jacob was the eyes and ears of this particular stretch of turf and he wasn't above flaunting it. 
     It's a defense mechanism in the animal kingdom to expand one's body in order to seem intimidating and this pint-sized wonder was doing an incredible job. But I was in no kingdom. I was in the hood. On the street with some real bad mothers. I was ready and willing to wet myself in fear right in that bakery parking lot but damnit, I had a mission to fulfill and a beej to receive for completing it! 
     He barked again, "This is Juniper Woods Elementary turf, esse! You can't just go wandering around here without expecting me to come down on your white ass, can you?!"
     Sure they were also white and only about eight years old but when there's over FIVE of them grinding their teeth, waiting to strike at the drop of a bubble-gum wrapper you don't just throw your weight around. They could explode at any minute and then you'd be dead. I knew these things had to be done delicately and with finesse.
     "Tell me what you know about the pregger that lives on Kodiak Lane or I'll kick your fucking face in Jacob!" I was on a natural high. Screaming, I grabbed his collar and shook him like a rag doll, "I don't see your older brother isn't around today to stop me now tell me what I want to know damnit!" 
     As tough as Jacob was in these parts I had momentarily forgotten about his condition. My explosion of child-shaking rage seemed to work to my advantage. His 'loyal' gang was off and running as soon as they saw the blood drip from Jacob's ears. God bless the man who invented cholesteatoma as it works great to frighten and confuse people after a simple tossing around. 

     "Tell me what I want to know or I'll pour your fun dip all over your eyes! Then I'll eat all of it!"
     Amidst the crying I discerned, "Alright, alright I'll talk I'll talk!" I had my window. Time to hussle my buns through it before the bakery staff wised up to what was going on outside. 
     "The preggs moo-cow on Kodiak Lane! Who is she," I screamed. 
     "Marcy from fifth period french it's her aunt!" 
     "Does she give good blowies?!"
     "What?!" Jacob sobbed, "I don't even know what that means!"
     "Can she pleasure a man?!"
     In hysterics Jacob answered, "But you're not a man, you're fourteen!"
     "JACOB," I snapped.
     "I-I think so, yeah sure whatever!"
     Boom in the fucking room. I was in. With that pregnant moo-cow's credit now approved in my books I was ready to stroll down to Kodiak Lane and rescue her defenseless animal thereby receiving my first ever sexual experience that didn't involve the movie 'Wild Things' and one of my little sister's training bras.

     But all wasn't what I had hoped for at 666 Kodiak Lane. There was treachery afoot. Animal treachery and little did I know I was headed straight for a trap of the most sinister kind; a trap against me. 
     I wiped my furiously running nose on little Jacob's shirt and dropped him. It was time to leave before the police arrived. 'The Man' never did understand my working habits. 

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

An Animal Mystery Chapter The First

     Officer P.J. Danger-Killer. Animal rescuer! That's what I'm known as here in Canada, in case you didn't know. I help animals when they're in danger.I find them and help them if they want me to or not because I'm just that awesome. I cruise the streets in my rescue-mobile and gingerly place my ear to the ground. I taste the wind like I taste grape juice; passionately and with purpose. I smell the river like I smell a freshly opened packet of bean curd; diligently and straight to the point. I make love to the grass, because it gives me clues and I enjoy doing it to no end. Nature tells me what the haps is in the world of domestic animals, or more specifically, the terror of domestic animals!

 Mission File 423b 

or as I like to call it: 

Roar And Pieces! The redemption of Leon Stolen-Toy. 


     The afternoon started like an afternoon like any other afternoon. Due to my dangerous line of man-work and my extreme living habits I usually hibernated until late in the afternoon so my days didn't in fact start until well in the afternoon. Afternoons were always very lax, easy and boring much like a lazy summer afternoon. But unlike a lazy summer afternoon I wasn't soaking in my neighbor's kiddie pool letting their dog lick catsup off my stomach. Oh wait I actually was doing just that but I wasn't enjoying it as much as I usually do. No this afternoon wasn't like last Thursday afternoon at all. This afternoon eeked that particular fragrance of doom. Animal Doom. 

      A pet somewhere was in danger and I knew I wouldn't be able to relax and rub one out until it was safe and out of harm's way. How did I know, half asleep in a warm pool of hose water, condiments and my and Rex's own filth? Let's just say a little bird told me. Yes I can talk to birds. 

     Before pooing on my head the impudent gull squawked,"Pet Danger! Pet Danger!" Either that or it was asking for tidbits. I usually get those signals mixed up but I wasn't about to take that chance! 

     That was when she sauntered in. Purring softly like an overweight kitten I heard her say from behind,"Are you Officer P.J. Danger-Killer the abused pet protecter?" 

     Without turning or wiping the tomato off my sculpted pectorals I casually replied, trying to hide my massive erection,"That depends... can I trust you?" 

     Silence. Had my mystic nightingale flown away so soon? Perhaps my body was too much for her to handle. It often is with woman. But then relief. A white, mesh-fabric bra drifted through the air, over my head and onto my engorged lap. 

     "Today is going to be a good day," I murmured. Anxiously turning to view my prize I saw it. The horror. Ho-ly shit. A pregger. 8 months, 1 week by my estimation but no matter how far along it was it still made me sick. I almost threw up in my mouth right there. Luckily the aroma of diluted catsup and wet dog quickly calmed my dry heaves.  

     "I have a job for you Danger-Killer. And it's not going to be as easy as I am," it said as it lumbered around to face me. Sure it's boobs were gigantic and it had the floozy glint in it's eye but I can't help but wonder now exactly how many ucky faces I must have inadvertently been making toward it. Was it insulted deep down I'll never know for it still managed to squeeze its bloated carcass into the pool facing me, with the utmost whorishness. Poor dog scampered away before it was crushed. Did the preg-o even see it? Does it even feel feelings like us humans?

     "I have a job for you Danger-Killer. There's a pet in trouble at my apartment and I need you to save it from a horrible beast."

     "Ugh, my services don't come cheap."

It stroked it's gigantic belly and whispered to me, "I think we both know what I'll do for you ... sexual intercourse."

     "That's sick!" I wretched, "you're a four alarm pregger! Are relations even possible with you?"

     "Not your thing? How about we deliver some mouth babies?"

     "I don't even know what that means, you haggard bitch."

I really didn't. The pool was too hot and too cramped for me when I felt a sharp kick to my genitals. But it wasn't it's feet. The beast's mammoth tootsies were resting uncomfortably on either side of my head, stroking my ears. 

     "Sorry," tramp-stamp smiled, coquettishly. "The bun's almost due from the oven and he's a kicker."

     "Is that so?"

     "Yes he's very ... ferocious..." Suddenly it snapped, "Are you going to help me or not, Danger-Killer or am I going to have to take my sluttly old vagina to someone who will?"

     "You can pay me in dollars, thank-you very much." I had had enough of this twisted game. If there was an animal in trouble I had to brave ALL the dangers, even filthy slappers. 

     "My address is 666 Kodiak lane. My pet is trapped in the bedroom. Help it and I'll give you you're money you sexy bastard." It rocked to it's feet, snatched it's scuzzy, dollar store brassier and left. Thank fuck. But to my disgust it's largeness had taken a significant amount of ketchupy pool water with it and I was left wallowing in the summer heat and terrible vibes. 

     I suppose it was time to go to work.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

G.I. No! Real American Zeros! The Rise Of Shit!

     I hope that title wasn't too subtle. All the reviewers have been saying, "...oh it's just stupid fun..." or, "... great action scenes, what else do you want..." and then there's, "...what are you a king? Don't be a snob it's popcorn!..." So yeah I went to see it ... by myself. That's right, it seems that all my thousands of friends are actually smarter than me and I never realized it. who knew? It never came to me that I am the thickest one out of ALL of them because I actually wanted to watch a 150 million dollar compost heap. 

     After an hour that felt like a week of terrible dialogue, over-the-top special effects, endless bubble-gum plugs, (really) thousands of the craziest military gadgets ever assembled in a movie, (makes James Bond look like an old Jewish man playing chess in a park) and oh so many abs, I had to get out of there. So many abs. So I decided to do what any self respecting person should do after throwing up. I washed out. 

     I immediately went to the local DVD kiosk and I purchased Total Recall. Let me tell you, I watched the shit out of that thing! When it was over there was still a lingering memory of Wayons Brother #3 cracking jokes about the differences between white people and black people and I almost had to watch it twice. Ugh, the audience was digging that movie way too much. I'm not even going to waste any time writing anymore about a movie I couldn't finish after paying a solid ten-spot to see. 

     Let's just leave it at this, next time you consider seeing anything with Channing Tatum starring in it, remember that you only have a limited time on this planet to enjoy things. Do you really want to spend two solid hours watching that dirt bag try to act? Go outside, kiss a baby, do push-ups for god's sake! New rule. Every time you see Channing Tatum being paid to act tell that special someone you love them. Because you never know what tomorrow will bring. Hopefully not G.I. Joe 2, but I don't think we'll be that lucky. 

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Old Jewish Men Are Funny. Old Rich Ladies Are Not.

     So, I recently checked out Woody's new pic, Whatever Works and I gotta say I'm never going to see a Woody Allen movie ever again. I really liked it so I should specify. I'm never going to see one in a theatre ever again. Hmmm maybe I should explain a little further. Allen's pictures have been consistently chilling in the 'good' to 'wicked-awesome' range since Match Point dropped in like, 2006 but unless I'm in a city with a population larger than 100,000 professor's wives pretending they are classy I will never see a Woody in cinemas ever again. It's not like I have a choice in the matter because as long as I'm stuck hanging in these golden horseshoe armpit towns I'll never be able to see a good movie at a public screening ever again! 

     Whatever Works sure doesn't have the dramatic meat of Match Point or Vicki Christina and it doesn't try to but it's charming and pretty damn funny. This is Allen's first movie made in New York in a long time and it shows that this cinematic outing is much more akin to his older works. (I guess his crazy European vacation is over?) But I'm not saying that's a bad thing. Sure he was getting a little stale in the nineties and early zeros with more bad movies than good but in his super old age his writing is achieving what seems like more wisdom and depth. 'Whatever' is like a nice mixed cocktail of his older, familiar style of witty character comedy that kept him going for around forty years combined with this breath of new life he's gotten from shooting in Europe. Either Europe of the bevy of hot babes he's been filming recently. Hurt me hurt me!

     Even though Woody is a golden god of filmmaking his stuff is still not considered to be commercial enough for North American multiplexes to screen, which is just fine. I mean who wants to drive into that treeless maze of streets and lawns known as the dreaded 'burbs just to wait in a noisy line with a bunch of overweight, mouth-breathers reeking of their lunch of all-dressed crispers and broken dreams. (By the way bitches I'll be going to see G.I. Joe this week for sure!)
     So many quality flicks are destined for independently owned screening rooms for short runs on tiny screens and small chairs. It all used to be very endearing when you could crack a bottle of hootch and watch Brick with a half a dozen other hippies "SLASH" politics majors but like everything in the world that used to be rad it was discovered by the worst people since Nazis; semi-rich old people who think they're important. Ugh, 'trendy' people. They eat at three-star patios and listen to jazz music or white people blues or world music or anything with a rain stick in it performed by a man with a pony tail. You know who I mean. Everyone has a "beamer" driving uncle or cousin somewhere just like that. They call pub food 'pedestrian' and have no idea what hip-hop is. If they ever read it's not for the pleasure of reading but so they can tell their crappy friends that they've read that book.

     Ontario Canada has produced as many of these crappy phonies as it has crappy wineries in the past ten years. They pretend to enjoy art and are under this illusion that keeps them thinking that everyone wants to hear their shitty opinion on the city's zoning and recycling policies or how much they hate university students. Their self-indulgent opinion outbursts only ever happen in the form of letters to the local paper or incredibly loudly at small, independently owned screening rooms where regular guys like me just want to see a good Woody Allen movie in peace. At least the Toby Keith lovers in the suburbs don't kid themselves about who they are. They are admirable in that sense if not any other. (More starch on that collar please? Boom!)

     It was very cool to see Larry David star in a movie that ten years ago Woody would have done himself and yes, that is the reason why I've been waiting for this picture for a very long time. Fucking Curb and Woody Allen together?!?! At last! Larry David may have been the biggest reason why this flick didn't turn into your typical Allen-Big Apple pic. The amazing Costanza; Larry David plus the evolution of Allen's writing equals sweet.

     The story is simple, the plot structure is nice and basic for a Woody pic and the dialogue and jokes are all very funny and typical Woody, (the 'fate knocking on your door gag is so cheesy it's wicked). But where it shines is, as usual the characters and the strong, well pronounced message. Well of course it's well pronounced, Boris Yellnikoff, (Larry 'cool as shit' David) asides directly to the audience throughout about what's happening in his life and how it affects his personal philosophy. Yellnikoff is a depressed, arrogant genius who believes that life is so random and meaningless and violent that what is the point of it all? He believes that you need to put primitive beliefs and social taboos aside and take whatever happiness you can while you can. Whatever works, right? His character does change in the end like any good script but like any good script from a squirrely nerd who's been writing character pieces for half a century the change in Yellnikoff is very subtle. His belief system doesn't change but rather his outlook on people changes and he becomes a more sunnier, social man. 

     The real fun comes from watching all the supporting characters and how they change for the better be it directly or indirectly from Yellnikoff's view. Gay, straight, young, old, whatever works! This is the wisdom and age I was talking about that's coming out in Woody's writing these days. He's a very intelligent seventy-four year old man who has developed a very smart and balanced world view. It's almost like this movie is a subtle teaching from his years of experience. I mean no one lives forever, right? He sure as shit knows it and in his own way he's letting us get wise to his jive. And if I was him I'd want to shoot Evan Rachel-Wood too. 

     It's funny that such a positive 'live for life' message may have gone right over the blue hair of all those old ladies in the theatre. Well wait, they probably went to uni forty years ago, they most likely understood it but they probably didn't get it. They were too busy being stoked that they were out seeing an 'indy' movie like all their trendy friends. Advertisers, as usual have really wised on to these wannabes and it never ceases to amaze me how easily they can hook their trout. Not even a fishing metaphor, they're more like grizzly bears slapping ten salmon out of the river at a time just for giggles. They're not even that hungry they're just doing it for kicks! 

     Before the movie started the projectionist showed two trailers for the crappiest looking foreign movies ever and the audience was just eating that shit up like brulee. It did however showcase to me two of the many ways to push heroine on yuppies. First was a trailer for Etz Limon or Lemon Tree and yeah, it's won awards and it looks pretty good. If you want to sell a drama that requires two-plus hours of reading to a bunch of greys with caddiracs then all you have to do is beef up super-awesome advertising ingredient number one: The Israili - Palestinian conflict. 

"A drama based on the true story of a Palestinian widow who must defend her lemontree field when a new Israeli Defense Minister moves next to her and threatens to have her lemon grove torn down" - IMDB

     Fucking boom! Right there! Just hand these geniuses the wheel-barrel of awards right now. Actually by now I think it's actually a truck-load. Yuppies just adore movies that make them seem smart and worldly. They love to show all their friends just how concerned they are about the most popular foreign conflicts by volvo-ing it down to the theatre to watch a movie about it. Hahaha! Just check this out it's absolutely brilliant! 

     I don't think I can even watch the trailer all the way through without laughing. Did you know that a woman behind me actually jumped and let out a little squeal of terror when the security guard draws his pistol on the indifferent old man?! (0:41) Amazing! How fake a person do you have to be to convince yourself that forty seconds into a trailer something as overseen in our society as a rubber movie gun can be 'scary'? I mean she sounded like a pig. "Easy, Babe, easy." But for reals it's like my favorite trailer ever now.

Super-awesome 'indy' movie advertising ingredient number deuce: Random shots of quirky things happening to an old man somewhere in Europe. 
     That shit is celluloid gold for your average pack of status-hungry yupps. The second trailer was for O' Horten. From what I gathered it's about an old train conductor retiring. Then is just goes off the rails. (Excuse the cliche, douche.) I had no idea what the fuck is happening but everyone was loving it! There's a man driving with a bag on his head, a guy sliding down an icy street, and what seemed like six minutes worth of 'kooky' stuff that Dan and Georgette would never think to do themselves for fear of looking like idiots in front of their chiropractor friends. But they'll see it so they can laugh at Europe's zany antics afterwards over fondue and Michael Buble. I can't even find a trailer for it on Youtube. All that comes up is 'Horton Hears A Who' and the constant reminder that the suburbs do exist and they are everywhere. 

     So to wrap up so we can all get back to wanking or fapping or whatever, Whatever Works was a very entertaining, funny little movie that I never want to see again until it comes out on DVD. It will be cheap on DVD because all the yupps will be buying on BluRay and everyone else will be busy buying Funny People and not asking who Woody Allen is. Good times.  

Saturday, August 1, 2009

And you all thought I was dead.

     Oh wowzer, so long without a post! I'm a failure of a blogger. Ha! That's terrible. Calling myself a 'failure of a blogger' is so stupid. It is not unlike comparing myself to the only graduate of Oxford who hasn't since become an actual saint because F.Y.I. there aren't that many. But I could also compare myself to the dumbest kid on the short bus. The one the other thicks make fun of. (They poke fun while their parents regret smoking grass during pregnancy or joining that 'expectant mothers only' soccer league that looked like so much fun. If you're catching my drift with that last one.) Either way it's not flattering.

     I should apologize to both people who read my shitty reviews and hope you'll look into your cholesterol encrusted hearts and give me another chance. (You should just look into your fatty ventricles in general because I care about your well-being too much.) I realize in the time it takes to read one of my articles and have an intelligent thought about it you could both in fact be viewing three or four photographs of a pornographic nature, (it IS the internet after all, dummy). But just think of how good the dirty pictures will look after you have to suffer in agony through ...

     I'll try to keep this brief. Typing with a bandaged hand is fairly difficult. I spent the last two hours laying the classiest beat-down on some teenagers outside my building. They were playing Pogs too loud and their glasses and retainers cut old righty up something fierce. Let's just say that when I'm done writing this and go to get my fill of dirty pictures I had better get used to the idea of pain for pleasure because band-aids chafe something fierce bitches. I'm sure President Dick is all but used to the sting of loneliness. I was referring to Nixon just there.

     The second Nixon of this past film season we will be looking at is so much funnier than Frank "I'd rather be getting punched in the spleen by Michael Sheen this guy is so boring" Langella. That's actually his legal name which is why I theorize he didn't win the Oscar for best supporting. It would have been way too long to print that on Hollywood's glorified bowling trophy.

      No my brothers and ... sisters? Do girls even use computers these days? Are they even permitted by law? I mean it's bad enough we allow them to vote and ride in airplanes, (with the pets of course) but what are we barbarians? Anywho, the second Nixon. 

      Played by comedy's greatest funny-man since Cab Calloway did black-face: Robert Wisden! I know, I haven't heard of him either and that name sounds like we should be reading about his back shed full of dead prostitutes on the front page but for reals, yo! He was a really funny Dick Nix!  

     Now if you've ever seen or read The Watchmen you'll know that it's not all a basket of roses. (You'll also know what it's like to not have sex which also is not all roses and sunshine like the Catholics would have you believe.) Gloom and doom go bang and zoom. That made no sense. But it was gloomy and doomy so it was very nice to have some comic relief in there. (Laughter is the best medicine since "Nev'r-Die". The over-the-counter, (hood of my, (TRIPLE FUCKING PARENTHESIS!!) car) tonic that staves off the cold fingers of death by ensuring that you'll NEVER fall asleep. You would be surprised how many truckers, crack-addicts and paramedics are buying these days. Looks like my ads in National Geographic and Gigantic Titties magazine are truly crushing it.)   

     Rorchaczxhc's was cracking wise throughout, the Blue Man Group did that really long naked cameo, (Heh, long) there was a pretty hilarious rape scene, (I was laughing) and lovable Richard Nixon was there too! Along for the ride. I mean he was adorable. He looked like a basset hound waiting for someone to smear potato salad between their toes so he could lick them clean before taking 1985 to Def-Con awesome-town. He looked like your old Grandpa who's forgotten who you are but is having tons-o-fun anyway because you have a pudding can and the time on your Timex digital doom-clock is five minutes to "pills o'clock". 

     This is why I'd like to award Robert Wisden and the film The Watchmen with JRBT's highest honour! Or Honor. Top Dick in movies, 2009! Congratulations you lovable old cook! We still love you.