Since Adolf Hitler died seventy-six years ago, most of my friends have said things like "Good: I hope he rots in hell.", "He got what he asked for, really...", and "Another famous junkie dead, then.".
And to tell you the truth, it's hard to blame them.
What, with the press coverage he got while he was alive, portraying him as some sort of mad drug addict who lived in a bunker, courted the press, and did crazy things like occupy the Rhineland, invade Poland, and dance a jig after the surrender of France.
But I urge those who feel this way to look at the state of Germany before he came to power, and see a visionary ahead of his time; a man who cared deeply about others - even if he couldn't help but hurt some people during his life...
I feel his ultimate decline to a genocidal drug addict residing in a bunker, and pushing imaginary armies around a map, epitomises how destructive being non-neurotypical can be without the right support – even when you have, seemingly, the world at your feet and all the cash you need to burn.
We have to remember that being neurologically untypical, in the framework of 1930s and 40s Germany, was no walk in the park - there were no support systems, and the mentally ill were persecuted as a matter of State policy.
That's why it makes me so angry to hear people say "He shouldn't have killed all them Jews.", "He chose to break the Treaty of Versailles in 1938 by invading Austria and declaring Anschluss. What do you expect?!", and "Hitler was evil."; yes - he chose to do these things, but only in the same way that Amy Winehouse chose to make all those mediocre songs, or David Cameron cosied up to Rupert Murdoch before - and after - the last election.
It's not a matter of a choice, for free, adult human beings who have the right and power and ability to choose...it's about wanting to do things, and doing them because we want to do them.
Hitler was a man; he was an architect; he was a visionary; a patriot; an artist; a son; a husband (for less than forty hours); and a human being, like everyone on Twitter except the spambots.
He was also some other things - but even without verifiable proof, and because it conforms to a comfortable, pre-conceived narrative which I adhere to, I am claiming that this wasn't his fault.
Society: this one's for you...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rb7FgSzeGqg
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
Little Fockers: the Death-Knell of a Once-Promising Series
Film-making: serious business...
Along with Christmas Day with my family, I have another 'holiday' tradition: a trip to the cinema on Boxing Day.
Previous choices have included I am Legend (I am Worthless), and Sherlock Holmes (I'll have a think about a suitably derisive play on 'Sherlock Holmes', and if I come up with one: add it; check back for updates...), so it's an ignoble tradition.
Following in those inauspicious footsteps was Little Fockers...not only because it was the best of a bad bunch (I couldn't bear to see anything else on offer), but because my friend and I are fans of Meet the Parents, and the best line of Robert De Niro's acting career:
'I have nipples Greg...could you milk me?'
We knew that to expect another line of such unadulterated brilliance was folly - so didn't dare hope for one; hence, we approached the film with modest expectations: a cautious optimism.
There had been a few alarm bells that had dampened our enthusiasm in the run-up to Boxing Day: various reports about the film being a disaster, and requiring last minute 'reshoots' from Dustin Hoffman to rescue it...and the presence of Jessica Alba among the cast; and if i'm honest, the world being what it is, I was quite pessimistic, and sceptical as I went to see it.
Open-minded - but dubious.
As I walked out of the cinema - some one hour and fifteen minutes later - I observed that my well-honed pessimism was right, yet again: the film was a disgrace.
There were no laughs in this film - no cohesion, no purpose...all the film-makers have done is put these familiar characters on the screen, had them do something typical of them (De Niro's character calls for an ambulance, and gives a very specific time...), and said: 'My work here is done.'.
Things happen - as if an automated machine has dictated that they should - and the audience - as if it is an automated machine... - is expected to laugh.
It's insulting.
I've seen better sequels in the Friday trilogy (not an insult, by the way: although Next Friday was somewhat weak, it had its moments - and Mike Epps' performance in Friday After Next was excellent...).
What these jerk-offs seem to have done, is based a comedy film around an overly complicated plot (i've seen David Lynch films that were easier to follow) - the kids, and Stiller and De Niro's wives don't even register: I still don't know what the actress who plays Stiller's wife is called, let alone the character - and thrown in various 'star names' in lieu of actual good jokes and performances: before I walked out - well before the end - Robert De Niro, Ben Stiller, Dustin Hoffman, Barbra Streisand, Harvey Keitel, Jessica Alba, and Owen Wilson had all made appearances.
Why? - It wasn't to make the audience laugh, and that's supposed to be the reason why this film was made.
When you watch the film, though, and consider that Hoffman was reportedly paid $7.5m for five days' work, and Stiller and De Niro $20m a piece, you cease to wonder why these evil bastards made an appearance: it was to take something from people, and give them nothing in return - save a lack of belief in the human race. That's kind of like what thieves do, isn't it...?
So where once the performances, characters, and writing in this series were somewhat refreshing, innocent, and contained some measure of artistic input, and pride, now they are cynically self-aware, like the words of Cheryl Cole, or Tony Blair.
But maybe that appeals to you...if so, check out the new series of Peep Show: you'll love that.
The tension of the previous films - which is the cause of the audience maintaining an interest - was derived from the fact that Ben Stiller (Gay Focker - 'lol') was a put-upon nice guy: he had 'balls in the air' that he desperately wanted to avoid dropping, for fear that his carefully laid, precarious plans, would be ruined.
Now the balls are in his mouth, and he's sucking them.
Good day.
Thursday, 30 December 2010
Arseholes of the Year.
Diane Abbott.
She doesn't know how much 'Two pieces of chicken & chips' costs - she only understands the pricing of chicken in bucket quantity.
...but she is just a normal, down-to-earth person, like us.
Cheryl Cole.
Everyone's favourite violent racist...except for black women, of course, who she attacks.
I wish she'd attack Diane Abbott.
'The judge called it "an unpleasant piece of drunken violence" for which Tweedy had shown "no remorse whatsoever".'
So please: keep lauding people such as Cheryl Cole - keep holding them up as exemplary: someone the young should aspire to be like; and keep lamenting the fact that people do bad things. After all: the two aren't connected, are they?
Ed Miliband.
Look at that fucking face - it's like a two-inch thick rubber mask that's been left in the sun for too long.
Monstrum in fronte, monstrum in animo ('Monster in face, monster in soul') as Nietzsche said.
And if Beaker from The Muppets had been made out of plastic, they'd be twins:
David Miliband.
Speaking of twins...
It's a good job this pair of fuckwits have different names: how else would you tell them apart?
Come to think of it, I don't know which one is the leader of their shitty little 'party' - or what difference it makes.
Tila Tequila.
She's erm...sexy.
In fact, the last thing I saw that was so sexy was a pile of meat I stapled together - and further degraded by plastering with various chemicals and adornments. The best two nights of my life was when I fucked that thing.
Looking at Ms Tequila here, I can't help but look forward to the next time I staple hair extensions to a beef topside.
Everybody involved, in any way, with the TV show 'Manswers'.
I really just want to give up on life when watching this show; it's less distressing to watch videos of the holocaust.
The cast of 'Jersey Shore'.
Did the producer/s of this show aim to cast a group of people who embody the worst attributes of Americans?
Are they waging psy-ops against the West, in order that we can't justify any complaints about the atrocities the muslims perpetrate against us? - Is this show intended as Osama Bin laden's mitigation, should he ever come to trial?*
'Cause if it is used for that purpose, i'd let him off, and give him as many planes as he wants.
Nick Hogan.
In another excellent instance of 'reaping what you sow', this fucktard was the subject of a 'reality show' on MTV, which obviously means that his behaviour is condoned by this corporation/society. He is also a symbol of success - what people should aspire to, and look to emulate.
So not only did his idiotic, irresponsible, selfish (fun) driving leave a man a vegetable...but he was made a celebrity prior to this, and this crime was part of a character very well-documented.
And then him and his dad - 'Hulk' Hogan - blamed the guy he turned into a vegetable.
I just don't see what hope society has when people who behave like this are held up as successes, rather than disgraces.
Charlie Brooker.
This man sold out in spectacular fashion, this year.
Charlie Brooker has a long history of a very high standard of cultural criticism: from the little-known - and unfortunately: unavailable on DVD - TVGoHome, to his immense collaboration with the brilliant Chris Morris on Nathan Barley, and his BBC series Screenwipe.
However, the bizarre, unaccountable announcement was made this year that he had married a vapid, conformist TV presenter: a woman named Konnie Huq, whose credits - in sharp contradistinction to Mr Brooker's - include Blue Peter, GMTV, Top of the Pops, and some pile of shit on The Disney Channel.
To those of a mind to appreciate the poignancy and relevance of his insights, and the stellar work he had done, through his writing, in arguing for a raising of standards in order to improve society, were galled and shocked to learn this: it seemed like a betrayal of his beliefs; a gross act of hypocrisy.
And it was.
Essentially, the case against him can be summed up this simply:
his wife's job is to provide a pretty face on TV shows; one month after they were married, she went and worked on a TV show called The X Factor.
- and his own words can be used to condemn him.
For his condemnation of 'vapid eye candy', see this clip, at four minutes in (presenter #3):
Charlie Brooker's condemnation of his future wife
'The sort of person you could be forgiven for thinking is only on the box because they look sort of nice.'
...or you were married to because they look sort of nice.
'The least meaningful job in the universe.'
And he married that!
So as if this wasn't bad enough - which it is - observe this critique he gave a few years back of The X Factor:
Charlie Brooker's Review of The X Factor
'A home for the mentally ill.
A futuristic fascist rally.
Nuremberg for dummies.'
My wife's employer.
And so it was: a month after they married, this was where she went and worked - pandering to the vermin who torment him so:
Konnie Huq getting friendly with Cheryl 'Violent Criminal' Cole.
Konnie Huq pathetically getting berated and humiliated by Dannii Minogue.
I thought this pathetic sell-out had done one semi-decent thing this year, and quit from ever commenting on, or judging, another human being - especially after I read his Screen Burn column (which reads as though his new best pal and overlord Simon Cowell edited it) announcing that he was quitting.
But the humiliated, stinking hypocrite has continued on - writing for The Guardian, and making his TV show!
It's uncomfortable to observe, and really offensive: the man's credibility is as distant a memory as military success must have been to Hitler in April 1945 - yet he still has the balls - the bold-faced shamelessness - to peddle this insincerity:
Charlie Brooker's 'Review of the Year'
#OustBrooker
*Osama Bin Laden was murdered by Barack Hussein Obama on 2nd May 2011.
She doesn't know how much 'Two pieces of chicken & chips' costs - she only understands the pricing of chicken in bucket quantity.
...but she is just a normal, down-to-earth person, like us.
Cheryl Cole.
Everyone's favourite violent racist...except for black women, of course, who she attacks.
I wish she'd attack Diane Abbott.
'The judge called it "an unpleasant piece of drunken violence" for which Tweedy had shown "no remorse whatsoever".'
So please: keep lauding people such as Cheryl Cole - keep holding them up as exemplary: someone the young should aspire to be like; and keep lamenting the fact that people do bad things. After all: the two aren't connected, are they?
Ed Miliband.
Look at that fucking face - it's like a two-inch thick rubber mask that's been left in the sun for too long.
Monstrum in fronte, monstrum in animo ('Monster in face, monster in soul') as Nietzsche said.
And if Beaker from The Muppets had been made out of plastic, they'd be twins:
David Miliband.
Speaking of twins...
It's a good job this pair of fuckwits have different names: how else would you tell them apart?
Come to think of it, I don't know which one is the leader of their shitty little 'party' - or what difference it makes.
Tila Tequila.
She's erm...sexy.
In fact, the last thing I saw that was so sexy was a pile of meat I stapled together - and further degraded by plastering with various chemicals and adornments. The best two nights of my life was when I fucked that thing.
Looking at Ms Tequila here, I can't help but look forward to the next time I staple hair extensions to a beef topside.
Everybody involved, in any way, with the TV show 'Manswers'.
I really just want to give up on life when watching this show; it's less distressing to watch videos of the holocaust.
The cast of 'Jersey Shore'.
Did the producer/s of this show aim to cast a group of people who embody the worst attributes of Americans?
Are they waging psy-ops against the West, in order that we can't justify any complaints about the atrocities the muslims perpetrate against us? - Is this show intended as Osama Bin laden's mitigation, should he ever come to trial?*
'Cause if it is used for that purpose, i'd let him off, and give him as many planes as he wants.
Nick Hogan.
In another excellent instance of 'reaping what you sow', this fucktard was the subject of a 'reality show' on MTV, which obviously means that his behaviour is condoned by this corporation/society. He is also a symbol of success - what people should aspire to, and look to emulate.
So not only did his idiotic, irresponsible, selfish (fun) driving leave a man a vegetable...but he was made a celebrity prior to this, and this crime was part of a character very well-documented.
And then him and his dad - 'Hulk' Hogan - blamed the guy he turned into a vegetable.
I just don't see what hope society has when people who behave like this are held up as successes, rather than disgraces.
Charlie Brooker.
This man sold out in spectacular fashion, this year.
Charlie Brooker has a long history of a very high standard of cultural criticism: from the little-known - and unfortunately: unavailable on DVD - TVGoHome, to his immense collaboration with the brilliant Chris Morris on Nathan Barley, and his BBC series Screenwipe.
However, the bizarre, unaccountable announcement was made this year that he had married a vapid, conformist TV presenter: a woman named Konnie Huq, whose credits - in sharp contradistinction to Mr Brooker's - include Blue Peter, GMTV, Top of the Pops, and some pile of shit on The Disney Channel.
To those of a mind to appreciate the poignancy and relevance of his insights, and the stellar work he had done, through his writing, in arguing for a raising of standards in order to improve society, were galled and shocked to learn this: it seemed like a betrayal of his beliefs; a gross act of hypocrisy.
And it was.
Essentially, the case against him can be summed up this simply:
his wife's job is to provide a pretty face on TV shows; one month after they were married, she went and worked on a TV show called The X Factor.
- and his own words can be used to condemn him.
For his condemnation of 'vapid eye candy', see this clip, at four minutes in (presenter #3):
Charlie Brooker's condemnation of his future wife
'The sort of person you could be forgiven for thinking is only on the box because they look sort of nice.'
...or you were married to because they look sort of nice.
'The least meaningful job in the universe.'
And he married that!
So as if this wasn't bad enough - which it is - observe this critique he gave a few years back of The X Factor:
Charlie Brooker's Review of The X Factor
'A home for the mentally ill.
A futuristic fascist rally.
Nuremberg for dummies.'
My wife's employer.
And so it was: a month after they married, this was where she went and worked - pandering to the vermin who torment him so:
Konnie Huq getting friendly with Cheryl 'Violent Criminal' Cole.
Konnie Huq pathetically getting berated and humiliated by Dannii Minogue.
I thought this pathetic sell-out had done one semi-decent thing this year, and quit from ever commenting on, or judging, another human being - especially after I read his Screen Burn column (which reads as though his new best pal and overlord Simon Cowell edited it) announcing that he was quitting.
But the humiliated, stinking hypocrite has continued on - writing for The Guardian, and making his TV show!
It's uncomfortable to observe, and really offensive: the man's credibility is as distant a memory as military success must have been to Hitler in April 1945 - yet he still has the balls - the bold-faced shamelessness - to peddle this insincerity:
Charlie Brooker's 'Review of the Year'
#OustBrooker
*Osama Bin Laden was murdered by Barack Hussein Obama on 2nd May 2011.
Wednesday, 15 December 2010
Was 'Dexter' Ever Good? Series 5 Analysis
Yet another tension-free episode of Dexter - this time: the 'season-finale' - which was so warm, self-congratulatory, and inclusive, that once it ended, I hugged the cats that were attendant...then I went and hugged my neighbours...then I hugged all those I found on the street...
So Dexter crawls out the crashed car, is immediately captured by 'Johnny' (Lee Miller), tied up, and put in the basement.
Johnny talks to him for about a minute - sans any tension, or anything else that could be accused of being interesting - then Dexter gets loose with the aid of a miraculously (and unexplained) hidden knife, and captures him. Ho ho ho...colour me impressed!
I really got into the mood of this scene, I tell ya' what: I was utterly compelled to watch, and really feared for the hero (Dexter); shit got raw!!!
Except it didn't.
It was so utterly serene, and 'plain sailing', that you would feel more if you took novocaine, and had your wisdom teeth removed - just how drama should be, right, fellow sufferers?
Then, after 'Deb' catches Dexter and Skank-face from Ten Things I Hate About You (but only not really, because they're behind a curtain) and lets them go - because, with the minimum of effort on the part of the writers/programme-makers, the sub-plot that 'Deb' had sympathy for Skank-face had previously been birthed like a premature baby, and similarly barely clung to life...where was I?
Oh yeah: so 'Deb' lets them go because she went through the same thing in the first series, when she was almost killed by yet another serial killer, too...although a revolutionary method of television-programme-making was attempted in this series:
instead of using acting, and words, and cameras, to convey the emotional journey someone goes on, so that when they do something extreme at the end, you understand why - they decided to do the opposite, and just get the viewer to 'fill in the blanks'.
Who even needs the middle of TV shows, right? - Let's just have a beginning and end - YAY!!
So anyway (at long last): after 'Deb' lets the turds slide, Dexter realises he can feel (*sob*), so he fakes the lab tests on 'Quinn', so he can also slide; BapTaster and his wife agree to a heart-warming 'fresh start'; and everyone gets together for a celebratory circle-jerk at a kids' birthday party. YAAAAAAYYY!!!
Fuck me...
Since when was drama synonymous with delusional, self-congratulatory, un-dramatic, inclusive, repetitive, un-dramatic (yes: I said it twice), idiotic flights-of-fancy, where things happen without appropriate context, or justification?
This is the opposite of drama: it's calm. It should be called a 'calm' - not a 'drama'.
Here's a 'cut out and keep' guide to every series of Dexter:
There is a serial killer in Miami. Dexter wants to catch him and kill him before the police catch him.
He is also going through issues about who he is, because he's a serial killer himself, and doesn't know how to deal with shit - like his personal life, because idiot viewers can relate to a mongoloid with a generic personal life.
But wait: 'Deb', a generic TV show character - in sharp contrast to Dexter, of course, who is meant to epitomise the antithesis of this - is stealing screentime by doing the same thing - every series: 'falling in love' with some man or other, and expecting viewers to actually enjoy seeing the same 'I've got issues; why won't a man love me?' schtick, year after God-foresaken year...
You can also expect somebody to be suspicious of Dexter, but nothing to ever come of it due to some imbecilic Deus ex Machina or other, like a murderer he just so happens to have accidentally become friends with killing the person who suspects him...
Oh yeah: 1. Where the fuck was Ghost-Dad in this series? and 2. Why did Dexter, whose entire life is based around a code of ethics precluding him from killing anyone who isn't a murderer, just casually murder a man - 'Liddy': the cunt who surveilled and captured him at the arse-end of this last series - without a second thought, or any mention of this at a later date? Pathetic.
I've seen less neatly tied-up, happy endings in fucking Disney movies.
What a joke.
'I don't see any other way out...he's gotta be stopped.'
So Dexter crawls out the crashed car, is immediately captured by 'Johnny' (Lee Miller), tied up, and put in the basement.
Johnny talks to him for about a minute - sans any tension, or anything else that could be accused of being interesting - then Dexter gets loose with the aid of a miraculously (and unexplained) hidden knife, and captures him. Ho ho ho...colour me impressed!
I really got into the mood of this scene, I tell ya' what: I was utterly compelled to watch, and really feared for the hero (Dexter); shit got raw!!!
Except it didn't.
It was so utterly serene, and 'plain sailing', that you would feel more if you took novocaine, and had your wisdom teeth removed - just how drama should be, right, fellow sufferers?
Then, after 'Deb' catches Dexter and Skank-face from Ten Things I Hate About You (but only not really, because they're behind a curtain) and lets them go - because, with the minimum of effort on the part of the writers/programme-makers, the sub-plot that 'Deb' had sympathy for Skank-face had previously been birthed like a premature baby, and similarly barely clung to life...where was I?
Oh yeah: so 'Deb' lets them go because she went through the same thing in the first series, when she was almost killed by yet another serial killer, too...although a revolutionary method of television-programme-making was attempted in this series:
instead of using acting, and words, and cameras, to convey the emotional journey someone goes on, so that when they do something extreme at the end, you understand why - they decided to do the opposite, and just get the viewer to 'fill in the blanks'.
Who even needs the middle of TV shows, right? - Let's just have a beginning and end - YAY!!
So anyway (at long last): after 'Deb' lets the turds slide, Dexter realises he can feel (*sob*), so he fakes the lab tests on 'Quinn', so he can also slide; BapTaster and his wife agree to a heart-warming 'fresh start'; and everyone gets together for a celebratory circle-jerk at a kids' birthday party. YAAAAAAYYY!!!
Fuck me...
Since when was drama synonymous with delusional, self-congratulatory, un-dramatic, inclusive, repetitive, un-dramatic (yes: I said it twice), idiotic flights-of-fancy, where things happen without appropriate context, or justification?
This is the opposite of drama: it's calm. It should be called a 'calm' - not a 'drama'.
Here's a 'cut out and keep' guide to every series of Dexter:
There is a serial killer in Miami. Dexter wants to catch him and kill him before the police catch him.
He is also going through issues about who he is, because he's a serial killer himself, and doesn't know how to deal with shit - like his personal life, because idiot viewers can relate to a mongoloid with a generic personal life.
But wait: 'Deb', a generic TV show character - in sharp contrast to Dexter, of course, who is meant to epitomise the antithesis of this - is stealing screentime by doing the same thing - every series: 'falling in love' with some man or other, and expecting viewers to actually enjoy seeing the same 'I've got issues; why won't a man love me?' schtick, year after God-foresaken year...
You can also expect somebody to be suspicious of Dexter, but nothing to ever come of it due to some imbecilic Deus ex Machina or other, like a murderer he just so happens to have accidentally become friends with killing the person who suspects him...
Oh yeah: 1. Where the fuck was Ghost-Dad in this series? and 2. Why did Dexter, whose entire life is based around a code of ethics precluding him from killing anyone who isn't a murderer, just casually murder a man - 'Liddy': the cunt who surveilled and captured him at the arse-end of this last series - without a second thought, or any mention of this at a later date? Pathetic.
I've seen less neatly tied-up, happy endings in fucking Disney movies.
What a joke.
'I don't see any other way out...he's gotta be stopped.'
Sunday, 14 November 2010
Dumb and Dumber Remake
Yeah: so have you heard about this?
Apparently they've remade Dumb and Dumber - and it's set for release in just under a month; I hadn't even heard it was in pre-production!
Here's the poster, anyway:
Apparently they've remade Dumb and Dumber - and it's set for release in just under a month; I hadn't even heard it was in pre-production!
Here's the poster, anyway:
No word yet on which one will be playing Harry, and which one Lloyd - I only hope they do the original justice - especially the scene where Lloyd (originally played by Jim Carrey) pisses in all them empty beer bottles, hahahaha.
I can't say whether I think Bale or Wahlberg would play Lloyd the best.
I mean: Bale looks Carrey - but then, does Wahlberg have the range of facial expressions to do Harry justice...?
Opinions...?
Saturday, 13 November 2010
Skyline: An Exercise in Desperate, Impotent, Shameful Derivation.
Guilty parties:
Colin Strause; Greg Strause (aka: 'The Brothers Strause')
Joshua Cordes
Liam O'Donnell.
Accessories Before the Fact:
Man with Pubic Hair on Chin (aka: Pubes; aka: Eric Balfour)
Black Scrubs (aka: BS; aka: Donald Faison)
DCI BapTaster from Dexter (aka: David Zayas)
Piece of Ass #1 (aka: The Pregnant one, aka: Scottie Thompson)
Piece of Ass #2 (aka: The Blonde one, aka: Brittany Daniel)
Piece of Ass #3 (aka: The Slut, aka: Crystal Reed).
Films the Writers and Directors Have Seen:
Independence Day
War of the Worlds
Cloverfield
The Matrix 'Trilogy'
Plot:
Pubes goes to see Black Scrubs in 'LA'.
We are first introduced to Black Scrubs (henceforth: BS) as he drives an obnoxiously loud automobile, made by the Ferrari company, and listens to loud, banal 'hip-hop' music.
In terms of formulating crude, offensive stereotypes, which instantly enrage and repulse the viewer, 'The Brothers Strause' are up there with Julius Streicher and Josef Goebbels. I'm sure their parents are very proud oftheir creative talent their money.
So BS is an abhorrence - a pollutant on the face of the planet - the archetypal 'Turd in the Punchbowl'.
Pubes and Piece of Ass #1 go to see this arch-conformist - the kind of man who you see, and think: 'Maybe Al-Qaeda does have a point after all...' - on his birthday.
Turns out Pubes and BS go way back, and although BS has quite obviously now 'made it' (after all, nothing says 'achieved your purpose in life' than the possession of material wealth...), Pubes is 'getting by' back in wherever the fuck they're from...
However, in spite of BS displaying the garish behaviour I have described, and additionally: living in 'The Penthouse', and being married to Piece of Ass #2, who has - like all the other characters - the depth of a cardboard cut-out, he really is a nice guy.
His 'niceness' is made clear to us - the distraught viewers - via his bland, sterile, one-dimensional repartee with Pubes, and his fucking Piece of Ass #3 in a bathroom - behind his evil wife's back.
I made the word 'evil' bold there so that you, Dear Reader, know that it is factually correct that you can mistreat others if you first designate them as evil,Jewish, or wicked.
I know that I started to root for The Slut and BS against that evil Jewess as soon as The Brothers Goebbels implied - with all the subtlety of Joey Barton expressing his anger towards you - that I should hate her, and she was going to get her come-uppance.
So these turds are all hanging about in 'The Penthouse', partying for BS's birthday; then they fall asleep, and are woken by bright blue lights outside.
I mean, by this point, it is abundantly clear that the acting is of a calibre too low-brow and demeaning to get the Perpetrators roles in The Matrix 2 (if they were casting that film, and watching 'SkyShite' in order to get suitable recruits for it).
Anyway, they start walking around 'The Penthouse' in their underwear - which really began to grate after another twenty minutes of them not getting dressed -, whining about the situation, and saying stuff in such a manner that I really couldn't have cared less if they were removed from existence - indeed: I was actively willing that they would be.
...remind me: what is the purpose of acting, and entertainment?
So the mechanism by which 'The Aliens' come to earth is an obvious rip-off of that Steven Spielberg/Tom Cruise shitpiece War of the Worlds.
The 'glowing' shit on 'The Aliens' and 'The Spaceships' is a direct rip-off of Independence Day - as is the lame little battle between the planes and 'The Spaceship', where a nuclear missile is fired at 'The Spaceship', only to see it ineffective.
Erm....the shitty little aliens that go into apartments and look for people are a direct - and offensively obvious - rip-off of War of the Worlds, and The Matrix.
Anyway, while The Idiots are 'partying', BapTaster knocks on the door, asking them to be quiet - thereby establishing him as a man who works at the hotel, and so knows what he is doing when things are happening in the vicinity (i.e., he knows where every broom-closet, and mop-and-bucket, is).
This is a very subtle, but very important, bit of film-making, and really cements, for me, the reputation of 'The Brothers Strause'. What visionaries! That Shakespeare is dead, and cannot compose odes to these men; Alas!
Yeah: so BapTaster links up with the various Pieces of Ass, and Pubes, and they stay in 'The Penthouse' - as per BapTaster's recommendations: he is, after all, a trained hotel employee; they don't give that stupid fucking hat to anybody...you have to complete an hour's training first - you could get incorrectly bleached toilets otherwise.
They dick around in there for a bit, acting like jerk-offs who don't want you to like them, be interested in them, or live in a world in which they are not only permitted to live, but positively thrive.
Then various events, which are so banal and vigour-sapping that I cannot be brought to describe them (it is hard for me to believe that somebody actually did so, put their name to the document, and distributed it - let alone that a bunch of halfwits once stood around, with the backing of millions of dollars, and discussed how best to portray them on film), occur.
As a result of these events, BapTaster turns on the gas, puts a cigarette in his mouth, and holds up a lighter.
Now re-read that.
Obviously the man intends to smoke the cigarette: it's in his mouth, and that means that he intends to smoke it; so too does the fact that he is holding a lighter.
However, the gas is on...
If the gas is on, and you use a lighter, an explosion will occur; if an explosion occurs, you will be killed; if you are killed, you cannot smoke a cigarette.
So people who don't realise this logical absurdity are rich, and have the backing of other incredibly rich (and therefore powerful) people - and The People of the most advanced human civilisation to ever exist laud such efforts.
I see...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDrgwZsGC9A
Colin Strause; Greg Strause (aka: 'The Brothers Strause')
Joshua Cordes
Liam O'Donnell.
Accessories Before the Fact:
Man with Pubic Hair on Chin (aka: Pubes; aka: Eric Balfour)
Black Scrubs (aka: BS; aka: Donald Faison)
DCI BapTaster from Dexter (aka: David Zayas)
Piece of Ass #1 (aka: The Pregnant one, aka: Scottie Thompson)
Piece of Ass #2 (aka: The Blonde one, aka: Brittany Daniel)
Piece of Ass #3 (aka: The Slut, aka: Crystal Reed).
Films the Writers and Directors Have Seen:
Independence Day
War of the Worlds
Cloverfield
The Matrix 'Trilogy'
Plot:
Pubes goes to see Black Scrubs in 'LA'.
We are first introduced to Black Scrubs (henceforth: BS) as he drives an obnoxiously loud automobile, made by the Ferrari company, and listens to loud, banal 'hip-hop' music.
In terms of formulating crude, offensive stereotypes, which instantly enrage and repulse the viewer, 'The Brothers Strause' are up there with Julius Streicher and Josef Goebbels. I'm sure their parents are very proud of
So BS is an abhorrence - a pollutant on the face of the planet - the archetypal 'Turd in the Punchbowl'.
Pubes and Piece of Ass #1 go to see this arch-conformist - the kind of man who you see, and think: 'Maybe Al-Qaeda does have a point after all...' - on his birthday.
Turns out Pubes and BS go way back, and although BS has quite obviously now 'made it' (after all, nothing says 'achieved your purpose in life' than the possession of material wealth...), Pubes is 'getting by' back in wherever the fuck they're from...
However, in spite of BS displaying the garish behaviour I have described, and additionally: living in 'The Penthouse', and being married to Piece of Ass #2, who has - like all the other characters - the depth of a cardboard cut-out, he really is a nice guy.
His 'niceness' is made clear to us - the distraught viewers - via his bland, sterile, one-dimensional repartee with Pubes, and his fucking Piece of Ass #3 in a bathroom - behind his evil wife's back.
I made the word 'evil' bold there so that you, Dear Reader, know that it is factually correct that you can mistreat others if you first designate them as evil,
I know that I started to root for The Slut and BS against that evil Jewess as soon as The Brothers Goebbels implied - with all the subtlety of Joey Barton expressing his anger towards you - that I should hate her, and she was going to get her come-uppance.
So these turds are all hanging about in 'The Penthouse', partying for BS's birthday; then they fall asleep, and are woken by bright blue lights outside.
I mean, by this point, it is abundantly clear that the acting is of a calibre too low-brow and demeaning to get the Perpetrators roles in The Matrix 2 (if they were casting that film, and watching 'SkyShite' in order to get suitable recruits for it).
Anyway, they start walking around 'The Penthouse' in their underwear - which really began to grate after another twenty minutes of them not getting dressed -, whining about the situation, and saying stuff in such a manner that I really couldn't have cared less if they were removed from existence - indeed: I was actively willing that they would be.
...remind me: what is the purpose of acting, and entertainment?
So the mechanism by which 'The Aliens' come to earth is an obvious rip-off of that Steven Spielberg/Tom Cruise shitpiece War of the Worlds.
The 'glowing' shit on 'The Aliens' and 'The Spaceships' is a direct rip-off of Independence Day - as is the lame little battle between the planes and 'The Spaceship', where a nuclear missile is fired at 'The Spaceship', only to see it ineffective.
Erm....the shitty little aliens that go into apartments and look for people are a direct - and offensively obvious - rip-off of War of the Worlds, and The Matrix.
Anyway, while The Idiots are 'partying', BapTaster knocks on the door, asking them to be quiet - thereby establishing him as a man who works at the hotel, and so knows what he is doing when things are happening in the vicinity (i.e., he knows where every broom-closet, and mop-and-bucket, is).
This is a very subtle, but very important, bit of film-making, and really cements, for me, the reputation of 'The Brothers Strause'. What visionaries! That Shakespeare is dead, and cannot compose odes to these men; Alas!
Yeah: so BapTaster links up with the various Pieces of Ass, and Pubes, and they stay in 'The Penthouse' - as per BapTaster's recommendations: he is, after all, a trained hotel employee; they don't give that stupid fucking hat to anybody...you have to complete an hour's training first - you could get incorrectly bleached toilets otherwise.
They dick around in there for a bit, acting like jerk-offs who don't want you to like them, be interested in them, or live in a world in which they are not only permitted to live, but positively thrive.
Then various events, which are so banal and vigour-sapping that I cannot be brought to describe them (it is hard for me to believe that somebody actually did so, put their name to the document, and distributed it - let alone that a bunch of halfwits once stood around, with the backing of millions of dollars, and discussed how best to portray them on film), occur.
As a result of these events, BapTaster turns on the gas, puts a cigarette in his mouth, and holds up a lighter.
Now re-read that.
Obviously the man intends to smoke the cigarette: it's in his mouth, and that means that he intends to smoke it; so too does the fact that he is holding a lighter.
However, the gas is on...
If the gas is on, and you use a lighter, an explosion will occur; if an explosion occurs, you will be killed; if you are killed, you cannot smoke a cigarette.
So people who don't realise this logical absurdity are rich, and have the backing of other incredibly rich (and therefore powerful) people - and The People of the most advanced human civilisation to ever exist laud such efforts.
I see...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDrgwZsGC9A
Tuesday, 26 October 2010
The Ecstasy of Tits; The Agony of Paranormal Activity 2.
Dear reader: I had no intention of writing on this 'matter'. However, I found myself troubled by the issues it raised - so troubled by the thoughts which were vacillating in my mind, that I took to writing: as a therapeutic exercise - a means of clarifying and codifying my thoughts and feelings.
A while later, I found I had written enough, and of sufficient significance, to warrant the re-drafting which takes place in the process of typing my words into this blog.
Hence, here is documentation of the inner turmoil which unfolded after I had watched the motion picture Paranormal Activity 2 on Saturday night.
The first film - Paranormal Activity - had something to recommend it: tits. Joyful, life-affirming, satiating tits.
I remember watching that film at the cinema: transfixed by the metaphysical allure of the cleavage of the woman jerk-off; it was one of those rare moments in life: where the individual Will co-incided with the universal Will, and all was well with my existence.
If you're a man of cultured pallette, and refined tastes, dear reader, then you will understand me - and the joy and one-ness of carnal pleasure with the fairer sex - perfectly.
Contemplating this woman's transcendent cleavage extinguished the desire which Schopenhauer asserts characterises our lives as Willing, striving beings, and which we can otherwise only allay through art or music; indeed: was it not Aristotle who asserted that art is the attempt by man to recreate the beauty he sees in nature? And is it not the case that woman is - of necessity - the summum bonum of male views of beauty? All other aspects of the male are posterior...
Paranormal Activity 2 is so heinous an attempt to acquire money - such a gratuitous, unnecessary, banal, film, that I wonder whether it should be regarded as 'the straw that broke the camel's back', and thus the rallying cry for a wave of revolutionary mass-suicides across the globe, by the impotent, disenfranchised, nihilistic masses.
Yes: I think there is some merit in the idea that all of those who have paid to see this expletive should 'drink the Kool-Aid' - that those pessimists responsible for this movie should never again profit from such a travesty, and be vindicated in their bleak assessment of mankind.
So just as defeated samurai once redeemed themselves - to some degree - by ritual disembowelment, when it had become clear that they were unsuited to life, so too should we at long last acknowledge the blindingly obvious, and take responsibility for the same failure.
God help us.
The premiss of its forebear (Paranormal Activity) was that a couple of jerk-offs started experiencing some 'ghostly' activity in their home...I guess I would surmise that they experience 'abnormal activity'.
So this abnormal activity turns out to be a ghost/demon fucking about, and the woman jerk-off is all like 'This ghost has followed me all my life - no big deal'; but my anecdotal experience - that of a bored, indifferent man, with a low tolerance for bullshit - shouldn't be relied on as a source for this; instead, let us defer to 'Wikipedia':
'Katie claims that a ghostly presence has haunted her since her youth and believes that it has followed her to their new home. She hires a psychic, Dr. Fredrichs (Mark Fredrichs), who assesses that she is being haunted not by a ghost, but by a demon. He says the demon feeds off negative energy, and its intent is to haunt and torment Katie no matter where she goes. Before leaving, he advises them not to taunt or communicate with the demon'
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paranormal_Activity_%28film%29#Plot
Please keep this in mind, as it is a critical point when considering the premiss and events of the 'prequel', Paranormal Activity 2: the Banality of Evil.
Like Paranormal Activity, the 'prequel' adheres diligently to the formula of having a build-up of numerous days/nights where it's all like 'Things are normal'...then a little 'off-kilter'...then eventually they go fully 'crazy' (This film is so devastatingly formulaic, in fact, that I hear Nestlé have contacted those responsible, in the hopes that they will create a new baby formula with which to eradicate children in the third world.).
However, in this faeces-strewn 'thing that should not be', the 'build-up' portion of the film is taken to un-hilarious extremes, and the film seems to consist of a build-up to the end credits - or a list of the criminals responsible, and their specific role in The Outrage, as I see it; it's like they want us to kill ourselves.
So anyhow, for some reason - sorry: someone went on the internet and found out the true fact that if this idiotic shit happens, then as surely as seven follows six, it's a demon who is after somebody's first-born son which is the cause; ghosts dick you about, yes - but only demons get this serious!
Where was I...?
Oh right: so for this internet-based reason, that never-introduced, plot-advancing, generic boyfriend character tells us (the enfeebled peons), the pool-cleaning robot cleans up the side of the pool and gets out every night. Fuck me! I think I heard a toilet flush, and my body's will to keep me breathing go down with somebody's 12-inch log...
On about day 20 (I stopped paying attention to the day numbers after the Mexican nanny was fired/evicted without ever having received a verbal or written warning*...), anyway, all these cupboards open at the same time in front of this woman - meaning that there's no doubt that a real-life demon has come up from the Gateway to Hell in the basement.
But these people still do nothing: there is never even a serious discussion of their predicament, or possible solutions. In place of this staple of such standard fare 'motion pictures' as this tripe, the daughter character occasionally looks at something on the internet (I guess a character in a film using a contemporary tool makes that film forward-thinking and innovative. I really do want to choke these bastards to death.); and when the woman is finally, and undoubtedly (to the man) possessed, the man calls his evicted/fired/dispossessed/deported Mexican slave back to give her professional advice (because the spells she cast earlier had worked great thus far!).
So The Mexican is all like 'You have to pass the curse (like "the Dutchie") to the (left-hand) side': you can't escape the debt owed to the demon, but you can pas it to another family member - the sister who is the focus of Paranormal Activity, and who observes in that one that the demon has been giving her shit her entire life.
If these 'film-makers' had any decency whatsoever, they would have given viewers Kool-Aid on their way out of the cinema.
...although, come to mention it: most of the people in the cinema laughed their bollocks off.
*(Credit goes out to my main man Craig Doughty for pointing out this little fuck-up on the part of these 'film-makers'.)
A while later, I found I had written enough, and of sufficient significance, to warrant the re-drafting which takes place in the process of typing my words into this blog.
Hence, here is documentation of the inner turmoil which unfolded after I had watched the motion picture Paranormal Activity 2 on Saturday night.
The first film - Paranormal Activity - had something to recommend it: tits. Joyful, life-affirming, satiating tits.
I remember watching that film at the cinema: transfixed by the metaphysical allure of the cleavage of the woman jerk-off; it was one of those rare moments in life: where the individual Will co-incided with the universal Will, and all was well with my existence.
If you're a man of cultured pallette, and refined tastes, dear reader, then you will understand me - and the joy and one-ness of carnal pleasure with the fairer sex - perfectly.
Contemplating this woman's transcendent cleavage extinguished the desire which Schopenhauer asserts characterises our lives as Willing, striving beings, and which we can otherwise only allay through art or music; indeed: was it not Aristotle who asserted that art is the attempt by man to recreate the beauty he sees in nature? And is it not the case that woman is - of necessity - the summum bonum of male views of beauty? All other aspects of the male are posterior...
Paranormal Activity 2 is so heinous an attempt to acquire money - such a gratuitous, unnecessary, banal, film, that I wonder whether it should be regarded as 'the straw that broke the camel's back', and thus the rallying cry for a wave of revolutionary mass-suicides across the globe, by the impotent, disenfranchised, nihilistic masses.
Yes: I think there is some merit in the idea that all of those who have paid to see this expletive should 'drink the Kool-Aid' - that those pessimists responsible for this movie should never again profit from such a travesty, and be vindicated in their bleak assessment of mankind.
So just as defeated samurai once redeemed themselves - to some degree - by ritual disembowelment, when it had become clear that they were unsuited to life, so too should we at long last acknowledge the blindingly obvious, and take responsibility for the same failure.
God help us.
The premiss of its forebear (Paranormal Activity) was that a couple of jerk-offs started experiencing some 'ghostly' activity in their home...I guess I would surmise that they experience 'abnormal activity'.
So this abnormal activity turns out to be a ghost/demon fucking about, and the woman jerk-off is all like 'This ghost has followed me all my life - no big deal'; but my anecdotal experience - that of a bored, indifferent man, with a low tolerance for bullshit - shouldn't be relied on as a source for this; instead, let us defer to 'Wikipedia':
'Katie claims that a ghostly presence has haunted her since her youth and believes that it has followed her to their new home. She hires a psychic, Dr. Fredrichs (Mark Fredrichs), who assesses that she is being haunted not by a ghost, but by a demon. He says the demon feeds off negative energy, and its intent is to haunt and torment Katie no matter where she goes. Before leaving, he advises them not to taunt or communicate with the demon'
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paranormal_Activity_%28film%29#Plot
Please keep this in mind, as it is a critical point when considering the premiss and events of the 'prequel', Paranormal Activity 2: the Banality of Evil.
Like Paranormal Activity, the 'prequel' adheres diligently to the formula of having a build-up of numerous days/nights where it's all like 'Things are normal'...then a little 'off-kilter'...then eventually they go fully 'crazy' (This film is so devastatingly formulaic, in fact, that I hear Nestlé have contacted those responsible, in the hopes that they will create a new baby formula with which to eradicate children in the third world.).
However, in this faeces-strewn 'thing that should not be', the 'build-up' portion of the film is taken to un-hilarious extremes, and the film seems to consist of a build-up to the end credits - or a list of the criminals responsible, and their specific role in The Outrage, as I see it; it's like they want us to kill ourselves.
So anyhow, for some reason - sorry: someone went on the internet and found out the true fact that if this idiotic shit happens, then as surely as seven follows six, it's a demon who is after somebody's first-born son which is the cause; ghosts dick you about, yes - but only demons get this serious!
Where was I...?
Oh right: so for this internet-based reason, that never-introduced, plot-advancing, generic boyfriend character tells us (the enfeebled peons), the pool-cleaning robot cleans up the side of the pool and gets out every night. Fuck me! I think I heard a toilet flush, and my body's will to keep me breathing go down with somebody's 12-inch log...
On about day 20 (I stopped paying attention to the day numbers after the Mexican nanny was fired/evicted without ever having received a verbal or written warning*...), anyway, all these cupboards open at the same time in front of this woman - meaning that there's no doubt that a real-life demon has come up from the Gateway to Hell in the basement.
But these people still do nothing: there is never even a serious discussion of their predicament, or possible solutions. In place of this staple of such standard fare 'motion pictures' as this tripe, the daughter character occasionally looks at something on the internet (I guess a character in a film using a contemporary tool makes that film forward-thinking and innovative. I really do want to choke these bastards to death.); and when the woman is finally, and undoubtedly (to the man) possessed, the man calls his evicted/fired/dispossessed/deported Mexican slave back to give her professional advice (because the spells she cast earlier had worked great thus far!).
So The Mexican is all like 'You have to pass the curse (like "the Dutchie") to the (left-hand) side': you can't escape the debt owed to the demon, but you can pas it to another family member - the sister who is the focus of Paranormal Activity, and who observes in that one that the demon has been giving her shit her entire life.
If these 'film-makers' had any decency whatsoever, they would have given viewers Kool-Aid on their way out of the cinema.
...although, come to mention it: most of the people in the cinema laughed their bollocks off.
*(Credit goes out to my main man Craig Doughty for pointing out this little fuck-up on the part of these 'film-makers'.)
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