Monthly Archives: August 2010
David Yost, mostly known as Billy the Original Blue Power Ranger, made some waves in the sea of nostalgia with a recent announcement that not only is the man gay, he left the show because of constant harassment for his sexuality.
Thanks David, for proving me wrong in about ninety arguments I had on the playground. Super happy you were able to overcome some serious inner turmoil, but twelve-year-old Chad is a little annoyed. I owe Ben Weiss two pouches of Big League Chew now. That crap grows in value with interest. Read the rest of this entry
I’m prouder of this then I would be of any child I’d help make.
If you don’t get it, go see Inception again, and then listen to Notorious BIG’s “Juicy.”
Or just listen to the song. Or listen to the song and then go see Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. It’s a comic book movie, filled with videogame references, about a boy meeting a girl that’s somehow one of the most originals films of the last five years.
I’m just kidding, I know you’re all going to see Avatar, again.
It might be hard to do, but avert your eyes for a second away from Terry Crews’ dominant chest towards Drago’s disapproving face. In that last photo is a near perfect summary of the differences between two generations; Crews and Jason Statham versus Old Man Stallone and The Perfect Man. Yes, Lundgren smiles in Picture 3, but that’s merely a momentary lapse in his Universal Soldier training.
I Own All You Bitches.
Yeah, Mike Blizow Blizay here to tell all the indie kids and the other offshoots from that family tree of faggotry that I’ll be expecting apologies, and maybe gifts (I accept all major credit cards, live animals, and sex) for funding all your flights of fancy into each others’ assholes.
It was recently brought to my attention by one of my body guards, either the ex-SEAL with the eye patch or the Israeli commando who’s secretly half robot, that due to tricky accounting, shell corporations, studio buy outs, and all kinds of Jason Bourne shit, I’ve actually funded, like, a trillion crappy movies about nothing. My big budget, summer tent pole pictures, make over 500 million dollars, and a lot of that is spent on gun powder and flying cars, but a big chunk of that is used to pay for stupid movies about stupid cancer. Or adoption. Or trannies. But not hot trannies.
Oh, man, all those years of taking shit from assholes who aren’t good enough to make movies is finally worth it. I’ve eaten several condors before, but never crow. Let me know how that tastes bloggers.
Know now that the above video nails how tough it can be to break into standup comedy so perfectly that there’s not much more I can add. But let me try.
It’s unknown how long the writer of that video has been performing standup; it’s entirely possible that the creator has been working in this noble endeavor for a few weeks and is just now realizing the truth. It doesn’t get much better as time goes on. Read the rest of this entry
Writer’s Block is a bitch, ain’t it?
In celebration of my inability to write, we’re going right back to the well all the way from far flung last week.
Drinking, and I mean the actual ceremony of drinking, calling friends, going out, grabbing a booth or table, setting up shop, and going to work, not sitting in your living room, imbibing alcohol, is a very precise thing.
There are a lot of very important factors to bring into play.
Where are you going? Is this a crawl? A meet and greet? A bullshit session?
Why are we drinking? Is it in celebration? Mourning? Catching up? Trying to meet someone?
Who’s coming? Like it or not, you don’t actually have one giant circle of friends, but, instead, travel amongst many different spheres. Old friends from home, friends you went to school with, people you know from work, from extra-curriculars, etc, they won’t all get along, so you have to make sure you have the proper mix for a good night out.
Last week we examined the dream team I’d want to bring out for a long weekend, now we look at the nightmare squad.
Who? Pete Dunham. Green Street Hooligans.
Green Street Hooligans is a lot like Fight Club, it’s about a boy who goes looking for how to become a man in a world that doesn’t have any use for them, but his search brings him to all the wrong places. They’re both gleeful adolescent fantasies until halfway through the third act when the movies ask “is this really what you want?”
Read the rest of this entry
There was a time in my life that I wanted to be Rivers Cuomo. As I discovered rock music in middle school, The Green Album was on heavy rotation (along with Green Day and 3 Doors Down). At the time he seemed like a perfect icon for the nerd life I was experiencing (“He has glasses!”). I wasn’t the only one. A good friend spent multiple years thinking Weezer’s “In the Garage” went “in the garage/I feel safe/no one cares about my weight” because it made sense. It made perfect sense for all the angry little geeks in the Midwest. It doesn’t matter we didn’t know what a hash pipe was; we loved it.
It’s with Weezer’s recent actions that I reexamine what initially drew me to Mr. Cuomo: he might be insane and he doesn’t give a damn. Read the rest of this entry