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Hollywood Not Optioning Nebraska Bank RobberySeptember 30, 2002 |
Norfolk, Nebraska Snapper McGee Lead Detective Vernon McCain investigates crime scene while accidentally locked in bank by slow deputy. oney, the verdict is in and Hollywood is saying a resounding "Mmm-Mnnt!" to a Nebraska bank robbery in which five were killed and three were left scared out they ever-lovin' minds by three hold-up men.
The robbery happened in Norfolk, a dead town with no night life whatsoever, when the three hold-up men shot four bank employees and one civilian like they were last year's fashions and crashed through the wall in a balls-out kaboom to flee the scene. Another customer was winged in the shoulder in true Hollywood style. Police chased down the robbers in a sweet-ass manhunt that reminds this reporter of her early years. The governor authorized the use of Black Hawk helicopter in a show of force that certainly won my heart.
Yet with all of this grade-A material, don't...
oney, the verdict is in and Hollywood is saying a resounding "Mmm-Mnnt!" to a Nebraska bank robbery in which five were killed and three were left scared out they ever-lovin' minds by three hold-up men.
The robbery happened in Norfolk, a dead town with no night life whatsoever, when the three hold-up men shot four bank employees and one civilian like they were last year's fashions and crashed through the wall in a balls-out kaboom to flee the scene. Another customer was winged in the shoulder in true Hollywood style. Police chased down the robbers in a sweet-ass manhunt that reminds this reporter of her early years. The governor authorized the use of Black Hawk helicopter in a show of force that certainly won my heart.
Yet with all of this grade-A material, don't wait for Hollywood to put this on your local theater screen.
"Frankly, most of it plays great," said Universal Vice-Vice President Armio Durkness, "the daring daylight robbery, the guns and the explosions and the Black Hawk helicopter—God, I'm wet over the Black Hawk helicopter. But the shooting of four bank people? And the customer? Bad move, guys. Makes us less sympathetic to your character. We're passing for now."
Apparently our fearsome threesome have a Master's degree in domestic terrorism, but a big fat failing grade in media savvy.
"Man, it could have been great," said MGM Studio Exec Dandelion Waters. "Three buddy bank robbers in the western United States decide to pull off that one big heist and the evil, corrupt governor—metaphorically speaking, of course—wants to bring them down so he can get re-elected. Sends out every cop in the state, even a super high-tech Airwolf-style chopper. Then they had to go and ruin it by blowing away people. Nobody wants to see that on their news and they definitely don't want to pay to see it at the theater."
Three men were arrested in a town about 76 miles away, but it could not be certain if the men were the ones they were seeking or just a couple of boy-toys doing an honest day's work. If the latter is true, this reporter needs to investigate personally.
The action and romantic notion of robbing a bank in modern America, minus the bring-me-down of the murders involved, is a dangling piece of candy that Hollywood may not resist entirely. Although reaction is slow and moviemakers aren't jumping on the wagon just yet, there is talk that maybe the story can be salvaged, with some Hollywood-sized adjustments.
"If they can make a big scarefest like the O.J. Simpson stuff into a movie, we can certainly work enough magic with the more ample material we have here," said Mike Oliphant, a stubble-faced producer at Miramax who smells like he works out often. "We dump the murders right out, that's a given—do a little more background on the characters, maybe make them three childhood friends doing it all for the memory of a friend who died too soon. You know, cancer, AIDS, that West Nile stuff is big right now. I'm starting to like it. Kind of a 'our last big shot to take the brass ring.' It's do-able."
The real story is being sought by many moviemakers right now, but only to see if there's any usable gold nuggets within. If not, Tinsel Town is famous for making their own brand of gold dust.
"If people wanted reality, they'd watch the news," said Dreamworks consultant John Dorfenfoof. "Or maybe not the news. Definitely not Fox News. But they'd watch something. Not movies." the commune news is so touched by your compliments we're turning a bright shade of red—big fat commie red. Stigmata Spent is back after what we are referring to as a long vacation in Bangkok. That's right, a vacation. Don't think about it anymore.
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Border Patrol Agents Recruited for Iraq, Since Border Patrol Worked So Well New Adams Dollar Coin Already Worth 75 Cents Australian Al-Qaeda’s Accent Makes “Osama Bin Laden” Sound Hilarious Use of Term “Gaydar” Most Effective Means of Telling Someone’s Gay |
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 October 29, 2001
The Boy No Bigger Than a Claritin PillOnce upon a time there was a happy couple who could not, you know, have a kid. They went to doctor after doctor until they found one who told them he could help her get pregnant, but neither the husband nor wife were happy with his suggestion and she slapped him curtly. A magical fairy appeared to them one night when they had downed a quart of Vermouth each and made them a promise.
"I can give you a son," the fairy said, "but he will be a small boy. Though smallish in stature, however, he will have the biggest heart you have ever seen."
The couple profusely thanked the fairy and gave her a generous gratuity. Sure enough, within a month the wife was pregnant.
When their son was born, months later, they were surprised as hell when the boy was no bigger than a Claritin pill. The father said something to the effect of, "Jesus, I know she said he'd be small, but I thought she meant Dudley Moore small, not Tom & Jerry small…"
The boy was very loving, but his parents neglected him. They were not cruel people, it was just so easy to forget about the boy no bigger than a Claritin pill. He slept in a matchbox, he drove a Matchbox, and trying to shop for him, well, forget it.
One day the fat evil landlord came to the old house and told the couple that they could not keep their son in the house, it defied some sort of anarchist zoning rule of the time and they would have to move or kick him out. It was...
º Last Column: The Cobbler's Son º more columns
Once upon a time there was a happy couple who could not, you know, have a kid. They went to doctor after doctor until they found one who told them he could help her get pregnant, but neither the husband nor wife were happy with his suggestion and she slapped him curtly. A magical fairy appeared to them one night when they had downed a quart of Vermouth each and made them a promise.
"I can give you a son," the fairy said, "but he will be a small boy. Though smallish in stature, however, he will have the biggest heart you have ever seen."
The couple profusely thanked the fairy and gave her a generous gratuity. Sure enough, within a month the wife was pregnant.
When their son was born, months later, they were surprised as hell when the boy was no bigger than a Claritin pill. The father said something to the effect of, "Jesus, I know she said he'd be small, but I thought she meant Dudley Moore small, not Tom & Jerry small…"
The boy was very loving, but his parents neglected him. They were not cruel people, it was just so easy to forget about the boy no bigger than a Claritin pill. He slept in a matchbox, he drove a Matchbox, and trying to shop for him, well, forget it.
One day the fat evil landlord came to the old house and told the couple that they could not keep their son in the house, it defied some sort of anarchist zoning rule of the time and they would have to move or kick him out. It was unbelievable to the couple, who did not want to lose their son or their house, the house even more so.
Before they had a chance to make a decision, though, the boy no bigger than a Claritin pill jumped down the throat of the fat landlord with a toothpick in hand and began to wreak havoc on his gastro-intestinal track. The boy carved his way through the fat man's stomach, up though his lungs, and severed all the cords to his heart, though by that time the sheer pain of it all had killed the fat bastard.
Eventually the parents of the boy no bigger than a Claritin pill carved open the landlord's chest and retrieved their son, and by damn, sure enough, between his teensy hands he had the biggest heart any of them had ever seen. They were much appreciative, and more than a little terrified. º Last Column: The Cobbler's Sonº more columns
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|  March 17, 2003
Meat Book"Read me my rights, pig. Then read me Lady Chatterly's Lover, but just skip to the dirty parts."
I read this funny book and I've been telling everybody about it. I haven't read all of it, just parts of it, really. Okay, one part. And everybody's telling me it's a newspaper, not a book, but you can't brag about reading a newspaper so I say book. But it was still really funny, like a book. There was this cat and he's trying to eat lasagna and—hey, I don't want to give it away. E-mail me if you want to read it and maybe we'll form one of those Oprah clubs or something.
If I don't read books, it's not my fault. I've given it an honest effort, but they always start the book off with this really boring information about who wrote it and who it was published by, and a "c" in a circle and then the year and… see? I fell asleep while I was typing it and fell out of my chair and broke my nose. Imagine being one of those people who actually finished a whole book without skipping around.
My friend Richie Castro has written 26 books over the years, the guy is a dynamo. He makes each book two pages or less 'cause he thinks all that plotting, pacing, and drawing out of the characters is bullshit. Richie writes "the real meat," like he says it. His next book will be done soon and it tells the story of how his girlfriend, this double-timing bitch-whore who dyes her hair, she was two-timing him behind his back and sleeping around with his...
º Last Column: Fireworks Club º more columns
"Read me my rights, pig. Then read me Lady Chatterly's Lover, but just skip to the dirty parts."
I read this funny book and I've been telling everybody about it. I haven't read all of it, just parts of it, really. Okay, one part. And everybody's telling me it's a newspaper, not a book, but you can't brag about reading a newspaper so I say book. But it was still really funny, like a book. There was this cat and he's trying to eat lasagna and—hey, I don't want to give it away. E-mail me if you want to read it and maybe we'll form one of those Oprah clubs or something.
If I don't read books, it's not my fault. I've given it an honest effort, but they always start the book off with this really boring information about who wrote it and who it was published by, and a "c" in a circle and then the year and… see? I fell asleep while I was typing it and fell out of my chair and broke my nose. Imagine being one of those people who actually finished a whole book without skipping around.
My friend Richie Castro has written 26 books over the years, the guy is a dynamo. He makes each book two pages or less 'cause he thinks all that plotting, pacing, and drawing out of the characters is bullshit. Richie writes "the real meat," like he says it. His next book will be done soon and it tells the story of how his girlfriend, this double-timing bitch-whore who dyes her hair, she was two-timing him behind his back and sleeping around with his cousin and then ends up running off with the guy, even though he's got no job. Actually, that was the whole book so I guess I saved you from having to buy it. Richie's going to be pissed.
My dad used to read to me before he died—or faked his own death and disappeared, my mom still can't prove either one. Dad would read to me from record jacket liner notes since there were always plenty of them on hand. It's a shame dad and me didn't get more time together in the end. One of these days I'm going to have to find a copy of Lionel Richie's self-titled album and see who else he thanked. But every time I hear "Truly" I'm going to think of dad.
I would recommend reading to your kids, I think that's a good thing. I plan on doing it myself some day. Maybe you could send me an e-mail and we'll schedule a time when I can come over, and if you got the books that's even better since I only have a copy of Michael Jackson's Thriller and it's a little hard to get through—that guy thanks a lot of people, even his brothers, all by name. I wish I had a brother so then I could make an album and thank him for being there for me, but he'd probably end up being more Marlon than Jermaine.
The nice thing about reading newspapers is they put the important parts in the biggest type, so you can read them and know what you need to know, but they also put that real small type there so you can pretend you're reading that and looking smart. People are really, really impressed when I tell them I read 15 newspapers a day. E-mail me and I'll tell you other things that are really impressive and then tell you how I'm able to do them without working hard.
Basically what I'm saying is I want e-mail. º Last Column: Fireworks Clubº more columns
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Quote of the Day“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shores... uh, on second thought, scratch that. If I can pick, don't give me any losers.”
-Emily DickinsomeFortune 500 CookieGive up the ghost this week—everybody knows you're drawing those eyebrows on with a magic marker. You may only be a gigolo, but that doesn't mean anybody wants to hear you sing about it. Try naming a constellation after yourself: it worked for that "Chantilly Lace" guy. This week's lucky pets: salamander, ostrich, rutabaga, cow fetus, bottle of deadly germs.
Try again later.Top 5 Questions in the Wake of the Harry Whittington Shooting| 1. | How come it took so long to find out there were no weapons of mass destruction? | | 2. | Why do they call it birdshot instead of leadshot? And, as a follow-up, what's buckshot? | | 3. | What did Whittington know, and when? | | 4. | When exactly did Brangelina hear about it? | | 5. | So, where do you wanna eat? | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Orson Welch 4/11/2005 No time for chatter this week. I have a full stock of Don Cheadle movies to review (they're Cheadle-icious) and them I'm off to see Sin City for the third time. I'm convinced this time I'll be able to make it to the end of the film, or at least through the first hour. On to my Cheadle stock.
Now on DVD:
Ocean's Twelve
It's a lot like Ocean's Eleven. In fact, I can't prove they didn't just keep the cameras rolling at the end of the first movie and call the footage a second movie. Cheadle is only a minor player in this one, but what a bizarre accent he sports. Cockney, I think, or something with cock in it. The major players here are George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and Julia Roberts in a dual role as herself and...
No time for chatter this week. I have a full stock of Don Cheadle movies to review (they're Cheadle-icious) and them I'm off to see Sin City for the third time. I'm convinced this time I'll be able to make it to the end of the film, or at least through the first hour. On to my Cheadle stock.
Now on DVD:
Ocean's Twelve
It's a lot like Ocean's Eleven. In fact, I can't prove they didn't just keep the cameras rolling at the end of the first movie and call the footage a second movie. Cheadle is only a minor player in this one, but what a bizarre accent he sports. Cockney, I think, or something with cock in it. The major players here are George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and Julia Roberts in a dual role as herself and someone not herself. All of them are more famous for being their pretty selves rather than any performance anyone can remember. Still, it doesn't pretend to be anything other than famous people having fun together, which is at least admirable for lacking pretension.
Hotel Rwanda
More Cheadle for your dollar. It's like a black Schindler's List, and is at least far better than the black Odd Couple of years ago. I think Cheadle's accent is French this time. A great sort of film all your liberal friends will urge you to see. Guaranteed to make white people feel like an heir to a throne of blood. It's too bad they couldn't include a sub-plot about feminism to make me feel ashamed of my penis as well. But it's all based on fact, so you can't much argue with reality. I just don't want to be exposed to it for two relentless hours.
Meet the Fockers
Now here's gruesome reality. Acting virtuoso Barbra Streisand returns to the big screen in her most challenging role yet, as someone who's so annoying she makes you want to slit your throat. Or wait… how is that acting? Dustin Hoffman continues his schlubby role marathon, thirty years running now, while Robert De Niro continues to bury his respectable career in another movie with the daring concept, "What if Robert De Niro was your father-in-law?" Ben Stiller is not the zany, half-insane character he usually plays; this time he's the other one, the neurotic stuttering put-upon idiot. Fock off, indeed.
House of Flying Daggers
An epic that follows in the tradition of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, because it's also Chinese. Jumping, kicking, swordplay, and more melodrama than a high school play. Except it has the added fun of reading awful dialogue in subtitles.
Never before has so much Cheadle filled one single column. Alright… it may only be two movies, but it's still more Cheadle than you'll get anywhere else. Maybe next edition I'll make good on my previous promise, "More DiCaprio than you can shake a stick at."   |