At last, the finale. It's just depressing that there won't be anymore after this for awhile. Oh well, hopefully we will go out with a bang - or at least, a solid Moanna meltdown.
(this is written while I'm watching the show and i promise not to go back, even if i'm wrong)
So Travis' family comes to Paris to meet the ladies. First, it's Sarah. And right off the bat we see why she's not going to win - Travis' hot looking sister is there with her two adorable kids and Sarah stands out like a sore thumb. It's like a "where's Waldo?", except for it's "where's the not good looking one?" The same thing would happen if she were my girlfriend and had to hang out with my sister and her baby Jake, except of course, I'm not 6 foot 4 with a six pack and saving people's lives for a living. So we'd both be the not attractive, non-aryan people.
And then Travis says it, the kiss of death: "It's just real easy to get a long with her, I have a lot of respect for her". Come on, that's your friend, dude, that's not your lady. It's over.
Sarah tells Travis' parents that "she's not crazy", and they immediately thinks she is. Then she falls in a Susan trap and says she "sets goals for herself" and that she "wants to win". His parents look HORRIFIED by her. Wait 'till they meet Moanna. Side note: Why does Travis' mom's hair stick out so far? You're on TV, lady! There's no one in Paris that can fix that shit?
Travis makes his family cry by talking seriously about wanting a commitment, unfortunately I don't see one coming any time soon.
It's Moanna's turn. And what immediately stands out is that she's wearing her hot face. Thank God, she left the ugly face at home for the finale!
Oh no, she's crying. Why is she crying? Stop it! You're gonna ruin it! Maybe they cut some stuff out and there was more to it than we saw. That was weird, but it does seem like there's a totally deeper thing going on with her and T than with Sarah. It's night and day (i'm setting myself up here, but i'm confident). There's no doubt she's really into him, and when she's not crying she seems like she's got her shit together (in terms of knowing how this whole thing works, and how dudes think). They keep saying how "deep" she is, so I guess deep is reality show for crazy.
I'm making a prediction right now: In 20 years, Baby Jake will have sex with one of the two of Travis' nieces, and hopefully both, and they will have the most beautiful blonde illegitmate children this world has ever seen. Go Jake!
Moanna meets the parents. The parents are kinda asking weird questions. And Moanna is not doing a good job of answering. This chick is nuts. She has nothing to say, she totally melts down, so what does she do? Goes for the crying. Genius. That's her move, and it seems to work. A lot.
Jeez. Travis' dad is a better interviewer than Chris Matthews. I feel like I'm watching Hardball. She tries to go to the crying on him and he won't let her! She can't explain why she likes Travis. She keeps saying how solid she is, and the parents obviously know that she's not.
Dude, I'll say it right now: Travis' dad should be the next Bachelor. This guy is good. Seriously, he's a producer's wet dream. He's articulate, he's quick, he says the right things at the right time. get this man in a hot tub, stat!
The family commiserate about Moanna and they like Sarah way better. Obviously. But let me say this: who cares? Your family does not have to have sex with the person you go out with. They don't have to hang out with them all the time. They don't have to talk dirty to them. So who fucking cares? I've been out with a girl or two in my day that I know my family would not get, and some that I know that they would (and did). But at the end of the day, they don't have to deal with that person. I do. And that's all that matters. In short, crazy girls are fun! For 3 months or so.
Dad, who cares if Sarah answered the questions well? She's not auditioning for your interview show, bud, she wants to bang your son. He should just say, whoever you like best, you have to live with her, so good luck on that decision and I'll support it either way.
Moanna's mom visits, and I don't know how it happened, but she's only 5 years older than Moanna. She gave birth to Moanna when she was 5! Oh wait, she's her STEPmother. Well, that's nice that they're friends. You'd guess that Moanna would hate her stepmom, but I guess she's so crazy that she goes against crazy type.
Sarah's mom visits too. Not surprisingly, she's a little different than Moanna's. And by different I mean not cute. I guarantee you that a smart guy like Travis has already scoped out this situation and done the math.
Moanna tries on a black dress and looks insanely hot in it.
Aw, poor Sarah. It hurts to watch this. It really seems like she's more excited about the prospect of marriage than excited about Travis. Like, she has no depth with this guy. It feels like they've barely gone out. It's just like she can't believe she's made it this far (and neither can I).
Sarah tries on a sparkly dress. She looks nice...for someone with a mom's body (sorry, am i being mean? yes, i am. but i feel like some of you are on board with me here).
Travis and Sarah spend their last night together. Sarah acts like she arranged the whole thing even though she had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Travis lies about not having made up his mind. Obviously, that's bullshit and he has to say that. After Sarah "opens up", they share a good hug. Wow, that is some passionate stuff. These two are really hot and heavy, if this was a romantic comedy and he was running after Sarah to stop her from getting on an airplane, he'd probably get sidetracked by a hot dog vendor, or a snow cone vendor, or a guy selling dog shit. What I'm saying is, I think the only time Travis is going to be holding a stereo outside her house is if he's moving some electronic equipment.
It's Moanna's turn. Travis says he feels bad for Moanna having to follow Sarah because he and Sarah had the perfect date. I guess the perfect date for Travis doesn't include chemistry.
Travis FINALLY asks Moanna what the deal was in the house for the other girls. Wow, I guess his family unwrapped the pussy from his brain. Families are good like that sometimes. It's the old saying, blood is thicker than pussies...sorry.
Moanna pulls through at crunch time and rewraps the pussy around his head. And I'll be honest with you, I'd go for that shit in a second. That bit about "not needing, but wanting you"? Good shit, people. I'd be done. I'm telling you, she's crazy like a crazy ass crying fox.
Uh oh, back from break, and we are reminded of the other face of Moanna. The ugly one. She needs to get rid of those glasses and learn to work a pontail. It's amazing the difference between her two faces.
It's decision time...
And the first one out of the limo is...
Moanna! Oh, fuck no. But remember, in past Bachelors they've switched this. Moanna could still be the one. Let's not panic.
Dude, if it's not her she is going to flip the fuck out!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This is bullshit! I demand a recount! This is stupid. I don't know if I can watch this show again. There's no way he's ending up with Sarah, dude. Come on, that makes no sense. My only hope is that he tells Sarah no too and marries a hot chick who would never go on a show like this.
Moanna, of course, cries. She even says the classic "it was crazy to think that someone like him would even think about marrying someone like me". Ouch. Seriously, I think Moanna at her lowest right now is the type of girl I usually go out with. She's at rock bottom, and then I build her up, show her that there are good people in the world and that she can trust again, and then I break up with her but in a nice way where we both know that i'm a jackass and never going to get married but that's okay, and then she'd marry the next guy she meets and they laugh about what a douchebag I am. This has happened to me like, five times.
We go to commercial and they tease "the finale we've all been waiting for". Uh, no. I was waiting for Moanna. This is crap.
Travis tells Sarah the "good news". I go to the toilet and give it some bad news. I'm sick.
Yada, yada, yada, promise ring, it will be over in a month. He didn't have the balls to choose no one, which is what he should've done. It's an odd ending, usually I feel like the two really are a couple. I just don't feel that way about these two. I don't see it. She's a nice girl, definitely the most normal seeming, she's cute, but there is no spark there.
Well, that didn't go so well. But hey, I accepted the risk and I stand by my prediction. Even if it makes me look like an idiot. Which it did. Go Moanna! I will avenge you!!!
Monday, February 27, 2006
Sunday, February 26, 2006
I hang out with Carlos Mencia and this is how I talk now:
There's only one thing I hate more than animals, and that's people who bring their animals out in public. Now, I'm not talking about the people who take their dogs for a walk and stuff like that (although I have my beef with them too - sorry, pamie). I'm talking about the jackass who brings his snake to the beach boardwalk.
Listen douchebag, no one likes your snake. And you're not cool for having the snake, in fact, you're the opposite of cool. You are a loser. Don't think we are confused by you. We can clearly see that you are crying out for the attention your alcoholic mother never gave you. Stop it. Find something else to do to compensate for the emotional hole in your pathetic heart. Try cutting, I've heard that's fun. Just don't bring your snake or your parrot to the God Damn supermarket! When I'm perusing for the perfect peach I don't want to hear how your parrot has a bigger vocabulary than you do. Of course he does. He's smarter than you, that's why he shits on your hand all the time.
I'm not impressed by your "wacky" animal, okay? If you want to impress me, walk around with your penis in your hand because that's exactly what that fucking snake is, so you might as well have the balls to be honest about it.
The unfortunate part about all of this is that I know these guys are getting pussy. I know it. What's with our society that sociopaths attract the most women? I have never been out with a girl for longer than a year, and yet Scott Peterson's been married with a mistress, and now gets marriage proposals every fricking day. This guy's one rattle snake away from fucking supermodels. The worst way to get women in this country is to be a normal person who doesn't wrap a snake around your neck or murder people.
And before you say "but look at the girls they're getting", I've had some dry spells in my day and in those times I have to be honest with you, I wouldn't mind a snake bitch. Oh, you like guys who carry snakes around? That's nice, why don't you suck the venom out of my copperhead.
Listen douchebag, no one likes your snake. And you're not cool for having the snake, in fact, you're the opposite of cool. You are a loser. Don't think we are confused by you. We can clearly see that you are crying out for the attention your alcoholic mother never gave you. Stop it. Find something else to do to compensate for the emotional hole in your pathetic heart. Try cutting, I've heard that's fun. Just don't bring your snake or your parrot to the God Damn supermarket! When I'm perusing for the perfect peach I don't want to hear how your parrot has a bigger vocabulary than you do. Of course he does. He's smarter than you, that's why he shits on your hand all the time.
I'm not impressed by your "wacky" animal, okay? If you want to impress me, walk around with your penis in your hand because that's exactly what that fucking snake is, so you might as well have the balls to be honest about it.
The unfortunate part about all of this is that I know these guys are getting pussy. I know it. What's with our society that sociopaths attract the most women? I have never been out with a girl for longer than a year, and yet Scott Peterson's been married with a mistress, and now gets marriage proposals every fricking day. This guy's one rattle snake away from fucking supermodels. The worst way to get women in this country is to be a normal person who doesn't wrap a snake around your neck or murder people.
And before you say "but look at the girls they're getting", I've had some dry spells in my day and in those times I have to be honest with you, I wouldn't mind a snake bitch. Oh, you like guys who carry snakes around? That's nice, why don't you suck the venom out of my copperhead.
These Are The Good Days Part II
Chris Rock has this great bit about the "black leaders" of today and how they kind of suck. And one part is about Louis Farrakhan, and how his major mistake is always talking about the jews. And then Rock goes "I've never been in a barbershop and heard the brothas in there talking about the jews. Black people don't hate jewish people. Black people hate white people. We don't have time to dice you up into categories."
Black people shouldn't hate jewish people, and vice versa. Cause we got a lot in common. We like a lot of the same stuff. Blacks make hip hop music, jews make hip hop music safe for white people. Blacks are good at basketball, jews like watching blacks play basketball. Blacks are good at dancing, and jews love the movie "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo".
My point here is that blacks and jews seem to have a similar sense in terms of the arts. I think creatively we have many of the same sensibilities, but perhaps blacks are just a little better at putting into action (i.e. rapping).
Well, half of me is a part of this, and the other day I got to fulfill a lifelong jewish/wigga dream. I mentioned here the song I had in my head which I pitched to the powers that be on the show, and it was decided that we're going to do it. As all of you probably know at this point, I love music. More specifically, I love the black man's music. And ever since I bought that Bell Biv Devoe CD, I've wanted to make it. Unfortunately, I can't sing. And I can't really rap either. But I'm a lover of Dr. Dre and DJ Quik and Devante and Teddy Riley, and I've always wanted to produce beats like those guys. And finally, after all these years, I've wrote and produced my very own rap song. Here's what happened:
So I wrote the song, everyone seemed to like it, and on Friday it was time to "lay it down". We got a guy to do a beat for us, and then we went into the studio. Ned went in the booth and put down his verse, which was "hot". And then a little bit later, a black guy I had wanted to do the singing part came in.
SIDE NOTE: It's cool to work on a show where you can actually get the talented people that you want to do stuff. I've worked on other things where it was basically a high school stage production. There is no money, and no one talented or semi-famous will get near the show. But it's a pretty amazing and exciting thing when you write something and you have certain people in mind for it, and then all of the sudden those people are there doing your shit. It's also one of the benefits of writing for TV over movies, in that you are able to write something one day and then next week your shooting it and then the week after that it's being broadcast to millions of people. Film, on the other hand, can take years and then they bring in hacks to rewrite your shit and they totally screw the whole thing up - okay, you know that story.
Anyway, this black dude comes in and sings and he's great. He's really into the song and thinks it's good. At one point, he goes: who wrote this? And everyone turns and points to me and he goes "good rap, man." Holy shit, a black guy just complimented my rap writing skills! A real life, bona fide black dude! I'm a half-jewish kid from Moraga, there was one black person in my whole high school and now an honest to goodness brotha man is giving me my props! Crazy.
So Ned and the black guy left, and it was up to me and the sound engineer guy to put the track together. Now, I wasn't exactly Dr. Dre sitting back there or anything, but it was kind of a complicated thing and I think we did a pretty good job. But through the process, I gained a huge respect to the professionals who do this for real because it's fucking hard. It's so difficult to make shit sound good. And this is especially true for, believe it or not, rappers. Rappers are underrated, people. It's way easier than you think to sound like an amateur on the mic. So despite what old white people would have you believe, these guys actually have talent (uh oh, might have to change my opinion of Johnny Cash).
We're shooting the video for it next week and hopefully it comes out well. I will keep you all posted on it's air date so you can see for yourselves the fulfillment of my lifelong dream of making the black man's music, and also the coming together of the blacks and the half-jews!
Black people shouldn't hate jewish people, and vice versa. Cause we got a lot in common. We like a lot of the same stuff. Blacks make hip hop music, jews make hip hop music safe for white people. Blacks are good at basketball, jews like watching blacks play basketball. Blacks are good at dancing, and jews love the movie "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo".
My point here is that blacks and jews seem to have a similar sense in terms of the arts. I think creatively we have many of the same sensibilities, but perhaps blacks are just a little better at putting into action (i.e. rapping).
Well, half of me is a part of this, and the other day I got to fulfill a lifelong jewish/wigga dream. I mentioned here the song I had in my head which I pitched to the powers that be on the show, and it was decided that we're going to do it. As all of you probably know at this point, I love music. More specifically, I love the black man's music. And ever since I bought that Bell Biv Devoe CD, I've wanted to make it. Unfortunately, I can't sing. And I can't really rap either. But I'm a lover of Dr. Dre and DJ Quik and Devante and Teddy Riley, and I've always wanted to produce beats like those guys. And finally, after all these years, I've wrote and produced my very own rap song. Here's what happened:
So I wrote the song, everyone seemed to like it, and on Friday it was time to "lay it down". We got a guy to do a beat for us, and then we went into the studio. Ned went in the booth and put down his verse, which was "hot". And then a little bit later, a black guy I had wanted to do the singing part came in.
SIDE NOTE: It's cool to work on a show where you can actually get the talented people that you want to do stuff. I've worked on other things where it was basically a high school stage production. There is no money, and no one talented or semi-famous will get near the show. But it's a pretty amazing and exciting thing when you write something and you have certain people in mind for it, and then all of the sudden those people are there doing your shit. It's also one of the benefits of writing for TV over movies, in that you are able to write something one day and then next week your shooting it and then the week after that it's being broadcast to millions of people. Film, on the other hand, can take years and then they bring in hacks to rewrite your shit and they totally screw the whole thing up - okay, you know that story.
Anyway, this black dude comes in and sings and he's great. He's really into the song and thinks it's good. At one point, he goes: who wrote this? And everyone turns and points to me and he goes "good rap, man." Holy shit, a black guy just complimented my rap writing skills! A real life, bona fide black dude! I'm a half-jewish kid from Moraga, there was one black person in my whole high school and now an honest to goodness brotha man is giving me my props! Crazy.
So Ned and the black guy left, and it was up to me and the sound engineer guy to put the track together. Now, I wasn't exactly Dr. Dre sitting back there or anything, but it was kind of a complicated thing and I think we did a pretty good job. But through the process, I gained a huge respect to the professionals who do this for real because it's fucking hard. It's so difficult to make shit sound good. And this is especially true for, believe it or not, rappers. Rappers are underrated, people. It's way easier than you think to sound like an amateur on the mic. So despite what old white people would have you believe, these guys actually have talent (uh oh, might have to change my opinion of Johnny Cash).
We're shooting the video for it next week and hopefully it comes out well. I will keep you all posted on it's air date so you can see for yourselves the fulfillment of my lifelong dream of making the black man's music, and also the coming together of the blacks and the half-jews!
Thursday, February 23, 2006
My Dad, Johnny Cash, and Walk the Line
My Dad doesn't understand music. He doesn't listen to it, he can't tap his foot or snap his fingers to a beat, and he quite frankly doesn't understand what all the fuss is about. He listens to AM talk radio, and wants to possibly get satellite radio - for no other reason than it's a gadget he does not yet own. He could not name you three Rolling Stones songs if you spotted him "Satisfaction" and "Jumping Jack Flash", and he grew up in the sixties! In Berkeley! H graduated college in 1969 and yet he thinks Yoko Ono is the name of my last girlfriend.
My Dad simply doesn't like music. But he DOES like Johnny Cash. Why Johnny Cash? I have no fucking idea. When I was a kid and we'd drive somewhere, I'd beg him to turn that Burning Ring of Fire crap off. For whatever reason, Johnny spoke to the guy, or more accurately, he sang in a way that was clear, understandable, and a lot like TALKING. In other words, Johnny Cash was the original talk radio...
Anyway, as part of my "see all the Oscar movies effort", I saw "Walk the Line the other night. I couldn't help think of my dad the whole time. The music came on and I hated it, but God Dammit if I didn't know every fricking word.
The movie was very good. Not perfect by any means, but very good. I actually didn't think it was very good until it got into the second half. The first half was standard issue biopic crap, with several cliches that I absolutely hate.
Why are the makers of these movies so uncon-fucking-cerned with the facts?! Seriously, they're like, "yeah, and then he walks on a street and sees a record store and he gets a record deal." What? Can I get the real story please? Why am I watching this movie?! Listen, I understand the constraints of movies as well as anyone, but it seems like that would be kind of an important thing to include. Isn't the object to understand the man? And how about that first wife? Can I at least see how they met? That shit pisses me off, and this movie fell into all of that. (think about it though, if you only watched biopics, you'd think think that Sam Phillips was just some hick who opened up a studio in Memphis and got lucky as Elvis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins and the rest just came and knocked on his front door) But I digress:
The second half saved the movie. Reese saved the movie. Their relationship was cool, and their acting was superb. Reese Witherspoon was convincing as someone I (and Johnny) would really want to be with. But let's get back to Johnny Cash.
Obviously, the guy did some great things and all of that. But I have to question any singer who can so convincingly be mimicked. How one of a kind are you when the actor playing you, who they picked presumably cause he resembles you physically - doesn't even need to be dubbed with your voice? And I've been noticing that when I get out of bed in the morning and my voice is that "just woke up deep", I do a spot on version of "Ring of Fire". And I listened to the real June Carter and she sounds nothing like Reese. It's completely different. So I'm just wondering where the brilliance was? He talks! With a deep voice! Over some simple music. At least bring in Nate Dogg to sing the hook, motherfucker!
All I'm saying is, if a man who never listens to music, can't keep a beat, and ignored the Stones during the sixties thinks you're the best, there's gotta be something wrong with you.
My Dad simply doesn't like music. But he DOES like Johnny Cash. Why Johnny Cash? I have no fucking idea. When I was a kid and we'd drive somewhere, I'd beg him to turn that Burning Ring of Fire crap off. For whatever reason, Johnny spoke to the guy, or more accurately, he sang in a way that was clear, understandable, and a lot like TALKING. In other words, Johnny Cash was the original talk radio...
Anyway, as part of my "see all the Oscar movies effort", I saw "Walk the Line the other night. I couldn't help think of my dad the whole time. The music came on and I hated it, but God Dammit if I didn't know every fricking word.
The movie was very good. Not perfect by any means, but very good. I actually didn't think it was very good until it got into the second half. The first half was standard issue biopic crap, with several cliches that I absolutely hate.
Why are the makers of these movies so uncon-fucking-cerned with the facts?! Seriously, they're like, "yeah, and then he walks on a street and sees a record store and he gets a record deal." What? Can I get the real story please? Why am I watching this movie?! Listen, I understand the constraints of movies as well as anyone, but it seems like that would be kind of an important thing to include. Isn't the object to understand the man? And how about that first wife? Can I at least see how they met? That shit pisses me off, and this movie fell into all of that. (think about it though, if you only watched biopics, you'd think think that Sam Phillips was just some hick who opened up a studio in Memphis and got lucky as Elvis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins and the rest just came and knocked on his front door) But I digress:
The second half saved the movie. Reese saved the movie. Their relationship was cool, and their acting was superb. Reese Witherspoon was convincing as someone I (and Johnny) would really want to be with. But let's get back to Johnny Cash.
Obviously, the guy did some great things and all of that. But I have to question any singer who can so convincingly be mimicked. How one of a kind are you when the actor playing you, who they picked presumably cause he resembles you physically - doesn't even need to be dubbed with your voice? And I've been noticing that when I get out of bed in the morning and my voice is that "just woke up deep", I do a spot on version of "Ring of Fire". And I listened to the real June Carter and she sounds nothing like Reese. It's completely different. So I'm just wondering where the brilliance was? He talks! With a deep voice! Over some simple music. At least bring in Nate Dogg to sing the hook, motherfucker!
All I'm saying is, if a man who never listens to music, can't keep a beat, and ignored the Stones during the sixties thinks you're the best, there's gotta be something wrong with you.
Monday, February 20, 2006
The Bachelor Girls give me more ammuntion...
When I was growing up, and maybe it's always been this way, it was always said that women were "better" than men. Maybe dudes were just being nice by spreading this myth, you know, because of all the lower pay and the non-voting stuff, but it was always something that people kinda said. I don't know if that makes sense. But the notion was men are barbarians, and they have no taste, and they destroy the world, and they're not as smart, and it was only a matter of time before women took control and rendered men unnecessary (if they hadn't already).
But I think with the Bachelor I can safely say that that theory has been completely dispelled. So let me be the first to say it: women are dumb. And this is coming from a guy who grew up with a lot of women, a lot of strong women, so it's not like I'm some manly man hating on the ladies. I'm practically part lady!. Y'all are fucked up! You can't get along with each other! You're insanely jealous of those hotter than you! Okay, I'm glad I got that off my chest. On with the show...
(Oh, and don't tell me it's the "editing". No, it's not. When it's the Bachelorette, you don't see the guys doing this shit. They're back at the house getting drunk, throwing toga parties, and homoerotically wrestling with each other)
First on the chopping block, it's Susan. She looks great, but boy can she not talk. Holy shit. English sounds like a second language for this broad. Just keep smiling, darling, but stop with all the talky. The girls CRUCIFY her. Come on, that's pure jealousy. Why would they still be bitter? She didn't win. Who cares at this point? Why don't you be good bitches and focus all of your anger and bitterness and jealousy at Moanna?
Anyway, so Susan's bad with the talking. And she doesn't do a good job of defending herself. At all. Maybe she can be an actress, she just needs a script. But what really costs her is when she says "my mom thinks that she lost it for me." LOST IT FOR YOU? You were going out with a guy, not going for the figure skating gold! She's fake and bad, but pretty! And pretty is the most important thing in the world, people. Well, except for maybe crazy and sexy - look at Moanna. No, I take it back. Pretty is more important. Cause you know in a few years Moanna's gonna be divorced with a kid and on the pipe, while Susan's gonna be living with Michael Bay. Fucking Michael Bay.
Next up, Sarah. She was an early favorite, her and Travis had a lot of chemistry. The best part of this segment is when Jennifer calls Sarah "immature", and then they show a clip of Jennifer crying because she burnt hot dogs at the campfire. Awesome!!!
This show officially sucks because crazy Allie G. is not there. Big bucks! I don't blame her though, chick is crazy. Well, I guess I've said they're all crazy. So she's super crazy. Upon watching her meltdown again, I was struck by how obvious it was that the producers set that up. There is no way that they didn't see that coming when they were screening these girls. There's just no hiding that kind of crazy. And I just imagine the little jabbing they were doing to her after the rejection to get her to go off like that. And to that I say, bravo! Nice work, Bachelor producers, more of that please.
Travis comes out and demonstrates everything that is flawed with The Bachelor. He walks on stage and the women go nuts. He's a superstar. Is it really the point in his life where he's going to settle down? He's a fucking rock star. So now he's gonna be committed to Moanna? I don't think so. He's going to have sex with everything that moves starting as soon as the cameras stop rolling. And you know why? Cause he can.
Not that he couldn't before, but trust me, after this, it's going to be some next level shit (i actually don't know why you should trust me as I have no experience in this area. But this is how the fantasy goes after I write and star in my future film franchise).
And by the way, notice that Charlie O'Connell is still with the girl he picked. That's because after he was on The Bachelor, he got LESS pussy. Before he could just get his brother's scraps, but then girls saw him on the show and collectively went "ew".
Oh yeah, bring on the Moanna hate! They hate her so much, it's great. And for no reason I've heard yet! The best reasoning I can understand is that they hate her for not being a total ho. "Oh my God! She doesn't care about being here! What a bitch!" Um, no, that's actually kinda normal. She's not just automatically throwing herself at the guy. I'm really pissed that Susan joins in on this, since if there was no Moanna she would be Moanna.
Wait a minute, Susan just admitted she only was hating because she was jealous! That's the greatest thing I've ever heard! Okay, maybe women aren't dumb. Check that, maybe they're dumb but at least some can admit when they're dumb. And maybe she's not going to end up with that bastard Michael Bay after all. Maybe Alan Thicke.
I was just about to state the obvious, that it's going to be Moanna, but then the preview happened. Oh man, will she hold it together long enough to be the one Travis picks before he starts banging every model in Hollywood? Looks like she's starting to lose it in the finale, that's not good. But Travis has come too far to go back now, and it's not like he has Susan as the alternative, so I'm sticking to my guns: it's Moanna.
But I think with the Bachelor I can safely say that that theory has been completely dispelled. So let me be the first to say it: women are dumb. And this is coming from a guy who grew up with a lot of women, a lot of strong women, so it's not like I'm some manly man hating on the ladies. I'm practically part lady!. Y'all are fucked up! You can't get along with each other! You're insanely jealous of those hotter than you! Okay, I'm glad I got that off my chest. On with the show...
(Oh, and don't tell me it's the "editing". No, it's not. When it's the Bachelorette, you don't see the guys doing this shit. They're back at the house getting drunk, throwing toga parties, and homoerotically wrestling with each other)
First on the chopping block, it's Susan. She looks great, but boy can she not talk. Holy shit. English sounds like a second language for this broad. Just keep smiling, darling, but stop with all the talky. The girls CRUCIFY her. Come on, that's pure jealousy. Why would they still be bitter? She didn't win. Who cares at this point? Why don't you be good bitches and focus all of your anger and bitterness and jealousy at Moanna?
Anyway, so Susan's bad with the talking. And she doesn't do a good job of defending herself. At all. Maybe she can be an actress, she just needs a script. But what really costs her is when she says "my mom thinks that she lost it for me." LOST IT FOR YOU? You were going out with a guy, not going for the figure skating gold! She's fake and bad, but pretty! And pretty is the most important thing in the world, people. Well, except for maybe crazy and sexy - look at Moanna. No, I take it back. Pretty is more important. Cause you know in a few years Moanna's gonna be divorced with a kid and on the pipe, while Susan's gonna be living with Michael Bay. Fucking Michael Bay.
Next up, Sarah. She was an early favorite, her and Travis had a lot of chemistry. The best part of this segment is when Jennifer calls Sarah "immature", and then they show a clip of Jennifer crying because she burnt hot dogs at the campfire. Awesome!!!
This show officially sucks because crazy Allie G. is not there. Big bucks! I don't blame her though, chick is crazy. Well, I guess I've said they're all crazy. So she's super crazy. Upon watching her meltdown again, I was struck by how obvious it was that the producers set that up. There is no way that they didn't see that coming when they were screening these girls. There's just no hiding that kind of crazy. And I just imagine the little jabbing they were doing to her after the rejection to get her to go off like that. And to that I say, bravo! Nice work, Bachelor producers, more of that please.
Travis comes out and demonstrates everything that is flawed with The Bachelor. He walks on stage and the women go nuts. He's a superstar. Is it really the point in his life where he's going to settle down? He's a fucking rock star. So now he's gonna be committed to Moanna? I don't think so. He's going to have sex with everything that moves starting as soon as the cameras stop rolling. And you know why? Cause he can.
Not that he couldn't before, but trust me, after this, it's going to be some next level shit (i actually don't know why you should trust me as I have no experience in this area. But this is how the fantasy goes after I write and star in my future film franchise).
And by the way, notice that Charlie O'Connell is still with the girl he picked. That's because after he was on The Bachelor, he got LESS pussy. Before he could just get his brother's scraps, but then girls saw him on the show and collectively went "ew".
Oh yeah, bring on the Moanna hate! They hate her so much, it's great. And for no reason I've heard yet! The best reasoning I can understand is that they hate her for not being a total ho. "Oh my God! She doesn't care about being here! What a bitch!" Um, no, that's actually kinda normal. She's not just automatically throwing herself at the guy. I'm really pissed that Susan joins in on this, since if there was no Moanna she would be Moanna.
Wait a minute, Susan just admitted she only was hating because she was jealous! That's the greatest thing I've ever heard! Okay, maybe women aren't dumb. Check that, maybe they're dumb but at least some can admit when they're dumb. And maybe she's not going to end up with that bastard Michael Bay after all. Maybe Alan Thicke.
I was just about to state the obvious, that it's going to be Moanna, but then the preview happened. Oh man, will she hold it together long enough to be the one Travis picks before he starts banging every model in Hollywood? Looks like she's starting to lose it in the finale, that's not good. But Travis has come too far to go back now, and it's not like he has Susan as the alternative, so I'm sticking to my guns: it's Moanna.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
"Edgy"
As some of you may know, there's a big lawsuit going on right now where a writer's assistant from Friends is suing for sexual harrassment and other stuff because of the things the writers would talk about in front of her. Her written complaint, which can be found on the Smoking Gun, is quite hilarious because evidently the Friends writers had a fun time making fun of how dried up Courtney Cox's vagina was.
But anyway, this lawsuit has been going on a long time now and it's of note because it's completely BULLSHIT. When you are trying to write comedy, you have to have a free environment in which to toss around ideas. There should be no restrictions on that, because it is the very nature of comedy to push the envelope and be offensive, etc. And it looks like this idiot is going to lose so...yey!
Now rumor has it that I'm actually a comedy writer, but this is yet to be verified. I am now sharing my office with a very funny lady comedy writer, and we spend our days tossing around ideas and many of them might be offensive to some people. But unlike most comedy writers (i think), this girl and I often hear what we are saying in our head and laugh at ourselves for thinking of such retarded shit. We're hilarious with a heart, people.
So anyway, in the spirit of that, here are some samples of things you might have heard had you walked by our office at the wrong time the past couple days:
Me: so the blow job thing is out, right?
Her: right, we can’t do the blow job thing. We need a different reveal.
Me: oh! I got it! How about if he says the line and then we reveal that his legs are up in stirrups, and there’s a doctor there, and he’s having an abortion!
She nods.
Her: yeah, that’s pretty good.
Me: but if we can’t do that, then we can always just have the doctor there and he looks up to him and says “you have a lovely vagina”.
Her: how can we get rid of the girl?
Me: um, how about if he fucks her to death?
Her: i don't know if that's mean enough. how about it he shoots her. in the face. With a gun.
Me: nice…you’re going to woman hell, you know that don’t you?
Her (sadly): I know.
Her: I don’t feel like black is strong enough. It feels like we’re being pussies.
Me: what do you mean?
Her: well, we’ve got beaners, and then crackers, and then blacks. Shouldn’t it be another derogatory word?
Me: maybe we can find a word besides the n word.
Her: okay.
Me: blacky?
Her: darky?
Me: coon?
Her: this is tough.
Me: I think it’s actually okay though.
Her: you think?
Me: yeah, because in the sentence it’s “the black”. Not just black. And I’ve always found when you put the word “the” in there before the word black, it’s kinda meaner. For example, “you know who lives around here? The blacks.”
A BEAT
Her: I like darky better.
But anyway, this lawsuit has been going on a long time now and it's of note because it's completely BULLSHIT. When you are trying to write comedy, you have to have a free environment in which to toss around ideas. There should be no restrictions on that, because it is the very nature of comedy to push the envelope and be offensive, etc. And it looks like this idiot is going to lose so...yey!
Now rumor has it that I'm actually a comedy writer, but this is yet to be verified. I am now sharing my office with a very funny lady comedy writer, and we spend our days tossing around ideas and many of them might be offensive to some people. But unlike most comedy writers (i think), this girl and I often hear what we are saying in our head and laugh at ourselves for thinking of such retarded shit. We're hilarious with a heart, people.
So anyway, in the spirit of that, here are some samples of things you might have heard had you walked by our office at the wrong time the past couple days:
Me: so the blow job thing is out, right?
Her: right, we can’t do the blow job thing. We need a different reveal.
Me: oh! I got it! How about if he says the line and then we reveal that his legs are up in stirrups, and there’s a doctor there, and he’s having an abortion!
She nods.
Her: yeah, that’s pretty good.
Me: but if we can’t do that, then we can always just have the doctor there and he looks up to him and says “you have a lovely vagina”.
Her: how can we get rid of the girl?
Me: um, how about if he fucks her to death?
Her: i don't know if that's mean enough. how about it he shoots her. in the face. With a gun.
Me: nice…you’re going to woman hell, you know that don’t you?
Her (sadly): I know.
Her: I don’t feel like black is strong enough. It feels like we’re being pussies.
Me: what do you mean?
Her: well, we’ve got beaners, and then crackers, and then blacks. Shouldn’t it be another derogatory word?
Me: maybe we can find a word besides the n word.
Her: okay.
Me: blacky?
Her: darky?
Me: coon?
Her: this is tough.
Me: I think it’s actually okay though.
Her: you think?
Me: yeah, because in the sentence it’s “the black”. Not just black. And I’ve always found when you put the word “the” in there before the word black, it’s kinda meaner. For example, “you know who lives around here? The blacks.”
A BEAT
Her: I like darky better.
Monday, February 13, 2006
For Valentine's Day, a special recap of Last Night's "Bachelor"
(Sorry, I wanted to do a more in depth job with this, but I kinda have a job now)
Okay, here was the situation on "The Bachelor" going into last night's episode. Dr. Travis, aside from wearing a do-rag, was doing a pretty good job. He seems to be way less of a douchebag than previous Bachelors. He had narrowed it down to 3 women, gone to their hometowns to meet their families (who were all INSANE), and now it's time for the "fantasy dates".
First up, it was Moanna in Vienna. Moanna is the pretty attractive nut job. But she seems like the kind of nut job that's fun, at least for a few months. You know, the kind I usually go out with. She's that psycho sexy type, like, you want to see if you can fuck the normal into her (never works by the way).
So they're hanging out, and it's clear that Travis LOVES the crazy. He's making the foolish mistake I've made many times with many insane girls, so I can't really blame him for it. It appears that these two are doing the intense, passionate, we're in love and fuck everyone else thing that usually lasts about 3 weeks in the real world. But for now, it's all good.
At the dinner, Moanna looks incredibly hot. And it occurs to me that sometimes she's beautiful, sometimes not so much. She's a two-face. Unfortunately, both of her faces are crazy.
Travis gives her a long speech, which if you read between the lines, says "I'm going to pick you in the end but you have to excuse the fact that I'm going to go out with the two other girls after this and probably have sex with them, but it's for TV so it's okay." He's picking her for sure.
They go to the "fantasy suite" together and he tries to inject her with the normal, but I know it didn't take.
The next date is with Sara in Vienna. She is the unattractive one (she's not ugly by any means, but she's not nearly as good looking as the other two, and she's out of her league with Travis). She's a school teacher and from the same place as Travis and is completely smart and cool and normal, and they'd be perfect for each other...if she was just a little more attractive.
But it's clear to us all that she is stuck in the friend zone, and she's never getting out. They have a nice time together and she tries to step up her game by giving him the tongue. He's nice and he accepts the tongue, but I don't think it matters, the dye is cast.
At dinner, she gives Travis this great speech about how they are so compatible and she is totally, totally right about everything she says and it almost brings a tear to my eye. Not because it's true, but because it's true and she's still not going to get him. It's the simple law of hotness, and no amount of common sense can overcome it.
And the unfortunate truth is that you don't necessarily want to go out with yourself (especially when yourself is not as attractive as you). What I mean is, sometimes you want the crazy bitch. There's no explaining it but it's a fact. This girl is safe. She's boring. She probably doesn't take well to the dirty talk.
Third date was in the Alps with Susan, the anti-Sara. In other words, this chick is fucking hot!!! I cannot state this enough, she's gorgeous, easily the best looking girl they've ever had the show, and throughout the series it's been kind of sad for the rest of the girls because this girl is so damn hot. But of course, there's a problem. She wants to be an "actress" and move to LA. The way they talk about LA on this show it might as well be AIDS, cause that's how bad it is. "Oooh, she wants to move to LA, she's LA-positive and it might turn into full blown LA."
So there has been a lot of questioning of Susan's motives, which to me was shaky (obviously the girls were jealous), until Travis met her mom and even HER OWN MOTHER thought she was faking the funk! A Bachelor first! But I didn't really even hear any of that because I was so distracted by all of the hot.
They go climbing together and Travis drills her about this. She does a horrible job of explaining herself but Travis pretends to believe her. Then at dinner he questions her again, it's clear that Susan's in trouble. It seems Travis is somehow able to overlook her incredible looks and do the right thing. I, on the other hand, am having a Susan induced masturbation session. Damn, Travis is better than me in every way possible. Wait a minute, check that, I never wear do-rags.
Things are bad for Susan and she knows it so she pulls out the big guns: her boobies (which ironically, are little). She straddles Travis and goes to work. Sadly, she doesn't look like that good of a kisser. Unattractive Sara looked to be a better kisser, which I've found is usually the case. Hot girl/bad kisser is God's little fuck you to us.
We go back to Paris for the rose ceremony. See! Moanna's other face shows up, the not good looking one. Dammit. And there's unattractive, and then Hotty Mc-hot Hot.
First rose goes to...Moanna. I told you, unless one of her faces has a complete and utter break down, she's the one. And the second and final rose goes to...Sara. Seems that bad kissing was the final nail in hotty's coffin.
But the good news is, Susan's now infected with full blown LA! She's gonna need an injection of my special drug COCKtail. Sorry, that was horrible, and yet awesome!
Happy Valentine's Day!
Okay, here was the situation on "The Bachelor" going into last night's episode. Dr. Travis, aside from wearing a do-rag, was doing a pretty good job. He seems to be way less of a douchebag than previous Bachelors. He had narrowed it down to 3 women, gone to their hometowns to meet their families (who were all INSANE), and now it's time for the "fantasy dates".
First up, it was Moanna in Vienna. Moanna is the pretty attractive nut job. But she seems like the kind of nut job that's fun, at least for a few months. You know, the kind I usually go out with. She's that psycho sexy type, like, you want to see if you can fuck the normal into her (never works by the way).
So they're hanging out, and it's clear that Travis LOVES the crazy. He's making the foolish mistake I've made many times with many insane girls, so I can't really blame him for it. It appears that these two are doing the intense, passionate, we're in love and fuck everyone else thing that usually lasts about 3 weeks in the real world. But for now, it's all good.
At the dinner, Moanna looks incredibly hot. And it occurs to me that sometimes she's beautiful, sometimes not so much. She's a two-face. Unfortunately, both of her faces are crazy.
Travis gives her a long speech, which if you read between the lines, says "I'm going to pick you in the end but you have to excuse the fact that I'm going to go out with the two other girls after this and probably have sex with them, but it's for TV so it's okay." He's picking her for sure.
They go to the "fantasy suite" together and he tries to inject her with the normal, but I know it didn't take.
The next date is with Sara in Vienna. She is the unattractive one (she's not ugly by any means, but she's not nearly as good looking as the other two, and she's out of her league with Travis). She's a school teacher and from the same place as Travis and is completely smart and cool and normal, and they'd be perfect for each other...if she was just a little more attractive.
But it's clear to us all that she is stuck in the friend zone, and she's never getting out. They have a nice time together and she tries to step up her game by giving him the tongue. He's nice and he accepts the tongue, but I don't think it matters, the dye is cast.
At dinner, she gives Travis this great speech about how they are so compatible and she is totally, totally right about everything she says and it almost brings a tear to my eye. Not because it's true, but because it's true and she's still not going to get him. It's the simple law of hotness, and no amount of common sense can overcome it.
And the unfortunate truth is that you don't necessarily want to go out with yourself (especially when yourself is not as attractive as you). What I mean is, sometimes you want the crazy bitch. There's no explaining it but it's a fact. This girl is safe. She's boring. She probably doesn't take well to the dirty talk.
Third date was in the Alps with Susan, the anti-Sara. In other words, this chick is fucking hot!!! I cannot state this enough, she's gorgeous, easily the best looking girl they've ever had the show, and throughout the series it's been kind of sad for the rest of the girls because this girl is so damn hot. But of course, there's a problem. She wants to be an "actress" and move to LA. The way they talk about LA on this show it might as well be AIDS, cause that's how bad it is. "Oooh, she wants to move to LA, she's LA-positive and it might turn into full blown LA."
So there has been a lot of questioning of Susan's motives, which to me was shaky (obviously the girls were jealous), until Travis met her mom and even HER OWN MOTHER thought she was faking the funk! A Bachelor first! But I didn't really even hear any of that because I was so distracted by all of the hot.
They go climbing together and Travis drills her about this. She does a horrible job of explaining herself but Travis pretends to believe her. Then at dinner he questions her again, it's clear that Susan's in trouble. It seems Travis is somehow able to overlook her incredible looks and do the right thing. I, on the other hand, am having a Susan induced masturbation session. Damn, Travis is better than me in every way possible. Wait a minute, check that, I never wear do-rags.
Things are bad for Susan and she knows it so she pulls out the big guns: her boobies (which ironically, are little). She straddles Travis and goes to work. Sadly, she doesn't look like that good of a kisser. Unattractive Sara looked to be a better kisser, which I've found is usually the case. Hot girl/bad kisser is God's little fuck you to us.
We go back to Paris for the rose ceremony. See! Moanna's other face shows up, the not good looking one. Dammit. And there's unattractive, and then Hotty Mc-hot Hot.
First rose goes to...Moanna. I told you, unless one of her faces has a complete and utter break down, she's the one. And the second and final rose goes to...Sara. Seems that bad kissing was the final nail in hotty's coffin.
But the good news is, Susan's now infected with full blown LA! She's gonna need an injection of my special drug COCKtail. Sorry, that was horrible, and yet awesome!
Happy Valentine's Day!
Kryptonite (or Crip Tonight)
There’s a song that’s getting some play, and may get even more play in the coming weeks, that is…interesting. If you listen to black radio stations you’ve probably heard it, and if you don’t, you probably never will. It’s by Big Boi, of Outkast fame, along with some “friends” of his. I heard this song a few times and it both intrigued and bugged the shit out of me.
For some reason, I became obsessed with trying to figure out what the fuck it was about. The one word you can clearly understand is “Kryptonite”. Or is it? The more you listen to the song, it could actually be “crip tonight”. But I don’t think the radio station normally broadcasts the word “crip” for obvious reasons so I didn’t know. It was difficult to decipher the exact meaning because every other word in this song is virtually unintelligible.
So I, your trusty correspondent, will attempt to translate the lyrics to this song into actual English. Now unlike last time with “Grillz”, I will not be noting the genius of the lyrics and making jokes about them, this time I will simply try to figure what the hell these dudes are talking about.
(CHORUS)
I be on it all night, man I be on it (day day)
All day straight up pimp
If you want me you can find me in da
[Crowd]
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
TRANSLATION: Okay, my sources in the drug community tell me that Kryptonite is a term for marijuana. So this chorus translates to:
I will be high all night on marijuana, as well as all day. And if you’re looking for me, I will be located in Atlanta (repeated EIGHT TIMES).
[VERSE 1:] Time an' time again I gotta turn back round an' tell dese hoes
Dat I'm the H-N-I-C, bitch dats just the way it goes
I be on dat shit dat have you on it I don't want no mo
At dis time I'll need all my freak hoes to get down on the flo'
TRANSLATION: I am H.I.N.C., and I am speaking to a woman who I think of negatively. I’ll be high on marijuana, and in the event I get tired of it, you can have some. At this time, I require all of the promiscuous ladies to go to the dance floor.
(CONTINUE VERSE 1)
If you came to rep yo set break dat nigga I let 'em kno'
If it's jail I get for stompin' hatas to sleep, fuck it I go
Freak I'll be off in yo sheets straight geeked swervin' down yo street
In a stolen Bonneville wit 23's on the feet
Collection while he do brown, back in town to do re-bag
Give me face, I love the sound
Slap the taste they hit the ground
Back in the A Hooked up, clicked up wit sum people dat don't play
On dat Kryptonite stay So high we might fly awwwaaayyy
TRANSLATION: If you came here as a representative of your group of friends from your neighborhood, we will have to kill you. If I get incarcerated for kicking people to death who hate me and my lifestyle, I will gladly go, because that is how much I hate the people who hate me.
In an unrelated matter, a word to all of the promiscuous women: I’ll make love to you creatively and then I will be very high as I drive unstably down the street, in a stolen Bonneville with 23 inch rims in the tires. (At this point I have no idea what he is saying, but he may be referring to the sale of drugs).
Back in Atlanta, I now have a fresh supply of drugs and I’m hanging out with some friends of mine who are hard core criminals, and once again I’m high on that marijuana, and I’m so high I’m actually believe I might have the ability to fly.
[BIG BOI] I I I I I be on it all night, man I be on it (day day)
All day straight up pimp If you want me you can find me in da
[Crowd] AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
Whooo AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
I'm on dat Kryp-to-nite (I'm on it)
I'm on dat Kryptonite (I'm on it)
I'm on dat Kryp-to-nite (I'm on it)
I'm on dat Kryptonite (I'm on it)
TRANSLATION: I think I've covered this sufficiently.
[VERSE 2] Time an' time again I gotta tell dese niggaz an' dese hoes
I'm from College Park where we move dat weed an' we slag dat blow
Get dope on a daily basis
Get high make dem ugly faces
Pull the dro' an' I'm on probation
My blunts I don't be lacin' I'm on Kryptonite
Come to my crib tonight Let me beat dat puss all night
Run tell yo buddies I fucked you right
Tell 'em bout all the plaques on the wall
Tell 'em how you licked my balls
Tell 'em how Konkrete run the streets
Big Boi, he put us on
TRANSLATION: I always have to tell black people and promiscuous women that I am from College Park, where we sell marijuana and cocaine. I get drugs everyday, and when other people get high off of these drugs, they make strange faces that are not attractive.
I get drugs despite the fact that I’m on probation, and I’m a kind drug dealer, because I don’t put outside elements in the marijuana (like PCP). I’m high on marijuana, and you should come over to my house tonight so I can make love to you all night, and then you can go tell your friends that I made love to you properly. And you can also tell them about the record plaques on my wall, and how you used your tongue on my testicles, and how good of a drug dealer I am. I owe my career to Big Boi, he is the reason I even get to rap on any songs at all.
[BRIDGE] Chevy ridas, slangin' powders, Simpson Rd., Dixie Hills
Diamond pressed against dat wood, candy paint, spinnin' wheels
Grind Time rap game, remember bitches Killer
Kill Purple Ribbon rollin' o's, an' we all be on dat Kryp
TRANSLATION: Men who ride in Chevrolet automobiles, dealing cocaine and other substances, on Simpson road in Dixie Hills, and then he describes a car, UNABLE TO BE TRANSLATED…we’re all high on marijuana.
[Chorus] [Rock-D] I be on dat Kryptonite
Straight up on dat Kryptonite
I be on dat, straight up on dat I be on dat Kryptonite
[VERSE 3i] Time an' time again I turn back round an' tell C-Bone
Grab kurl on out my book bag,
I smell dro' all on you homes
Suppose the po-po get whiff of the spliff dat you just smoke, dem folk gon trip
Probably will cause canines, move it the side of the road lets take a sniff (arff)
Shit, the only thing we ridin' dirty is GBK cd, Tackleberry
So may we be on our Mary way
Cuz you just ain't gon find no yah Play,
I got a tough team of attorneys
Make a judge lean like he sippin syrupy
They play dur-ty, he cain't touch me
Verdict be not guilty, search me
TRANSLATION: It seems like everytime I turn around I have to tell my buddy C-Bone to grab marijuana out of my book bag, and then I tell him that I smell marijuana on him, and warn him that if the police smell it they will be upset. The smell is so mighty that it will probably alert drug sniffing dogs. But despite what I just said, the only thing that is borderline illegal with us is our music, because it’s so good it should almost be illegal, so you (police) will have no grounds to arrest us, please move on to someone else – you’re not going to find any marijuana here. But even if you did, I have great lawyers that could get me acquitted, even if it means paying off a judge. They will use any trick in the book so I will not go to prison. Thus, it really doesn’t matter what you do, so go ahead and look for drugs on me.
Doesn't it make the song so much better now that you know what it means? Your welcome.
For some reason, I became obsessed with trying to figure out what the fuck it was about. The one word you can clearly understand is “Kryptonite”. Or is it? The more you listen to the song, it could actually be “crip tonight”. But I don’t think the radio station normally broadcasts the word “crip” for obvious reasons so I didn’t know. It was difficult to decipher the exact meaning because every other word in this song is virtually unintelligible.
So I, your trusty correspondent, will attempt to translate the lyrics to this song into actual English. Now unlike last time with “Grillz”, I will not be noting the genius of the lyrics and making jokes about them, this time I will simply try to figure what the hell these dudes are talking about.
(CHORUS)
I be on it all night, man I be on it (day day)
All day straight up pimp
If you want me you can find me in da
[Crowd]
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
TRANSLATION: Okay, my sources in the drug community tell me that Kryptonite is a term for marijuana. So this chorus translates to:
I will be high all night on marijuana, as well as all day. And if you’re looking for me, I will be located in Atlanta (repeated EIGHT TIMES).
[VERSE 1:] Time an' time again I gotta turn back round an' tell dese hoes
Dat I'm the H-N-I-C, bitch dats just the way it goes
I be on dat shit dat have you on it I don't want no mo
At dis time I'll need all my freak hoes to get down on the flo'
TRANSLATION: I am H.I.N.C., and I am speaking to a woman who I think of negatively. I’ll be high on marijuana, and in the event I get tired of it, you can have some. At this time, I require all of the promiscuous ladies to go to the dance floor.
(CONTINUE VERSE 1)
If you came to rep yo set break dat nigga I let 'em kno'
If it's jail I get for stompin' hatas to sleep, fuck it I go
Freak I'll be off in yo sheets straight geeked swervin' down yo street
In a stolen Bonneville wit 23's on the feet
Collection while he do brown, back in town to do re-bag
Give me face, I love the sound
Slap the taste they hit the ground
Back in the A Hooked up, clicked up wit sum people dat don't play
On dat Kryptonite stay So high we might fly awwwaaayyy
TRANSLATION: If you came here as a representative of your group of friends from your neighborhood, we will have to kill you. If I get incarcerated for kicking people to death who hate me and my lifestyle, I will gladly go, because that is how much I hate the people who hate me.
In an unrelated matter, a word to all of the promiscuous women: I’ll make love to you creatively and then I will be very high as I drive unstably down the street, in a stolen Bonneville with 23 inch rims in the tires. (At this point I have no idea what he is saying, but he may be referring to the sale of drugs).
Back in Atlanta, I now have a fresh supply of drugs and I’m hanging out with some friends of mine who are hard core criminals, and once again I’m high on that marijuana, and I’m so high I’m actually believe I might have the ability to fly.
[BIG BOI] I I I I I be on it all night, man I be on it (day day)
All day straight up pimp If you want me you can find me in da
[Crowd] AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
Whooo AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
AAAHHH, (I'm on it)
I'm on dat Kryp-to-nite (I'm on it)
I'm on dat Kryptonite (I'm on it)
I'm on dat Kryp-to-nite (I'm on it)
I'm on dat Kryptonite (I'm on it)
TRANSLATION: I think I've covered this sufficiently.
[VERSE 2] Time an' time again I gotta tell dese niggaz an' dese hoes
I'm from College Park where we move dat weed an' we slag dat blow
Get dope on a daily basis
Get high make dem ugly faces
Pull the dro' an' I'm on probation
My blunts I don't be lacin' I'm on Kryptonite
Come to my crib tonight Let me beat dat puss all night
Run tell yo buddies I fucked you right
Tell 'em bout all the plaques on the wall
Tell 'em how you licked my balls
Tell 'em how Konkrete run the streets
Big Boi, he put us on
TRANSLATION: I always have to tell black people and promiscuous women that I am from College Park, where we sell marijuana and cocaine. I get drugs everyday, and when other people get high off of these drugs, they make strange faces that are not attractive.
I get drugs despite the fact that I’m on probation, and I’m a kind drug dealer, because I don’t put outside elements in the marijuana (like PCP). I’m high on marijuana, and you should come over to my house tonight so I can make love to you all night, and then you can go tell your friends that I made love to you properly. And you can also tell them about the record plaques on my wall, and how you used your tongue on my testicles, and how good of a drug dealer I am. I owe my career to Big Boi, he is the reason I even get to rap on any songs at all.
[BRIDGE] Chevy ridas, slangin' powders, Simpson Rd., Dixie Hills
Diamond pressed against dat wood, candy paint, spinnin' wheels
Grind Time rap game, remember bitches Killer
Kill Purple Ribbon rollin' o's, an' we all be on dat Kryp
TRANSLATION: Men who ride in Chevrolet automobiles, dealing cocaine and other substances, on Simpson road in Dixie Hills, and then he describes a car, UNABLE TO BE TRANSLATED…we’re all high on marijuana.
[Chorus] [Rock-D] I be on dat Kryptonite
Straight up on dat Kryptonite
I be on dat, straight up on dat I be on dat Kryptonite
[VERSE 3i] Time an' time again I turn back round an' tell C-Bone
Grab kurl on out my book bag,
I smell dro' all on you homes
Suppose the po-po get whiff of the spliff dat you just smoke, dem folk gon trip
Probably will cause canines, move it the side of the road lets take a sniff (arff)
Shit, the only thing we ridin' dirty is GBK cd, Tackleberry
So may we be on our Mary way
Cuz you just ain't gon find no yah Play,
I got a tough team of attorneys
Make a judge lean like he sippin syrupy
They play dur-ty, he cain't touch me
Verdict be not guilty, search me
TRANSLATION: It seems like everytime I turn around I have to tell my buddy C-Bone to grab marijuana out of my book bag, and then I tell him that I smell marijuana on him, and warn him that if the police smell it they will be upset. The smell is so mighty that it will probably alert drug sniffing dogs. But despite what I just said, the only thing that is borderline illegal with us is our music, because it’s so good it should almost be illegal, so you (police) will have no grounds to arrest us, please move on to someone else – you’re not going to find any marijuana here. But even if you did, I have great lawyers that could get me acquitted, even if it means paying off a judge. They will use any trick in the book so I will not go to prison. Thus, it really doesn’t matter what you do, so go ahead and look for drugs on me.
Doesn't it make the song so much better now that you know what it means? Your welcome.
Friday, February 10, 2006
These are the good days
My fans are always coming up to me to offer up their praise, but a lot of times that praise includes the question “Irwin, why are you so bitter?” Well, the short answer to that is, fuck you, I’ve earned this bitterness. But the long answer involves the difficulty of this business, the many times I’ve been screwed, my lackluster film representation, the many hacks who are more successful than me for no reason, people who own houses when I don’t, etc. Anyway, I’m bitter and I’m okay with that. But since you guys get tired of it, I thought I’d tell you a happy story:
I woke up the other morning and I had a song in my head, not a current song, but a song I had made up. Because I have signed an airtight confidentiality agreement and Comedy Central has terrific, Jewish lawyers, I can’t tell you exactly how it went, but I can tell you that it had the word “nigga” in it.
I got in the shower, and the song kept going in my head and I added some lyrics. I thought it was pretty funny and kept singing it to myself. And then I thought, I have to get this nigga song out of my head! But then I remembered, I write for a comedy show for minorities and perhaps a nigga song would be quite useful.
So I went in to work, still with the song in my head, and sung it to my coworkers and the boss. And they loved it! And now my nigga song is most likely going to end up on TV. These are the good days, people. I mean, how many people get to do stuff like this for a living? Do you know what happens if my dad wakes up with a nigga song in his head and then goes to work and tells it to people? He gets stabbed.
See? Sometimes I’m not bitter.
I woke up the other morning and I had a song in my head, not a current song, but a song I had made up. Because I have signed an airtight confidentiality agreement and Comedy Central has terrific, Jewish lawyers, I can’t tell you exactly how it went, but I can tell you that it had the word “nigga” in it.
I got in the shower, and the song kept going in my head and I added some lyrics. I thought it was pretty funny and kept singing it to myself. And then I thought, I have to get this nigga song out of my head! But then I remembered, I write for a comedy show for minorities and perhaps a nigga song would be quite useful.
So I went in to work, still with the song in my head, and sung it to my coworkers and the boss. And they loved it! And now my nigga song is most likely going to end up on TV. These are the good days, people. I mean, how many people get to do stuff like this for a living? Do you know what happens if my dad wakes up with a nigga song in his head and then goes to work and tells it to people? He gets stabbed.
See? Sometimes I’m not bitter.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
What it would be like if I were "The Bachelor"
EXT. PARIS - ESTABLISHING
Various shots of Paris at night.
CHRIS HARRISON VOICE OVER:
Next up, on tonight's Bachelor: Irwin goes to meet the parents. The three remaining ladies take our Bachelor home to introduce him to their families, and he's got a lot of explaining to do...
HOUSE #1
EXT. OKLAHOMA - ESTABLISHING
Various shots of Oklahoma.
INT. HOME #1
Irwin and GIRL #1 enter the house where she is greeted by her family with hugs and kisses. Irwin awkwardly shakes hands and half-hugs people - he's not good at this. They sit down on the couch so the girl's family can drill him.
DAD #1
So what do you do, Irwin?
IRWIN
I'm a writer.
DAD #1
What do you write?
IRWIN
It's for a show called Mind of Mencia.
DAD #1
Never heard of it.
(BEAT)
You got any hobbies?
IRWIN
Well, I like to watch TV, um, sleep a lot, listen to black music.
DAD #1
What in the hell is black music?
IRWIN
Like, you know, R. Kelly and stuff.
DAD #1
Isn't that the guy who pees on little girls?
IRWIN
That's an unproven allegation, sir, and let me remind you that we live in America, where a man is innocent until proven guilty!
The Dad rolls his eyes.
MOM #1
We have to ask, what are your intentions with our daughter?
IRWIN
I assure you I have nothing but the best intentions.
DAD #1
What does that mean exactly?
IRWIN
Well, I thought we'd have a few drinks, a few laughs, and then I'd get emotionally distant with her and she'd get pissed and we'd breakup.
HOUSE #2
EXT. WISCONSIN - ESTABLISHING
Various shots of Wisconsin.
INT. HOUSE #2
Irwin and GIRL #2 walk in - it's the same thing, hugs and awkward hand shaking. This family is a little nicer though.
MOM AND DAD #2
Nice to meet you, Irwin. We've heard great things about you!
Suddenly, a dog runs into the room. Girl #2 gets all excited.
GIRL #2
Sparky!
Irwin gets uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.
IRWIN
Um, do you guys mind putting that thing in the other room?
But before they have a chance to respond, THREE MORE DOGS RUN IN.
IRWIN
I'm outta here!
GIRL #2
What?
IRWIN
No rose for you, bitch!
Irwin runs out.
HOUSE #3
EXT. KANSAS - ESTABLISHING
Various shots of Kansas.
INT. HOUSE #3 - NIGHT
Irwin and GIRL #3 sit at the dinner with her family. Her dad eyes Irwin coldly.
DAD #3
You a Christian?
IRWIN
I'm actually half-Jewish, half-Catholic.
DAD #3
So you're Jewish.
IRWIN
Well, my dad is Jewish, but my mom is Catholic. She went to Catholic school and everything.
DAD #3
Sound Jewish to me.
The MOM and the Girl's sisters enter with several plates of food - including lobster, shrimp, soup, and asparagus.
GIRL #3
Wow mom, you really went all out!
MOM #3
It's a special occasion so I figured I'd cook the best.
Irwin looks it over hesitantly.
MOM #3
Go ahead, Irwin, don't be shy, grab a lobster.
IRWIN
Um, I don't really like lobster.
MOM #3
Oh, okay, how about the shrimp then.
IRWIN
I'm not really into seafood. At all.
MOM #3
Well, we've got this soup, it's delicious.
IRWIN
I actually have never had soup, but for some reason I know I don't like it.
The mom is hurt. She scrambles.
MOM #3
Well, I've got a big apple pie for dessert, you could have that.
IRWIN
A pie, huh?
GIRL #3
No good?
IRWIN
I don't eat pies. Only cake. Actually, only chocolate cake.
(BEAT)
Do you have maybe a salad with just carrots or something?
MOM #3
I've got a caeser's salad.
Irwin makes a face.
IRWIN
It's okay, you guys just eat, I'm not that hungry anyway.
Everyone is uncomfortable.
MOM #3
Irwin, since you are our guest, how about if you say grace?
Irwin looks around nervously. The dad stares him down.
IRWIN
I don't really know what that means.
DAD #3
Told ya he was a Jew!
Various shots of Paris at night.
CHRIS HARRISON VOICE OVER:
Next up, on tonight's Bachelor: Irwin goes to meet the parents. The three remaining ladies take our Bachelor home to introduce him to their families, and he's got a lot of explaining to do...
HOUSE #1
EXT. OKLAHOMA - ESTABLISHING
Various shots of Oklahoma.
INT. HOME #1
Irwin and GIRL #1 enter the house where she is greeted by her family with hugs and kisses. Irwin awkwardly shakes hands and half-hugs people - he's not good at this. They sit down on the couch so the girl's family can drill him.
DAD #1
So what do you do, Irwin?
IRWIN
I'm a writer.
DAD #1
What do you write?
IRWIN
It's for a show called Mind of Mencia.
DAD #1
Never heard of it.
(BEAT)
You got any hobbies?
IRWIN
Well, I like to watch TV, um, sleep a lot, listen to black music.
DAD #1
What in the hell is black music?
IRWIN
Like, you know, R. Kelly and stuff.
DAD #1
Isn't that the guy who pees on little girls?
IRWIN
That's an unproven allegation, sir, and let me remind you that we live in America, where a man is innocent until proven guilty!
The Dad rolls his eyes.
MOM #1
We have to ask, what are your intentions with our daughter?
IRWIN
I assure you I have nothing but the best intentions.
DAD #1
What does that mean exactly?
IRWIN
Well, I thought we'd have a few drinks, a few laughs, and then I'd get emotionally distant with her and she'd get pissed and we'd breakup.
HOUSE #2
EXT. WISCONSIN - ESTABLISHING
Various shots of Wisconsin.
INT. HOUSE #2
Irwin and GIRL #2 walk in - it's the same thing, hugs and awkward hand shaking. This family is a little nicer though.
MOM AND DAD #2
Nice to meet you, Irwin. We've heard great things about you!
Suddenly, a dog runs into the room. Girl #2 gets all excited.
GIRL #2
Sparky!
Irwin gets uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.
IRWIN
Um, do you guys mind putting that thing in the other room?
But before they have a chance to respond, THREE MORE DOGS RUN IN.
IRWIN
I'm outta here!
GIRL #2
What?
IRWIN
No rose for you, bitch!
Irwin runs out.
HOUSE #3
EXT. KANSAS - ESTABLISHING
Various shots of Kansas.
INT. HOUSE #3 - NIGHT
Irwin and GIRL #3 sit at the dinner with her family. Her dad eyes Irwin coldly.
DAD #3
You a Christian?
IRWIN
I'm actually half-Jewish, half-Catholic.
DAD #3
So you're Jewish.
IRWIN
Well, my dad is Jewish, but my mom is Catholic. She went to Catholic school and everything.
DAD #3
Sound Jewish to me.
The MOM and the Girl's sisters enter with several plates of food - including lobster, shrimp, soup, and asparagus.
GIRL #3
Wow mom, you really went all out!
MOM #3
It's a special occasion so I figured I'd cook the best.
Irwin looks it over hesitantly.
MOM #3
Go ahead, Irwin, don't be shy, grab a lobster.
IRWIN
Um, I don't really like lobster.
MOM #3
Oh, okay, how about the shrimp then.
IRWIN
I'm not really into seafood. At all.
MOM #3
Well, we've got this soup, it's delicious.
IRWIN
I actually have never had soup, but for some reason I know I don't like it.
The mom is hurt. She scrambles.
MOM #3
Well, I've got a big apple pie for dessert, you could have that.
IRWIN
A pie, huh?
GIRL #3
No good?
IRWIN
I don't eat pies. Only cake. Actually, only chocolate cake.
(BEAT)
Do you have maybe a salad with just carrots or something?
MOM #3
I've got a caeser's salad.
Irwin makes a face.
IRWIN
It's okay, you guys just eat, I'm not that hungry anyway.
Everyone is uncomfortable.
MOM #3
Irwin, since you are our guest, how about if you say grace?
Irwin looks around nervously. The dad stares him down.
IRWIN
I don't really know what that means.
DAD #3
Told ya he was a Jew!
Monday, February 06, 2006
The Fix Was In
Why are people so afraid to suggest that a major sporting event was fixed? I don't understand why we all just assume that everything is legit. They run a business. They have a huge stake in who wins. Not just a huge stake, a billion dollar stake. I've heard a ton of comments today like "I wouldn't be crazy enough to say that it was fixed or anything, but there were some bad calls..." Why is that so crazy? You're telling me that the NFL didn't have a vested interest in the outcome of that game? You're telling me that you didn't feel all of the heat for the last 2 weeks about how the Steelers are a "storied franchise" and how they're a better team and how Jerome Bettis is such a nice guy and he should win a title before he retires? The Steelers were anointed champs before that game was ever played, and the NFL made sure the champs actually won the game.
The Seahawks got SCREWED yesterday. Big time. And I'm not just saying that because I lost a lot of money on the game, I am, but also I'm saying it as a fan of sports who likes to see the best team win and justice served. The Seahawks were the better team yesterday. By a lot. And to my surprise today, I'm not the only one saying it. Nope. This guy nailed it, and so did this guy.
Another thing I don't understand is this whole philosophy of "good teams overcome bad calls". Bullshit. What the fuck is that? That's like saying, good people don't die in accidents. Yes, they do. If you're a victim of enough bad calls, no matter how good you are, you will lose. The NFL is about parity. And it's a game of inches. You're telling me that 4 huge calls wouldn't beat any team? Of course it would. You only get 4 big plays a game, if that. The Steelers only had 3 big plays total. Erase a couple and they lose. The Seahawks had more yards, less turnovers, more time of possession, and they lost. By 11 points!
The Steelers had one penalty called on them after the first couple minutes of the game, and 3 total that cost them 20 yards. The Seahawks had 7 penalties for 70 yards, many on plays in which they picked up huge yardage. And as Michael Smith points out:
"Consider: The Seahawks lost 161 yards to penalties when you combine the penalty yards (70) and the plays the flags wiped out (91). By halftime alone, when it trailed 7-3, Seattle had had 73 hard-earned yards and a touchdown eliminated."
Here are the examples (I couldn't remember these exactly, so these are courtesy of the Sports Guy's diary, along with some of his commentary about them):
6:44 -- A holding penalty kills another budding Seahawks drive at midfield.
7:03 -- A solid Seattle drive is capped off by Darrell Jackson's TD catch ... which is quickly nullified by an ultradubious offensive pass interference call on D-Jack from tonight's back judge, Dick Bavetta.
7:11 -- After Pittsburgh's third straight three-and-out, Seattle's next drive is killed by a holding penalty on Peter Warrick's pretty return
7:43 -- The ruling on the field stands: 7-3, Steelers. Yet another shaky call goes Pittsburgh's way.
9:18 -- Madden inspired the Hawks: They just went from their own 3 to Pittsburgh's 20 ... and then, in the spirit of everything else that's happened in this game, yet another dubious call (this time, a holding penalty) negated a Stevens catch inside the Pittsburgh 5. Shouldn't the refs just replace the yellow flags with Terrible Towels at this point?
9:23 -- Well, the wheels just came off for the Hawks: A Hasselbeck sack, a horse-collar tackle on Alexander by Joey Porter that wasn't called (apparently you have to blow out someone's ACL to draw a flag on a horse-collar tackle, and nothing less),
Of course, this isn't counting all of the shit we didn't see that the refs didn't call that we don't know about. And that's it, and he even forgot one: the call on Hasselback for blocking the knees when he TACKLED the guy. It would be the worst call I've ever seen (just by definition) if it wasn't for the call on Polamalu in the game the league tried to hand over to the Colts earlier in the playoffs. Yep, that's right, this isn't the first time we've seen this. It actually happened AGAINST the Steelers in divisional round, when the NFL wanted to see their golden boy Peyton Manning get over the hump. But luckily, the Steelers escaped that attempt on their life, only to become the golden boys themselves.
I think I've made my case, and the facts are very clear, so why is this so crazy to say? It's a billion dollar industry, don't billion dollar industries do shit to make the most money possible? I think they do, and I think they just did. Okay, I'm glad I got that off my chest, now if the NFL will just pay me my $1,500 bucks, everything will be cool.
The Seahawks got SCREWED yesterday. Big time. And I'm not just saying that because I lost a lot of money on the game, I am, but also I'm saying it as a fan of sports who likes to see the best team win and justice served. The Seahawks were the better team yesterday. By a lot. And to my surprise today, I'm not the only one saying it. Nope. This guy nailed it, and so did this guy.
Another thing I don't understand is this whole philosophy of "good teams overcome bad calls". Bullshit. What the fuck is that? That's like saying, good people don't die in accidents. Yes, they do. If you're a victim of enough bad calls, no matter how good you are, you will lose. The NFL is about parity. And it's a game of inches. You're telling me that 4 huge calls wouldn't beat any team? Of course it would. You only get 4 big plays a game, if that. The Steelers only had 3 big plays total. Erase a couple and they lose. The Seahawks had more yards, less turnovers, more time of possession, and they lost. By 11 points!
The Steelers had one penalty called on them after the first couple minutes of the game, and 3 total that cost them 20 yards. The Seahawks had 7 penalties for 70 yards, many on plays in which they picked up huge yardage. And as Michael Smith points out:
"Consider: The Seahawks lost 161 yards to penalties when you combine the penalty yards (70) and the plays the flags wiped out (91). By halftime alone, when it trailed 7-3, Seattle had had 73 hard-earned yards and a touchdown eliminated."
Here are the examples (I couldn't remember these exactly, so these are courtesy of the Sports Guy's diary, along with some of his commentary about them):
6:44 -- A holding penalty kills another budding Seahawks drive at midfield.
7:03 -- A solid Seattle drive is capped off by Darrell Jackson's TD catch ... which is quickly nullified by an ultradubious offensive pass interference call on D-Jack from tonight's back judge, Dick Bavetta.
7:11 -- After Pittsburgh's third straight three-and-out, Seattle's next drive is killed by a holding penalty on Peter Warrick's pretty return
7:43 -- The ruling on the field stands: 7-3, Steelers. Yet another shaky call goes Pittsburgh's way.
9:18 -- Madden inspired the Hawks: They just went from their own 3 to Pittsburgh's 20 ... and then, in the spirit of everything else that's happened in this game, yet another dubious call (this time, a holding penalty) negated a Stevens catch inside the Pittsburgh 5. Shouldn't the refs just replace the yellow flags with Terrible Towels at this point?
9:23 -- Well, the wheels just came off for the Hawks: A Hasselbeck sack, a horse-collar tackle on Alexander by Joey Porter that wasn't called (apparently you have to blow out someone's ACL to draw a flag on a horse-collar tackle, and nothing less),
Of course, this isn't counting all of the shit we didn't see that the refs didn't call that we don't know about. And that's it, and he even forgot one: the call on Hasselback for blocking the knees when he TACKLED the guy. It would be the worst call I've ever seen (just by definition) if it wasn't for the call on Polamalu in the game the league tried to hand over to the Colts earlier in the playoffs. Yep, that's right, this isn't the first time we've seen this. It actually happened AGAINST the Steelers in divisional round, when the NFL wanted to see their golden boy Peyton Manning get over the hump. But luckily, the Steelers escaped that attempt on their life, only to become the golden boys themselves.
I think I've made my case, and the facts are very clear, so why is this so crazy to say? It's a billion dollar industry, don't billion dollar industries do shit to make the most money possible? I think they do, and I think they just did. Okay, I'm glad I got that off my chest, now if the NFL will just pay me my $1,500 bucks, everything will be cool.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Back to work...
Well, the dream is dead. I got the call, and apparently there was a big demand for beaner jokes and they once again looked to the white half-jew who thinks he's black. Yeah! I think this is the only business where you can start on a friday. It's so funny because I've had all this free time and now I don't, but now I have a million things I have to write. That's the way it goes. I hope to keep up my 3 times a week pace here, but please, let's stop talking about me.
Even though I hate the Oscars and awards in general, I've been trying to see all of the potential Oscar movies just so I can be extra pissed off by whoever wins. I really love torturing myself with these things, hence the reason I follow the life of Ashley Angel's as closely as I do.
In my mind, seeing the "Oscar movies" (before the nominations came out), meant seeing: Munich, Match Point, Syriana, Good Night and Goodluck, Brokeback, Capote, Cinderella Man, Crash, Hustle and Flow, History of Violence, and Walk the Line. I think that pretty much covers it, I mean, I don't like to torture myself enough to sit through Transamerica.
So I've seen History of Violence (HORRIble), Cinderella Man, Crash, Hustle, and Brokeback. I just saw Munich (loved it), Fun with Dick and Jane (whoops), and now, finally, I saw Match Point.
Right before I went to see it I was surprised how shut out it was by the Oscars. I was offended, how can Match Point not be nominated?!!? And then I saw it. I'll get to that in a second.
One of the things I hate the most about our "culture" is the way that someone somewhere decides something, and then we all just go along with it as if it's fact and never question it. Like, for example, Jerome Bettis being the greatest guy ever and one of the best running backs of all time. I have no idea if Jerome is a nice guy, but I'm pretty sure it was just said one time and then everyone ran with it. But I KNOW he's not one of the best running backs ever, so let's all stop going along with that.
Anyway, in the entertainment world, this happens a lot with actors. Freddie Prinz should be cast in every teen movie. Tomb Raider was good so we should make a sequel. Brittany Murphy is attractive.
These things come and go and they are just assumed. Assumed! Why? I don't know, but I have no power to stop it and it drives me insane. The latest is this: Scarlett Johanssen is the next big thing. She's hot. She's talented. She's one of our great young actresses!
Before I saw Match Point I was only pissed that she was considered hot. But now after seeing the movie, I'm even more pissed that she's considered a good actress. She is simply terrible in this movie. Honestly, I'm not that into actors and performances, I don't usually notice if anyone is good or bad unless they are REALLY bad (keanu, brad pitt), so I don't say this lightly. She is an awful actress, at least in this movie. And she looks exactly like Robin from the Real World, but with (surprisingly) less boobage. Why would I watch this chick badly pretend to be a fucked up girl when I can just watch Real World/Road Rules challenge and see the same looking girl be a nut job for real (with bigger boobage)? But she may have a slight excuse, and that slight excuse is this:
Jonathan Rhys Meyers is just as bad. This guy cannot act. And also, if he's supposed to be a professional tennis player then I could be a professional R. Kelly impersonator. Seriously, he is a little bitch. I'm not a large man myself, and I'm a lover not a figher, but I feel pretty confident that if we were cellmates, he'd be the one taking it in the ass. On the bright side, he seemed to get better in the second half, but the first half his performance is an abomination. But like Scarlett, he may have an excuse:
I don't think the writing was helping them any. It wasn't natural. It wasn't conversational, but it wasn't that bad. So I put it on both of them. And the perfect example of why it's their fault is because of the guy who played the brother in law, Matthew Goode. This guy is great. He should've been the lead. He is awesome in the movie, can't say enough good things. But of course, because certain people are the "chosen" ones, this Goode guy never gets a mention. Meanwhile Rhys Meyers is getting nominated for Golden Globes. Un-frickin-believable. Sorry, I get a little worked up when thinking about this, it's similar to the feeling I get while watching that right wing piss boy Shephard Smith.
As for the movie, this is not Woody Allen's best since whatever. Deconstructing Harry is a million times better. I liked parts of it, I could relate to a lot of it (not the shooting part), it was really honest in a way that I liked. But it was slow (why does every movie have to be over 2 hours?), and again, the dialogue was unnatural, and of course, the actors were totally unbelievable in their roles and completely took me out of the movie.
Very disappointing, but I'm moving on. So I need to see the rest of those movies, but I'm a little disappointed Syriana wasn't nominated for more stuff. It was number 1 on Ebert's best of the year list, and #2 on Roeper's. I was getting hyped to see it, but then it was virtually shut out. However, as I always learn and then immediately forget, I shouldn't listen to any of it, because obviously the people picking stuff for us doesn't know what the hell he is doing.
Even though I hate the Oscars and awards in general, I've been trying to see all of the potential Oscar movies just so I can be extra pissed off by whoever wins. I really love torturing myself with these things, hence the reason I follow the life of Ashley Angel's as closely as I do.
In my mind, seeing the "Oscar movies" (before the nominations came out), meant seeing: Munich, Match Point, Syriana, Good Night and Goodluck, Brokeback, Capote, Cinderella Man, Crash, Hustle and Flow, History of Violence, and Walk the Line. I think that pretty much covers it, I mean, I don't like to torture myself enough to sit through Transamerica.
So I've seen History of Violence (HORRIble), Cinderella Man, Crash, Hustle, and Brokeback. I just saw Munich (loved it), Fun with Dick and Jane (whoops), and now, finally, I saw Match Point.
Right before I went to see it I was surprised how shut out it was by the Oscars. I was offended, how can Match Point not be nominated?!!? And then I saw it. I'll get to that in a second.
One of the things I hate the most about our "culture" is the way that someone somewhere decides something, and then we all just go along with it as if it's fact and never question it. Like, for example, Jerome Bettis being the greatest guy ever and one of the best running backs of all time. I have no idea if Jerome is a nice guy, but I'm pretty sure it was just said one time and then everyone ran with it. But I KNOW he's not one of the best running backs ever, so let's all stop going along with that.
Anyway, in the entertainment world, this happens a lot with actors. Freddie Prinz should be cast in every teen movie. Tomb Raider was good so we should make a sequel. Brittany Murphy is attractive.
These things come and go and they are just assumed. Assumed! Why? I don't know, but I have no power to stop it and it drives me insane. The latest is this: Scarlett Johanssen is the next big thing. She's hot. She's talented. She's one of our great young actresses!
Before I saw Match Point I was only pissed that she was considered hot. But now after seeing the movie, I'm even more pissed that she's considered a good actress. She is simply terrible in this movie. Honestly, I'm not that into actors and performances, I don't usually notice if anyone is good or bad unless they are REALLY bad (keanu, brad pitt), so I don't say this lightly. She is an awful actress, at least in this movie. And she looks exactly like Robin from the Real World, but with (surprisingly) less boobage. Why would I watch this chick badly pretend to be a fucked up girl when I can just watch Real World/Road Rules challenge and see the same looking girl be a nut job for real (with bigger boobage)? But she may have a slight excuse, and that slight excuse is this:
Jonathan Rhys Meyers is just as bad. This guy cannot act. And also, if he's supposed to be a professional tennis player then I could be a professional R. Kelly impersonator. Seriously, he is a little bitch. I'm not a large man myself, and I'm a lover not a figher, but I feel pretty confident that if we were cellmates, he'd be the one taking it in the ass. On the bright side, he seemed to get better in the second half, but the first half his performance is an abomination. But like Scarlett, he may have an excuse:
I don't think the writing was helping them any. It wasn't natural. It wasn't conversational, but it wasn't that bad. So I put it on both of them. And the perfect example of why it's their fault is because of the guy who played the brother in law, Matthew Goode. This guy is great. He should've been the lead. He is awesome in the movie, can't say enough good things. But of course, because certain people are the "chosen" ones, this Goode guy never gets a mention. Meanwhile Rhys Meyers is getting nominated for Golden Globes. Un-frickin-believable. Sorry, I get a little worked up when thinking about this, it's similar to the feeling I get while watching that right wing piss boy Shephard Smith.
As for the movie, this is not Woody Allen's best since whatever. Deconstructing Harry is a million times better. I liked parts of it, I could relate to a lot of it (not the shooting part), it was really honest in a way that I liked. But it was slow (why does every movie have to be over 2 hours?), and again, the dialogue was unnatural, and of course, the actors were totally unbelievable in their roles and completely took me out of the movie.
Very disappointing, but I'm moving on. So I need to see the rest of those movies, but I'm a little disappointed Syriana wasn't nominated for more stuff. It was number 1 on Ebert's best of the year list, and #2 on Roeper's. I was getting hyped to see it, but then it was virtually shut out. However, as I always learn and then immediately forget, I shouldn't listen to any of it, because obviously the people picking stuff for us doesn't know what the hell he is doing.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
I was born a small, black child...
I alluded to this story here, and many of you have been clamoring for it (ok, none of you have), but I thought since it's black history month and all, it would be a good time to tell it now. So here goes:
Like any normal, half-jewish kid raised in an upper middle class all white suburb in the late eighties, I thought I was a black dude. This may sound outlandish, but a quick look at the facts reveals that it's not as crazy as it sounds. As a 15 year old:
-I had seen Bell Biv Devoe in concert...three times
-I could go grow a fro - a jew fro, but a fro nonetheless
-I was a freakishly great dancer
-I could jump into the worm
-My personal heroes were Magic Johnson, Tony Gwynn, R. Kelly, and Malcolm X (in that order)
-Huge dick
Well maybe not that last one, but I have witnesses for the rest (Sadly, there were no witnesses for the last one at 15...or 16...17 - thank you, Virginia Miller!)
I don't know what it was about this time in our country's history, I guess the emergence of rap had a lot to do with it, and possibly Michael Jordan and the explosion of professional sports and black people's dominance of them, but something about living in a comfortable home surrounded by whites made me identify with the struggle of blacks. But it wasn't just me feeling this way, no, this was the time in which the wigger was born. And we shouldn't hate, because it gave us Eminem and a lot of bad movie characters (um, see "In the Mix, or don't). It's an undisputed fact that everyone from my age group went to high school with a kid who did his hair and eyebrows like Vanilla Ice, and came to school dressed like him for an entire year. These were strange times indeed.
I was a kid who famously refused to do a book report because I didn't feel like reading whatever book I was assigned and took an F, yet picked up Malcolm X's autobiography "for fun" and read it...twice. I even shaved the letter X into the back of my unfortunate haircut. When I played basketball at other schools, I would get made fun of by their crowd - but I don't think they knew that the X stood for Malcolm, I think they just thought that it stood for me being a loser.
So anyway, I was into the blacks. And I am an extremely loyal person. Tony Gwynn is still my favorite baseball player, and he retired 4 years ago. And you already know about the R. Kelly thing, and Family Ties (Skippy Handleman), and carrots, etc.
But above Tony, and R., and even carrots, there was Magic Johnson. I loved Magic. I had his posters, the Laker videos, I even read HIS autobiography (his life story might be more impressive than Malcolm's, did you know that he invented the high five in 1979? Top that, X!). And I played like Magic - no look passes, the back down, the spin move, one handed-length of the court bounce passes, I did everything he did - even the high five he invented lo those many years ago. But since I was small and white, people would call me "Little Stockton", as in, the little white point guard from the Utah Jazz. That would enfuriate me, cause I hated Stockton and I was being Magic and any logical person should've seen that in my game. I mean, try and look past the fact that I was 4 foot 10 and 85 pounds and white, racist motherfuckers!
Well, my life changed forever one day when there was an advertisement in the newspaper for Magic Johnson's Basketball camp, which was to take place at San Diego State University in 1989. I was going. And unfortunately, I invited Mr. Douchebag to come with me, and it was the next school year where he stole Christy Boyer from me, but you already know that story.
In the weeks leading up to camp, my dad delighted in making fun of me about Magic's lack of participation in it. He kept saying that the only Magic I was going to see was when his limo drove by and he stuck his hand out to wave. My dad's hilarious. And also, wrong.
Magic was there everyday. He ate lunch and dinner with us in the cafeteria, he lectured twice a day, he hung out, he was fucking awesome. It was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me. Until something better happened.
Being the incredibly talented player that I was in those days, my coach at camp took a liking to me. Okay, he loved me. I was the stud on my team, there's no two ways about it, people. Anyways, my coach and I were hanging out one afternoon and he said to me: "Have you met Magic yet?" My heart suck into what would later become my testicles. I had been around Magic, but I hadn't "met" Magic. I said no and he said "let's go".
Magic was standing alone in the middle of the gym. We walked over. My coach introduced me as his "star point guard" and Magic and I shook hands. My coach left. It was me and Magic. We talked. He likes asian girls too! Just kidding, but probably not. I really don't remember what was said because I was freaking the fuck out. And then the whistle blew.
All of the kids at camp (hundreds of kids) came over to center court and we all sat down. It was time for a Magic lecture (writer's note: none of these lectures mentioned monogomy). When Magic would lecture to us, he would always have a basketball in his hand. And if he caught you not paying attention, he would throw the ball at you (this was back in the day when that was considered "teaching"). But if he threw the ball at you when you were paying attention, that meant you got to play one on one with Magic. 15 minutes into his lecture, the ball was in my hand.
The kids "ooohhhhh'd". I stood up and went to the top of the key with Magic in front of me. It was time to see who was the real Magic man and who was the half-jewish wannabe. I hoped Magic was that half-jew.
Before I say what happened next, I must mention that Magic was not only the coolest guy ever because he hung around all the time, he was the coolest guy ever because he didn't treat you like a kid. The man is competitive. And when you played anything against Magic, he was trying to beat your ass. I've seen him swat the shit out of a 6 year old's shot. He doesn't care - you're not scoring on Magic. So this wasn't going to be a fuck around game where the big timer lets a kid win. This was real. Back to the story:
So there I was, staring down Magic looking to score. He's 6 foot 9, 220 pounds at least. I hadn't yet cracked 5 feet, and when I wouldn't eat stuff that my mom was asking me to eat and she'd ask "what? Do you want to be a 98 pound weakly?" I would respond "I wish".
The game was to 1 point. Magic got into his defensive position. He was doing what all bastards do who think they're better than you. He was daring me to go left. Motherfucker. But I used to be a cocky dude myself, so I took the bait and started left. I like to think he was surprised by my quickness, and he overreacted to my move and went way left, so I crossed over to the right (I crossed over Magic!).
I'm not lying to you when I say that I had him beat. I took it to the motherfucking hole and went up for my layup. Ok, against kids my height, that was game, set, match. I crossed you over and went to the hole, you were done. But this wasn't some kid like my douchebag friend, this was Magic I was playing against. And as I went to shoot, a giant black hand suddenly emerged in my way. I altered my shot and put it over his hand. But I put too much arc on it - it went off the rim and missed.
He got the rebound and looked to quickly end it with a three ball from the top of the key. Missed. Front rim. Rebound to me.
I saw an opportunity and went to the wing before he could come back and play defense. I quickly setup for my patented jumper. Again, game time. I don't miss the jumper.
I let it go and it felt pure. Pure! It arc'd up to the hoop. And then that black hand came back. Out of nowhere. And swatted the ball out of the sky. Literally, the fucking sky!
Magic retrieved it, wheeled, and put in a three pointer, nothing but net. Game over. I lost. And it was awesome.
1 month later I would discover douchebag making out with Christy Boyer to the sounds of Guns N' Roses "Patience"
1 year later Bell Biv Devoe's "Poison" would be released and change the course of music forever
2 years later my mom would throw out the autographed picture of Magic and I together at camp
3 years later Magic would get HIV and I would cry
4 years later Bell Biv Devoe would officially break up and I would cry some more
5 years later R. Kelly's "12 Play" would be released and everything would be right with the world
It's now 16 years later, and:
-I've seen Bell Biv Devoe in concert...5 times
-I can still grow the 'fro (but choose not to)
-I'm still a freakishly great dancer
-But can no longer jump into the worm
-My personal heroes now also include: Raphael Saadiq, Chris Rock, DJ Quik, Larenz Tate, and Nate Dogg
-And finally, let's face it, I've got the black man's soul...but the white man's dick
Like any normal, half-jewish kid raised in an upper middle class all white suburb in the late eighties, I thought I was a black dude. This may sound outlandish, but a quick look at the facts reveals that it's not as crazy as it sounds. As a 15 year old:
-I had seen Bell Biv Devoe in concert...three times
-I could go grow a fro - a jew fro, but a fro nonetheless
-I was a freakishly great dancer
-I could jump into the worm
-My personal heroes were Magic Johnson, Tony Gwynn, R. Kelly, and Malcolm X (in that order)
-Huge dick
Well maybe not that last one, but I have witnesses for the rest (Sadly, there were no witnesses for the last one at 15...or 16...17 - thank you, Virginia Miller!)
I don't know what it was about this time in our country's history, I guess the emergence of rap had a lot to do with it, and possibly Michael Jordan and the explosion of professional sports and black people's dominance of them, but something about living in a comfortable home surrounded by whites made me identify with the struggle of blacks. But it wasn't just me feeling this way, no, this was the time in which the wigger was born. And we shouldn't hate, because it gave us Eminem and a lot of bad movie characters (um, see "In the Mix, or don't). It's an undisputed fact that everyone from my age group went to high school with a kid who did his hair and eyebrows like Vanilla Ice, and came to school dressed like him for an entire year. These were strange times indeed.
I was a kid who famously refused to do a book report because I didn't feel like reading whatever book I was assigned and took an F, yet picked up Malcolm X's autobiography "for fun" and read it...twice. I even shaved the letter X into the back of my unfortunate haircut. When I played basketball at other schools, I would get made fun of by their crowd - but I don't think they knew that the X stood for Malcolm, I think they just thought that it stood for me being a loser.
So anyway, I was into the blacks. And I am an extremely loyal person. Tony Gwynn is still my favorite baseball player, and he retired 4 years ago. And you already know about the R. Kelly thing, and Family Ties (Skippy Handleman), and carrots, etc.
But above Tony, and R., and even carrots, there was Magic Johnson. I loved Magic. I had his posters, the Laker videos, I even read HIS autobiography (his life story might be more impressive than Malcolm's, did you know that he invented the high five in 1979? Top that, X!). And I played like Magic - no look passes, the back down, the spin move, one handed-length of the court bounce passes, I did everything he did - even the high five he invented lo those many years ago. But since I was small and white, people would call me "Little Stockton", as in, the little white point guard from the Utah Jazz. That would enfuriate me, cause I hated Stockton and I was being Magic and any logical person should've seen that in my game. I mean, try and look past the fact that I was 4 foot 10 and 85 pounds and white, racist motherfuckers!
Well, my life changed forever one day when there was an advertisement in the newspaper for Magic Johnson's Basketball camp, which was to take place at San Diego State University in 1989. I was going. And unfortunately, I invited Mr. Douchebag to come with me, and it was the next school year where he stole Christy Boyer from me, but you already know that story.
In the weeks leading up to camp, my dad delighted in making fun of me about Magic's lack of participation in it. He kept saying that the only Magic I was going to see was when his limo drove by and he stuck his hand out to wave. My dad's hilarious. And also, wrong.
Magic was there everyday. He ate lunch and dinner with us in the cafeteria, he lectured twice a day, he hung out, he was fucking awesome. It was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me. Until something better happened.
Being the incredibly talented player that I was in those days, my coach at camp took a liking to me. Okay, he loved me. I was the stud on my team, there's no two ways about it, people. Anyways, my coach and I were hanging out one afternoon and he said to me: "Have you met Magic yet?" My heart suck into what would later become my testicles. I had been around Magic, but I hadn't "met" Magic. I said no and he said "let's go".
Magic was standing alone in the middle of the gym. We walked over. My coach introduced me as his "star point guard" and Magic and I shook hands. My coach left. It was me and Magic. We talked. He likes asian girls too! Just kidding, but probably not. I really don't remember what was said because I was freaking the fuck out. And then the whistle blew.
All of the kids at camp (hundreds of kids) came over to center court and we all sat down. It was time for a Magic lecture (writer's note: none of these lectures mentioned monogomy). When Magic would lecture to us, he would always have a basketball in his hand. And if he caught you not paying attention, he would throw the ball at you (this was back in the day when that was considered "teaching"). But if he threw the ball at you when you were paying attention, that meant you got to play one on one with Magic. 15 minutes into his lecture, the ball was in my hand.
The kids "ooohhhhh'd". I stood up and went to the top of the key with Magic in front of me. It was time to see who was the real Magic man and who was the half-jewish wannabe. I hoped Magic was that half-jew.
Before I say what happened next, I must mention that Magic was not only the coolest guy ever because he hung around all the time, he was the coolest guy ever because he didn't treat you like a kid. The man is competitive. And when you played anything against Magic, he was trying to beat your ass. I've seen him swat the shit out of a 6 year old's shot. He doesn't care - you're not scoring on Magic. So this wasn't going to be a fuck around game where the big timer lets a kid win. This was real. Back to the story:
So there I was, staring down Magic looking to score. He's 6 foot 9, 220 pounds at least. I hadn't yet cracked 5 feet, and when I wouldn't eat stuff that my mom was asking me to eat and she'd ask "what? Do you want to be a 98 pound weakly?" I would respond "I wish".
The game was to 1 point. Magic got into his defensive position. He was doing what all bastards do who think they're better than you. He was daring me to go left. Motherfucker. But I used to be a cocky dude myself, so I took the bait and started left. I like to think he was surprised by my quickness, and he overreacted to my move and went way left, so I crossed over to the right (I crossed over Magic!).
I'm not lying to you when I say that I had him beat. I took it to the motherfucking hole and went up for my layup. Ok, against kids my height, that was game, set, match. I crossed you over and went to the hole, you were done. But this wasn't some kid like my douchebag friend, this was Magic I was playing against. And as I went to shoot, a giant black hand suddenly emerged in my way. I altered my shot and put it over his hand. But I put too much arc on it - it went off the rim and missed.
He got the rebound and looked to quickly end it with a three ball from the top of the key. Missed. Front rim. Rebound to me.
I saw an opportunity and went to the wing before he could come back and play defense. I quickly setup for my patented jumper. Again, game time. I don't miss the jumper.
I let it go and it felt pure. Pure! It arc'd up to the hoop. And then that black hand came back. Out of nowhere. And swatted the ball out of the sky. Literally, the fucking sky!
Magic retrieved it, wheeled, and put in a three pointer, nothing but net. Game over. I lost. And it was awesome.
1 month later I would discover douchebag making out with Christy Boyer to the sounds of Guns N' Roses "Patience"
1 year later Bell Biv Devoe's "Poison" would be released and change the course of music forever
2 years later my mom would throw out the autographed picture of Magic and I together at camp
3 years later Magic would get HIV and I would cry
4 years later Bell Biv Devoe would officially break up and I would cry some more
5 years later R. Kelly's "12 Play" would be released and everything would be right with the world
It's now 16 years later, and:
-I've seen Bell Biv Devoe in concert...5 times
-I can still grow the 'fro (but choose not to)
-I'm still a freakishly great dancer
-But can no longer jump into the worm
-My personal heroes now also include: Raphael Saadiq, Chris Rock, DJ Quik, Larenz Tate, and Nate Dogg
-And finally, let's face it, I've got the black man's soul...but the white man's dick
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