2010's Top 5 Most Annoying Public Figures

You know, I tried to write something funny about Chelsea Handler. But when it comes to someone as lame as her it’s really just an exercise in futility.

For some reason women think that Handler is a beacon of liberation. That a woman can be just as unapologetic about whoring around as a man. But the truth is, only women that are of sub-par attractiveness take on that type of behavior. They have to if they ever want to get laid.

And while some see Handler as the model for women making a stand in a man’s world, she wasn’t beneath (quite literally) getting to the top by the beaten down path of fucking her way there.

Chelsea is the type of girl you’d find at a party. You know the one; Obnoxious, loud-mouthed, doing keg stands and saying shit that would make a trucker blush. All this is good fun if you’re looking for a quick (and sloppy) lay with zero effort put into it on your part. But after that sexual transaction is finished, all you really want that bitch to do is shut the fuck up.

And here is where Handler becomes truly annoying. She doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up.

After Handler was allowed to spend a weekend with the lonely, frigid, one-dimensional A-list actress Jennifer Aniston, Chelsea thought it was a good idea to publicly bash the woman that “stole” Anniston’s husband away 5 years ago.

Apparently Chelsea thought that using her mouth for anything other than a blow-job was a good idea. But unfortunately, when she doesn’t have her team of writers making up her material, she’s not funny, or relevant, or even newsworthy. Not to mention that Anniston herself was pissed that Handler decided to weigh in on an event that took place at a time when Chelsea was still giving out hand-jobs in rest stops on the way to Vegas.

But in an effort to keep things balanced, here's the accomplishments of Jolie on film. And here's Handler’s accomplishments on film. Here is what Jolie does to contribute to the world. And here, here & here are Handler’s contributions to society.

Now I’ve never regarded myself as an intellectual person or even a man of common and rational sense. But somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, Handler shooting her cock holster off about Jolie seems as ill fated and pointless as someone sitting down to watch Handler’s sex tape.

With Chelsea Handler, you can almost feel her desperation of trying too hard. And that's why she's one of 2010's top 5 most annoying public figures. Although I'm sure she would refer to herself as a pubic figure because she's so witty and dangerous. Oh Chelsea, you really are a card...the type of card that says the virus is untreatable.

The 5 Most Annoying Public Figures of 2010

Kim Kardashian is perhaps even more annoying than Paris Hilton for the mere fact that Kardashian had to borrow the lame playbook Hilton wrote on how to be famous without having any actual talent instead of contriving her own self serving ideas. So, Kardashian made a sex tape and sold it through a “third party” then turned around and sued the very buyers that gave her money in the first place.

Her shameless lust / self entitlement for money is nothing new, after all, before she was letting Brandy’s brother Ray J pee all over her, she was a “stylist” for that family. Brandy’s mom entrusted Kim with a credit card to use for specified and approved purchases only. Kim, along with her sisters, decided to use the card as their own personal shopping account instead.

But Kim’s class and social upper echelon sensibilities don’t stop at petty thievery. Kim's father was on the “dream team” that helped O.J. get away with murder. Still, not one to miss a photo opportunity, Kim saw fit to show up at a Nichole Brown Simpson charity because she’s a socialite with class.

In a bogus attempt to feign philanthropy, Kim partook in the Twitter Dead Celebrity fund raiser that had celebs vow to stay off their twittering until a million dollars was raised for children with AIDS.

But beings that Kim is paid up to 10 grand by advertisers to send out tweets from her account, she, along with a few other insincere stars, asked a billionaire to donate the money that was needed to meet the requirements of the charity so she could get back to making money via Twitter.

With Kim’s dealings in money, specifically how it trumps everything else, it’s no surprise that she thought she would be the ideal spokesperson to teenagers on how to budget their finances. I guess the public school system already has a course that teaches kids how to be urinated on while the camera is rolling.

So this year, Kim came out with the Kardashian credit card. Can you guess what this card does that others don’t do? Well if you thought it was anything other than help put money into Kim’s bank account then friend, you’re probably the only person that disagreed with me in the third paragraph of this article about O.J. being guilty.

And if that’s the case, you’re stupid enough to sign up for one of these cards and argue with me that Kim Kardashian isn’t one of the top 5 most annoying public figures of 2010.

RAWKin' Around the Xmas Tree.

Last year I bought some nail polish from a company called ManGlaze. Here’s what I thought of it. Much to my surprise & probably everyone else that’s familiar with my juvenile antagonism, the owner, Marc Paez, wrote me back, apologized and sent me some free replacements that totally rectified my problem.

Even more unbelievable, Marc loved my hate letter and asked for my permission to put it on his website. I said yes to that request because one thing a loud mouthed asshole wants more than anything else is a higher mountain to shout his obscenities from. Since then Marc’s even been brave enough to hire me out for some freelance writing gigs which is muy bueno.

This year his company, ManGlaze, did something ballsy, courageous and long over due. They came up with an iPod holding accessory that challenges the mediocrity put forth by Apple prevalent in their iPod armband.

Marc does a lot of snowboarding / skateboarding and was tired of the arm band’s lack of easy access to his iPod as well as the fact that his ear bud wire was constantly dangling from his arm and getting in the way of any maneuvers or tricks he was trying to pull off.

So, he engineered a band that holds your iPod nano (Gen 6 and up) around the wrist which gives you instant contact to your playlist as well as keeping the ear bud wire out of your way. This clever, useful and stylish creation is aptly called the RAWKband.

The RAWKband is available in 5 different colors as well as a 6th one that’s a total homage to the day’s of Shouting At The Devil (black band riddled with spikes). All RAWKbands are made out of leather and more durable than an O.J. Simpson “Not Guilty” plea circa 1994.

Now, not only is this sick puppy practical, but it also makes you look way fucking cooler than you really are. So whether you’re active on a board, bike, treadmill or just loitering outside a liquor store because you’re unemployed, you can look totally fucking metal even if you are listening to Beyonce’s “All The Single Ladies.”

The RAWKband makes a perfect gift for your angst ridden teen, gothed out girlfriend or douchebag boyfriend who insists on still wearing TAP OUT or Affliction gear. That’s the beauty of this accessory, it gives you swagger points even if you don’t deserve them other wise.

In fact, I think the only type of person that would turn their nose at this great model of American sub-culture ingenuity is a meathead that spends 7 hours a day in the gym trying to make every part of his body bigger to compensate for the one part that’s teeny tiny. I can see why someone like that would prefer the lame armband because it accentuates his bicep.

So if you’re not a meathead or don’t have one on your shopping list, hit up ManGlaze and purchase one of these abso-fucking-lutely bad motherfuckers.

Kidsmas Massacre

When I was a kid attending Catholic grade school, every year promptly after Halloween festivities concluded, the school’s faculty would begin the rigorous preparation for the annual Christmas program.

The campaign was spearheaded by the institution’s acting principal Sister Mary Corita. She was a volatile mixture of charisma and fanaticism, the type that you find in all infamous leaders who have the capability of rallying the masses to their feet, and then running them off a cliff.

For months children were relentlessly groomed, auditioned, yelled at, prayed for and rehearsed to death. Elaborate costumes were made, sets were built, themes discussed and teacher’s jobs threatened if their respective class didn’t deliver a performance of Broadway standards.

In retrospect I now realize the pressures forced upon us were in the best interest of the show. Albeit, Sister Corita’s sanity could be questioned over and over again, but the thing to remember is that all great cults of personality are unstable, dangerous and down right loony as they lead their subjects into glorious oblivion. Her ends always justified her means because our programs were in a word, Epic.

Last Friday I attended Bear's Christmas Program. I now fully comprehend the stark contrast between private schooling and public schooling and it is this; the quality of the Christmas Program.

I don’t mean to sleigh my own bells, but MY school’s program was the stuff legends are made of, even if they did come at the price of blood, sweat ,tears and the raping and pillaging of a child’s innocence.

But maybe it’s for the best that Bear’s program lacked any cohesiveness, organization or discipline for the sake of preserving the student’s precious spirit and not forever equating Christmas time with pain, torture, humiliation and self derogation.

Or maybe I’m just bitter and think that all 7 year olds should suffer under the same conditions I did for performance art’s sake. Yeah, that’s totally it.

ANYWAY.

Here’s my almost humble review of the Burbank Elementary 2010 Winter Program.

Third Grade Class: Mr. Thomas-Jingle Bells / Ode to Joy medley…on recorders.

The performance was all that one would imagine when 50 kids are blowing into something that has the reputation for sounding like shit. I could almost make out jingle bells, but the high, off note pitches did a great job of audibly crushing anything that might have some sort of melody to it.

First Grade Class: Mrs. Bright-Jingle Bells (Part Deux).

Next up was Bear’s class, singing, not blowing, Jingle Bells. Apparently there’s little to no communication within the ranks of leadership at this school when it comes to coordinating which class is performing which song. I was surprised the entire program wasn’t comprised of the different interpretations of Jingle Bells by every grade.

The first graders tromped into the auditorium as if they were convicted felons facing a firing squad. Bear stood up front with the enthusiasm of a prisoner at Abu Ghraib who was on deck to the interrogation room.

The pre recorded music started up and most of the children went along with it as well as incorporating random hand and head gestures in unison for flair and personality.

The song ended and the kids dispersed as quickly as they assembled, exiting stage right and looking forward to two more performances in the afternoon. You could see the self loathing on their cherubic faces…along with the pondering of parenticide.

Preschool- Mrs. Reyes- Must Be Santa

These tiny tots were obviously the main attraction and damn it if they didn’t have the ego and diva like attitudes to go along with such high end status. When they came on stage all the parents stood up and waved their arms at their corresponding offspring to get their attention as if the kids were monkeys in a zoo exhibit.

The children of course, paid no attention to their adoring audience. They didn’t return waves or look towards cameras for pictures, they just stood there like movie stars while teachers fawned all over them, doing last minute costume adjustments and reassuring the children that they were better than everyone.

When the Preschoolers finally decided to begin their performance, it was on par with that of a belligerent Amy Winehouse or Whitney Houston. The kids mumbled, stumbled and at one point fell over one another while trying to sing the words to “Must Be Santa.” It was obvious that they’d all indulged in too many complimentary Pixie Sticks backstage before their performance. Their PR team is going to be doing a lot of damage control well into the new year.

After the train wreck of that which was the Preschooler’s, there were 4 more grades set to perform. Before the program started, the principal told the parents that they weren’t allowed to leave early and expected to stay for the entirety of the program.

To no one’s surprise, the parents told the principal to get fucked by way of emptying out of the auditorium, more than likely because we felt that we’d already put up with enough coercion from school officials in the past when we were children.

Suffice to say, that’s where this review ends, parents walking out on their own kids. I have no interest in what the other grades had to offer and judging by the mass exodus, neither did any one else in attendance.

Oh Sister Corita, where are you when a school’s Christmas Program needs you?

Dear Walking Dead- Don't Leave Me, Come Back!

I hate most episodic shows for the following reasons: Stupid. Predictable. Only offered on cable (which I’m adamantly opposed to for moral and fiscal reasons). Plus, getting involved in ongoing shows takes a certain level of commitment, discipline and patience which my constitution severely lacks.

The few times I have gotten involved with a series I ended up heartbroken because it either got cancelled (Party Down) or I was forced to wait an ungodly amount of time for the second season (Archer).

That’s why when I saw the advertisement for AMC’s The Walking Dead, I just ignored it. Sure, it banged on my door much like the zombies in it, but I was smarter. I knew how to side-step such clunky antagonists that wanted to take me down in some way, shape or form.

Plus, it was on basic cable, which I didn’t have, so problem solved.

But I-tunes in their whorrific ways offered the first episode for free, just like drug dealers do. And that’s all it took. As soon as it was over I gave Apple my credit card so I could have access to all those lovely episodes as soon as they were aired.

I’ve gotta admit. TWD is the best goddamn show I’ve seen in a long time. Zombie stories by and large are pretty one dimensional but this show finds a way to give it depth, humanity and drama. Granted it’s just a soap opera but it’s a gory soap opera set in post apocalyptic America which I can give two severed thumbs up to.

That’s why when I was informed after watching episode 6 that it was the season finale, I, like it’s zombies, lost my fucking mind. The fact that a Bob Dylan song was the audible send off was salt in the wound. You want to talk about bringing on a zombie induced state, just listen to Dylan for a couple seconds and see if you don’t try to chew your own ears off.

What a total buzz kill.

So as soon as I came to terms with my abandonment issues and realized that I’d once again fallen for the allure of a good show (much like a hot girl) I searched the net (much like a stalker chases that hot girl) to find out when it would return (call me back).

October 2011.

Yeah, 10 whole months. Do you realize what could happen to your life in just the span of 60 seconds? Now do the math; that comes out to 25920000 seconds*, I don’t even know where to put the comma. My point being is that’s a lot of time for anything to happen to my precious (my precious) show.

In my scouring of the web like it was Karen Silkwood in a decontamination shower, I came across some unsettling news about the show. Rumors were abound that all the writers were fired and that some of the cast may or may not return. Granted it was just industry chatter but still, my emotions are much too fragile to have to endure such uncertainties.

But none of that matters now, I’ve been bitten, I’m in for the long haul, the long wait, the endless months of wandering about aimlessly in a wasteland of mediocrity hoping a cure will come.

God damn you Walking Dead. I hope you trip and fall! Wait, I didn’t mean that, I love you, come back!

*I’m publicly educated so I have no idea if my mathematic skills were on point or not.

You Can't Slow Any Faster Than This...

FASTER is the movie everyone wanted to see The Rock in after he went marshmallows and took up some goofy roles that questioned his validity to give dirty looks and sport tattoos.

On the bad ass motherfucker scale, he doesn’t disappoint. He’s so tough that he hardly has any dialogue. I think he probably said a max of 50 words during the almost 2 hour movie. It’s nice when your anti-hero just shuts the fuck up and destroys everything in sight.

The jest of the story is that Mr. Rock, his brother and a couple others did a bank heist. Another crew found out about it, cornered them and things went all Costa Rican.

Mr. Rock’s brother went to bed with a slit throat and The Rock himself won a bullet to the head. Movie magic made it possible for that bullet to miss his brain and shoot out his cheek bone. Since Mr. Rock survived, he got a prison term for robbery.

Horary Justice.

Faster forward and he’s out of prison, violently hunting down everyone that had to do with his brother’s demise and the reason he’s forever setting off metal detectors, because of a big steel plate in his head.

This is all fun and games but it gets old faster than a priest can convince an alter boy that he should let God feel him up.

The film also stars former Angelina Jolie taste tester, Billy Bob Thorton. He plays a down and out detective assigned to the case. He’s not only battling an uphill struggle for capturing the Rock, but he’s also fighting a drug addiction problem, a bitchy ex-wife problem and a kid who’s battling obesity and losing problem.

Thorton has always been good at playing a low life loser so he twitches and stumbles through out the movie until the final scene that’s supposed to be a twist of M. Night Shamalam-a-ding- dong proportions. Which it’s not, but then again neither are M. Night movies anymore. No harm no foul.

There’s also some guy in the movie that’s really impressed with himself and likes to do yoga and kill people. So he chases The Rock around while having therapy sessions with his psychiatrist over the phone and tries to convince his girlfriend she should marry him so he has a wife to fuck over.

The movie tries to be deep and touch on the microcosms of the main characters personal lives as well as the self imprisonment of revenge and the serenity of surrendering, redemption and forgiveness.

But you know what? I can hear all that in church, and church is free. So when I let my girlfriend put down her hard earned money to pay for my movie experience I expect violence, action and narcissistic behavior. Not some kum by yah my lord Homily.

Faster started out great and then prematurely ejaculated leaving me with someone lying on the bed just wanting to talk. Yawn.

2 Donkey Punches out of 5.

Skyline Movie Review

SKYLINE is the epitome of a crap movie. It illustrates that yes, we’ve come to the end of the line here folks, it can’t get any worse. Sure, there’s a lot of eye candy. But just like real candy decays your teeth, this candy eats away at your mental capacity.

This flick rips off every movie in its genre and it burrows from Signs on two fronts. First the whole “water” concept and second, when you leave the movie you’ll be foaming at the mouth like Mel Gibson.

The basic rundown of the movie is as follows, and while I’m going to include the ending, it shouldn’t be referred to as a SPOILER so much as a WARNING about the movie’s outright ridiculousness.

Set in L.A., the story follows 4 young, hip industry people that are partying it up at a Marina Del Rey high rise. This part of the movie was the most believable because it shows what L.A. is best known for; The Douchebag Lifestyle.

The 4 malcontents pass out and wake up to a pretty blue light. The light is equivalent to an Angelfish’s bioluminescence which is used solely for the purpose of attracting it’s dinner. Thousands of Angelenos fall for the blue light special and get whisked away. Our 4 hero’s avoid the trap and decide to flee the city.

This doesn’t work out so well because there seems to be a merry band of interplanetary marauders terrorizing the city streets and contributing to horrible commute times. There’s giant monsters and evil octopus’s out sucking up old people, pissy people and the token black guy. No one is safe.

I’d say that judging by how bad the aliens fucked up the city and their disdain for it’s residents, they probably came here to vote for Meg Whitman, only they showed up about 8 days late.

ANYWAY…

The crew retreat’s back to the high rise and spend the next hour running around, hiding, screaming and blowing shit up while speaking in Spanish which I’m sure even our galactic invader’s were pissed to hear because they came to America to hear their victims scream in English god damn it.

Finally the body count is down to two. Boyfriend and girlfriend who is pregnant. Nothing is killing these invaders off, not even nukes, so they give in and go to the blue light in the sky.

Once in the ship, it’s clear that these E.T.’s are lousy housekeepers. The place is a mess and there’s corpses everywhere just like dust bunnies. Random humans get picked up and their brains are extracted and ran through a tube into the aliens hungry little mouths.

Now if the movie had any type of metaphorical merit, it was this scene. It reflected exactly what was happening to the audience, our brains were being sucked right the fuck out of our heads by way of a stupidity vacuum.

The boyfriend gets his brain sucked out but his is a Jedi brain and it overtakes one of the alien bodies enabling him to make an even bigger mess of the already trashed ship and caress his pregnant girlfriend with his alien claw.

And that’s where the movie (and my patience) abruptly ends.

If I had to conjecture on the story’s epilogue, I’d say that pregnant girlfriend and alien boyfriend went to go live in Johannesburg with that guy from District 9 since he has similar problems and they could probably be a good support unit for one another. And should you choose to see this movie, you’ll be needing a good support group afterwards as well.

0 Donkey Punches out of 5

A New Attitude

As most of you know I’ve been out of work for one day shy of a month. For those of you that are just now finding this out, well, we’re all caught up.

Most of my days are Bukowskian without all the sex with ugly chicks. I write and drink which is both bad and good depending on how drunk or sober one might be when judging the situation.

I haven’t bothered looking for work because I know nothings out there. But once in a while I still reply to the occasional want ad. Although I noticed that my reply is a lot different than in my younger days.

Back then I was adamant about trying to put my best foot forward and prove to a would be employer my absolute ductility and desirability in wanting to be another cow in a faceless herd only to end up the main course on some CEO’s dinner plate.

Things seem to be a bit different now. Below is the ad and my response.

Hi I'm looking for writers who are funny. Someone who can write quick short and hilarious material having to do with African American interest. I would love to meet as many writers as I can and read over some of your work. most of this content will be post on a celebrity blog that is very successful. -----meaning a lot of eyes on your work. Hey if your interested just reply to this email Attach a few pages of your work and I will be in contact. Office is located at the Hollywood Production Center so its local.

Here's my submission showing off my writing skills or lack thereof. It's a review of the movie Jennifer's Body and even though that has nothing to do with African Americans, in a way it does and this is why; Anything that has to do with white people and bad movies almost never involves African Americans. White people like to be terrible on their own accord if possible. It's true, just read your history book (preferably one that wasn't written by a white person...if you can find such a relic).

While I don't have a lot of dealings in African American culture, I did date a black woman for several months last year and I'm almost positive that she'll help me with any pitfalls I may experience along the way should you make the mistake of hiring me for the chump change you're probably paying for this gig.

Beings that I'm responding to this want ad late further solidifies that I'm a true writer because 1.) I have no sense of urgency. 2.) I just got internet at home and have spent the past 48 hours non stop on youporn & I've been drinking...heavily.

While this might be a red flag for you, I'd like to point out that my shrink told me that most writers spend their days being drunk, masturbating and procrastinating.

So even if you disagree with my self delusion that I'm a writer, you can't disagree with someone that not only has a degree, but also a lot of my money for telling me something my own mother went hoarse with rage from screaming at me during my entire adolescent years.

Anyway, I got off track, here's the review. No farm animals were hurt in the making of it, only shaved...

Paranormal Activity 2

When I saw the 1st Paranormal Activity it had it’s moments. But it wasn’t until after I got home and laid alone in my apartment that the movie really did it‘s magic. It’s creep effectiveness had to do with the things that happen around one when they are at their most vulnerable. Asleep, unaware and unprotected.

Suffice to say, I had trouble sleeping the next couple nights much akin to the way you’d probably have a hard time getting drunk around people you call “friends” after you see the Polaroid pictures of the last time you passed out in their company and they all put their cocks around your wide open mouth while you slept helpless on the floor.

So I wasn’t surprised at my apprehension the sequel’s effect may have on me.

Verdict: Yawn.

The director or editor did a great job in making the scenes organic and establishing characters, yet the whole “getting to know your cast” seemed so naturally done that I felt like I was watching mundane home videos of an anonymous boring family I couldn’t care less about.

With this new version there was also the use of simultaneous multiple camera views which at times bestowed upon me the unwanted role of feeling like I was a low paid security guard on watch detail during the graveyard shift in a gated community complex. When I left the theater I was looking for a time clock to punch my hours into.

The time it took to start the “paranormal activity” from a minor nuisance into a malevolent intruder was wearing. The intense moments either relied on something already done in the first movie (the female protagonist getting dragged around by an invisible specter or going into a “trance”). Or burrowed some M. Night tricks ( the cupboard scene from 6th sense or the baby walkie talkie scene from Signs).

Maybe the walkie talkie was picking up Alien transmissions that were stating this installment of the franchise was way disappointing even in a galaxy light years away.

Whatever the case may be, it was a bore but still left room for a 3rd chapter.

The writers were inventive in tying this episode in with its predecessor making it a sequel, prequel and real time parallel synched up with the first original victims that made you say “Ah ha!“ As well as “So what?”

The real test came later that night. I thought about the flick to see if it’d freak me out, I was asleep in seconds.

SO last night I watched the original, hoping to relive that nostalgic tension of yesteryear. I also had the 7 yr. old watch it with me in the hopes of at least being scared by proxy since it was a viewing with an unfamiliar viewer.

All that came to fruition from that excursion is a kid that now refuses to sleep while I’m trying to.

Bummer, just like the sequel

Grin & Bear It

My girlfriend has a 7 year old son named Robear that goes by the moniker Bear. He’s 3 ½ ft tall weighing in at 40lbs. Yet what he lacks in body mass he compensates for in personality and panache.

Bear is brilliant and possesses an amazing amount of comedic intuition. That intuition however, is impartial when it comes to appropriate and inappropriate times to share it.

Case in point: When his mother and I picked him up from school last week his teacher said he was in trouble. Homeboy looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown akin to Howard Hughes proportions.

“What’d he do?”

“This,” handing over a half colored picture of Sponge Bob holding a cigar or rocket directly aligned with his backside.

We didn’t see any outright infraction other than the half done coloring job. But maybe procrastination and indolence is tantamount to bringing guns to school these days or threatening to vote Republican when you’re of age.

His teacher could tell we were puzzled so she turned the paper over, exposing the damning evidence of Bear’s vulgar tendencies…and comedic genius.

“Look at my ass” were the flipside’s caption. I could actually hear Sponge Bob begging me to do so.

Containing my laughter the entire walk home whilst his mother admonished him was a futile attempt. Once I gained composure, I had 3.5 questions for him.

“ What’s that thing pointing at his butt and did you draw it?”

“ I don’t know what it is, and no, I didn’t draw it, it came like that.”

“Looks like a V-I-A-B-R-A-T-O-R.” I said in parental Morse Code to his mother.

“You always write sloppy, why is THIS perfectly legible?”

“I took my time because it was funny.”

I had to admire his ability to merge image and humor in a situation that the marriage of those two wasn’t intended. His sagacious answer left me with no retort. So, like any adult thumped by a child’s dry logic, I asked another question.

“Where’d you learn to spell this word?” Referring to “ASS”.

“Another kid helped me with it.”

I thought we were savvy on the word ASS. Then he pointed to the word “AT”.

“He crossed the ‘t’ for me.”

“You had an editor?”

“What’s an editor?”

“Never mind.”

“When he got finished helping me he gave the picture to my teacher and I got in trouble.”

Entrapment is a bitch as are creative partnerships that quickly disintegrate, leaving one with glory and the other in the failed ashes of misinterpreted artistic intentions. He was learning at least two valuable lessons today.

“Where’d you learn the word ’ASS’?”

“Oh. The movie you gave me, KICK-ASS”

I countered with irony.

“Where’s your responsibility? You agreed not to say that word out loud.”

“I didn’t SAY it.”

I was negotiating with Ganghis Khan.

He and I both shared the blame. But I didn’t shake him down. He’s going to curse, it’s a rite of passage.

I was sent to Catholic school in the hopes I’d be insulated from the harsh language of the world. Within my first month I was asking God to help me refrain from saying the word SHIT, FAG & BITCH all the time, all learned on God’s wholesome playground.

So I gave Bear a talk about making good decisions. I informed him that in the real world we have to choose our words wisely. Spoken and written.

He understood that notion, promising to use better judgment in any future endeavors on the page or otherwise.

I in turn told him we could create a character (during non curricular hours) in a comic strip environment that could use bad words depending on context and situation. He liked my attempt at “positive correction”.

ALL potential starts out raw, it’s what we do as parents that make it a talent or shame the child wears on their sleeve.

Jennifer's Body

I was recently in my Netflix que and Jennifer’s Body was suggested for me. I became offended, wondering if there was THAT much evidence in the movies I watched that would suggest I’d request something as intuitively bad as Jennifer’s Body. The answer in one word is yes.

So it arrived and I popped it in with a less than eager audience of my girlfriend who surprisingly enjoyed the flick with me. Here’s why you may or may not like it yourself:

It’s written by Diablo Codi. Codi’s famous for writing a story about a pompous teenage girl who smokes a pipe, gets knocked up by a geek and has uncomfortable moments with Jason Bateman in the movie Juno.

Jennifer’s Body is about another pompous teenage girl that has tits the size of melons, a brain that would shame a mule and who ends up the human sacrifice of a satanic band looking for fame and fortune by way of a blood ritual to Beelzebub.

Things don’t go exactly as planned and young Jennifer ends up possessed as a bloodsucker.

The film also has the usual teenage elements thrown in such as school, social pressures, boys and lots of indie music that lives up to it’s reputation of totally sucking balls.

Jennifer is played by Megan Fox whose 15 minutes are down to a solid 4 ½. The movie has other actors that you couldn’t give two shits about.

The important thing here is Megan Fox. There’s even a scene with her making out with another girl (oh yeah!) but the other girl is a geek so it’s a total boner flop in the pool of retarded sexuality (oh no!).

But watching Fox exude eroticism, narcissism and gore tinged cruelty is enough to justify the 90 minutes of your life you won’t get back. I’m sure that in time this movie will be given the title Cult Classic. Which means you’ll watch it even though you know it’s going to suck.

Like I said, it was fun. I didn’t expect much and got exactly that in return. There were also some LOL moments in the film. The best being when the satanic band was getting ready to sacrifice Jennifer.

My only gripe is the dialogue’s lame attempt at trying to be ultra-cool. My girlfriend even asked “Do teens really talk like that?” at which I said “No, Diablo Codi just tries too hard to be cool with what she writes. Coming across as the over 40 divorce’ sleeping with her teenage daughter’s boyfriends so she can feel relevant“.

But it’s not supposed to be a serious movie so who cares? I watched it, liked it and wrote about it. That’s gotta count for something, even though I’m still trying to figure out what that something is.

If you want some slutty Megan Fox, humor, bad music, tense moments, awkward sex, violence and vampires then pick it up. It is Halloween after all.

2 Donkey Punches out of a possible 5.