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World Cup to Destroy JapanMay 27, 2002 |
Yokohama, Japan Junior Bacon Japanese police prepare for glorious soccer tournament
Ever since Japan was selected along with South Korea to co-sponsor the games in 1996, Japanese and South Korean officials have been calling around, trying to figure out who nominated their countries and where they should mail the horse heads. Both China and North Korea are among the leading candidates.
The tournament will sprawl across Japan starting May 31st, destroying everythi...
n less than a week, 330,000 soccer fans from around the world will descend upon Japan for the biggest melee of apeshit social chaos since Cats: World Cup 2002. Japan is hoping the tournament will provide a boost for its belly-floating economy, and also hopes that soccer fans will leave enough of the country intact that it might be made livable again some time in the next 20 years.
Ever since Japan was selected along with South Korea to co-sponsor the games in 1996, Japanese and South Korean officials have been calling around, trying to figure out who nominated their countries and where they should mail the horse heads. Both China and North Korea are among the leading candidates.
The tournament will sprawl across Japan starting May 31st, destroying everything in sight and most likely leveling all 10 cities from northern Hokkaido to southern Kyushu, as well as virtually everything in neighboring South Korea.
"Oh yeah, there's no doubt about it. These crazy assholes are gonna soccer Japan and South Korea back into the stone age," noted Norio Kamijo, a senior researcher at Dentsu Institute for Human Studies.
Kamijo said the World Cup could generate some 3 trillion yen ($23.6 billion) for Japan — which should be more than enough to rebuild the Japanese cities that will need to be bulldozed into the Pacific and built up again from scratch after the tournament is over.
South Korea has offered to allow Japan to host the first several high-profile matches in the tournament, which some observers see as a sign of the warming of once-strained relations between the countries. Sources close to the events, however, suggest that South Korean officials merely hope that fans will be tired of smashing everything to shit by the time they get to South Korea.
"Hooligan experts" from Britain and Argentina have been invited to give tips and suggestions on how to spot and handle violent lawbreaking fans, inviting derisive giggles from the governments of previous World Cup host nations and forehead-smacking from British and Argentinean con-men who never thought of fobbing themselves off as "hooligan experts." British expert Sidney Bockle comments: "Jesus Christ in a sushi bar. Did you see what those animals did at the Gold Cup last year? They're gonna eat Japan alive. You don't need to hunt down an expert to guess what happens when you let loose 80,000 berserk Argentinean soccer fans in a country where all of the buildings are made out of paper. This is gonna make WWII look like Thanksgiving dinner with the in-laws. They should hide the whole country under leaf clippings and hope the World Cup thinks it moved away."
In the city of Sapporo, where the much-anticipated match between Britain and Argentina is to be played at the Sapporo brewery to save on beer transportation costs, city officials have set up machine-gun turrets in strategic placements around the building. They also plan to have several dozen coked-up bulls ready to be set loose into the streets at a moment's notice, with hopes that confused Spanish fans will lead the rioting crowd in racing the bulls out of the city.
Japanese newspapers and TV feature a daily "Countdown to Armageddon," describing scenarios of possible hooligan attacks and featuring scary backlit profiles of black-listed uberhooligans thought to be hiding in Thailand. Police in Niigata city have even staged an exercise on a ferry boat to counter the hypothetical event of crazed fans tearing up the Pacific ocean and crippling the Japanese fishing industry.
The National Police Agency announced that for every major game, particularly the matches with the British national team, they plan to mobilize more than 7,000 riot police with the instructions to shoot at the first sign of a crowd. When asked if this approach might be considered overkill, NPA head Usaki Shinjo answered "No," speaking like a ventriloquist without moving a muscle in his controlled, icy stare. the commune news: it's news to us. Ivan Nakutchacokov reports that he was enjoying a foreign assignment for the first time ever when he accidentally wandered into North Korea and was caned for trying to order a hot dog.
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 August 19, 2002
The Cold Dish on Reality TVThe simple truth of my business—truth-telling—is that there's not enough column space and enough interest for me to write more often to tell all the unsettling truths out there. The answer for me is to prioritize what gets told, which means I use my column space for only the most dire of conspiracies and the occasional request for summarizing books for my book club reading for me. Which means some of my revelations are late in coming—like the truth about reality TV.
I have never liked so-called "reality TV," ever since the farce that was Cops first debuted, but it seemed generally harmless and not worthy of my attention, just a distraction and nothing more. But as I reach a dry spell in my material, it seems necessary now to reveal the truth about that distraction and allow people to start focusing on the horrible truths of real life, like the story behind the snakehead fish and Craig Kilborn.
To cut to the truth quick and early, reality TV is no more real than Everybody Loves Raymond, and only slightly funnier. In fact, shows like Friends hold more truth than a "reality show" like Big Brother—at least the characters on Friends are based on real friends of the creator (except for Chandler, who could never exist in our world). The Big Brother "contestants" are simply poorly-written cardboard stereotypes that live up to people's expectations so thoroughly they seem real.
Like the "real...
º Last Column: Someone Has Ruined Citizen Kane for Me
º more columns
The simple truth of my business—truth-telling—is that there's not enough column space and enough interest for me to write more often to tell all the unsettling truths out there. The answer for me is to prioritize what gets told, which means I use my column space for only the most dire of conspiracies and the occasional request for summarizing books for my book club reading for me. Which means some of my revelations are late in coming—like the truth about reality TV.
I have never liked so-called "reality TV," ever since the farce that was Cops first debuted, but it seemed generally harmless and not worthy of my attention, just a distraction and nothing more. But as I reach a dry spell in my material, it seems necessary now to reveal the truth about that distraction and allow people to start focusing on the horrible truths of real life, like the story behind the snakehead fish and Craig Kilborn.
To cut to the truth quick and early, reality TV is no more real than Everybody Loves Raymond, and only slightly funnier. In fact, shows like Friends hold more truth than a "reality show" like Big Brother—at least the characters on Friends are based on real friends of the creator (except for Chandler, who could never exist in our world). The Big Brother "contestants" are simply poorly-written cardboard stereotypes that live up to people's expectations so thoroughly they seem real.
Like the "real people" on Cops, every reality show character is portrayed by unknown actors with strong improvisational skills, but poorly-constructed characters. It's amazing they've gotten away with it for this long, given the exceptionally-ridiculous paper-thin characters on talk shows like Ricki Lake and Jerry Springer.
I first became convinced of the truth while watching old repeats of Cops, which air 24-hours on independent local stations almost everywhere in the country. I distinctly saw then-unemployed actors Edward Norton, Eriq LaSalle, and John Travolta—after Look Who's Talking and before Pulp Fiction brought him back. In fact, I think I saw every member of the cast of Welcome Back, Kotter somewhere in the episode, even the guy who played Mr. Woodman. It soon dawned on me that reality TV has become a port for actors yet to make it big or weathering a bad storm. Any day now I expect to see actors with troubled careers like Larry Wilcox and Alf turning up as contestants on Survivor.
This use of destitute actors has reached its height with recent shows The Osbournes and The Anna Nicole Show. It turns out Osbournes star Ozzy Osbourne was a former singer of some kind of band, as well as an actor who has appeared in films like The Jerky Boys and Little Nicky. I'm not sure about the rest of his "family," but Osbourne himself is not a real person, just another down-on-his-luck performer. Anna Nicole, whose real name is Anna Nicole Smith, is actually nothing more than a failed actress and former Playboy playmate, again, not a "real" person. I have done so much independent research on her that I knew who she was without having to look further into it.
In all likelihood, reality TV is another fad, like space travel and feeding starving people in Africa. And besides the fact it is trivial and mindless entertainment watching self-obsessed "real people" going about their day-to-day business or competing ruthlessly for unearned money, I have nothing against it. Still, I implore producers of so-called "reality TV" to quit lying to us and presenting something as true when it's not—that's a job best left to the president. º Last Column: Someone Has Ruined Citizen Kane for Meº more columns
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| August 5, 2002
Someone Has Ruined Citizen Kane for MeImagine my dismay when, after 61 years of waiting, I was finally ready to see Citizen Kane this week, only to have it ruined for me by some wise-ass video store clerk.
Better yet, instead of imagining it all, which can be confusing and you surely won't get all the details right, let me tell you directly all about it.
It seems like every time I've gone and talked about movies—I'm quick to brag about having seen them all—someone asks me a quick list of which "great" movies I've seen. The Godfather? No, but I saw clips from it. Star Wars? Yes, the first one, Episode I, but none of that raunchy '70s stuff. The 400 Blows? I said "movies," buddy, not "snuff films." Citizen Kane?
Now that's a curious title. Is it kung fu? Is it a cop drama? No, they tell me, it's about Orson Welles as a man who comes from a meager background and grows into a newspaper magnate who rules with an iron thumb like a tyrant.
Finally, a movie for Red Bagel!
I immediately wanted to see it, but my schedule would not permit movie viewing. I had scandals to uncover, and angry letters to write to Ted Turner. But I knew sometime I would have a spare two hours and could watch a movie, especially if it was about something I genuinely enjoy, like losing contact with your humble beginnings.
Finally, that court order not to investigate further into the McDonald's fish sandwich slowed down...
º Last Column: The Truth Behind John Walker Lindh
º more columns
Imagine my dismay when, after 61 years of waiting, I was finally ready to see Citizen Kane this week, only to have it ruined for me by some wise-ass video store clerk.
Better yet, instead of imagining it all, which can be confusing and you surely won't get all the details right, let me tell you directly all about it.
It seems like every time I've gone and talked about movies—I'm quick to brag about having seen them all—someone asks me a quick list of which "great" movies I've seen. The Godfather? No, but I saw clips from it. Star Wars? Yes, the first one, Episode I, but none of that raunchy '70s stuff. The 400 Blows? I said "movies," buddy, not "snuff films." Citizen Kane?
Now that's a curious title. Is it kung fu? Is it a cop drama? No, they tell me, it's about Orson Welles as a man who comes from a meager background and grows into a newspaper magnate who rules with an iron thumb like a tyrant.
Finally, a movie for Red Bagel!
I immediately wanted to see it, but my schedule would not permit movie viewing. I had scandals to uncover, and angry letters to write to Ted Turner. But I knew sometime I would have a spare two hours and could watch a movie, especially if it was about something I genuinely enjoy, like losing contact with your humble beginnings.
Finally, that court order not to investigate further into the McDonald's fish sandwich slowed down my workload immensely. With a little bit of time to kill, I went to the video store, which is apparently some sort of place that lends you movies to watch at home on the condition you bring them back. Strangely, it actually works.
I found the film I wanted and brought it up to the counter, where the video store clerk, a young scoundrel named "Ryan," immediately began to praise the film intensely. He had first seen it in high school, in some sort of movie-watching class, I guess, and it had been a favorite ever since. He said he enjoyed it so much that he didn't even care if they found out who "Rosebud" was when they revealed it at the end. And me, of course, not wanting to seem like I hadn't seen a movie that some video store punk had seen in high school, said, "Oh, yeah, Rosebud. That was the dog, right?" He laughed at me as if I had made a joke, which I then said I had, and told me Rosebud was a… well, I won't ruin it for you, too.
This is ridiculous, Americans. I rented the video and tried not to let my disappointment show, but I had every right to refuse to pay for it. Video store clerks are now the bane of my existence, or one of 35 banes, I should say. What kind of person talks about the ending of a movie with someone just because they have a reasonable basis for assuming that person has seen it? It's just not right.
There is no point in watching Citizen Kane now. I can't remember what got me so excited about it in the first place, but obviously I'm not going to sit through a 2-hour movie about some sled. Er… I mean… Well, screw it. Ryan ruined it for me, why shouldn't you be miserable, too?
Maybe they should come out with alternate endings for movies. Release a new Citizen Kane where Rosebud is some old player piano and another where Rosebud is a cookie recipe. Just to liven things up. You rent the movie and you never know what it's going to be at the end.
All I know is this is yet another movie secret ruined for me by loudmouth "movie fans" who can't shut up and assume you've seen a movie just because you've nodded when they ask if you've seen it. The little kid grows up to be Darth Vader in that movie, the man in drag in The Crying Game is really a man, and Michael Corleone is in the mafia. There. Now that we all know everything let's none of us see another movie again. º Last Column: The Truth Behind John Walker Lindhº more columns
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Milestones1998: Future turncoat Raoul Dunkin joins the burgeoning commune staff, blatantly lying about his desire to learn more about alternative journalism and liking Red Bagel's haircut.Now HiringTaxi Driver. Duties include awaiting passengers, driving passengers to and from desired locations, growing increasingly paranoid, cutting hair in extreme fashion and shooting pimps in bloody finale.Top Other Inventions by the Crash Test Dummy Creator| 1. | Self-ejecting canned corn | | 2. | 5-string bass | | 3. | Hot Hands®, the cheapest, safest, easiest way to light your hands on fire | | 4. | Crash Test Dummy Secret Base Playset (Figures sold separately) | | 5. | Freshomatic, battery-powered freshness-testing meter | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Roland McShyster 1/21/2002 Fat chance, America! I get the distinct impression that you thought there would be no Entertainment Police this week, in observance of MLK day or what have you, but I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken! The media reviews must go on, and I think we both know that Michael Keaton would have wanted it that way. Brace your seat belts, because it's a brand new year and Hollywood's got a lot of explaining to do!
In Theaters Now:
Black Hawk Down
Man, you doze off for one quick little cat nap during the "Real World" marathon and the next thing you know, Jack Black's everywhere. It's kind of creepy, I mean who did he have to blow to get into every single movie coming out this month? Don't get me wrong,...
Fat chance, America! I get the distinct impression that you thought there would be no Entertainment Police this week, in observance of MLK day or what have you, but I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken! The media reviews must go on, and I think we both know that Michael Keaton would have wanted it that way. Brace your seat belts, because it's a brand new year and Hollywood's got a lot of explaining to do!
In Theaters Now:
Black Hawk Down
Man, you doze off for one quick little cat nap during the "Real World" marathon and the next thing you know, Jack Black's everywhere. It's kind of creepy, I mean who did he have to blow to get into every single movie coming out this month? Don't get me wrong, I like the guy and all, but this is out of hand. I wonder if they had some kind of "Sorcerer's Apprentice" episode out in Hollywood where some studio exec tried to chop up Black with an axe and then they just ended up with a whole shitload of little Jack Blacks running around. That's about the only thing that would explain it. Oh, by the way, this is a kind of touchy-feely pic about a lonely guy who nurses his pet falcon back from a seasonal affective disorder. It's probably worth it if you're into that kind of thing.
The Count in Monty's Crisco
Everyone knows there's always been a rift between the Sesame Street regulars who got to cross over into "The Muppet Show" and various Muppet films, and those who didn't. And with the box office success of the Muppet films, and the decisive trouncing of the Sesame Street cast by the cast of the Muppet Show in Muppetmania IV, many have considered the battle for supremacy all but decided. And truth be told, I raise my hand among the guilty on those counts. But then there comes a film like this that makes us all ashamed of ourselves for counting out those hungry Sesame Street puppets. Here the Count establishes himself as a top-drawer leading man and a deft physical comedian who can pop unexpectedly out of a Crisco can better than anyone in recent memory. This is a picture full of warm surprises, and lots of Crisco cans, and if your kids don't love it you should tell them they're adopted. Also starring Jack Black as the Count's human friend Monty.
Orange County
Finally the adventures of Bill the Cat and Oprah the Duck see the big screen in this live-action adaptation of everyone's favorite comic strip. Jack Black stars as Bill, and gives his best performance since his breakthrough roles in "Meet Jack Black" and "Black Spring Break".
Snow Dogs
Man, this reggae-rapping albino just won't go away, will he? Looks like his debut film "Snow Day" didn't quite make him the chick magnet he'd expected, so this time Snow is going the Tarantino route in this incredibly bizarre film about a pack of sled dogs that conspire to rob a bank. Snow is, of course, the criminal mastermind who gives them all funny nicknames, and Jack Black co-stars as the lead Husky.
Now on Video:
The Fat and the Furious
Everybody's heard of miracle weight-loss programs that are supposed to shuck off the pounds like a model escaping Charlie Sheen's condo, but then end up being about as useless as air brakes on a Daewoo. But what if all the chubby suckers who bought into these programs stood up and demanded revenge, forming a vigilante group not unlike the A-Team who travel around in a really big van? What if they plotted to round up the guys who thought a shake for breakfast and a shake for lunch sounded like a good idea, and then drown them in movie theater popcorn butter? You're damn right it would be funny.
Glass House
Punishingly slow art flick about a stone-throwing champion from Ireland who turns out to be not so tough on the inside when he falls in love with a paraplegic mother of four who was paralyzed by some asshole throwing rocks at a Pogues concert. I didn't even know throwing rocks was a real sport, but I guess it makes sense if you're from Ireland.
Rush: Hour 2
If you didn't think bloat-rock pioneers Rush had the pale Canadian cojones to release their latest concert film in two installments to maximize profits, then you probably won't believe me when I say that this whole damn tape is an hour-long jam on "Tom Sawyer" that will make you think you've had chemotherapy.
Two Can Play That Game
Possibly the worst tennis movie ever made, undermined by an almost total lack of understanding of how the game is played. I'm all for suspension of disbelief, but it's hard when two guys who are supposed to be tennis champions spend the movie wearing football helmets and hitting Frisbees back and forth with huge frozen trout. An utterly transparent attempt to cash in on the recent tennis-movie craze and ride the coat-tails of blockbusters like "The Score" and "The Royal Tennis Bums", I give this movie an "F". For foney.
What's the Worst That Could Happen
Didn't think they could make a great comedy about the Donner party? Well, you're right. Whoever told Martin Lawrence he was funny must have died before he could expose the candid-camera punch line. Thanks a lot, Mr. Jerk, whoever you are.
Television:
A brand new year and a brand new slew of shows lining up for the axe! Let me try to review them before they finish canceling them.
Imagine That (NBC)
Executive Producer Mike Myers makes a big to-do out of this parody of Ron Howard's film company Imagine Entertainment. Maybe he's going for overkill. Do you find a jabbering red-headed retard spilling food on himself and messing his pants funny? Yes, indeed. A can't miss. Except it's already canceled.
The Chamber (Fox)
In typical TV fashion, a bad movie with big stars is made into a bad series with third-rate stars. Gene Hackman and Chris O'Donnell are replaced with Mark Knopfler and DJ Jazzy Jeff in this TV adaption of the movie adaption of the John Grisham novel. Oops, they actually canceled it while I was typing this review.
Worst Monday (CBS)
An hourlong drama about a guy who's girlfriend is having her period doesn't scream huge potential to me. All in all, it was pretty good, no telling if they can keep up the quality, but I doubt it will be a concern. I would tell you how this episode ended but they canceled it while I was watching.
Video Games:
Sponging Bob (Game Boy Advance)
Creepy game where you try to go around town getting errands done without bumping
into the big fat moocher Bob. Game Boy's graphics can't match the hi-fi of an X-Box
or a Playstation 2, but the game is so frighteningly realistic you can forgive the
graphics. I actually realized I was missing $30 when I finished playing.
Final Fantasy X (PS2)
I tried to play this stupid game in my Sex Box for an hour before I found out it was a
PS2 game. What kind of company puts a competitor's trademarked letter on your
own software? Assholes like that don't deserve to have their game reviewed.
The game sucked anyway. Dude, if you want to sex up a fat Dutch woman and a
sheep at the same time, that's cool, just don't put your fetishes in my game.
Eternal Darkness (Gamecube)
Another one of those dreary and depressing black and white foreign games that all the
critics love. It's hard to kill a giant fire-breathing plant or bonk Death on the head with
a hammer when you're reading subtitles. I couldn't even finish it but I'm sure you just
wake up to find out all the weird shit was a dream, just like every other foreign game.
All right America, that's all I wrote. Run along home to the misses or the mister, or whatever the hell kind of thing you've got going on at home, I'm not here to judge your lifestyle. Sweep out the Calistoga wagon or tighten the straps on the ball gag or whatever it is that makes you people happy, and we'll be back in two short weeks with more entertainment jambalaya!   |
