Everything I know I learned from movie shows: Part I

It occurred to me recently that many of the most important lessons I have ever learned, I learned from watching movies. In fact, I can't remember anything of value being instilled in me that wasn't done so by a film (thanks for nothing, loving parents). Now, in celebration of the wealth of knowledge that modern cinema bestowed on my budding young mind, I pass along these, the most essential life lessons you can learn through film, part I:

Summer Lovin' got me ten to twelve in San Quentin...

Men and women are very different (also known as the True Love/Sexual Assault Paradigm): Thanks to the jaunty musical GREASE, you'll quickly learn that when recounting a summer fling in song form, women will beg the question "Tell us more, tell us more, was it love at first sight?" While men will query "Tell us more, tell us more, did she put up a fight?" So, to sum up, women will be largely concerned with whether or not two people were truly connected from the first time they met, while men will basically just want to know if you had to rape her.

Having kids is a horrible idea: All it takes is one viewing of the film adaptation of the classic Roald Dahl book CHARLIE & THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY (the one with Gene Wilder that's actually named for Willy Wonka, not the one where Johnny Depp plays an albino pedophile) to learn that having kids is the wrong move. Why you ask? Because children are terrible people, as evidenced by the fact that Charlie was able to inherit an entire candy factory based purely on the merit of not being a total piece of shit. Yes, children are by in large so awful that Willy Wonka's deciding process was essentially: "Well, every other kid here is a complete asshole, so I guess you're the winner."

Where to drive drunk:  First off, let me start by saying that drunk driving is unbelievably moronic and dangerous and no one anywhere should do it, ever. Having said that, if you're go to do it anyway, at least do it in Minnesota. Why the north star state? Simple. Because as THE MIGHTY DUCKS so astutely pointed out, if you get caught there, your penalty will likely be a court mandate demanding that you coach a rag-tag pee wee hockey team to frozen glory. Quack, quack, quack...

Man v. Food: A study in indirect homicide

You've all probably seen an episode of Man v. Food. If you haven't, stop reading immediately, go to the Travel Channel website, and soak it in.... Done? You're welcome.
Now let me be clear, this is in no way an attack on the entertainment value of this show. Rather, it is an open question about what it means for us as a people that it's so popular.
I myself happen to love this show. As disgusted as I am by the fact that it exists, when I see it pop up on my channel guide I just can't resist. There's just something so alarmingly engaging about watching Adam Richman fill his shapeless body to the brim with quantities and forms of food that simply shouldn't be stuffed inside of anyone. The real problem is, I can't tell if my interest is piqued by how he will finish an 11-lb. pizza, or if it's something much darker, like the morbid curiosity of what it's like to watch a man slowly die.

"Why have none of you people stopped me?!"

Now in season four, I can't help but wonder how much time could possibly be left on Mr. Richman's cardiac clock. And when he inevitably croaks with a gullet full of Dagwood sandwich, aren't we all kind of to blame? Jumping from challenge to challenge has had a noticeable effect on Adam's girth, and there's no denying that in those inevitable mid-challenge moments when his breathing slows and the pallor disappears from his face, that he looks like he's in the early stages of a massive heart attack (they should seriously consider changing the name of this show to Man v. Mortality, because I swear if you look closely back at the 5-lb. cheesesteak episode, somewhere around minute seventeen you can actually see Death sitting at a table in the corner reading a newspaper). I know, I know, it's impossible to change the channel when Adam is plowing through "The Devil's Asshole" hot wings challenge, with his sweat beading so heavily you just know it's covering every last inch of his weird, lumpy body (that dude must have to wear Sham-Wow underwear), but by staying glued to the screen, aren't we all just helping to murder him? I think we are, and frankly, I don't know if I can live with this on my conscience.
As a people, I think it's crucial that we band together and refuse to watch this program. As fun as it is, I just don't want this guy's impending demise falling on me, and neither should you.

Next Week: An in-depth analysis on the irreparable damage Man V. Food is doing to our foreign relations.