“I wish I knew how to quit you.”
– gay cowboy #1, Brokeback Mountain

Manlove Mountain (yeah, I know, I’m 13 years old) is apparently going to win a shit ton of awards or something. I’m not sure why. I think, really, it’s only because the Australian guy and the dude from Donnie Darko were willing to make out and take on such roles, which probably appeals to women somewhere. I’m not sure it has so much to do with the story line.

It wasn’t a bad movie altogether, I’ll admit that. But it was totally different from what I thought it would be… in a bad way. I thought they turned gay — isolated, out in the wilderness somewhere herding cattle together — two manly-men would grow desperate and then claim each other as lovers. Sort of like if John Wayne & Clint Eastwood were cell mates or something. Something like that. That’s not how it happened, though! I don’t think I’m spoiling anything by saying that they were just plain ol’ gay cowboys. Angry gays, too, them lot! Very angry gays. Always attacking each other. Like sharks. In their first sexual scene, they basically just mauled each other. There wasn’t any sensual talk, there wasn’t any build up. There weren’t really any hints. They were two guys joking and laughing and camping out..and then suddenly, lights out, manlove!

Eventually the movie panned out and didn’t suck so bad, but it ran forever..and ever..and ever. There were lots of quiet, “let’s take everything in” moments where the camera would pan around slowly. When they first met in that gravel parking lot, they just sort of sat near each other and said nothing for two minutes. I was forced to dub the film for them. For instance, to me, it would have been much more interesting if one of them broke the ice with “You gay too?” or “Hey, wanna have gay sex?” in a slow cowboy drawl, because otherwise, well, it was just awkward. Nobody said anything though, and it bored the shit out of me. For shame.

When the movie finally ended, I kind of thought it could have been finished 30 minutes earlier without any damage to the story. One thing that really stood out was the scene where Australian cowboy #1 beats the shit out of two bikers at a family fair type of thing. I didn’t get why it was really in the movie. The bikers were being vulgar with children present, so he asked them to calm down, and they wouldn’t, so he then kicked the absolute shit out of them. Now, maybe this was supposed to show his frustration with life in general, or his love for his family despite loving another man, etc, but I kind of took it as a “gay’s ain’t all pansies, why, get a load of this!” scene, proving that the homosexual stereotype did not fit in an all-too-dramatic way.

Really, the entire movie was about that — these being regular guys with families, having to hide their love for one another in a world that would simply not allow that kind of love. That part was legitimately sad. The rest, well, not that impressive. But angry gay cowboys aren’t common, so, to be honest, it was interesting. The scenes where they were just hanging out in the mountains acting like the Marlboro Man & drinking straight out of a whiskey bottle appealed to me at least.

“All I wanted was something to eat.”
-John J. Rambo,
holder of Congressional Medal of Honor, confirmed kills: 54

I was wandering around the electronics section of Target today, looking at all of the movies I could pirate on the internet that are being sold for like $20, when I spotted First Blood looking up at me from a shelf. I picked it up just to look at the back to see what they had to say about John J. Rambo, who as we all know could “eat things that would make a billy goat puke,” when I noticed a sticker on the front. “INCLUDES NEVER-BEFORE-SEEN ALTERNATE SUICIDE ENDING!

They seemed really excited about it with the exclamation mark and all, so that got ME kind of excited, and then I looked at the cool case with the shiney knife and decided that it would be mine. How many sales pitches include enthusiastic references to suicide, after all

How would John do it, though? How would a survival specialist kill himself? A simple gunshot wound to the head wouldn’t suffice. He’d come out with something crazy. He’d bring down an entire fucking building and all of the pig cops in the city with him, or do something innovative like Ian Curtis from Joy Division did — he’d hang himself with a clothesline. But he’d also rig the clothesline with a grenade and a claymore or something. So, that pretty much did it. Now I own the fuckin thing. I felt it was my civic duty. I’ll be sure to post back and say how our hero falls, if anyone is interested. It better be good.

The alternate ending sort of sucked. Rambo didn’t necessarly kill himself, so to speak. He pulled out the Colonel’s pistol, asked him to shoot him while sobbing about how it’s too hard to live, and then when the Colonel wouldn’t, Rambo pulled the trigger himself while the Colonel held it. So he was shot in the chest. Then he flopped across the room dramatically and died leaning against a desk.

Much more interesting was the deleted “flashback” scene. Instead of it being a flashback of his friend getting blown to bits by an NVA shoebox in a bar, the one he cries about at the end, where he’s peeling his friend off of him and he can’t find his legs, etc, etc, it’s a flashback about humping some Vietnamese hooker he met at a crappy bar. I don’t think that’s a common flashback for PTSD Nam vets, but who knows. This all happened while he was staring at the fire in the old mine shaft thing. Content with his Vietnamese titties flashback, he laid back and went to sleep. I was also content, because the only thing missing in Rambo is some nice T&A. OVER AND OUT.

“You can call it cocoa butter or you can call it white chocolate but baby, I just
call it delicious”

-Danko Jones

Either that, or he’s just an idiot.

A week or so ago I photoshopped a picture of Nagin & Bush looking lustily at each other under the post “Sweet, Chocolate Man“. Three days later, Mayor Nagin made an ass of himself with his “chocolate” comments on Martin Luther King Jr day. COINCIDENCE? Yeah, probably. For those of you living in caves, here’s the video.

Now there’s even a website with “Willy Nagin & the Chocolate Factory” t-shirts and hats.

In his apology, he said that he was just misunderstood — and that New Orleans was some sort of chocolatey drink with milk in it, since milk is white. “You take dark chocolate, you mix it with white milk, and it becomes a delicious drink. That’s the chocolate I’m talking about. ” So now New Orleans is a glass of fucking Nesquik. Not really sure how to explain that one. But whatever, Nagin. Keep those looney Tom Cruise outbursts coming!

As for my post, well, maybe I’ve got a psychic link with the man or something. In that case, god help me.


January 23, 2006

My grandfather sent me one of those dreaded forwarded e-mails today in all of its huge, green-fonted glory, only it had some drinking quotes in it and it was actually pretty funny. Don’t you love all of those Subject: FWD:FWD:FWD messages, though? The text is always bold and multicolored and in some strange font. That’s usually an indicator that you shouldn’t read them. If somebody took the time to change the font and color in just about every other sentence to try and make it more interesting, it’s probably crap in the first place.

I also love those urban myths that people like to spread around, like the one where gang members are prowling the streets in their cars with their lights off so that somebody will flash them. The person who flashes them will become their prey, of course, and they will be hunted down and murdered. Those Bloods & Crips and their tomfoolery! When will they learn?

That’s where Snopes is handy. I think the only helpful e-mail I’ve ever gotten in that nature was the one that said you should run warm water over your dryer’s filter to get the excess fluff out so it doesn’t explode or something like that. Not quite as exciting as serial killing gang members…and it’s likely that if I ever own my own dryer it will set fire to itself & my home, killing me in the process, because I am way too lazy to ever worry about that kind of shit.

Anyway, I had to post this quote as I don’t remember having heard it… pretty funny.

One afternoon at Cheers, Cliff Clavin was explaining the Buffalo Theor y to his buddy Norm.
Here’s how it went:

Well ya see, Norm, it’s like this… A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular kill of the weakest members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol, as we know, kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. That’s why you always feel smarter after a few beers.

Dennis the Douche

January 21, 2006

Dennis Miller was on Leno tonight. You know what to expect when you see Dennis… loads of crap pawned off as comedy. I had it on for 15 seconds, tops, before he managed to say something completely fucking retarded. First, it was about the illegal spying by our own president, something like “People are just soft today! If there are young arab guys calling Iraq on their cell phones and Bush doesn’t spy on them, I want him out of the White House!” Fine — spy all you like on American citizens, but do it legally, butthole! There is no excuse for anything else. The laws are there for a reason, so cunts like you don’t push the limits and abuse power for your own profit.

Then Leno asks him about global warming and Dennis delivers his really killer joke: “I’m not sure it even exists! Supposedly it is getting warmer…you want me to trust temperature readings from 1910? I’m sorry, it’s not going to happen!” Apparently the “laugh” blinker was working because it got a chuckle from the audience.

1910? Are you kidding me? I was watching Discovery the other day, a show about the Ice Age, and the scientists on the show could pinpoint what the weather was like 10,000 years ago based on the carbon dating in tree trunks. Of course, it is getting hotter. If Dennis Miller had a pair of balls he might realize that they’re sweating more than usual because of the filthy heat. Nevermind that, though! Bush was right: Fuck Kyoto. We’re America, our earth doesn’t get dirty. It’s those euros and crazy slant eyes you gotta worry about!

Fun with JAWS

January 19, 2006

I was flipping through a magazine, and apparently a video game developer has gained the rights to JAWS, because there’s a JAWS Unleashed game coming out soon, where you swim around as a shark and pluck people from boats, and then shred them up various ways to eat them. It’s up to you how you like your bloody human: creamy or chunky. Think JIFFY.

Some of the features:

  • Dismemberment engine provides multiple points of disconnection allowing for characters and objects to be torn apart piece by piece
  • Follow story-based missions or choose to freely roam the island and its surroundings causing havoc
  • Face fearsome arena bosses including killer whales, powerful boats and more
  • See your victims before they know you’re coming and target lock on enemies from afar with Shark Vision
  • Created by Appaloosa Interactive, developer of the award-winning Ecco the Dolphin series

I like how the level bosses are Killer Whales, and Ecco the Dolphin was their inspiration. Brillliant.

I wonder if the game’s target audience is composed of marine biologists…? What a weird idea for a game that is, though. Next thing you know, they’re gonna let you play as Normon Bates from Psycho. See how many attractive women you can lure into a hotel room to slaughter, kids! Leave no traces for the pesky detectives or risk being exposed as a freak with mother issues. (Actually sounds kinda fun…)


January 19, 2006

I finally opened the ATARI Flashback I got as a Christmas present, and I don’t know how I feel about it. How can I play modern stuff like Battlefield 2 — that is, drive tanks, fly attack choppers & planes, Blackhawk transports, command 32 people at once, call in life-saving artillery strikes, fend off multiple Chinese counterattacks with only my knife and trusty rifle — and then suck so badly at Pong for fuck’s sake? I think as technology advances I only get dumber. We’re talking about a bouncing ball and two sticks on your television, here. Calling it “tennis” or “ping pong” would be glorifying it, I think. (And we’ll overlook that few things are sadder than playing Pong and drinking by yourself at 12:15 in the morning for a moment.)

Something else: in Missile Command, you are the defense of your country against a cowardly nuclear attack. You must destroy all of the enemy’s missiles before they hit your cities by shooting your own nuclear (hey, it’s the cold war era, everything is nuclear) missiles into the sky and detonating those missiles headed your way. While I’m sad that all of my cities were destroyed by the bastard communists, I’m still sort of confused. Isn’t it just as bad to blow up nukes in the sky above your fair cities?

I guess they didn’t think about this stuff back in the day. Then again, in Battlefield 2 I can leap from a helicopter 300 feet in the air and land in the warm waters surrounding Wake Island without being hurt, so I guess few things have changed.

Now on to Pitfall where I’ll ruin my family name by jumping into the mouth of an alligator, and Lunar Lander, where I’ll recreate the Challenger Accident by exploding over and over and over again.

Party Fucking ANIMAL!

Sweet, chocolate man

January 13, 2006

Politics aside, it’s a funny picture. What’s with that look they’re giving each other?
“New Orleans is reminding me of the city I used to visit,” the president said.
Now if only I could find some good Coca..

Couch Surfing?

January 11, 2006

I was reading an article on cheap travel (which really didn’t help much, by the way…I’m convinced there’s no such thing) and it mentioned Couch Surfing, which sort of intrigued me. You sign up at a website, contact other members from around the world, and find a place to sleep. In their houses or apartments. For free.

It sounds cool, but in 2006, I’m just not sure I have big enough balls to try it alone. First of all, you’d have to be crazy to let some random person stay in your house. If they don’t kill you and use your shins for shoehorns or your skin for lampshades, then what if they steal shit?! People today aren’t right, we all know that. The Irish are supposed to be superfriendly, at least according to that book Round Ireland With A Fridge, and yet my introduction to Dublin was being flipped off by a woman that almost hit me with a car. Then there’s the time we were hitchhiking somewhere in southern Ireland…two assholes pretended to stop to pick us up and then immediately took off as we approached the car. I can’t remember if they flipped us off in the side mirrors or not, but it’s probable. That definitely doesn’t mean the Irish are all pricks, mind you, we met some very cool people and even ended up getting a couple of lifts into town (and we probably deserved the bird a couple times), but there’s definitely a mix of people anywhere you go, contrary to what anybody may tell you — mean and nice, friendly and batshit insane — and I would be pretty paranoid about traveling half way around the world to rely on any person who wants a stranger to sleep in their house.

Still, being poor, it sounds like a good deal to me. A free room? Come on. Accomodation is the most expensive thing next to the air travel and if you can knock it out of the way without having to sleep in a hostel with an old guy who snores and farts all night, well then, why not? The only problem seems to be trying to find a somewhat normal home to stay in.

The man in the article managed to hook up with an Irish family who were just interested in other cultures and people — sounds normal and fair enough. But I like to go out and get drunk and fall into thorn bushes and cry myself to sleep, and I’m just not sure they’d be up for that kind of culture.

I’ll give it a look-see anyway.

edit: this popping up in the news doesn’t help, British Backpacker Murdered

Head In The Sand

January 3, 2006

“You’re not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.”
-Dean Martin

You’re turning 22 on January 1, 2006. What do you do for New Years eve? For me, the answer was to drink until I could no longer walk and then promptly fall in the dirt. I consumed enough alcohol to sedate a long-horned steer for several days, and then some time at the end of the night I was shoved into a tent by my friends, and that was that. It’s a good thing that these type of things only happen once a year, because I don’t think I could stand the pain of that brand of hangover very often at all. I ended up taking 3 showers just to numb my skull. I did not make any bargains with any gods or devils this time, though… I just toughed it out and waited. While it did rank as one of the worst hangovers I’ve had, it definitely didn’t take the cake, which would be reserved for Sake or some sort of red wine; the kind of drinks that are very capable of making you offer your soul to that imp dancing on your shoulder if only he would take the pain away.

The big zero-six. I am actually looking forward to this year, believe it or not. That’s something that has already changed from years past, where the only optimism I could find in growing older was that I was getting closer to death. (That’s a relative sort of cheer, I might add.) I think the trick to optimism and happiness in the new year is to not actually think about what you have to look forward to. Make no concrete plans or resolutions. The old head in the sand technique. Because if you actually sit and think about it, you’ll realize that you’re probably going to fall back into the same old cycle and continue on doing the same stupid shit, and that nothing is going to change, if not only because people seldom do. Oops, there I go again.

Still — here’s to “something good” landing in my lap, whatever the hell it may be and wherever the hell it may come from.