The United States of Egregious Lawsuits

Apparently, a Michigan woman is suing the distributors of the movie Drive because she felt misled by the trailer, which had her believing the movie would feature, well... a lot more driving. Some would call this lawsuit completely unwarranted, but I say this woman is an American patriot railing against a broken system that constantly misinforms its consumers, and I applaud her. In fact, I have decided to join her on the front lines of our judicial system in launching several suits of my own:


Crunchy Brain Doodles v. Dolphin Tale
Judging purely by the name of this film, I was taken completely aback when I saw that the dolphin in question had no tail at all. Frankly, it was disgusting.

Crunchy Brain Doodles v. R.L. Stine
Mr. Stine must be held accountable for Goosebumps books #4 and #38, respectively titled "Say Cheese and Die" and "Beware, the Snowman," which both downright failed to give me even one case of goosebumps. Pathetic.

Crunchy Brain Doodles v. Ducktales
The creators of this beloved children's show displayed brazen carelessness in presenting a pile of gold coins and gems as a permeable liquid through which one can swim. Justice can only be served in the form of compensation for the severe neck and spinal trauma I sustained on a recent tour of a bank vault.

Everything I know I learned from movie shows: Part II

After a long and eventful layoff that included no internet access, a narcotics sting, and a brief stay in a Taiwanese prison, Crunchy Brain Doodles is back and recovering nicely from that case of scurvy (enjoy your collective sigh of relief now, WORLD).

So now I present to you, a mere month and five days after the original post, essential life lessons you can learn through film, part II:

Everybody loves a soul-less whore.

If the person you're in love with is ashamed of you, the problem is definitely you: Yes, thanks once again to the veritable cornucopia of life lessons that is GREASE, you can quickly learn that all it takes to make someone love you is to alter every last fundamental part of who you are as a person. Oh and be sure to start smoking. 
Played to perfection by miss Olivia Newton-John, the character of Sandy found herself smack in the middle of a serious conundrum: She loved Danny Zuko, and he was into her too, but how could he possibly be expected to admit that in public with her admirable GPA and complete lack of a criminal record staring everyone in the face? So Sandy did what every teenage girl should be taught to do in this situation, forget all that horse shit about who you truly are on the inside and mold yourself into an empty replica of what he wants you to be. Susan B. Anthony would be so proud...


Your dad's death wouldn't be nearly as much of a bummer as you'd thought: Let me just start by posing this question; "What didn't GHOST DAD teach us?" That movie was chock full of important lessons, such as: 
1) Ghosts are completely visible, provided the lights are off.
2) Taking a cab at any point is taking your life in your hands.
3) Death in the family often leads to madcap hilarity.
4) The secret to the most impressive magic tricks is often the help the magician's father is giving him from beyond the grave.
5) Not even your earthly demise will change the fact that your teenage daughter is a total bitch.

If anyone can get SallieMae off your back, it's this dude.

Financial troubles are easily solved by a treasure hunt: Recently I was asked if I was beginning to worry about the ever-growing mountain of debt the federal government refers to as my student loans, and thanks to GOONIES, I was able to answer that query with a confident "hell no." 
Seeing as how I learned everything I know from the movies I watched as a child, I am fully aware that when financial issues have you backed up against a wall the smartest thing you can do is search through your attic for a treasure map, then proceed to climb down a hole with a deformed man-beast in a Superman t-shirt. Long story short, problem solved.

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...

The Truman Show: Rated X

While flipping through the channels the other day I stumbled onto The Truman Show on TBS (I guess I caught the two hour block that day where they weren't peddling some unspeakable Tyler Perry abomination) and every time I watch it I am even more impressed by what a truly good film it is. But this time, something else, something very different, struck me about it.
I thought to myself, with the unbelievable amount of reality TV churned out and napalming our brains each year, how far off are we from a real-life Truman Show? Honestly, I'd give it maybe two, three more years before some psycho heads to the office of a development exec and pitches a show that secretly tapes a baby for the entirety of its life. And don't act like you wouldn't watch it. If you soak in six hours of Teen Mom every week, you'd watch this. But this notion struck me with another, much more troubling question; just how much gratuitous self pleasuring must there have been in the taping of The Truman Show?!

"I swear I can feel their eyes on me..."

Think about it, throughout the film, tons of loyal viewers are shown glued to their television sets, addicted to even the smallest minutia of Truman's life. Now think back to ten or so years earlier, when Truman was but a budding young man in the frenzy of pubescent transformation. Now, if Truman is anything like every other boy in the world, around age thirteen his most prominent pastime quickly shifted from after school cartoons to just completely annihilating himself, often several times a day. And if in fact this was the case, logic says that for a large chunk of years in the long-running 24/7 broadcast of his life, the viewers were watching young Truman come home from school, lock himself in his room, and work over his not-yet-fully-grown wang like he was pumping it for information (and what the ratings did in said years would really say a lot about who the show's core viewership really was).
For shame you fictional perverts, for shame.
Anyway, sorry for ruining The Truman Show for you, but if I have to deal with these questions, so should you.

I guess Shaq was okay...

After spending all morning in my car cursing the existence of LA Lakers fans, I had to get it out. And what better way to do so than on a seldom read blog (What should I confront someone for real? I don't think so, this face is my moneymaker)?
Anyway, since the news of Shaquille O'Neal's retirement (his new nickname: The Big Thing On The Couch) from the NBA after 19 years, Los Angeles radio has been abuzz with reactions. Except here's my problem, half the fans have made me want to drive the car up onto the sidewalk and start mowing down anyone wearing purple and gold.
Lakers fans are for the most part the most spoiled bunch I have ever encountered. And their reactions to the Big Diesel's retirement have proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt they are also the douchiest fans in the NBA (way to do the impossible and out-douche bandwagon Heat fans). Here are the main arguments (or heinous mouth-diarrhea storms) I've heard about Shaq's departure:

"The balls in my shorts dwarf this thing."

- He was great, but he wasn't what he could've been: Are you FUCKING kidding me??! The guy won you three straight championships, all three of which he was the MVP! And he probably would've won you more if your backdoor-sex happy shooting guard didn't drive him out of town. A three-peat. What more do you want? Kill yourselves.
- He never cared enough to learn how to shoot free throws: Why does everyone assume shooting free throws should automatically be simple just because you're in the NBA? The guy is 7'2", which loosely translates into hands the size of fucking frisbees. A basketball is like a softball to him. Try shooting a softball into coffee can ten feet high from fifteen feet away and see how many times you make it. The guy is an ogre. It's bad enough he can't pet a puppy without snapping it's neck, do we really have to crucify him for his lack of touch from the charity stripe too?
- He was lazy: Really? Was he lazy when he was averaging 30+ in the Finals and dominating the paint like he was playing pre-schoolers? Give me a friggin break. Lakers fans have just become so insanely infatuated with Kobe that they think anyone who doesn't make this face is a lazy player. Sorry, that's not intensity, that's intense assholery (and where was that face last year in game 7 when Ron "Dangerously Unstable" Artest had to carry your ass to a championship?) Shaq was a beast. Plain and Simple.

Shaquille O'Neal was one of the most dominant players ever to hit the hardwood and any Laker fan who doesn't revere him like black Jesus with a basketball is a fucking moron. And by the way, all of this is coming from a huge fan of the Orlando Magic, the teamed he spurned so he could make cinematic masterworks like Steel and Kazaam, so this isn't a bias issue either. Give credit where credit is due and stop acting like you weren't happy as a pig in shit that Shaq left Penny Hardaway to play with Nick VanExel you spoiled fucking jerks.

And the Oscar goes to... Sir Vincent of Diesel!

Shiny trophy!!!

Apparently, while racing his '67 Charger, Vin Diesel lost his damn mind in a high stakes bet. Since the huge release of the titular five-quel (that's what they call them, right?) in The Fast and The Furious series,Fast Five, Vin has been bragging around town about the possibility of some serious award consideration, saying: "I wouldn't be surprised if there is some Oscar talk around this." 
Really? You wouldn't be surprised? Because I feel like everyone else in the fucking world would be. The only way to legitimize that statement would be to follow it up with "I also wouldn't be surprised if OJ Simpson garnered some consideration for the Academy's lifetime achievement award," then laughing heartily and saying "Just fucking with you... obviously."
Listen, I like an ass-kicking action flick as much as the next guy, but if Vin Diesel really thinks there will be any Academy Awards for a film in which he and Paul Walker drive a convertible off a cliff and base jump out of it (or for any film that Paul Walker appears in, for that matter) then he has seriously lost his shit. He'll have a better chance of taking home the little golden man with the next Chronicles of Riddick installment than with anything that's fast and/or furious. 
Come on now Vin, just be who you are. You don't remember hearing Schwarzenegger talk up the Oscar chances of Collateral Damage do you? Just make your action flicks, count your money, and possibly consider fathering a child with the household help.

It's time to put an end to these garish pirate stereotypes

I was on my way to do a show last night (blowin' up in the back room at the Westwood Brew Co., getting famous much?) when I spotted this giant building-side ad off Wilshire:

Yo ho, yo ho, it's a pirate's alternative lifestyle for me!

All I could think to myself was that actual pirates must be rolling over in their watery graves over how unbelievably gay they are being portrayed as in modern media. While I'm sure some of them liked to accessorize, it's hard to believe the pirate population as a whole enjoyed beaded hair wraps, streaks of highlights, beard-beads (what is with this dude and beads?) or generously applied eye-liner quite as much as Captain Jack Sparrow seems to.
Now let me be clear by pointing out that there is nothing wrong with being gay, but that it simply might not sit so well with some roughneck sea-dogs helplessly watching this franchise make multi-millions from their perch in the big crow's nest in the sky. Sure Johnny Depp might say Captain Jack is based on Kieth Richards, but from where I (and probably a bunch of emasculated dead pirates) sit, it seems a lot more like the weird mustachioed gentleman who offers to braid your hair for five bucks in the Bahamas.

John Cena: Ambassador to the world

Imagine you are in the crowd at the WWE 2011 Extreme Rules event. You are having a grand old time, throwing back beers and watching grown men wrestle in unitards (they still wear these, right?). The guy next to you has three teeth and his wife is holding a sign that says "Triple H can give me the Pedigree any time!" Jerry Lawler's weird chest hair is within mere feet of you. THIS, is America.
But just when you thought things had gotten as red, white and blue as they could, WWE Champ John Cena stands on the announcers table and drops this bombshell:

John Cena Announces Osama Bin Laden's Death To Crowd - Watch more Sports

 Are you friggin' kidding me? Did the guy from such cinematic masterpieces as 12 Rounds and The Marine just give us the breaking news we would have otherwise gotten from George Stephanopoulos? Did we just learn of a Navy SEAL incursion that brought to an end the reign of the most evil man of our time from this dude? Wait, did John Cena kill Osama Bin Laden?!

The best part of this video though is that the honorable Mr. Cena refers to Bin Laden's death as being "compromised to a permanent end." Then shortly after, if you listen closely, you can hear a confused audience member ask aloud "But is he dead?"

Now THAT's America.

More Monsters Please!

When did creatures of the night become so friggin' all encompassing? When I was a kid zombies and werewolves and vampires were around, sure, but they weren't dicks about it.

Frankly, it would've been a lot better had the whole series been like this.

It seems like recently they're on every TV network and in every other movie that comes out. How about leaving some for us normals ya jerks? Must you be in everything? This is one of those Hollywood trends where you can't help but wonder "when the hell is this shit going to end?" (kind of like that trend in the late 90's where we were somehow supposed to believe Renee Zellweger was hot). Now don't get me wrong, some of these films are amazing. Zombieland was hilarious and the Blade trilogy was pretty awesome (until I found out he wasn't paying his taxes, communist), but for the most part it just seems like someone has a shitty script and an exec is like "Fuck it, throw a vampire in there? Sold."
As a writer, it's really got me down on my prospects. I can't help but imagine my first pitch meeting will go something like this:

Agent: Well, they loved your script.
Me: Oh my God really? They said that?!
Agent: They sure did. They just had one request.
Me: Great! What is it?
Agent: They'd love for you to have more monsters in it.
Me: More what?
Agent: Monsters.
Me: But there aren't any monsters in it.
Agent: Exactly. So they think it could stand to have a few more.
Me: I don't understand.
Agent: This is an easy fix kid. They'd just like you to tweak the script slightly to make it less of a satirical comedy on the state of our nation and more of a romantic comedy where a vampire and a werewolf fall in love.
Me: WHAT?!
Agent: They said they'll pay 500k.
Me: Done. (Though I haven't encountered the situation yet, I'm fully prepared to accept the likelihood that I will be a total sellout)

M. Night Shameonyou

Who the hell keeps giving M. Night Shyamalan money? I mean, on one hand I can't blame the guy because if I was continually being handed cash to pump out shitty films I'd probably do it too (minus the probably). But on the other hand, this needs to stop. Seriously.

"Be cool. Act like I'm talented."

Each film he's come out with since The Sixth Sense, which came out twelve years ago,  have each been more panned than the last (his movies since have garnered an average 34% rating on Rotten Tomatoes), and yet the film deals just keep rolling in. People keep showing up at the box office to soak in his latest juicy filmic turd. Not me though, I personally still haven't forgiven him for Signs, because I just can't excuse making an invasion film where an alien species who is deadly allergic to water,  elect to invade a planet that is made up of roughly 75% water (that's pretty much the equivalent of the Incredible Hulk willfully watching a House of Payne marathon, it's not gonna end well).
Now M. Night (Nice name, by the way. Ya jerk.) has scouted the latest victims to star in his next sure-to-be-hit, Will and Jaden Smith. Being a big Will Smith fan, normally I'd point out some of the other stars who took a chance and ended up with a bad case of the M. Night Shouldntadoneits (Mark Wahlberg, Paul Giamatti, Joaquin Phoenix, Adrian Brody, Mel Gibson, Bruce Willis) and I'd beg and plead for Will not to sully his career by working with such a consistently unsuccessful director. But as you know if you've been reading lately, my personal relationship with Mr. Smith has hit a bit of a snag (Willow STILL must be stopped!). That, plus the fact that he's insisting on doing another movie with his kid (Okay we get it, your children are AMAZING, no kids have ever been as talented as YOUR kids), makes me lose any sympathy I may have had.
While not much else is known, the film has been described as a sci-fi flick that sees Will and Jaden navigating an abandoned and desolate future Earth. Anyone else find this weirdly familiar territory for Will?  Kinda sounds like they're just swapping out the German Shepherd for his son and making I am Legend II (all will be forgiven though if they title it I am Legend-er).
In any case, I am boldly confident that it will be a real stinker. One that inevitably makes millions at the box office, lands M. Night yet another lucrative deal a year later, and has me angrily blogging in my underwear again somewhere in the not too distant future.

Kids: Small, terrible people

Here's what I won't be going to see at the movies... Hanna. Why you ask? Because kids are awful enough when they aren't expertly trained killing machines.
After seeing ads for this film for weeks now I decided I finally had to acknowledge my gripe here. A gripe that stems from the end of the trailer when Cate Blanchett says: "Sometimes children are bad people too." Right. Sort of. Except that children are bad people all of the time.
Ask yourself honestly, is there anyone fundamentally worse than other people's children? Everyone knows at least one that makes them get that "I don't know how okay this is, but I really friggin hate that kid" feeling. He smells like pee, he never wipes his nose and I swear to Christ if he tells me one more time how much better the food is at his house I'm going to break some pretty substantial laws. I mean realistically the only reason you even "like" your own offspring is because you are biologically predisposed to. Essentially, if your DNA didn't tell you that your pants pooping, crayon eating, ruiner of any and all peaceful moments 3-year-old was lovable it's more than likely you'd look at him and just think "Wow, my kid is kind of a dick."
And after each successive trip to the grocery store I find it less and less appealing to accept having some tiny person publicly scream at me to get them Cinnamon Toast Crunch and yet I'm the jerk when I punch them in the head. No thank you.
So don't tell my girlfriend, but when she's not home I sit naked on top of the running microwave with my laptop overheating on my lap and my cell-phone rubberbanded to my balls while sucking down a two-liter of Mountain Dew, because, well... you can never be too careful.

Taylor's unpublished love letters

I read this headline and my imagination immediately ran away with me. Think of all of the possibilities.
Are these Lawrence Taylor's unpublished love letters to that underage prostitute (a girl whom, much to LT's credit, he did not pick up on a playground)? Or are they Taylor Hicks' secret correspondences with Simon Cowell that eventually won him the most clearly rigged season of American Idol to date? Or better still are they Taylor Lautner's clandestine exchanges with his sworn vampire enemies in which he declares his unholy yet undying love for Edward? Who knows?! So I read on , and alas, they are simply the immediate exploitations of a woman who passed so recently her body may not yet be cold.

"Of course I'm taking into account that our most private
exchanges will one day be made public. Why wouldn't I?"

Elizabeth Taylor just died. Is the first move really to slap her private love letters up on Ebay? She was only seventeen when she wrote these, is nothing sacred? I mean come on, would we take a chronicle of the devastating wartime hardships and pubescent struggles endured by an exiled teen and publish it for all the world to see? Oh... right (Yes, I still unabashedly endorse the use of Cliff's notes. It's a simple issue of time management people).
Anyway, don't go wasting the 75 G's that the letters of the late actress are expected to fetch at auction. I know a guy who will have the bootlegs available up on Hollywood Boulevard in no less than a week. Five bucks. You're welcome.

What was all that 2012 nonsense?!

So I know I've been a bit obsessed with this whole Armageddon thing (the event, not the movie, though I do still bawl like a baby when Bruce Willis sacrifices himself... so noble), but as much as I've accepted that the end is near I was under the distinct impression we had at least until the new year. That is, until I saw this on my way to work today:

 

 

 

Coming soon to a planet near you!

May 21st of this year people! I never thought the Mayans and/or John Cusack would intentionally mislead us this way, but whoever posted this billboard seems pretty confident as to when the shit is hitting the apocalyptal fan. 
This hardly seems like enough time to get my affairs in order (shut up, I have affairs). Though, if there is one silver lining at least we'll have time to catch the conclusion of March Madness. Well, unless Duke wins again, in which case I'm pretty sure we can blame this whole End of Days mess on the impossibly dark and evil soul of Coach K.

Note: Disregard this post if you are able to read it on May 22, 2011

Post-Oscar Grades

Well the Oscars aired last night, and hopefully, unlike me, you didn't waste a brutal 3 hour period of your life watching them just for the sake of comedy. Because I have to say, not worth it. I mean the Oscars are pretty consistently boring and horrible television, but they may have set the new high watermark this year. At one point it became so dreadfully slow that Jude Law's hair actively began retreating.
Anyway, in case you missed it I'll sum up the 2011 Oscars for you with my easy to read (even for my readers) post Oscars report card:

I see no reason why this is going to blow.

James Franco: The dashing young co-host seemed out of place and looked about as comfortable as he did when he was stuck in that cave for 127 hours (not to mention it was pretty clear he'd have been willing to cut his own arm off to get the hell out of there). While I do respect that he read his lines off the teleprompter like he was really high, but not too high to function, I gotta say, he was pretty much awful..... he gets an F.

Anne Hathaway: The young, hip co-host made the point of interjecting forced quips about the young, hip new Oscars the entire night. Refusing to let the fact that no one laughed, deter her from rehashing them incessantly (that's the mark of good comedy). She also seemed unaware of the fact that she was mic'd as she cackled like a maniac at her own jokes, likely causing brain damage in the people working audio behind the scenes. I did however, enjoy when she closed the show by WOOOOING like a drunk Spring breaker and high fiving the Staten Island choir kids (What? Yes that did happen) so hard I assume she shattered all of the bones in their tiny little hands.... she gets a solid D minus.

Kirk Douglas: Um, first of all, props for still being alive. That's a solid chunk of points right there. Second of all, you know the show was rough when a man born in 1916 provides, by far, the best comedic moment of the night. It's hard to say whether it was when he basically said he had a boner for Anne Hathaway, when he fought over his cane with the dude on the stage, or when he made all the supporting actress nominees squirm as he prolonged the announcement of the winner as long as he could, but it was definitely one of them. In any case, if this year is any indication of where the Oscars are headed, I say we let them die when he does.... but for Kirk, it's an exemplary A plus.

Melissa Leo: The best supporting actress winner takes the MVP award for 2011 thanks to her dropping of the F-bomb being the only moment of the show that wasn't poorly scripted and awkwardly executed. I only hoped Christian Bale would insist on out cursing her with his swarthy ginger pirate beard, but alas it was not to be. As for Melissa though, the only slip up that kept her from getting a perfect grade was when she humorously tried to show how blown away she was by walking off stage with the help of Kirk Douglas's cane. Which would have been a lot more cutesy if not for the look of terror on Mr. Douglas's face that screamed "Yeah haha we get it, but I seriously need that thing, you have no idea how much it hurts to walk!"... she gets an F 'in A minus.

Overall: Just a big fat, veiny F.  An almost impressively terrible experience that somehow managed to retroactively ruin my entire weekend. Oh and by the way, thanks for the lack of sleep I'm sure to endure for the next month or so, as your weird Zombie Bob Hope will undoubtedly be haunting my dreams.

LOST: Any doubt I had that this is the funniest man on the planet

So you may remember a post I put up a few months ago regarding Charlie Sheen's desire to have "going insane" henceforth referred to as "Charlie Sheening." Well, my favorite actor is back in the news and he is, how should I put it... Charlie Sheening like a mother fucker.
In an amazingly awesome twist of events, just days after news broke that he'd return to work and production of Two and a Half Men would resume, he Sheened so hard he managed to shut the entire billion dollar show down. Maybe for good. The efficiency of this man's maniacal rants are simply astounding. Here are some of the finer bullet points from his radio interview:

"I was told if I went on the attack, they would cancel the show... so I'm just sort of seeing if they're telling the truth or not." -- Genius. He sets it up like a kid who was told he'd be spanked if he used his crayons to write on the walls. Then proceeds to write on the wall anyway... with poop.

"Watch your ratings, dudes. Watch your stupid ratings. Do what you've gotta do -- I'll go make movies with superstars and not work with idiots." -- You have to love the complete dismissal of everyone he works with. And the assumption that superstars are dying to work with him. Only when you enjoy complete disregard for anyone but yourself and soak in delusions of your own grandeur, are you truly free. I believe Jesus said that.

He called the creator of the show a "turd" and claims he embarrassed him "by healing at a pace that his un-evolved mind cannot process." -- The obvious next move was to make a scatological insult then refer to himself as some sort of super-human. He had to do it.

Then he shares his feelings about Alcoholics Anonymous, including calling them "the 'Church of the Martian Idiots'," and saying "They suffocated my soul, they hijacked my brain, they brainwashed my friends and my family. Now I hate them violently and I will use every soldier in my army to defend myself against them and all their other freakin' loser clowns." -- Yes. Attack those who've done nothing but try to help you. That is how you Sheen like a pro.

Then when asked what he'll do about work when it resumes, he drops a golden nugget: "I'll be early. I don't sleep - I wait." -- BAM! Game, set, match. Even though I'm pretty sure he stole that from a Chuck Norris Facts website, I'll allow it.

Plain and simple people, we should all bow to this man. For he has Sheened liked no man before him has ever Sheened. And likely no man after him (when he inevitably Sheens himself to death) ever will. Plus he has given juvenile comedy writer like me an unbelievable wealth of material.
Charlie Sheen... I love you.

We don't want any trouble here

On Friday night of this past All-Star Weekend, troubled actress Lindsay Lohan was officially deemed too dangerous for the NBA. Yes, the young star was turned away from Pau Gasol's party because she was simply "too much trouble." Really? It's pretty bad ass when you are considered too much trouble for the NBA.
Just to make my point, let's go over a few of the names that would not likely have been turned away:

Gilbert Arenas- Locker room gun wielder and noted shark owner
Chris Andersen- Once suspended 2 years for drug use and also guilty of looking like this
Dennis Rodman- Future hall of famer who despite many other transgressions, will always be most dangerous thanks to his participation in the making of this film
Joakim Noah- He's this guy
Ron Artest- You simply never know, and since I don't have nearly enough time to list all of the possibilities here, let's just point out that he has spent literally his entire life being Ron Artest

So take pride Ms. Lohan, you are officially considered more volatile than every one of these men; Which by logic makes you the most dangerous person on the planet.
Then again though, maybe none of these people would have been allowed in. In fact now that I think about it, it's fairly likely that Pau Gasol's party was just a front for a meeting of Euro-NBA'ers only, in which they exchanged information on the delicate art of flopping and screaming like you've just been shot in the chest.
Save it for soccer ya jerks.

Rise of the Machines

Heed this warning: Facebook is SkyNet. And it will be the end of us all...
Now, before you dismiss this as the lunatic ravings of a madman, let me clear one thing up, I use facebook every day. This is not me hating on facebook. This is simply me seeing it for what it is and trying to warn humanity (It's not like I'm gonna stop using it, how else am I supposed to invite friends to events? Call them? Fat chance).
The first troubling sign that caught my eye was when I realized that any time I used the word facebook on my Google-run blog, it was marked by spellcheck as incorrect. But no, not because Google doesn't recognize facebook as a proper English word, but simply because I wasn't capitalizing it. The word facebook on facebook's logo isn't even capitalized! So why on earth would Google demand that I use a capital F when addressing the almighty facebook? Could it be because they are in cahoots and Google has recognized the eventuality of facebook reigning supreme as our irrepressible overlord? You know what other word you're always supposed to capitalize? God. Coincidence? Hardly seems so.
Now think about a few of the programs the "new facebook" (that's right, I still REFUSE to capitalize it, consider it my John Connor-like act of defiance) wants you to use --

Freind Finder: Ominous much? Let facebook locate people you know. After all, we'll find them eventually.

Auto-Tagger: That's right, facebook is freely admitting it can recognize familiar people in your pictures and mark them. Mark them for what you ask? Elimination.


Get Connected: Who's not on facebook? INVITE THEM NOW. That is, verbatim, what the program requests you do. Sure I added the all-caps for effect but you get the point. The facebook will not rest until all humans are accounted for in its comprehensive database.


Mark my words people, Judgement Day is near. And soon enough, when you and your loved ones are put to work in the oil fields of a nightmarish, real-life Farmville, you'll wish you took my premonition a bit more seriously.
And for those of you who believe, for those of you who are truly listening to this message... you are The Resistance.

Athletes in Film: Cam Neely

It's hard to know where to even start with this one, because it is so very close to my heart. To me, Cam Neely is so much more than a Hall of Fame hockey player. To me, he's even more than the founder of an invaluable philanthropic venture that gives families affected by pediatric cancer a place to stay. To me, he is quite simply, Sea Bass.

In what is probably my favorite comedic film of all time, Dumb and Dumber (We landed on the moon!), Cam Neely played an essential role in some of the films most hilarious scenes. We are introduced to him after he is hit by a seasoning projectile, and he poignantly quips: "Who's the dead man who hit me with the salt shaker?!" Then, like any gentleman who had been so dishonored would likely do, proceeded to hock a giant loogie on Jeff Daniels' hamburger.
But the real reason I consider Cam's performance so daring and memorable, is the scene where he reencounters Harry and Lloyd further on down the road. After having been tricked into picking up their tab (I'll call you a liar if you don't admit you've considered trying this at some point), Mr. Bass serendipitously happens upon the fellas at a gas station. Not just any gas station though, the exact gas station in fact, in which Mr. Bass had scrawled a message regarding an intimate rendezvous on the wall.  And what ensues? Comedic genius.
You really must admire Cam for this scene. After all, not every famous athlete would be comfortable enough with his own masculinity to pretend he was about to joyously mouth molest Jim Carrey.
So my hat, or perhaps more fitting it be your hat, goes of to you Mr. Neely. Because when it comes to athletes in films, you are truly a massive gas station rapist of a man among boys.

Willow Smith must be stopped... SERIOUSLY.

Some of you might recall back in October when I posted an article begging renaissance man Will Smith to stop pushing his 9 year old daughter on an unsuspecting and confused public that is helpless to stop her. Shockingly, it appears my message never reached him, for the child-pimpery continues unabated.

Evidently, Willow Smith will now be starring in a movie reboot of the hit Broadway musical Annie. The brainchild of Big Willy and Jay-Z (By the way, isn't it safe to say that any street cred you built up slinging rock in Brooklyn is officially lost when you co-head a production of Annie?), the new Annie promises to be a more modern, more hip and without a doubt a more thoroughly unnecessary version than any of its predecessors (and that's saying a lot, considering I have never exactly thought of any production of Annie as "necessary").
Will... I would ask again that you stop shoving your children down the world's collective throat, but I know that isn't going to happen. I would even request that you don't contribute to the recent Hollywood trend of just remaking someone else's idea since you have no original ones of your own, but it's obviously too late for that. So in the end, I guess all I'll ask, nay, beg of you, is that you don't let Willow sport the traditional Annie hair. With those ears and that do, she'll just be mistaken for Blake Griffin.

Now that, was a steaming dump on film: Part I

This will be the first of many posts devoted solely to the most horrible movies I have ever seen.  Do you see what I do for you people (I'm talking to you, 7 devoted readers)?  I force myself to watch unbelievably poorly made movies with hopes of brightening your bleak existence... you're welcome.  Just a warning though, there will be spoilers.  But if you read this, then decide you have to go watch these films for any other reason than to laugh your asses off then, well, you're an idiot and I'm glad I spoiled it for you.  Enjoy!

Today's culprit: Boondock Saints 2: All Saints Day

(pretty much every single video clip here is not safe for work, sorry kids)

Now just as a short aside, let me say that I really wanted to love this movie.  The first one was a ton of fun and well made so I held out hope that the second wouldn't shine a light on what a complete fluke it was. No such luck.

- At the start, the brothers MacManus have escaped Boston authorities and exiled themselves to Ireland. Believable, considering the way the first film ended. What I didn't believe though, was that they exiled themselves to 1600's Ireland.  They're both herding sheep in wool sweaters and have grown out some serious yeti beards. They look like they were auditioning for Year One. Who the hell were they hiding their faces from? All the Boston police scouring the Irish countryside for them??

- Then, when they decide they must return stateside, they take part in a gratuitous clean-up montage that includes a shower scene full of man-ass and giving themselves shockingly stylish haircuts using what appear to be giant sheep shearing scissors. Eat your heart out SuperCuts.

- Then we meet the lovely Julie Benz, who somehow piles more shit on the film than anyone.  Julie plays the rogue Federal Agent who helps the brothers, serving as the replacement to Willem Defoe's character in the first film. Only instead of serving as his replacement she essentially serves as a spoof of every awesome thing he did. Dressing like a cowboy hooker (I'm sure all government agents have that option) and speaking with an astonishingly bad southern drawl, she treats us to quite a few verbal gems, my favorite of which is: "I am so fucking smart that I make smart people feel like they are retarded!"  Wow, I loved Julie in Dexter, but someone should've murdered her in a bath tub in this one too.

- And now we come to the big bad mob boss... Judd Nelson.  Yeah. The casting alone was bad enough, but then he plays the guy as a complete caricature who hits his cronies with a giant salami (I'm serious) and says things like: "Those sons of bitches prison fucked us!... In the ass!" Like, come on guys, if you're going to prison fuck me, at least have the decency to do it in my face or vagina.

- Then the boys meet their sidekick, the replacement for Rocco in the first film. This part goes to Romeo, played by Clifton Collins Jr., who was amazing in The Last Castle, but not so much in this. The brothers meet fair Romeo during some inexplicable organized fight club on their boat ride to America (What? The Mayflower probably had the same thing), and it is love at first sight. From then on out he serves as their lovable, strangely emotional and overly Mexican sidekick who begs the eternal question: "Who ordered the whoop ass fajita?!"

Yeah, so those are my major gripes with this epic shitbomb.  I could go on forever, but I have things to do this week, so I'll just leave you with a few more of my favorite moments of the film:

- After killing a mobster named Gorgeous George, the brothers write "Erin Go Bragh" on his dead body. Ireland would be proud.

- It's revealed that from the first movie, Willem Defoe's character's full name was Paul Maximillion Smecker... totally necessary.

- The most dangerous assassin in the film is referred to as "the little guy." Not sure exactly how tall he's supposed to be but at one point he legitimately hides behind a fire hydrant. And it works.

- At one point the brothers, Connor and Murphy, somehow manage to have a simultaneous dream (Inception?) starring their dead friends Rocco and Greenly, who strut around Boston and giving the boys motivational speeches about "men building things" (can that be right?).  It ends on center ice at the Bruins arena where Greenly shoots a puck at them and they wake up in a cold sweat.

- Oh, and in the end, Willem Defoe isn't dead. He's fishing. And living off the Catholic Church. And Julie Benz is going to have to do that too... I don't fucking know.

And there it is.  The first steaming dump on film reviewed by Crunchy Brain Doodles.  Hope you had fun.  Oh and, I hope you don't regret tattooing one of the worst sequels ever on your body kid, because there is a Godfather III ink job on my ass that I would sell my soul to get rid of.