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 March 29, 2012 |
Pyongyang Lions Gate/Lion’s Cock Photog. Fictional teenagers Katniss Everdeen and Kim Jong-un (inset).
"Once again a Hollywood movie has made a mockery of the glorious North Korean lifestyle," griped Kim. "Same thing happen in Dark City and Mad Max."
Kim Jong-un, back in power after the nation’s failed experiment with Megaupload founder Kim Dotcom was rapidly abandoned due to Dotcom being jailed for paying to see The Smurfs, violating North Korea’s longstanding policy regarding the mandatory pirating of Hollywood ...
he gonzo box office success of Lions Gate Entertainment’s new film The Hunger Games has drawn criticism from North Korea’s beloved madman Kim Jong-un this week, as the diminutive leader called bullshit on the killing of teenagers in ritualized sport suddenly becoming cool after his country had been doing it for decades.
"Once again a Hollywood movie has made a mockery of the glorious North Korean lifestyle," griped Kim. "Same thing happen in Dark City and Mad Max."
Kim Jong-un, back in power after the nation’s failed experiment with Megaupload founder Kim Dotcom was rapidly abandoned due to Dotcom being jailed for paying to see The Smurfs, violating North Korea’s longstanding policy regarding the mandatory pirating of Hollywood films, added that The Hunger Games was "popcorn bullshit" and that unlike Westerners, the fortunate citizens of North Korea don’t have to pay exorbitant movie theater prices to see that kind of thing every day.
The insular nation, which subjects its citizens to harrowing games of life and death on a daily basis, is no stranger to televised competitions that would probably be called The Hunger Games if they’d thought of that first. These include the capital city’s weekly "Fight For Your Food Fun Fight" events, which critics have condemned as a natural result of the state’s failed economy and collapsed chain of food production disguised as a trumped-up game show where regular citizens punch each other to death over the last canned ham in the entire city. Regardless, the North Korean tourism board has been quick to capitalize on the success of the Hunger Games film, already advertising tourism packages where Hunger Games fans can tour the Pyongyang Deathdrome and kill an actual North Korean teenager with their bare hands for less than the average New Yorker spends on "Whoops, I ran over another homeless person" insurance.
The Hunger Games opened to a gangbusters $155 million in its first weekend in theaters, a figure described by Hollywood pundits as "fucking bananas" and "bigger than $154 million," and representing the biggest box-office opening in history for a non-sequel film. Critics dispute the importance of this claim, however, since it was also the first non-sequel film to be released since 2007.
Based on the first of a berserkly popular series of young adult novels by writer Suzanne Collins, the books and film alike have been criticized for being heavily derivative of previous source materials, such as the Japanese film Battle Royale, the American films The Running Man, Series 7, The Condemned, The Most Dangerous Game, Lord of the Files, The Truman Show, Spartacus and Death Race 2000, the Italian film The 10th Victim, the Stephen King story The Long Walk and the Shirley Jackson novel The Lottery. In honor of this long chain of shit being ripped off, the CW has already begun filming the pilot for their own Hunger Games knock-off television series, The Selection, which involves a cast of lesser-known actors rehashing the plot of The Hunger Games on a weekly basis.
When asked recently if she thought her novels were derivative of these previous works, Collins responded "What? I can’t hear you because of the noise from all the money I’m drowning in over here," before literally drowning in an avalanche of hundred dollar bills. Funeral services will be held Tuesday at the cash landfill in North Hollywood where rich people are buried.
In spite of the author’s death, the white-hot success of the first film all but guarantees that Lions Gate will return to Collins’ grave at least twice more to adapt the other two books in the series, 2009’s Catching Fire and 2010’s Oxycute ’em! in hopes of sating the bloodlust of twelve-year-old American girls. Stars Jennifer Lawrence and Josh Hutcherson have reportedly already signed on for three sequels, with a uniquely ironic clause in their contracts stating that if they back out of the sequels for any reason, they’ll be hunted by hordes of teenaged fans out for blood.
Meanwhile, North Korea’s Jong-un has demanded that Hollywood filmmakers stop ripping off ideas from his country for their dystopian sci-fi visions.
"You get your own ideas," the beloved "Supreme Tall Sunshine Man" spat into a microphone shaped like a hamburger. "I don’t want to see any more movie with robots that look like humans but are spies for government, or people with clocks stuck in their arms ticking down to time when they die, or genetic-engineered battle giraffes, or desalination plant that run on dead babies."
"In closing," Jong-un decreed, while eating a roll of Fruit-by-the-Foot, "I also downloaded bittorrent of The Smurfs, and there’s not goddamned thing you people can do about it." the commune news is no stranger to these kinds of life and death games. For proof, reference our frequent mid-2006 inter-office games of The Biggest Loser, when commune staffers would match wits and vie for who could come up with the most cutting way to tell Boner Cunningham he was the biggest loser in the world. commune fans likely already realize Ivana Folger-Balzac never lost at this game. Raoul Dunkin is the commune’s douchiest nozzle, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
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 March 26, 2007
Is the Ocean the World's Toilet or What?Reader questions come to yours truly in all sizes and forms, from folded paper ninja throwing stars scribbled with questions about loneliness, to strange marriage proposals that wander off on a tangent like "Will you marry me and what the fuck's up with dollar bill changers on vending machines?" But my favorite has to be messages left on the commune's answering machine, like the following:
"Yo, I was just thinkin' about something. I flush my toilet, it goes out in the ocean, right? I mean, not my actual toilet, though that would be kinda funny if I was still sitting on it. Actually, funnier if it was my wife or my friend Ronnie and not me. Not both of them, cuz what the fuck are they doing on my toilet together? But you know what I'm talking about. The loaf. So that shit goes out in the ocean, or like if I puke on the sidewalk in front of Dairy Queen and the dude hoses it off into the drain, that goes into the ocean too, right? And if they're flying elephants on a cargo plane over the ocean and one dies, they just shove it out the back and it falls in the ocean, right? Fast, too, no need to waste a parachute on a dead elephant, you know what I'm saying? Whoooooooo-KERSPLASH! Wow. Anyway, so if all this crap goes in the ocean, what the hell are we doin' swimmin' in there? I'm gonna kick somebody's ass for not telling me the ocean was the world's toilet."
Not exactly the Maserati of reader questions, but it is the least stupid one I've received this...
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Reader questions come to yours truly in all sizes and forms, from folded paper ninja throwing stars scribbled with questions about loneliness, to strange marriage proposals that wander off on a tangent like "Will you marry me and what the fuck's up with dollar bill changers on vending machines?" But my favorite has to be messages left on the commune's answering machine, like the following: "Yo, I was just thinkin' about something. I flush my toilet, it goes out in the ocean, right? I mean, not my actual toilet, though that would be kinda funny if I was still sitting on it. Actually, funnier if it was my wife or my friend Ronnie and not me. Not both of them, cuz what the fuck are they doing on my toilet together? But you know what I'm talking about. The loaf. So that shit goes out in the ocean, or like if I puke on the sidewalk in front of Dairy Queen and the dude hoses it off into the drain, that goes into the ocean too, right? And if they're flying elephants on a cargo plane over the ocean and one dies, they just shove it out the back and it falls in the ocean, right? Fast, too, no need to waste a parachute on a dead elephant, you know what I'm saying? Whoooooooo-KERSPLASH! Wow. Anyway, so if all this crap goes in the ocean, what the hell are we doin' swimmin' in there? I'm gonna kick somebody's ass for not telling me the ocean was the world's toilet." Not exactly the Maserati of reader questions, but it is the least stupid one I've received this month. Roll that factoid around in your head when you can't sleep at night, and see if suicide doesn't appeal. So before you roll your eyes too violently, remind yourself that in an alternate universe, you're reading my latest column on why some ninjas wear red, and whether or not that's supposed to be camouflage for fighting inside volcanoes. I'll begin by answering one of the questions that came up later in the above caller's ten-minute ramble: Yes, if God took a piss, he'd probably take it in the ocean. It only stands to reason. As a matter of fact, everything that has ever taken a piss, ever, eventually all that ended up in the ocean. Keep that in mind the next time you're water skiing. How do marine animals cope? Well, they're pissing in there too, so it's not like they can throw stones. The ocean is basically like one gigantic hot tub, and you know nobody crawls out of a nice warm hot tub and scurries wetly into the house just to piss in the sink like a civilized person. The ocean is like one big let-it-all-hang-out party where anything goes, which is why the church has always taken a hard line anti-ocean stance. The reason all the animals in the ocean don't get diseases from swimming in pee all the time, like you or I would from using the pool down at the YMCA, is that ocean water is jam-packed full of phytoplankton, which is nature's answer to 2000 Flushes Blue. Phytoplankton are tiny, microscopic bugs that don't care what they eat. Seriously, they're so small everything looks like food to them. Try shrinking yourself down to one-tenth the size of a pinhead and see how well you can tell the difference between a turd and a Coney Island corn dog. Hell, try to tell the difference at your normal size. Phytoplankton turn the world's shame into the basis for the oceanic food chain: themselves. Everything eats phytoplankton, usually on accident since they're so tiny and the water's packed with them like pedophiles at an Aaron Carter concert. Lazy fish just swim around with their mouths open all the time, receiving sustenance from the millions of phytoplankton that get stuck between their teeth. This provides a golden opportunity for marine pranksters like the sea otter, which love nothing more than floating unwrapped candy bars on the ocean's surface just to freak out open-mouthed-swimming fish. Even phytoplankton won't touch whale shit, however. Once they settle, these colossal loads, known as "coral," provide shelter for thousands of other marine organisms that have no idea where coral really comes from. Everything else though, stupid phytoplankton gladly devour and ask for seconds. So, the obvious question is, could you just buy a bunch of phytoplankton to keep in your toilet, freeing you from the constant daily grind of flushing and refilling the tank with a hose from the yard because the water company cut off just the water to your toilet to spite you for an unpaid bill and it doesn't rain enough this time of year to justify leaving the lid off and your bathroom window open? In theory, you could. In theory, you could also collect all the little broken bits from the bottoms of bags of pretzels and repackage them as a salty new breakfast cereal, but I wouldn't count on that ship coming in any time soon. In actual practice, the problems with the phytotoilet are two fold: One, they stopped selling little packets of phytoplankton through the mail after Sea Monkeys really took off and fickle kids forgot all about the magic of microscopic pets. And two, even if you could get them, eventually your toilet would just become completely clogged with phytoplankton themselves, and then it's back to the soul-deadening grind of flushing after each use. Unless you trained your cat or ferret or something to eat phytoplankton, but that might be messing with evolutionary forces that could have disastrous effects millions of years down the line, I don't know. So the next time you're swimming in the ocean, look for phytoplankton. Because if you don't see any, you're probably swimming in piss. I'm just kidding, they're microscopic and you're definitely swimming in piss. Until next time, I'm Griswald Dreck. º Last Column: Flinging Out the Deadº more columns
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|  November 12, 2001
You're Welcome, Homeless OrphansEvery year around this time I get a lot of mail from readers asking about the holidays. It seems like everyone's got a question on their mind like: "If you run over a kid with your car on Halloween, and you're dressed as a giant baby, can you still be tried as an adult?" or "Is there a statute of limitations on stealing thirty turkeys?" or "Omar, I think you got my sister pregnant at the Christmas party last year." Unfortunately, I can't answer every question personally, since as Twain said, "Time is money," and nobody's sent a valid cashier's check or money order along with any of their questions so far. (Incidentally, the answer to all three questions above is "It depends on which state you're in." That's a freebie to get you started.) But this year I thought I'd do a column answering some questions about the holidays, since all I've had going on lately is jury duty and I can't tell any of my hilarious court stories here until they fry that pigfucker.
So anyway, last week I was at the courthouse on a Bicardi break during this big-shot trial I was telling you about. (And like I said, I can't discuss the details or who it is or whatever, but suffice it to say this is one guy won't be buying his wife any hats any time soon. Because she's dead, and also because he cut her head off with a chainsaw. And also because he's a cheap bastard... and also because his name is Steve. That's all I can tell you though.) While I was on my break, I ran into commune research...
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Every year around this time I get a lot of mail from readers asking about the holidays. It seems like everyone's got a question on their mind like: "If you run over a kid with your car on Halloween, and you're dressed as a giant baby, can you still be tried as an adult?" or "Is there a statute of limitations on stealing thirty turkeys?" or "Omar, I think you got my sister pregnant at the Christmas party last year." Unfortunately, I can't answer every question personally, since as Twain said, "Time is money," and nobody's sent a valid cashier's check or money order along with any of their questions so far. (Incidentally, the answer to all three questions above is "It depends on which state you're in." That's a freebie to get you started.) But this year I thought I'd do a column answering some questions about the holidays, since all I've had going on lately is jury duty and I can't tell any of my hilarious court stories here until they fry that pigfucker.
So anyway, last week I was at the courthouse on a Bicardi break during this big-shot trial I was telling you about. (And like I said, I can't discuss the details or who it is or whatever, but suffice it to say this is one guy won't be buying his wife any hats any time soon. Because she's dead, and also because he cut her head off with a chainsaw. And also because he's a cheap bastard... and also because his name is Steve. That's all I can tell you though.) While I was on my break, I ran into commune research editor Griswald Dreck out in the hallway. Turns out he was on the jury for a trial down the hall, something about this chef at a restaurant who was putting Comet in everything, he was a crazy bastard or some shit like that. Anyway, while we were on break we started talking about the upcoming holidays, and how those dumb-assed Canadians don't even know what month Thanksgiving is in. And that got us started on where the holidays came from and who thought to cram all that bread up the turkey's ass or if that was an accident the first time. It turned out that Griswald knew a lot about this kind of stuff, and it dawned on me that I could probably hash out a column on the origins of the holidays during some of those long-winded eyewitness testimonies.
We all know the story of Thanksgiving that they taught us in school, about how the Pilgrims came over on the Mayflower and ate the Indians and we should be thankful that Inidans taste pretty much like chicken, or else there would have been trouble since the Pilgrims didn't think to bring any Tabasco sauce with them from England. Turns out this is really a crock that they taught us as kids so we wouldn't ask too many questions or complain if they served Indian in the cafeteria.
Griswald clued me in on the real story, which goes like this: the Pilgrims were all Puritans from England, a radical religious cult who wouldn't wear white wigs like everyone else and instead wore green ones, like it says in the bible. They were pissed off at the king for not getting their royalty payments on sales of oatmeal, which they needed to pay for all of their wig dyes and the printing of their "The End is Near: Eat More Oatmeal" shirts and their huge stockpile of muskets. Just when they were about to get all of the back-payments straightened out they suffered a huge setback when the Puritan's lawyers and the king's lawyers were all thrown into the sea during the Great Lawyer Dunk of 1643. The Puritans decided that screw it, they were moving to America, where the squahs were easy and all of the streets were paved with shell beads. So they sold their wigs and changed their name to "The Pilgrims" to keep from being made fun of in the new world.
The Pilgrims actually came over on three ships: The El Nino, The Fredo and The Challenger, the last of which blew up half-way here because they'd picked that ship to carry all the fireworks for the 4th of July party. The El Nino and The Fredo made it to America though, which was known at the time as West London. The Pilgrims settled and assimilated into the local culture, but they were sad because all of their sports teams were getting their asses kicked by the Braves and the Redskins and Indians and all that (this is before the Yanks had Mussina, BTW) and they didn't have any food and they were all sleeping in this old Camero at night. And so the Indians held a food drive and brought them some cans of green beans and butter squash and some other stale shit they wanted to get out of their teepees. And now everybody was happy, except for the Pilgrims who had to eat that nasty canned shit. The Indians had ribs and hot wings and some bitchin' stuffing with sausage in it and they drank and watched football while the Pilgrims had to sit at the kids' table and they couldn't even have any of the lousy fruit salad with marshmallows in it until they'd eaten all of their asparagus spears and other inedible soggy crap. So the first Thanksgiving really sucked the big tit but the Pilgrims had the last laugh because along with all of their knick-knacks and ugly-assed hats and Big Ben and the other shit they brought over from England, they also brought rats and mosquitoes and the plague, and the Indians hadn't had their shots since they were away for a pow-wow or something on that day in school, so they all died. Except for Crazy Horse, who was off carving his face in a rock and babbling about the CIA and mind-control beams from the moon.
So every year we celebrate Thanksgiving to give our thanks that we're not eating any of that mushy canned shit, except for hobos and orphans and people like that, but if they had a wall to hang a calendar on to know it was Thanksgiving, they wouldn't be homeless in the first place, so it's kind of a tough shit kind of thing for them.
Griswald also told me the story of the first Halloween, but right then this great big fat guy in the hall fell right on this ice cream cone he was carrying, and we were laughing so hard I think we both forgot where Halloween came from. It had something to do with giving out candy to keep people from dying on your lawn during the plague or something, trust me you're not missing a lot there.
Not long after that our break was over and we had to go back to deciding the fates of the damned. It's demanding work, but hell, I made four dollars and got to dress up as a judge for a while, so I'm not complaining. Okay, before we go I'll take a second to answer three more reader questions: "No", "Yes", and "Use the whole fist." I hope all of you out there in commune territory live it up this Thanksgiving and don't forget to give something nasty from your cupboards to those less fortunate than you. Bricks out. º Last Column: Nice Try, Fanatical Cowpokersº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Learning without thought is labor lost; except in public schools, where it keeps most teachers employed.”
-Confused-ass CarmenFortune 500 CookieYou'll have a brush with death this week, and that fucker has some of the yellowest teeth you've ever seen, so make sure you go first. This time the lyrics to the song you're pretending to know the words to actually are "Watermelon, Watermelon, Watermelon." You'll make the most expensive movie ever made in your kitchen this week, for ten dollars. Lucky strikes, camels, kools, and bel-airs.
Try again later.Top-Selling Music Substitutes| 1. | Bass Drone 2002 Mega-Mix
DaDawg Productions | | 2. | Voices from the Shithouse
Roy D. Mercer | | 3. | This is MeĂ– Then
J-Lo | | 4. | Faces of Prank-Call Death
Mickey & Marky | | 5. | Healing Your Inner Loser, Tape 3
Harold Bloomfield | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 3/4/2002 Holy washed-up franchise, Batman! It's Oscar season and no lisping game bird is going to convince Roland McShyster otherwise. Pay no heed to the lies about Christmastime, the most magical time of the year is truly upon us. So let's get coked up to the gills and revel in the joy that is the month before the Oscars!
Here's your dossier on the bewildering list of nominees:
Best Picture
A Beautiful Mime -read EP review-
This film touched me in much the same way as last year's Requiem for a Dreamcast. Both were films made me stand up and shout back at the void: "Now THOSE are some...
Holy washed-up franchise, Batman! It's Oscar season and no lisping game bird is going to convince Roland McShyster otherwise. Pay no heed to the lies about Christmastime, the most magical time of the year is truly upon us. So let's get coked up to the gills and revel in the joy that is the month before the Oscars! Here's your dossier on the bewildering list of nominees: Best PictureA Beautiful Mime -read EP review-This film touched me in much the same way as last year's Requiem for a Dreamcast. Both were films made me stand up and shout back at the void: "Now THOSE are some tits!" Powerful filmmaking that has given me a new taste for women of few words… who let the cleavage do the talking. I advise you to let it change your world some time soon.
Goosefart Park
Those loveable Animal House morons are back, and this time they're stuck at a quaint Country Inn in the small English town of Goosefart Park. A surprise pick for a Best Picture nomination, but you'll be hard-pressed to find a film this year with more beaver jokes. There's a lot of raunchy humour for the whole family, but this isn't a one-sided farce. The film also brings home the important life lesson that England is stupid.
In the Bedroom
It's a bold statement, but this is probably the best film ever based on a Cream song. To be honest, I didn't understand the movie any better than I understood the tune, (psychedelic interior decorating tips? And who buys black curtains these days?) but regardless, this flick is head and heels above Kevin Costner's dismal Aqualung.
The Lords of the Ring: The Fellowship in the Ring -read EP review-
This is the year gay boxing movies stepped into the mainstream, and there is no finer example than The Lords of the Ring. If a picture is worth a thousand words, and this isn't the best picture of the year, then that means there are a thousand finer words out there somewhere, and personally I find that disbelievable. This is one of those rare movies that grabs you by your manhood and sucks you off. Or in. And as the wizened old boxing trainer Gaydar says in the film: "Sometimes you choose gay boxing. And sometimes gay boxing chooses you." I couldn't have put it better, even with 989 more words and a Polaroid.
Mule in Rouge -read EP review-
Another surprise nomination for Best Picture, as the Academy seems to have a soft spot for screwball comedies this year. This time it's a loveable Talking Mule picture that gets the surprise nod and a wink. And I know what you're thinking, that they always nominate the Talking Mule pictures but they never win the big awards. It's like an unwritten rule. But this year things could be different since there's a lot of buzz under this donkey's tail and I hear the Church of Scientology is throwing it's Hollywood weight around to secure the golden flasher for this picture.
Best Director
Don Henley, A Beautiful Mime -read EP review-
Leave it to a former Eagle to take this tale of form-fitting mime costumes all the way to the limit. Sure, he could have taken it easy, but that's not Henley's style. Being the new kid in town, director-wise, he had a lot to prove, and I for one am hoping there's no heartache for him on Oscar night. Hopefully his film will leave Academy voters with a peaceful, easy feeling, and provide them with a place to hide their lion eyes.
Ripley Scott, Black Hawk Down -read EP review-
Every film this guy does without having a space lizard or whatever spring out of his chest is a triumph in my book. I'd really be pulling for him to take home the gold this year on that basis alone if it weren't for the fact that his movie had way too much pan flute music in it for my tastes. I mean, I guess it's a depressed-bird kind of instrument, but in my opinion you can take that too far.
Robert Palmer, Goosefart Park
Three years ago it was all about foreign dictators directing films, and last year it was about rock-band movies. This year the natural progression continues and it's pop stars turning into directors, and nobody was more surprised than me to discover that this pedophile-looking limey can direct a frat comedy like nobody's business. Both this film and A Beautiful Mime make me realize how far ahead of his time Terrence Trent D'Arby really was when he directed The Thin Red Line a few years ago, really the grandfather of pop star directors. Sure, the inclusion of Power Station's Some Like it Hot in Palmer's film was a little self-serving, but I have to admit it synched up pretty well with the scene where the morons set the Inn on fire.
Peter, Paul and Mary Jackson, The Lords of the Ring: The Fellowship in the Ring -read EP review-
What's more amazing than pop stars making the successful transition to directing feature films? How about entire bands making the leap? Scoff no more my friends, because it happened while you weren't paying attention. If these 60's folkamuffins can direct the best gay boxing film ever, I can't wait to see Metallica's directorial debut this summer.
David Lynch, Mulholland Drive -read EP review-
Sure, he's crazier than a shithouse weasel, but there's no denying that some people out there enjoy the scrambled brainbatter he yanks out of his rectum every few years. Personally, I liked his films more before he decreed that all film scores should be played by throwing live fish at a piano, but you've got to admire his creative vision.
Best Actor
Russell Crowe, A Beautiful Mime -read EP review-
Really rubbing the charm thin after his role in Almost Famous, Crowe serves as a cleavage-blocking impediment to an otherwise arresting film. Back to the Louvre with you, Frenchie.
Sean Penn, I Am Sam -read EP review-
Leave it to a balls-out amazing actor like Penn to garner an Oscar nomination for the smallest of roles. Some may argue that his cameo as the fox in the box was too scant a role to deserve the Oscar nod, but I ask you this: did you ever doubt for a second that that there was really a fox in that box where Knox would not eat the green eggs and ham, would not eat them Sam I Am? I rest my case.
Geoffrey Rush, Lantana
Who?
Mr. Smith, ALI -read EP review-
Talk about taking a boring film and driving it right into the dull, lifeless ground! This is it. The American Law Institute could have salvaged some shred of an audience's attention by casting a big-name star in this plodding logjam of a film, but instead they chose to feature this faceless corporate lawyer in an unbelievably gray suit. I thought for a second this movie might turn into a Pink Floyd video but in the end it turned out that irony was not on the witness list.
Denzel Washington, Training Day -read EP review-
After a long, painful journey, Denzel finally finds his niche in this talking toddler pic. He's never had a finer moment than when he's chasing little Mikey around the apartment while he's got a shitty pair of pull-ups around his ankles (but don't ask me why Denzel was wearing pull-ups in the first place! Zing!). It just goes to show that talent can blossom late, and here Denzel is at his best since To Wong Fu…
Best Animated Film
In a surprising move by the Academy, the Best Actress category has been replaced this year by a new award for Best Animated Film. I'm sure you can imagine the endless griping that has ensued, but for what? I mean, who doesn't like cartoons?
Jimmy Nimrod: Boy Genius -read EP review-
Hands-down the funniest film of the year, and one of the main reasons you'll be hearing Roland McShyster's tortured screams echoing up from hell once we all hit the afterlife. I stand behind my actions, however, and if seeing an exploitive comedy about a retarded super-spy twelve times in the theater is a damnable offense, then damn the torpedoes and steer this cruise ship towards the Hades water park, my friends.
Mobsters, INC. -read EP review-
A computer-animated classic set in the mobster's paradise of New Jersey. A funny, fascinating, and fuggetaboutit musical for those of us who like our fellas good and our fathers godly. Or something, I don't know. Look for Joe Piscapo in his trademark insane mobster role.
Beatty and the Beast
I had the weird deja-vu feeling that I'd seen this movie before, but with all of the great new stuff they're cranking out, it's not like Disney would just rehash one of their old movies to make a few extra bucks. Anyway, it's great to see Ned Beatty working again, though to be honest sometimes I got confused about who was the Beast.
And that's a wrap! Now's it's time to bask in the afterglow while we await the ceremony itself. When will it be? Nobody knows! But that's half the fun of it. And from me to you, America, I hope it's some kind of wonderful. See you in a month!
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