Note to self 312: 08/15/2007

We are fucking doomed — as a civilization, as a species, and as an abstract thought even. We (humanity) are boned.

Why? Well, not even the choices we make concerning electing our government officials (any of them) has ever really made me feel this way (well, except maybe for Carter), and not even the terrorist attacks on 9/11 made me really doubt our ability to survive... What makes me wonder if we, as a society, even deserve to fucking BREATHE is the fact that Chris Tucker's and Jackie Chan's Rush Hour 3 topped the weekend box office with over (OVER) $50million this past weekend. Goddammit, movie goers, seriously, what the goddamn FUCK were you thinking?!

What, the first two Rush Hour films weren't contrived and unfunny enough for you? Shanghai Noon and Shanghai Knights didn't make you want to slit your wrists with a rusty razor due to the same over-worn attempts at action and humor that we've already seen kajillions of times before? You simply HAD to watch Jackie Chan degrade himself for a few more American dollars like the whore that he's now become, sucking on the retarded and veiny cocks of the (stupid) American public at large? Honestly, any time the trailer for Rush Hour 3 came up before something I had paid to watch in the theater (or for movies I snuck in to) leading up to its eventual release, and any time any complete retard would laugh or giggle at ANY moment of its forced attempts at humor, I would throw shit at them: Mostly food (popcorn or M&Ms), but sometimes my shoes. With $50million in the bank after just one weekend I'm thinking I may need to take things one step further and start castrating all the mentally unbalanced fucks who actually forked over cash to see shit like this. We need to stop them from reproducing, people.

And to add insult to injury, a truly incredible film also came out this weekend — a fun, original (well, as original as anything can be these days), well acted, full of actual humor, exciting movie... And it pretty much DIED in the box office. Yes, I speak of Neil Gaiman's Stardust, and yes, it bombed. It is a new Princess Bride, and it was dead on arrival. Robert De Niro and Michelle Pfeiffer starred, and it was stillborn. If Superbad flops like this next week I am going to go absolutely batshit berserk.

Note to self 311: 07/25/2007

It was another Harry Potter book release weekend, this Friday/Saturday midnight past — the last, in fact. Karen, Tammi With an "I" and I all met at the red-neck Wal-Mart (trust me, this one is about three times as red-necky as the one you're thinking about) at 11:30 again, and the girls all got all giddy and excited while the countdown began. Everyone waiting for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows started yelling out "Ten! Nine! Eight!..." right up till midnight, and then they began handing out the books to people. We were near the front of the line, so I picked up one of the first, and as the rest of the line inched forward I opened the book to the last page (to everybody's horror) and then yelled out as I angrily slammed it shut, "Dammit! She didn't have the balls to kill that little wanker!" Then I threw the 760 paged monstrosity over my shoulder and marched towards the exit as kids began crying, and parents were cursing me to my retreating back.

I only read the author's biography, but my theatrics were worth it since I was going to be sharing Kare's tome for free anyway. What nobody else knows is that in 5 years time, after JK Rowling has blasted through her untold millions (like a skrewt on chili) on her addictions to marshmallow peeps and small children's livers (a veeeeery expensive habit), she'll whore herself out to write Middle-Aged Harry Potter and the Backbrace of Gilgamesh. Thanks to Bob From the Future I already know how that fucker ends too... Not prettily.

Other than that, I got my hot neighbor's dog all sewed up, and the dent hammered out from the hood of my car. Thanks, Dr. Dave, on both counts! Now to find out if she notices that Speckles is missing half his innards and is now so severely cross-eyed that you can only see one iris. I mean, notice when I impressively show up at her door with her dog and I'm naked. Trust me, she won't even see the dog and she might go cross-eyed herself. It's been known to happen.

Note to self 309: 07/04/2007

Well, the iPhone finally came out last week, and people actually lined up for one with the craziness of a videogame console launch. I couldn't believe it! Marksy's friend Peter (or Paul, or whatever) waited 7 hours for one. Marksy called me from it on Sunday and said it was pretty cool, and that I was the first person they called on the phone's first full charge. Before he could get his second sentence out though the line went dead. I waited, and five minutes later Marksy called me back with the phone now plugged into a socket.

He said that the touchpad was sweet, but that you couldn't really use the thing as a jerk-off device when surfing pr0n on the go. I think he was saying that only to get Peter (or Paul, or whatever) upset, but he did seem to tell me that in a hushed voice so that his friend wouldn't even hear him. I must remember to never put Peter's iPhone up to my ear if I ever meet the guy.

Anyway, for something like $500 I think I can just look up boobies on my home computer, thanks. And my "free with subscription" Sammysung phone may be 6 years old, but it still receives calls and takes beautiful pictures around corners, into girls' locker rooms. I'll wait till the bad boy Mac-phones come down a bit. In the meantime I might pick up a Zune to fill my portable MP3 playing needs considering they're probably only 3 for a dollar over at Best Buy right now.

Other than that I bugged the ever living shit out of Greenwood this weekend, rewatched Die Hard, Appleseed and Jaws, and bought a ticket for Die Hard 4.0 (which led to a theater hop into Ratatouille to make that $18 ticket worth its price [well, to at least get a LITTLE more worth out of it]). Then afterwards I went over to the MegaPlayboy's pad and asked him what it would take to pull a US-wide "firesale" of our own, just like the terrorists in DH4. He smiled, pressed a button on his laptop, and the whole place went black! I started getting really excited, jumping up and down, squealing like a little girl while claiming, "Oh my gaaawd, booooooy! We're going to be RICH, BITCH! Alright! Sweet! Now, let's tap into that bunker under the Social Security complex and start the downloadin'!.... Ummm, MegaPlayboy? Hellooooo!...." But it turned out that he didn't in fact set into motion a country-wide firesale — he did have some Guinness on his finger though when he touched an exposed wire on his computer, thus electrocuting the fuck out of himself and blowing the circuit breaker in his house. I called the paramedics for him when I got home. I'm sure they got there in time.

Note to self 308: 06/13/2007

I was never really a devout follower of the Church of the Sopranos (I loved all the cursing and violence, but pretty much hated all the asshole characters), but I had to catch the much hyped series finale this past Sunday, simply because EVERYBODY else would be talking about it on Monday.

What the FUCK was that shit?! All that hype, all that tension, and JACK SHIT occurred! Okay, so Phil got plugged in the head and then had his car run over his skull like a melon right in front of his own grandkids, but that was simply 1 moment (30 seconds) of cool out of 65 minutes of humdrum crap. The rest of the episode was just boring shit played up like it was leading up to something huge. Well, that huge thing that it all led up to was an unexciting dinner between Tony Soprano and his family (including his mentally retarded son, horrible driver of a daughter [who apparently can't parallel park to save her pathetic life], and wife who puts up with way too much shit). That ending in the restaurant went on for like 10 minutes too, making everybody think that the whole Soprano clan was about to get whacked.... but no, nothing as exhilarating as that came to pass. Nothing as mind-blowing as a sneeze even happened. No character even said, "I love you, Johnny-cakes," during this LAST SOPRANOS EVER. Think if the series finale of Cheers took place outside of the bar, and Norm was passed out the whole time, unable to mutter even the silliest off-the-cuff remark to Woody or Cliff (who just cried the whole episode because he'd always just be known as "that mailman from Cheers" from now on). It was just wrong.

Here's what a talkbacker on AintItCoolNews said in regards to the last cut (I couldn't have put it better myself, so I won't even try): "Anyone could do a real send off of the series and wrap up a lot of more interesting storylines, but this is the brilliance of David Chase. Chase decides to focus the episode on the storyline of the series' most annoying character [that goddamn moron of a son] and then just stop the episode as if he ran out of film shooting the final scene. This will get him an Emmy for sure. Bravo!"

It was not what we were expecting, and NOT in a good way. Christ....

And speaking of not being what an audience was expecting, I got through Satoshi Kon's newest movie, Paprika. Kon is well known for psychologically brilliant pieces of cinematic and televised animated art: Perfect Blue, Millennium Actress, Paranoia Agent -- all three are really fun and really trippy. So I was jazzed about Paprika, and then I watched it, and then I was confused. It was like somebody just got ahold of Kon's art director and then pretended to make a Satoshi Kon movie, but without any of the grooviness that usually accompanies such an undertaking. There was trippiness, sure, but the story was gay (even more so than Kon's own Tokyo Godfathers) and was simply strange for the sake of being strange. Dreams became real and started merging with the physical world during the course of the flick, but there was no reason for this happening. It wasn't a supernatural tale, like Paranoia Agent, it was a tale of science -- and they gave no good scientific reason for any of that shit happening.

Okay, say I was going to film a remake of a Michael Crichton book turned movie (one of his older, better, more sciency novels)... Let's say Jurassic Park. Ian Malcolm, Alan Grant and everybody get to the island, dinosaurs run amok, and then, 2/3rds of the way through I made it so that the dinosaurs weren't really genetically created and modified creatures, born in a lab and bound to prove Chaos Theory correct, instead it turns out that the Dinosaur Fairy had really transported them to this point in time from 65 million years ago, and that they could really speak English, and just wanted to have a lovely tea party with the scientists on the island. That's the kind of lame as fuck turn that Paprika took. I won't write a full review of this movie simply because it was just too disappointing for me. I don't want to spend any more time than I already have mulling over what I hate about it... It could have been so fucking great (if only it had kept up the awesomeness of the opening credits).

Kon, if I were you I'd hunt down the psychotic asshole who stole your name to make this below sub-par piece of drivel. Then I'd club him to death with his own foot in front of an audience of reporters so that everybody in the world would know that you DON'T FUCK with Kon!

Note to self 307: 06/06/2007

I was awoken early on Saturday by a rap-rap-rapping on my door. I answered groggily, and in barged Kuni. After slapping him around with a shoe, the handle of my handgun, and the bottom half of my neighbors' (once) always-barking dead dog, I got him to explain to me what the fuck he was doing there, waking me up before 4PM on a weekend.

Kuni explained to me that something evil was brewing in our world. Something so appalling and unexpected that I had never even bothered making any contingency plans for it, since it seemed so impossible to me whenever the subject was ever brought up (see the Relative Chaos Theory to see how this always bites me in the balls): Kuni's hot sister, Kim-Chi, recently met a man and got engaged to him. Fuck.

Kuni seemed even more upset than I was, and from what I got out of him it was because Kim-Chi's fiance was some sort of ninja dude who immediately upon entering his sweetheart's bedroom discovered and dismantled (i.e. ninja-starred) all of Kuni's and my carefully hidden cameras and recording devices (thousands of dollars worth!). Then apparently this guy sat Kim-Chi down and started explaining to her that bathing with her grown brother and posing for nude drawings for me (where in I would either trace her body or fingerpaint on her flesh itself) was NOT acceptable behavior for a delicate and demure flower of a woman. The absolute NERVE of this ninja-dick! The fiance berated Kuni's sister for another hour and a half about her brother and her friends, but Kuni couldn't report on the specifics of the rest of the conversation/lecture since the hole that he had drilled in the wall was then detected and had a katana thrust through it (almost skewering my Asian friend's skull), and was then quickly plastered over with ninja efficiency.

After listening to Kuni's horrifying tale I gathered up the Skipper (who loathes ninjas) and Robot Pedro (who hates people), and together we charged into Kuni's house with insults and guns a'blazing. We found the ninja guy (looking as pissed as a ninja ever did) coming out of Kim-Chi's room, and we fell upon him like a bowling ball on a cup of Jell-O. The battle was pretty vicious (the Skipper kept going for his [actually, anybody's he could find] crotch with a pair of brass knuckles, Robot Pedro never stopped biting ears off [again, anybody's he could find], and Kuni and I kept swinging baseball bats or iron pipes [I always carry some with me for just such an emergency] at each other and the ninja man), and it dragged on for well over an hour and 40 minutes. But after 5 or 6 breaks for some Sunny-D, the victors were we, and the ninja asshole was dead and in many many pieces.

Robot Pedro and the Skipper kept fighting though, but Kuni and I took his future brother-in-law's death as a chance to break the news to Kim-Chi that her beloved had run off with a ninja-whore and that he said the wedding was off. But as we entered her room, Kim-Chi quickly hid what looked like a tiny, Bluetooth camera behind her back, and smiled demurely at us (the way that always turns me on, very much big time). Kuni broke the ninja news to his sister, who in turn told both of us that it was okay, since she had previously just told the guy that it would have never worked out between the two of them due to unspecified reasons. I took the time to carefully look around her room, and I noticed that the hole between Kuni's and Kim-Chi's rooms was re-drilled (much larger than it was before), and that all of the broken cameras that Kuni had told me about were either replaced or repaired. I then grabbed Kuni's neck, made him bow to his honorable sister, and then dragged him back to his room where we were then treated to the best fucking strip show of my life (I got the peep-hole, and Kuni made sure that his computer was recording everything for future generations). After a few hundred more hours of this kind of thing and our pay-site will be ready to roll!... Or maybe we'll just keep her all to ourselves. God I love Kim-Chi.

Note to self 306: 05/15/2007

Nothing sucks more than that first Monday back to work after a week long vacation. Not that my job stinks or anything (SOMEbody has to scrape that hardened gizz off the peep-windows), just that after playing around on the beach and in the sea with my brother's 12 or so kids for 7 days of sun and fun, returning to the dank, dark recesses of Cowboy Kraven's Craven Delights back rooms is kind of a downer.

I won't go too into my holiday of heavenly proportions (on the Florida Gulf Coast), but I'll tell you a few stories.

Early one evening, I took a few of my brother's kids to this huge, wooden, three-storied, giant playscape near the condo we were renting -- full of slides, monkey bars, and other childhood delights -- in order for them to run around with a bunch of other kids and hopefully pass out into comas later on that night which would then lead to them sleeping in a few sacred minutes later the following morning. Anyway, I was walking around the playground, trying to keep tabs on my 6, 4 1/2, and 3 year-old kin, when I heard a big commotion and then saw about 20 or so kids running towards me screaming "Aaah! Monster! Run from the monster! He's gonna get you!!" As they passed I saw the 6 and 4 1/2 year-old nephews come up to me to ask me about food, drink, clothing or a potty break (something kids are always bitching about). But after I told them to stop bothering Uncle Ross during drinky time they turned their attention to some 4 year-old boy, dressed in perfectly pressed clothes with a mop of impeccably combed blonde hair on his rather large melon.

My older nephew pointed at the blondie and screeched, "Aaaah! Monster!" And then both nephews got ready to run in case the kid started to chase them -- though the tyke just stood there with a confused look on his face. My younger nephew, with a huge mischievous grin on his face, then screamed, "Oh no! Look at that MONSTER! Aaaaah!" and they both once again got ready to book it.

I looked at the little blondie, and he appeared even more perplexed now as he started looking behind him to see what the fuck my nephews were talking about. Finally, to avoid a potential crying scene from the blonde boy, I pointed to my younger nephew and said, "Ha! Looks like YOU'RE the monster! Everybody run!" All the kids who had then gathered around us then ran to escape the newest monster... Well, all the kids except the well-dressed blonde bloke, who continued to appear puzzled -- almost upset. Just then the kid's father showed up and in a debonair English accent asked his son, "What's going on here, Micky, chap? Are you having fun?" To which Micky turned his head towards his father, and responded in a confused, declarative statement, with a perfect British accent of his own, "They thought I was a MONSTER..." I lost it at that point. Those Brits are awesome!

The next story involves my 3 year-old niece. A bunch of the kids were at the kitchen counter one morning eating their breakfast before we all headed over to the beach. Out of nowhere my niece stated matter of factly, "I love my Uncle Ross, with all my heart!" I looked up and said, "Awww, and I love you too, princess." But then she continued, in the same tone, "And I loooove gwaham cwackers. And yogurt." The other kids just looked at her like, "Yeah, of course."

The final story involves me going for a walk with that same niece on the beach another day, and making damn sure she let all the bikini-clad ladies around us know that I was her UNCLE. "Uncle Woss! Look! A shell! I found a shell! Oooooo! Look! A dolphin! Uncle Woss, a dolphin! He was so pwetty! I name him Tina!" All the swim-suited beauties were coming up to us saying, "Oh! She's just so precious! And you're the uncle, huh?" Oh man, I was so fucking IN. I'll end this story right here since this post has been relatively G-rated so far... Okay, maybe PG, PG-13... And I don't want to ruin such a special moment.

Note to self 305: 05/02/2007

Holy fuck! It's May! Damn, they just keep coming, don't they...

There was a Greenwood movie party this past weekend, and Psycho Weasel, Mehve and I began talking about "good flicks," and we came up with the greatest movie concept ever since turning James Bond into a vampire (watch Casino Royale again; it's true!). Don't try to steal our idea, since we already sent in a patent on it and all that shit.

Get this: Python 5 -- Ireland is Fucked! Things start off all rosey and peachy in Shamrock Land, but then Biggus Dickus XXIII (played by me) lets loose an assload of snakes in the Emerald Isle! The snakes go bat shit loco, biting and eating everybody there, but then hope arrives in the form of Robo-Lance Armstrong (it's a little known fact that the REAL Lance died from his cancer, and they sent back a robot in his image from the future in order destroy France completely in the only thing that they really had left: The Tour de France). Robo-Armstrong kicks almost all the snakes' butts, but he's almost defeated by the biggest python ever genetically created! That's when Biggus Dickus XXIII has a change of heart when he realizes that without Ireland there's no Guinness, and he helps Robo-Armstrong freeze the python and then shoot it into space!

THAT'S where Python 6 -- Snakes in Space takes place! Hundreds of years in the future some space station people discover the frozen python floating in the deep, cold vastness of space, and bring it aboard not knowing that it has hundreds of baby pythons growing inside of it. Then... the big snake thaws, and just has to stay alive long enough to let all its babies thaw out too! Plenty of carnage, nudity, and frozen baby python-spears getting thrown through people then takes place. It will be awesome! Look for these two movies to be shot back to back and then be released into theaters starting Christmas 2009!

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