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America's Stoners on 'Extremely High' AlertFebruary 17, 2003 |
Madison, Wisconsin Snapper McGee An unidentified legalization advocate follows chart instruction, enabling him to ease tension and consider the tenuous nature of molecular bonds. ensions in the country are great in recent weeks, and everyone is going to great lengths to alleviate those tensions. Work helps some, planning for tough times makes others feel secure; then, there's America's stoners, who turn to alternative stress relieving systems during times of trouble.
"American pharmacological enthusiasts are as stressed out as anyone," said journalist J.D. Weber. "The economy is as bad as it gets, war with Iraq is becoming inevitable, and there's tremendous fear of some kind of terrorist attack. Now, more than ever, relief is needed. Primo relief."
Weber is one of the reporters working on a special edition of High Times magazine announcing a status of "Extremely High" Alert, expected to come out in March, assuming the staff doesn'...
ensions in the country are great in recent weeks, and everyone is going to great lengths to alleviate those tensions. Work helps some, planning for tough times makes others feel secure; then, there's America's stoners, who turn to alternative stress relieving systems during times of trouble.
"American pharmacological enthusiasts are as stressed out as anyone," said journalist J.D. Weber. "The economy is as bad as it gets, war with Iraq is becoming inevitable, and there's tremendous fear of some kind of terrorist attack. Now, more than ever, relief is needed. Primo relief."
Weber is one of the reporters working on a special edition of High Times magazine announcing a status of "Extremely High" Alert, expected to come out in March, assuming the staff doesn't flake on getting the layout to the printers in time.
"It's a revolutionary political stance for stoner culture, and High Times magazine by extension, which is the periodical of choice for that culture," stated Weber, very slowly. " High Times has taken political stances before, but this is bigger than the legalization argument. Unless politicians in turn ask us if we think it should be legalized, because we still stand for that. But our worldview is bigger now. These are hard times, and we need hard solutions, big, overflowing plastic bags of hard solutions."
Accompanying the article, High Times will be introducing a color-coded "Buzz-Killer" chart. Included on the chart will be colors correlated to the intensity of the threat the country is currently experiencing, as well as a number of hand-rolled cigarettes depicted that increase in number depending on the severity of the bring-down.
The first level, green, means that everything's copasetic. Engage in what you will, when you will, at your own discretion.
The second level, blue, means bummer. Increased intake of mood enhancers is encouraged, but never take more than you can handle. Exceeding normal dosages is not cool, dude.
The second level, yellow, means whoa, whoa, whoa, let's chill out. It's a good time to experiment with new, better-grade stuff. South America will be called upon to increase production and hopefully we can all just relax, no big deal, cool?
The third level, the current level, is "extremely high," and the color is yellow. At this time getting as much as you can and keeping a steady flow of easiness coming in is highly recommended. Hoarding, at long last, is cool. Even squares who usually get high on life are encouraged to experiment to forget their troubles.
After that, the highest color is red, and no contingency plan has been developed for that, but insiders are saying if that time comes and you have your hands on some hard stuff, indulge like the sky's falling, motherfucker.
Another color, purple, represents "narc." It is the only condition where even minor usage is highly discouraged. Before the condition passes, it should be ascertained that everyone in your company is cool. All possessions should be carefully hidden out of sight as long as the condition is in effect.
Before the interview with Weber could be concluded, this reporter was informed the condition had changed suddenly to purple without warning, and it would likely stay in effect as long as I was present in the room. the commune news is just wondering if you're holding, compadre—sure, we're cool. Bludney Pludd? No. He's not cool. Decidedly uncool. Let's ditch him.
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 June 9, 2003
What the Fuck Is Up With That New Matrix Movie?Most of the reader mail and random catcalls I've been getting on the street lately revolve around my new haircut, which I refuse to discuss beyond warning that cutting your own hair is harder than it looks in the movies. Everything in the mirror is backwards because of the dyslexic nature of Mirrorworld, much like modern-day Japan, and that factor has a serious effect on haircutting skill in both places.
The second-most popular topic for conversation and befuddled inquiry, however, is The Matrix Reloaded. This is the long-awaited sequel to 1999's The Matrix, a film that was loved universally by white male teenager geeks everywhere.
Thousands of people have seen this new Matrix film, many of whom are seniors who thought it would help them understand why their PCs have so many buttons. Some others expected to be entertained, and others still expected to have their horizons challenged by a pasty white guy faking karate. Most left the theater confused, while the rest are still there, trying to figure out if the movie is really over or if they're still watching a movie about the movie being over.
Those who escaped The Matrix Reloaded (and those who are still trapped inside but have cell phones) have turned to yours truly to explain the conundrariddle that is the film's plot. Since it's my job I'll do what I can, but don't piss and moan to me if you have a brain aneurysm while reading this.
I could...
º Last Column: From Lute to Guitar: A Guitar Primer º more columns
Most of the reader mail and random catcalls I've been getting on the street lately revolve around my new haircut, which I refuse to discuss beyond warning that cutting your own hair is harder than it looks in the movies. Everything in the mirror is backwards because of the dyslexic nature of Mirrorworld, much like modern-day Japan, and that factor has a serious effect on haircutting skill in both places.
The second-most popular topic for conversation and befuddled inquiry, however, is The Matrix Reloaded. This is the long-awaited sequel to 1999's The Matrix, a film that was loved universally by white male teenager geeks everywhere.
Thousands of people have seen this new Matrix film, many of whom are seniors who thought it would help them understand why their PCs have so many buttons. Some others expected to be entertained, and others still expected to have their horizons challenged by a pasty white guy faking karate. Most left the theater confused, while the rest are still there, trying to figure out if the movie is really over or if they're still watching a movie about the movie being over.
Those who escaped The Matrix Reloaded (and those who are still trapped inside but have cell phones) have turned to yours truly to explain the conundrariddle that is the film's plot. Since it's my job I'll do what I can, but don't piss and moan to me if you have a brain aneurysm while reading this.
I could rattle off a list of specific questions, but instead I'll address the most common query, which is: "Huh?"
As the first film made vaguely clear, Neo and his gang are humans who were freed from a computer world simulation run by machines that took over the real world and are using captive human bioelectricity to run their blenders and RC racecars. Don't ask me why the machines couldn't find a more low-maintenance power source that didn't need to be fed tacos and Frito chips all the time, these apparently aren't the brightest machines that ever took over the world.
By the end of the first film, Neo has discovered that he's a God inside the Matrix, or at least the hero of any random Sylvester Stallone action film inside the Matrix, and he can fly and watch SNL at double-speed and all kinds of fancy crap like that. Whoobang, there you go, thanks for the nine bucks.
Reloaded is more of the same, except this time whenever they need to explain something, they drag out some retarded LSD flake and let him ramble on until the camera runs out of film. Audiences were understandably confused, and went searching through their backpacks for their copy of The Matrix Cliff's Noted.
Most people want to know how Neo blew up the robot squid toward the end of the movie, and also why they showed us Rip Torn on a gurney in the cliffhanger closing shot. Last thing's first: Torn had a three-picture deal with the studio and his cameo in Reloaded is saving him from having to be in Men in Black 3 with Eddie Griffin and Clint Eastwood. The Matrix guys owed Rip a favor after he talked them out of casting Dennis Leary as Agent Smith in the first film. So that mystery is easy enough to put to bed.
The squid thing is a little more complicated. Basically, and don't read this if you want to see the third film this fall (I throw that in for the film's cast and their families only), the "real" world (with the submarines and the underground Bob Marley concert cave and all the people with erector set attachments sticking out of their asses) is all just another layer of the Matrix. The machines built this second layer for all the assholes who didn't like the nice suburban one where everybody else lives and had to have their own grimy cyberpunk world to fart around in.
Neo discovers this when the retarded LSD guy confuses him into a state of Zen, but he doesn't want to tell everybody else they've been slogging around on the set of Aliens 3 and eating Malt-o-meal for nothing. When faced with the prospect of being molested by a robot squid, however, he opts to put the whammy on the squid and then fake a stroke to avoid having to break the news to the rest of the buccaneers. Yes, Neo's a big pussy, but that should have been apparent far earlier in the series.
There's a rumor circulating around that the reason Neo could blow up the squid is because he and Agent Smith melded at the end of the first film, so Smith gained the ability to influence humans in the "real" world, and Neo gained the ability to influence machines in the same. The truth is, I started this rumor to get some albino fanboy geek out of my office. I thought the rest of you would realize I was kidding with a story so stupid. Christ people, don't you have a cult to join or something?
Anyway, the next most-popular question I get asked is what in the hell is up with Agent Smith in this movie? Is he still a program or what? And what's with all those extra Agent Smith's that kept popping out of his ass? How much did Hugo Weaving get paid to play all those guys, anyway? I bet he got cramps from signing all those paychecks, damn. I wish I had a bunch of extra mes so I could cut my lawn with scissors or for when I got in a rumble.
Okay, so that's more than one question but you get the braindead gist of it. As for the answer, the long and the short of it is yes and no. Actually, Agent Smith is Satan to Neo's Jesus Christ, or rather the George to Neo's Wheezy. You read that right. The humans actually created the machines and the Matrix to transcend the limitations of their physical lives, much like how bored stoners created religion in ancient times. Without the Matrix, human life degrades into orgies and Bob Marley concerts, not a pretty picture. But within it, agents (a clever half-assed anagram of "angels") help guide the humans toward understanding their higher selves. Hey, you asked, I didn't write this shit.
In keeping with the Wacowski's theological circlejerk, Smith is the fallen angel who has gone against God's will, and who is waging war on the system itself and the chosen one. Neo is the Christ who is discovering his identity and the truth that beyond one system of belief there is merely another. Which I guess leaves Morpheus to be the Judas, so sucks to be him. I did think he looked kind of like the dude from Jesus Christ Superstar.
So naturally there have been other Matrixes (religions) and other Neos (Buddha, Mohammed, Jim Jones, Jenny Jones, etc.) who fizzled out after an exciting entrance, yadda yadda yadda. And if you've read this far all I can say is you deserve this mess, now you understand the folly of letting a couple geeks think they're deep. Perhaps you'll be a little more discerning with your entertainment dollars in the future.
Most of you who aren't nursing nosebleeds right now are probably still wondering where all the kung fu comes in. Open up your bible (it's holding up the saggy corner of your waterbed) to the chapter entitled "Jesus Christ Kung-Fu Showdown: Righteously Was Thy Ass Kicked" and all shall be made clear. If you're thinking "Bible? Huh?" all I can say is you might want to brush up on your religious texts before the third film kicks your brain in the balls and kung-fus it into braunschweiger, my friends. º Last Column: From Lute to Guitar: A Guitar Primerº more columns
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|  September 19, 2005
ChangesOmar Bricks has never believed in oil changes. I've always been one to say "Get it right the first time, jackass." Why waste time and money filling your car with shitty oil you're going to regret 3,000 miles down the road? Do the homework now and you won't have to pay some grease monkey rip-off wages to siphon out your shitty oil and spit it in a bucket a few months from now.
There's a whole industry that preys on this kind of short-sighted thinking. Lightning Lube, The Oil Slick, Carp. That last one has some letters missing from the sign, I'm not about to guess what the full name is supposed to be. Because if it turns out to be Carpenis or something great like that I'm going to be embarrassed that I've been calling it Carpals all along. And then there's The Change, which I thought was a clinic for pre-op transsexuals until I went in there to buy Ramrod Hurley a birthday present last year and they tried to lube my chassis.
But Omar Bricks isn't fooled, at least not by the oil-change places that aren't named like sexual reassignment chop shops. I'm not about to waste my hard-earned cash swapping out perfectly good oil, so I buy the good stuff up front. From Wal-Mart, I'm not sure what the brand is called. It's got a bunny on it.
And this all worked fine and good for years until last week, when I had to take the Bricksmobile IV into the shop because it was belching flames again and this was getting me written up for a ticket every time I'd...
º Last Column: Omarelief º more columns
Omar Bricks has never believed in oil changes. I've always been one to say "Get it right the first time, jackass." Why waste time and money filling your car with shitty oil you're going to regret 3,000 miles down the road? Do the homework now and you won't have to pay some grease monkey rip-off wages to siphon out your shitty oil and spit it in a bucket a few months from now. There's a whole industry that preys on this kind of short-sighted thinking. Lightning Lube, The Oil Slick, Carp. That last one has some letters missing from the sign, I'm not about to guess what the full name is supposed to be. Because if it turns out to be Carpenis or something great like that I'm going to be embarrassed that I've been calling it Carpals all along. And then there's The Change, which I thought was a clinic for pre-op transsexuals until I went in there to buy Ramrod Hurley a birthday present last year and they tried to lube my chassis. But Omar Bricks isn't fooled, at least not by the oil-change places that aren't named like sexual reassignment chop shops. I'm not about to waste my hard-earned cash swapping out perfectly good oil, so I buy the good stuff up front. From Wal-Mart, I'm not sure what the brand is called. It's got a bunny on it. And this all worked fine and good for years until last week, when I had to take the Bricksmobile IV into the shop because it was belching flames again and this was getting me written up for a ticket every time I'd drive past an elementary school and some kids would coincidentally catch on fire. The cops never had a shred of proof, of course, but if you're a lazy cop and you've got some dude driving an unpainted foreign car with a flamethrower for a tailpipe through the same neighborhood where you've got kids on fire, it doesn't take long to figure out who to pin the frame on. So I took the Bricksmobile IV down to Ricky's, one of the only shops in town I trust, after the only other place I trust, Bill's, burnt to the ground in a freak accident while I was idling outside the day before. Quervo, the guy who owns Ricky's, dropped the bomb and told me I'd been putting Nestle's Qwik in my engine instead of oil, and as a result the whole thing was fucked, in a delicious-smelling kind of way. Turns out I'd never owned a car long enough for the disadvantages of using chocolate syrup to lubricate your engine parts to become evident; I'd always managed to blow the car up or drive it into a swimming pool before the chocolate folly caught up with me. So, although it went against everything I believe in, I told him to go ahead and change the oil just this once. Put in the good stuff, you know, but don't break the bank. Anything with an animal on the bottle was cool. At first I thought Quervo might give me some shit about asking him to work on some weird-ass Panamanian brand of car with license plates from an ATV, but he was cool about it. Or at least he seemed cool, he talked a lot but it's not like I speak Spanish. That reminds me, I really need to find an English-speaking auto shop some time soon. Preferably one built with a lot of asbestos. Bricks out. º Last Column: Omareliefº more columns
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Quote of the Day“What joyous spring, what sylvan glade, alive with growth and life anew, springing forth in buds of nature's splendor, what miracle of- what, it's snowing? Again? FUUUUUCK. I'll be at the pub.”
-Roderick YoungfellowFortune 500 CookieYou are so ugly, the mere sight of you makes small children give up on life. No twist to that, it just needed to be said. Instead of Band-Aids this week, use bacon. Everybody loves bacon. The only cure for breath like yours is the Hemmingway solution. This week's lucky haiku: Luke Luck licks dykes, Luke's dick sticks Mikes, Mike's wife knifes like OJ.
Try again later.Top Overzealous Reagan-Tribute Headlines| 1. | Reagan Great, As Far As We Can Remember | | 2. | Former President Freed Slaves, Banished All Injustice Forever | | 3. | "Honest Ron" Beloved by Homos, Hobos & Commies | | 4. | Ray Charles Loses Will to Live after Reagan's Passing | | 5. | Reagan Ended WWI during 8th Birthday Party | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 3/1/2004 Well holy hell in a hand basket, America, looks like it's time for another swing at the Oscar piñata. Doesn't it seem like we just did this? Well, that's because we did, apparently the sun is collapsing so our earth years are getting exponentially shorter. You may have heard the rumors that they moved the Oscar ceremony up this year to try and fake out yours truly, but the discerning nose knows that's bullshit of the highest degree. The day they can sneak the Academy Awards past Roland McShyster is the day the music dies, or something like that.
All right, let's take a look at the nominees and who will come out of the Oscar pie stuck to the Academy's thumb this year!
Best Picture
The Lords of the Ring: Rerun...
Well holy hell in a hand basket, America, looks like it's time for another swing at the Oscar piñata. Doesn't it seem like we just did this? Well, that's because we did, apparently the sun is collapsing so our earth years are getting exponentially shorter. You may have heard the rumors that they moved the Oscar ceremony up this year to try and fake out yours truly, but the discerning nose knows that's bullshit of the highest degree. The day they can sneak the Academy Awards past Roland McShyster is the day the music dies, or something like that. All right, let's take a look at the nominees and who will come out of the Oscar pie stuck to the Academy's thumb this year! Best PictureThe Lords of the Ring: Rerun of the King-read EP review-Few would have ever guessed that an Elvis movie would end up with an Oscar nomination, but it turns out in the end that the problem was never the wooden, acting-free star himself, but rather the fact that they never thought to pair him with any boxing midgets, druids, or any other fancy mystical crap like that. What they couldn't get right during his life they've done just fine after his death, creating a magical film that makes you believe you can do anything, if you're a southern boxing promoter and former rock star the world thought had died on his toilet. Cynics may laugh, but the film's central theme that no one's too hideous to be loved is a message that rings true for fat white drug addicts everywhere. Lost in Translation You can tell Hollywood's tired of throwing their yearly Oscar bone to some sad-sack foreign turd of a movie just to keep the European press off their backs, and frankly the contempt is hard to miss when they didn't even bother to translate the title of this year's quota-filler. Lazily suggesting that the title wouldn't make sense in English anyway, Hollywood has delivered yet another deserving bitch-slap to the spoiled little girl of foreign cinema. Nice try, rest of the world, why don't you come back when you learn how to make a real movie? It's so embarrassing when some little European shithole makes a movie they think is good because their neighboring countries pretended to like it out of politeness, and then we have to be the ones to point out that it sucks big dick. But I guess that's just our unappreciated role in world affairs. Bastard Commander: The Far Side of the World-read EP review-Though undoubtably the best movie ever made about the Cobra Commander, and one of the best to combine live-action with animated Far Side characters, this film still somehow manages to be a confusing mess, a product of the troubled mind of a beaten man-machine hybrid cop. Though I might have lauded this same film years ago, out of fear that Weller might stuff me through an ATM cash slot if I panned his movie, I'm afraid that the failing cyborg just doesn't carry the same weight in this town anymore. So come after me if you must, Mr. Weller, but let me warn you I've got a new universal remote that I think I could use to make you kick your own ass. Miss Tick River-read EP review- A shoe-in to win the Best Picture trophy and matching tumbler set, director Clint Eastwood's tender story of a yuppie getting ass-raped by his new wife's redneck family really makes you think about why you go to the movies and how you could stop. Not a pleasant affair by any measure, the film is still the front-runner due to the Academy's terror at appearing insensitive to male rape victims and their deep desire not to hear Sean Penn whine any more. Seabiscuit-read EP review- Yet another classic example of the Academy nominating a film just because they couldn't stop laughing about the title. Though this aptly-titled film, named after that floating turd left in the swimming pool after a party, might seem like a real dark-horse candidate for Best Picture, its chances of winning the big prize hinge precisely on how funny Academy members think it would be to hear Michael Caine say " Seabiscuit." Best DirectorSophia Loren, Lost in Translation Who knew she was still alive, let alone directing films? Well, whatever bumpkinville foreign land they exiled her to needs to let her know it ain't Hollywood, honey. Maybe they forgot to bring her back from Canada or wherever the hell they shot that Crusty Old Shits movie. Put down that camera and call your travel agent toots, you missed the van. In all likelihood the Oscar nomination was just a ploy by her family to try to get her to come out into the open so the wranglers could throw a net over her and bring the poor woman home. Clint Eastwood, Miss Tick River-read EP review- Thanks to Peter Weller's deteriorating mechanical state, Eastwood is the only director in town able to motivate his actors with the threat of being gutshot, and he uses it to admirable effect in Miss Tick River. Though some have suggested he only made the film because he doesn't like Sean Penn, and others insist the shooting script was just an online review of Straw Dogs, Eastwood still made the best of a bad situation and created a picture few are likely to forget or remember. Peter, Paul & Mary Jackson, The Lords of the Ring: Rerun of the King-read EP review- That 60's troubadour family is back, giving that cash tit one more squeeze in the third installment of their epic "we took three random movies and called them a trilogy" trilogy. Though some think they've overstayed their welcome, outlasting possibly more talented pop-star directors like the enigmatic Stephen Daldry or the self-destructive Terrence Trent D'Arby, I've always argued that there's pie enough for all, even the hacks, as long as they're good-looking. And PP&M qualify, though Mary's really the one carrying the other two on her back. Personally, I could do without Peter or Paul, but if they only came as an all-or-nothing trio package deal I imagine I could close my eyes and imagine those two were just homely girls without too much trouble. Fernando Minnelli, Sex in the City of GodLike the Confucian proverb says, just because you're Liza Minnelli's kid doesn't mean you can direct a lighthearted comedy about nuns dishing straight talk about blowjobs and bikini waxes. At least not well. Peter Weller, Bastard Commander: The Far Side of the World-read EP review- Former Robocop Peter Weller was once the bright, shining hope of Hollywood, and not just because of the way the sun glints impressively off his chrome exoskeleton. When he was at the helm of the Truman Capote masterpiece The Truman Show, Weller was a beautiful sight to behold: a top-slot director at the height of his powers, cutting a bold swath straight to the heart of his story and pouring delicious fresh-brewed coffee out of his dick hose. But after his warranty ran out Weller fell on hard times, with many of his most-impressive gadgets malfunctioning and his left leg jamming and getting stuck in the highly-embarrassing "dog peeing" position. Now the director is back and seemingly on top again, but sadly it's a pity nomination for Weller's mess of a film, a gift from an Academy that remembers back when Weller was cool and could pop a basketball between his knees. Best ActorJohnny Depp, Pirates of the Caribbean The Ride The Movie: The Curse of the Black Pearl Harbor-read EP review- Rising to the challenge of playing an animatronic puppet at Disneyland has earned Depp his first Oscar nomination, though many believe in their hearts he was robbed in not being nominated for his role as an ocean liner in the underappreciated Depp Rising in 1998. But will he take home the golden statue? I don't know, maybe he'll steal the thing. Why doesn't anybody ever think of that? It's not like they don't have a bunch of them, no way their inventory control's so good you couldn't make off with a couple without being noticed. They probably just have a whole trunk full of them in the back somewhere, and they'd make great stocking stuffers come next Christmas. Ben Kingsley, House of the Sandy Frog -read EP review-Let's just do away with the acting subterfuge for a moment here and make it clear that Ben Kinglsey IS the horny retired baseball mascot he plays in this film. Kingsley pulls off a transformation so complete that when Jennifer Connelly blows his head off with an Uzi at the end, I actually called friends from the theater to break the news that Ben Kinglsey was dead. They were understandably heartbroken, but it later turned out they thought I meant the guy who sang "Stand By Me." A wonderful performance. Jude Law, Cold Mountain-read EP review-Rewarded again for his uncanny ability to act exactly like Jude Law, Jude Law receives his first Oscar nod for his turn as a bored civil war soldier who has to grapple with the harsh reality of how slow trains were back in civil war days. Law sparkles in the role as he excels at acting really really bored, and once again he provides the emotional core to a film that's basically Planes, Trains and Automobiles with funny accents. Bill Mummy, Lost in TranslationYou know a flick's an especially large dog when the biggest hunk of talent they can dig up for the lead is former Lost in Space star Billy Mummy. And I'm not talking about the quasi-hip recent remake, either. Mummy hasn't graced the silver screen since the 1999 hacksploitation epic The Mummy and for good reason. This former kid doesn't have the star power to fart out a candle. So, I'm sure you're wondering, how did he get nominated for an Oscar? Pure fear ladies and gentlemen, fear of being turned into one of those freaky Jack-in-the-Box things with a golden Oscar head. Hell, who needs that? I'd vote for him too. You hear that, you little monster? Sean Penn, Miss Tick River -read EP review- Sean Penn won't go away until we look at his presents and have a slice of cake, so the Academy is playing along in hopes that he'll stop sending out those annoying handmade cards with the crimped edges and star-shaped cutouts. Though Penn is fine in the film, it's not much of an stretch for an actor of his caliber to pretend like his ass hurts for two hours. Best ActressKeisha Castle-Hughes, Whale Rider-read EP review- I was beginning to think the Academy was going humorless on us this year but as usual they've come through with some gems in the Best Actress category. I only wish I "got" this one. Maybe it's a pun, give me some time. Diane Keaton, Something's Gotta Give Jack Nicholson a Heart Attack-read EP review- Kudos to Keaton for being naked and old. Hey, somebody's got to do it. Samantha Morton, In America The rare Best Actress nomination that's not actually attached to any film, but rather a recognition of how well-behaved Miss Morton has been all around the country lately. Way to go, Samantha. Charlize Theron, Monster-read EP review- Theron is a lock to win the prize for her lifelong role as an eerie Xerox copy of Ashley Judd, finally addressed head-on in this brave Stephen King adaptation. Some question if she's acting at all, or if she was just born into the role, but either way Academy voters are mesmerized like cavemen staring at a fire and are too superstitious not to huck the statue Theron's way. Naomi Watts, 21 Grams of Fat-read EP review- Hell hath no fury like a woman made fat by a gyro-meat sub sandwich, or at least that's the tag line running through the heads of Academy voters who are unaware they made the colossal blunder of nominating a woman who wasn't even in the movie. Go back and watch the film frame-by-frame and you'll see it too, that's Cuban heartthrob Mauricio Del Toro under all that subway flab, not the pixieish Watts. Rumors that the actress gained over 100 pounds for the role were yet another mean Hollywood rumor taken seriously, though this is the rare instance when a cruel hoax may actually help a young actress's career. And that's a wrap! So, who will win come Oscar night? Nobody knows, except the guys writing the script for the show. And they're real dicks, so don't even think about asking them. Glad you all could make it America, drive home safe and I'll be seeing you on Oscar night!   |