On February 14, 2010, Fox aired an episode of Family Guy titled Extra-Large Medium.  Part of the episode revolved around Chris, the slower son in the family, developing a crush on a girl from school — a mentally “handicapped” girl from school.  At some point in the show the girl tells Chris that her mother is the former governor of Alaska, an obvious dig at ex-Alaskan governor, Sarah Palin.  Mrs. Palin has been the butt of many, many jokes and parodies, but this one stung a bit too close to home for our future Playboy posing politician the would-be Vice-Presidential failure.

On her Facebook, Palin wrote the following note:

People are asking me to comment on yesterday’s Fox show that felt like another kick in the gut. Bristol was one who asked what I thought of the show that mocked her baby brother, Trig (and/or others with special needs), in an episode yesterday. Instead of answering, I asked her what she thought. Here is her conscientious reply, which is a much more restrained and gracious statement than I want to make about an issue that begs the question, “when is enough, enough?”:

“When you’re the son or daughter of a public figure, you have to develop thick skin. My siblings and I all have that, but insults directed at our youngest brother hurt too much for us to remain silent. People with special needs face challenges that many of us will never confront, and yet they are some of the kindest and most loving people you’ll ever meet. Their lives are difficult enough as it is, so why would anyone want to make their lives more difficult by mocking them? As a culture, shouldn’t we be more compassionate to innocent people – especially those who are less fortunate? Shouldn’t we be willing to say that some things just are not funny? Are there any limits to what some people will do or say in regards to my little brother or others in the special needs community? If the writers of a particularly pathetic cartoon show thought they were being clever in mocking my brother and my family yesterday, they failed. All they proved is that they’re heartless jerks. — Bristol Palin”

- Sarah Palin

This comes on the heels of another retarded silly political slip of the tongue where Rahm Emanuel called liberal activists “fucking retarded.”  That oopsie-moment led Palin to call for Rahm’s resignation — all she got was an apology.

I did not watch the Family Guy episode, but upon first hearing about all the hubbub, I though that maybe, just maybe Palin finally had a right to be perturbed.  Then I watched the episode.  Did you know that in the episode, the mentally disabled character is portrayed as not only completely self-sufficient, modern and capable, but that a parallel is made poising her to be more “normal” than Chris, the character without Down Syndrome?  Sure Family Guy took a dig at Palin, but not her son, not really…  You see the dig in question was a mere association — the character had a mental handicap and was compared to Sarah’s son, but at no point did Family Guy rip on the Down Syndrome community (?), in fact they made an argument to the contrary.  Mentally handicapped people may be retarded, but their not helpless.  It’s that association, the one linking mental handicaps to utter uselessness, that are truly offensive.

I want to answer Bristol directly.  I don’t know how the association of your brother with a strong-minded character who has the same condition but manages to be perfectly capable is making his life “more difficult,” could you explain that?  As a culture you feel as though we should be more “compassionate,” that’s admirable.  Compassion is defined as “a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering” — how better to alleviate the suffering then to show that it is not as debilitating as most people think through comedy and laughter?  You’re also right when you say that some things aren’t funny, like Rosie O’Donnel and Carrot Top, but Family Guy is fucking hilarious.  There should be limits to what people say about those with special needs (including your brother), and even your mother, but this instance of “mockery” has not yet approached those limits.  And when you say “particularly pathetic show” what do you mean exactly?  Family Guy has been on for a very long time and while I don’t agree with everything on the show, I do respect it’s longevity and success and can’t seem to understand what makes it “pathetic.”

In 2005 Johnny Knoxville made a fairly terrible movie called The Ringer, where he portrayed a a character who fixes the Special Olympics.  Much to my chagrin, I actually enjoyed moments (“when the fuck did we get ice cream?!”), but what I found truly admirable about the film was that most of the actors were actually mentally handicapped individuals.  They saw the humor and loved being a part of the film.  Most of the complaints regarding the film were from “normal” folks “defending” the rights of handicapped people everywhere.  Yeah, right.  I have a feeling that most of the mentally disabled kids and adults in The Ringer had the time of their lives.  The truth is that groups of people who cry foul every time the word “retard” gets used are actually reinforcing stereotypes, not helping them.

Should we be sensitive?  Sure.  But let’s not get crazy here folks.  Palin isn’t defending her son, she’s using the light her son’s condition has made and throwing her soapbox right in the center of it all.  Her son wasn’t attacked.  Not even Palin was attacked.  Family Guy made a reference.  They had a character with down-syndrome and compared that character to another figure in the public eye who has the same condition.  That’s it.  Have you seen Family Guy before?  Their humor is based almost completely on associations, some times they’re good, other times they’re bad, but either way it’s only an association.

I’m not defending the right of Hollywood to be insensitive — their are lines.  If Family guy aired an entire episode centered around Trig (Palin’s son) and did nothing but mock him, then I would have an issue here.  They didn’t.  They aired a show that made light of a very unfortunate condition that is often misunderstood and a veritable soft spot in American society and drew a distinct parallel between the character with said condition and the failed idiot-politician that is Palin.  Here’s the thing: Since they didn’t actually talk any shit at all about Trig, why do you think they did it?  Do you think they knew it would draw all this attention and boost ratings/viral videos of their show?  You bet your ass.

The word “retard” stems from the medical term “mental retardation.”  It is only derogatory, like all words, when used with the purpose of offense.  I know that some people believe that the use of the word should be void everywhere, but that’s just silly.  Things can be underdeveloped and immature, thereby retarded.  Personally, I’d be more offended if people started saying things like, “That’s so Down Syndrome.”

Lighten up folks.  The world isn’t as mean as you think.  Retards aren’t as dumb as you think.  And before you start bitching, watch the whole episode — otherwise you’re talking out of your ass and speaking without full understanding, this makes your argument incompletely informed, half-cocked and underdeveloped.  In other words, fucking retarded.

**UPDATE:  Andrea Fay Friedman, the actor who portrayed Ellen, the mentally handicapped girl, on the Family Guy Episode in question, is, in fact, mentally handicapped.  She has this to say in an email, distributed by her father:

My name is Andrea Fay Friedman. I was born with Down syndrome. I played the role of Ellen on the “Extra Large Medium” episode of Family Guy that was broadcast on Valentine’s day. Although they gave me red hair on the show, I am really a blonde. I also wore a red wig for my role in ” Smudge” but I was a blonde in “Life Goes On”. I guess former Governor Palin does not have a sense of humor. I thought the line “I am the daughter of the former governor of Alaska” was very funny. I think the word is “sarcasm”.

In my family we think laughing is good. My parents raised me to have a sense of humor and to live a normal life. My mother did not carry me around under her arm like a loaf of French bread the way former Governor Palin carries her son Trig around looking for sympathy and votes.

Until next time,

Mr. Wolff

Back to Semantink

[Almost all of the following is a lie.]

As you probably know, I hate the objectification of women.  I believe that women are equals to men in every way and have proven themselves to be formidable opponents of men in every capacity imaginable.  Don’t believe me?  How about the WNBA?  Booyah!  Chalk one up for equality, bitches!

Every year around this time of gloom, when movies are typically less than bad, Hollywood/The Music Industry gives themselves “The Stranger” with a numb right hand called award shows, and, thanks to the weather, snow balls describes testicles across the nation, a little magazine publication called Sports Illustrated likes to show the diverse nature of their mission by releasing something called the Swimsuit Edition — just when you think things can’t worse…  The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition makes vomit.  The classless objectification of women as sex symbols is both insulting and depraved.  It is a classless and highbrow attempt to guise America’s perverted obsession with sex as an “artistic expression” of scantily clad, or sometimes completely swimsuitless, beauties in order to fill Sports Illustrated’s pockets while encouraging men (and some women) everywhere to lust just that much more.

Disgusting.

Just to elaborate upon the extent of my vile loathing for this practice, I’d like to show you just a few of some of the 31 “models” so you can understand just what is at stake.  This, America, is what you deserve, you filthy bitch.

Topography has never piqued my “curiosity” like this before…

This is cover model Brooklyn Decker.  More like Brooklyn Some-one-must-have–decked-her–too-may-time-in-the-face-because-she’s-so-ugly.  Am I right?!?

Where do the freckles stop?

This soulless ginger is Cintia Dicker. Yes.  Dicker.  You sick bastards…

I want to be a fish — any fish, at this beach.

Next up on the lust-list is Jessica White.  White, like the intense fires of  hell, which is where you adulterous heathens are all headed!

So this guy walks into a bar…

Bar Rafaeli is not only named after a den of sin, but, in this picture, wears the golden skin of the serpent.  So now Sports illustrated is offending women and PETA — the bastards.

I hope I’ve made my point.

Whatever you do, do NOT go to Sports Illustrated where you would be forced to see a lot more of these “beautiful” models in very little clothing at no cost to you.  And if for some ungodly reason you do go to the site, don’t look at the site alone, like I am or you may be tempted to think impure thoughts and take of your pants. In the dark.  Like me.  Right now…

I have to go.

Mr. Wolff

Back to Semantink

Sgt. Angle reporting for duty!

Last week, we got a taste of the worst of the worst, namely that the lamest movie to come around in a while is Legion, as declared by Mr. Wolff. This assertion was quickly followed up by Ben and his “Wasting Ink” blog about horrid comic book characters of the past.

Here, then, are wasted bits of celluloid. Keep in mind, when I say “wasted” in this context, I’m not saying that these movies should be lined up against a brick wall and that I order for each to be hit with a flamethrower. I’m simply saying that there are betters ways to expose film when on these film sets than the resulting footage. Also, I’m avoiding the trap of choosing entire films and shoving them into this column, essentially creating a crappy movies list. Instead, I’m aiming for different elements of different films — an actor that was just entirely wrong for the part, and over-written script for an otherwise decent director, or an entirely over-the-top editing style that would drive an epileptic sane.

The poster for childhood nightmares across America.

Jack — director, Francis Ford Coppola. What was he thinking? Here we have one of the most legendary directors of all time, king of the 70s Golden Age of American Cinema (Spielberg and Lucas hold the trophy for biggest blockbusters, and ushered in a new era, but the art of the decade came from Coppola), fell into a trap of Hollywood greed by directing this Robin Williams starring flop about a ten year old boy who ages four times as fast as regular people, and thus is cursed to resemble Robin Williams. The movie is sappy, ridiculous, and a childish waste of talent (Diane Lane…oh no), veering into typical childish slapstick humor with no other point than to offer kids a casual chuckle, rather than explore the deeper question of when we learn to grow up as people. One wonders if Coppola took an Ambien and slept throughout production and simply woke up to the resulting footage amidst a pile of Williams’ chest hair. Indeed, Jack seemed to be a detour somehow necessary for Coppola to bankroll his next film, The Rainmaker, starring Matt Damon.

Reshoots: Get Robin Williams out of it, and bring in a more serious actor who might be able to practice comedic chops, not the other way around. Also, should’ve brought in a writer with a bit of grace in handling deeper thematic issues — John Sayles, for instance.

The Lawnmower Man — Unreasonable adaptation. There are certain adaptations of stories, books, and plays which are utterly unacceptable and not necessary. In this case, it happened to Stephen King’s short story “The Lawnmower Man,” the creepy short story about a dude who hires a mysterious lawnmowing company, and discovers a terrifying truth about the company’s owner — who turns out to be a satyr working for Pan, and who devours cut grass while nude and kills his client before the truth can get out. The movie, starring ‘James Bond’ Pierce Brosnan, is about a dude who uses a mentally retarded lawnmower for virtual reality experiments, only to watch the poor guy’s evil increase with his intelligence. The ridiculous adaptation was so bad that Stephen King sued to get his name off the final film. Take your rifles and blast a hole in this celluloid monster.

Reshoots: None. Change your damn title and be done with it. Keep Jeff Fahey, though.…

The heat is so on.

Beverly Hills Cop III - Director John Landis and Eddie Murphy. Again, the sound of silver suitcases opening with wads of cash attracts the talent who created “Thriller,” and one of the best comedians of the 1980s, to the end of the better parts of their careers. The film has pieces of comic gems — Judge Reinhold’s hilarious reign as the head of the JDOJSIOC (“The JGjo-josee”), the random George Lucas cameo — but as far as films that represent turning points for anyone in showbiz, BHCIII is that point for Eddie Murphy, when nearly every film that followed carried a lighter, fluffier style (other than, of course, Vampire in Brooklyn), and his raw combination of violence, humor, and relevance just exited stage left.

Reshoots: Fine, keep your Wonderworld amusement park. Now add some blood and violence, and get a director who is able to handle something other than campy, classical horror. I’m sorry, Landis. I love American Werewolf in London, but this sort of thing ain’t your bag. At least, not in the tradition of Axel Foley’s finest work.

Oh, snap! What decade are we in?!

The Good German — Good idea, poor execution. Steven Soderbergh ventured into Post-WWII Vienna with his black and white homage to films like Casablanca a few years ago, and the results of his amalgam of talent and dedication to the craft took a turn for the worse around the moment when Tobey Maguire smacks Cate Blanchett in the face. The elements were all there: Using cameras and film from the era, hiring a great cinematographer who knows how to shoot black and white (Steven Soderbergh), good editing (Steven Soderbergh…again), a classic score (Thomas Newman), a smart script (Paul Attanasio). The problem is the dense story mishandled by great actors who, other than George Clooney, could not understand the basis of the filmmaker’s intentions. That, and the fact that Tobey Maguire was horribly miscast to play an enraged soldier who beats his girlfriend and screams bloody murder at any other soldier who chose today to breathe. Too small, and too soon for TM to try on the shoes of the villain. Pick something smaller, more unique (certainly not this past year’s generic Brothers).

Reshoots: How about recasting? How about re-writing so the plot is not as dense, and how about casting someone other than Tobey Maguire and Cate Blanchett? Cate lacks chemistry with any of her male counterparts in this one.

Dracula: Dead and Loving It - Mel Brooks. If you’re a good soldier,  you grant Mel Brooks your undivided attention from his early days as a performer on “The New Steve Allen Show” as the 2000 year old man, up through and including Robin Hood: Men in Tights. That being said, Spaceballs represented the last great Brooks film, and also the beginning of the Brooks Decline in comedy. RH:MIT is saved not only by Cary Elwes’s English accent, but also bites with humor from Dave Chappelle and a clear comedic target, that being the overuse of classic characters and the resulting effect on the genre itself. With Dracula: Dead and Loving It, Brooks had the chance to exploit the melodramatic forces at play in the vampire genre, and to create a spoof of the soul-sucking nature of monster movies — just as Spaceballs mocked the science fiction blockbuster, and Blazing Saddles taught us that even the most classic of movie storytelling genres was fodder for more jokes than beans in a burrito. Leslie Nielsen couldn’t even save the Dracula spoof’s nightmare of a humorless script. In fact, the one laugh-out-loud moment is featured in the trailer: “She’s Nosferatu.” “She’s Italian?”

Reshoots: More Steven Weber, less Leslie Nielsen.

Stand at attention!

Date Movie - The death of Hollywood dignity. Perhaps a deeply troubled step-child, or third cousin, to Dracula: Dead and Loving It, Date Movie is the representative of the last 12 years of Hollywood spoofs, second generation knock-offs courtesy of Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer. Films such as Scary Movie 3 & 4, Meet the Spartans, Disaster Movie, Epic Movie. These “films” are loaded with slight references and brief moments of familiar, recent movies, trying to cram every ounce of pop culture in between the most bare-bones of familiar plots. Take a lesson from Young Frankenstein: Build your characters, and keep your references subtle. Or from Airplane: Load us up with SMART jokes in the subtle way, and hit us over the head with slapstick humor of the irrelevant kind. Don’t just rely on the casting of Alyson Hannigan in your lead to attract our confidence in your otherwise colorless, odorless product.

Reshoots: I think we could — nah, nevermind. Burn it. Eliminate the last six years of horrible, pop-culture spoofs, and maybe my platoon will learn to laugh again.

You are dismissed!

Sgt. Angle

The Hump Day Rant is early this week!  Yuki is coming out later today and Ben will posting a ditty on that tomorrow, while Sgt. Angle takes Thursday this week for Cinegasm, leaving you bitches with me today.

Lucky you.

Against the better judgment of every man in the world, I recently braved the talent-farce that is the Grammy Awards.  My goal in doing so was to try and get a grasp on what I keep hearing the neon-donning teens of San Diego mention and/or hum before I kick them.  Times change.  What I listened to was the bane of my parents and 95% of the tripe I hear on the radio these days makes me want to drop-kick a baby further than Kaeding before the playoffs.  I had hoped to find something beautiful at the Grammy’s — I didn’t.  What follows is a pop-detached review of the over-produced shenanigans known as The Grammy Awards.

Lady Gaga opened the show in some sort of golden fag-factory wearing a green butterfly-shaped, glitter ranger outfit.  She also had some purple triangles on her face that, unfortunately, did not cover her whole face.  Also revealed in the opening performance was the outer area of her vagina and ass.  I realize that you were a stripper Miss Gaga, but you can afford clothes now — please wear some for those of us who do not want to see your haggard and used flesh.  Elton John joined her on stage.  I assume he came to retrieve the outfits Gaga stole from his 70s self.

At this point I realized that I had made a mistake.

Song of the Year: Beyonce Knowles, Single Ladies (Put a Ring on it). Wow.  That’s the best we got, huh?

Green Day played next, with the cast of their Broadway show American Idiot.  This was actually kind of cool — a bunch of theater losers getting to sing something that doesn’t involve idiotic dancing — I’m in.  It’s kind of hard to go wrong with Green Day…  I can’t help but wonder though: how long does it take Billy Joe to make his hair look like he didn’t make it?  Was the whole thing a bit melodramatically emo?  Yes.  But at least the source material wasn’t written for just teens.

Best Country Album: Who gives a shit?  Okay, fine.  Taylor Swift, Fearless, a girl who managed make Kristen Bell look big.  Eat a fucking cheeseburger.

Beyonce was next.  Another artist I know of?  Wow.  Maybe I’m not as old as I thought…  She rolled in with a homo-dancing-SWAT team, before jumping into a piano-laced grumble.  I’ll admit that this is one of the most talented vocalists in the world today, but I must quickly follow that with my biggest critique: the content of her songs (at least the two I’ve heard) are often lackadaisical and mundane, but she remedied her lack of substance by covering Alanis Morissette and maybe more, but I couldn’t tell.  Well done Ms. Knowles, way to play on your strengths.  All flash, no substance.

The next act was Pink.  She did the whole lonely hallway, virgin-Mary thing to open the performance.  Has anybody bothered to tell her that she isn’t cute?  I can’t tell if she’s trying to be sexy or tough, and I often wonder if she was born a hermaphrodite…  Probably not.  But those shoulders…  Anyways, for her whole performance she just walked around “singing.”  This would be fine if she had a voice like Beyonce, but she doesn’t.  I stopped watching, but then she took off her clothes and I couldn’t help but stare at the spinning-eunuch circus on my television.  I think she was dipped in water at some point, but she may have just been pissing on the audience.  Pink, the gimmicky, human-sprinkler.

Best New Artist: The Zac Brown Band.  I don’t know who these guys are, but one of them had a cut out of (I think) Zach Galifianakis on a Popsicle stick, so I like them.

The Black Eyed Peas.  Fuck the Black Eyed Peas.  These guys used to be good, a very long time ago.  Fergie killed them.  For their performance they came out in Michael Jackson’s S&M outfits and rolled around the stage muttering “Imma Be” and (like all their recent songs) just kept going on and on, repeating the same line.  When they got done saying “Imma be” they started blabbering about havin’ “a feelin.”  There were dancing speakers and wacky hairstyles abounding.  Unfortunately the performance did not end with a group suicide.  The popularity of this group actually makes me hate America.

Lady Antebellum played next.  I don’t know who these people are or where they came from, but I want them to go back there.  It’s not just that they’re country, but that they suck.  I’m pretty sure the guy on the right used to be a part of the Backstreet Boys.  And there isn’t enough black in the world to slim down that girl…

Best Comedy Album: Stephen Colbert, The Greatest Gift of All.  There is a God.

Record of the Year: Kings of Leon, Use Somebody.  I didn’t think these guys had a chance and while I like their previous album more, this was a great win, especially given their underwhelming competition.

Jamie Foxx sang opera.  Then something else.  It was all auto tune and made me queasy.  Mr. Foxx, what the fuck are you doing?  T-Pain showed up.  That didn’t help anything because T-Pain isn’t good unless he’s on a boat.  I’m pretty sure Keith Sweat rolled in at some point as well.  Then a fat girl.  Then Slash.  Seeing all that talent be so terrible reminded me of Kingdom of Heaven.  Mr. Foxx, I’d rather see you make a sequel to Miami Vice or Ray than listen to your “music” ever again.

Best Rock Album:  Green Day, 21st Century Breakdown.  Good job, boys.

The Zac Brown Band played next with Leon Russel, and while I didn’t know who these guys were before, I will be looking into them.  I liked their Amazing Grace open and the fact that they all look like beer-drinkers.  The music was fun and, though country, entertaining and positive.  Nobody did anything crazy or attempted in vain to make some rattled half-cocked statement — it was just good fun music with some talented good ol’ boys. I still think country sucks, but I can’t deny the talent.  Well done, sirs.

Taylor Swift performed next.  She had not eaten the previously suggested cheeseburger.  Her song was, well, meh.  It didn’t help my expectations that she was introduced by King Douchebag, Ryan Seacrest.  Stevie Nicks came on stage, which was cool, I guess.  But it seemed that Ms. Swift was having some problems singing live — perhaps she lacks talent without a post-production team.  And to the guy who played Cousin It in The Addams Family, nice guitar solo.

There was a This Is It thingie for Michael Jackson.  Apparently it was in 3D.  If you didn’t have 3D glasses it was in headache mode.  Children around the world had seizures when Michael reached out for them from beyond the grave.  Celine Dion, Usher, Carrie Underwood, Jennifer Hudson, and Smokey Robinson sang “The Earth Song.”  It was better when Michael did it by himself.  Michael Jackson was an incredibly talented man with innumerable issues.  I hope he finds more peace in the afterlife the he ever saw here on Earth.  And I hope the resurgence of spotlight-seeking celebrities and money-hungry suits stop using his death as a soapbox/cash cow soon.  Bringing out his kids, dressed as their dad, was a nice touch.

Bon Jovi showed up after Sheryl Crow kissed some Universal ass.  Unfortunately they didn’t perform “Blaze of Glory” from Young Guns 2, but they did throw out some of their other songs, one of which was picked by viewers online.  While Jon Bon has never been my cup of tea, I do respect their longevity.  Somebody named Jennifer Nettles came out and sang like she’d been drinking whiskey all afternoon and stood with her legs spread like she rode bulls as a child.  The last song they played was “Livin’ on a Prayer,” kind of appropriate for their career’s current state, don’t you think?

Best Rap/Sung Collaboration:  Jay-Z, Rihanna, Kanye West, Run This Town.

Andrea Bocelli, Mary J Blige and David Foster performed “Bridge Over Troubled Water” as a touching tribute to Haiti.  Give money.  Mary looked like Smurfette.

To the President and CEO of the Academy: Please go away.  You cannot stop music downloads.  I do not feel bad for the incredibly wealthy artists “losing” a bit of money.  Get off your soapbox and go home, to your mansion.

The Dave Matthews Band performed, which was cool.  I’ve always found them fun, but never enough to buy any of their albums. My favorite part was the refrigerator-sized man playing the trumpet.  You think Dave Matthews is ever not high?  I thought he might have been weed-less at the Grammy’s, but then he busted out what can only be described as leprechaun-flavored jig, and I knew that he was full of Mary Jane.

I thought Ricky Martin was dead.

Best Female Vocal Performance:  Beyonce, Halo.  I would like to thank Beyonce’s breasts for coming to the Grammy’s.

Maxwell was up next.  I think he was trying to seduce me…  It didn’t work.  All the fog, blue lighting and low camera angles in the world couldn’t make me like this guy — just not my scene.  Roberta Flack joined Maxwell and it still sucked.  Only now there was suck and ugly…  Roberta looked like somebody left her face out of the sunroof while driving down the freeway for a day, right after they shocked the shit out of her.

Jeff Beck gave homage to Les Paul.  Jeff Beck is the fucking man.  He played with Imelda May, some Irish chick I have no desire to get to know better.  She wasn’t bad, but her rockabilly style made me think of ugly.  Mr. Beck nailed it on the guitar and, with ease, plucked away at some Les Paul for our entertainment.

Quentin Tarantino — You are not Elvis.  You may be, however, the single greatest turd in the world (but a damn fine film maker).

Travis Barker, Eminem, Drake and Li’l Wayne were on stage to strut their stuff next.  It’s good to see that there is still confusion and misplaced anger alive in the music industry.  Drake used auto tune.  Damn him.  I think Eminem may be on Prozac or something, he’s so calm these days…

Pearl Jam was just on my television doing a Target ad.  What the fuck?

Best Album of the Year:  Taylor Swift, Fearless.

I suppose I should be happy that Transvestite Gaga didn’t win, but my faith in the music industry finds no solace in this decision alone.  If I have learned anything by watching the Grammy’s, it’s this:  winning a Grammy, or just being nominated, is not a sign of talent, skill or worth — but mass appeal.  Other things with mass appeal: McDonalds, cigarettes and promiscuous sex.

To the unnamed artists who spend countless hours working on their music and truly deserve recognition they will never receive I want to say, thanks.  I, and others like me, truly appreciate the fruits of your labor and respect you immense talent.

Grammy’s aint shit.

‘Til next time,

Mr. Wolff

Back to Semantink

I fought demons once.  It was about four years ago after devouring the worst Pho of my life.  I went to the bathroom after feeling some rumbly-tumblies and what should happen?  A cascade of various ethereal antagonists poured from me like ghost from Spengler’s containment grid.  They taunted me, ridiculed me and smelled really bad.  So I bitch-slapped them with a bible, threw out a few hail-marys and allowed my heavenly stature to repel the hellspawn.  Then, just to spite the devil, I ate more of the Pho-nasty.

The experience I just described to you would make a far superior film than “Legion.”  So you know what we’re getting into here, watch the trailer:

[SPOILER WARNING (Though the only way to spoilt this would be to keep showing it in theaters)]

Now it should first be mentioned that Legion is not a demon movie.  The Exorcist, Exorcism of Emily Rose, Omen — those are demon movies.  Legion is more like a siege movie; think of Assault on Precinct 13, The Alamo or the end of Young Guns.  It’s less about scary demons and much more about a few stereotypes trapped in a diner with the world attacking them.  But ultimately the film fails at being a good siege film, miserably.

The characters are all ancillary — a feat that in and of itself is somewhat impressive.  I think the pregnant girl was supposed to be the lead, but in the way Ana Lucia was a “lead” in LOST, plenty of lines with out any real point.  I’m not going to go into too much detail about the various archetypes because there is nothing new to talk about.  They all suck. White trash, love-sick idiot.  White trash whore.  White trash drunk.  Crippled old black dude.  Young conflicted black dude trying to get his son.  Rich people.  That’s about it.

If the sunlight was piss, and the angel was a moviegoer, this poster would perfectly describe Legion’s viewing experience.

Point is this: you’ve got ten or so people trapped in a gas station diner in the middle of the desert, but somehow the thousands of demons can’t get inside.  Why?  I don’t know.  When the black-eyed buggers first arrive they are repelled by our cliche cast’s litany of automatic weapons and then, give up.  Yeah.  They’re like, “Well, fuck this.  He’s got guns!  There may be an infinite amount of us, but he’s got guns so let’s leave.”  It makes no sense at all.  Could they have kept coming until the diner was eventually overrun?  Yes.  But they didn’t, because if they did that the movie would be over and we’re in for another hour so of this tripe.

Some blabbering goes on in the diner about God being angry and wanting to end the world, but our hero Michael (played by the albino from The DaVinci Code), is going to stop him.  He’s going to stop God.  The God who made him.  The God who made everything.  Yeah.

Well, some other shitty-shit happens for no apparent reason like the prick in the suit who got his neck chewed on by grandma, well he shows back up, on a cross, hung upside down, with boils.  And when his dipshit wife runs out to get him, making a hole in the gas station defenses, he explodes and the boils throw acid all over Dillon from Alien 3 (“Only God can save you know, sistah!”), which was a bummer.

Then we learn that the demons aren’t demons, they’re angels.  Whoa.  Like Michael.  Yet for some reason these angels can’t come straight to Earth like Michael, they have to possess people and look super evil with small baby-shark teeth because Writer/Producer Peter Schink (who has never written a produced film) and Writer/Director Scott Stewart (Director of the Albino once more in the upcoming Priest) said so.

Anyways, the pregnant chick has her baby and the angels have to stop attacking because they can’t attack the baby once born.  I don’t know why.  It wasn’t a problem attacking and possessing little demon children with balloons earlier in the film, but apparently this kid is special.  Why is he special?  No fucking clue.  But he is.  Schink says so.

Gabriel, another archangel, like Michael, shows up with tin-foil wings and decides he’s gonna fuck Michael up.  So everyone else runs away and some hillbilly kid magically gets the same tattoos that Michael has while driving away.  Craziness!

Gabriel kills Michael.  Drunk dad blows up the gas station.  Demon/Angels burn.  Gabriel goes after white trash tattooed guy, mystical angel-stopping baby and single, mobile-home mom.  White trash doesn’t back down and is about to die when…  MICHAEL COMES BACK!  Crazy, right?!?  God realized he was wrong and brought Michael back to kill Gabriel, eve though Gabriel was just doing what he was told!  Damn!  God’s kind of a dick, huh?

Well hillbilly mom and dumbass take baby and hit the road — with a shitload of guns.  Apparently, even though God realized he was wrong, “it’s not over…”  Sequel?

The black guy from Transformers is in this, but I don’t know why.  He should fire his agent.  His agent is a dick.  I don’t know him, but he must be.

The washed up quarterback from “Any Given Sunday” was fine, but he kind of acted like he didn’t want to be in the movie.  Like he was drunk one night, signed something on accident and had to be in this steamy puddle of crap.  All the actors pretty much sucked.  The dialogue was the only thing worse than the acting.  No, the writing in general was the only thing worse than the acting.  Legion is a string of tangents, thrown together like the director worships DaDaism and only read three words from the Bible before deciding to down some Pepto and splatter this film all over America’s chest.

It really is that bad.  You can see it if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it.  Just watch the trailer — it’s way better than the movie.  Or, better yet, see Book of Eli or rent Pandorum — both of which are great films, recently released.

Until next time,

Mr. Wolff

Back to Semantink

An acquaintance of mine was enjoying a coffee-flavored beverage with me the other night, discussing world news and other boring shit when the quake in Haiti came up and he bellowed, “wouldn’t that suck if it happened here?”  I lost my shit.  I went to my car and grabbed the oil funnel and some tape.  I proceeded to hit him over the head with something hard, bent him over the patio furniture provided for our convenience and taped him there with his pants down.  The I stuffed the oil funnel in his ass and poured the remainder of his 170 degree coffee into his intestines.

What does he mean by “here?”  Did “here” mean San Diego?  The greater San Diego County?  California?  The United States?  What the fuck does “here” mean?  I know that so many of our fine readers have already given what they can — nobody is asking more than that.  But here’s the thing: it did happen here.  It happened to humans on Earth and is therefore everybody’s problem.  Yours.  Mine.  And the douchebag with the burning-java-colon.

A couple of hours ago a 5.7 aftershock slammed Haiti once again.  More people will die — as in dead.  I’m sorry to be Debby-Downer here but I just don’t feel like some people understand the severity of the situation.  As of Tuesday, January 19th, the confirmed deathtoll was at 72,000, with estimates reaching over 200,000.  To compare it to some of the more recent “here” events: In Louisiana, Hurrican Katrina took almost 1500 lives, that’s 00.75% of what’s going on in Haiti; On September 11, 2001, terrorists killed around 3000, that’s 01.5% compared to Haiti.

Is any of this sinking in?  I’m sorry if I seem a bit stand-offish, but some of you don’t get it.

To those of you who have given anything at all I want you to know how much I thank you.  I have no direct ties to Haiti, no family or friend directly affected by the quake, but I find those of you who do give refreshing and a reminder that some do care.

If you have nothing to give or are unable to give at this time I ask only that you encourage people who can to do so.  I know times are tough on everybody so I won’t condemn those of you who are unable to give anything.  I only ask that you pray, to whomever it is you pray to, for those in Haiti, whether haitian or would-be rescuer.  And I thank you for your thoughts.

Now, to those of you who are able to give but find it inconvenient or don’t want to spend any of the money in your video game fund or stripper money, I say this very plainly: Fuck you.

Want to know how to help?  It’s easy.

1.  Go here.

2.  Donate money.

And for the lazy: text the word “Haiti” to 90999 to make a $10 donation to the Haiti relief effort. The donation, which will be received by the Red Cross, will show up on your next phone bill.  It really is that easy.

I thank all of you who are giving and apologize for the lack of humor in this weeks rant.  I had intended to write something more entertaining, but, well, the first paragraph explains the detour.

Thanks.

Mr. Wolff

Back to Semantink.

My first “real” job was as a barista at a hole-in-the-wall café in Little Italy.  The paisano who owned the place and shall hitherto be known as Mario, was a fat man with a mean mustache and a proclivity to play with pipes and turtle shells, but I’ll be damned if that Firenze-born god couldn’t make a cup of coffee.  He chose only the finest roasted beans and would, on occasion, send them back if he thought for a moment that they were less than standard.  The water he used to pull shots or strain through grind was filtered in a system designed by him.  Mario took his time with each drink and never rushed.  And when you got your drink, it was worth it.  It was something to be savored — a drink to enjoy and stimulate your senses.  It was, my friends, nectar of the gods.

Maybe that part of my life is the reason I despise Starbucks.

Or, maybe, it’s because this chain of java-whoring, money-mongering modern day slave traders is just about the farthest thing from coffee, yet has somehow managed to corner the coffee world.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; people think McDonald’s serves hamburgers.

As a business venture, Starbucks is brilliant: setting up a bunch of standardized coffee shops across the world that offer the same product, despite your location – if I’m in my local Starbucks I’m gonna get the same Latte that I’ll get if I’m visiting another Starbucks in Chicago.  I can see why it got huge.  It offers a simple solution (standardization) to a group of people (Americans) who can’t handle foreign films, much less be bothered try to understand the difference between a Caramel Macchiato and a Vanilla Latte.

Up to now, the success of this franchise hasn’t bothered me that much.  But lately I’ve come to notice a theme in these stores: What was once a lack of respect for the product they serve has somehow mutated into a warped sense of pride and self-delusion.  People actually think it’s good coffee, and worse still, the people who work there actually think they’re fucking baristas!

Let’s start with the java, it’ll be quick: It’s not good.  The espresso is (nine time out of ten) watery and the roasts are, while respectively diverse in region, uniformly bland in taste.  The only redeeming coffee of the lot is the Organic Mexican Shade Grown, but the French Roast, Italian Roast and House Blends all have one overbearing similarity that makes their flavor distinctions difficult to determine: gross.  That’s right, a big ole cup of black nasty with funktastic nasal spasm and over-roasted tummy junk.  You’re allowed to disagree with me, that’s the beauty of America, but at least try to be honest with yourself and the next time you drink Starbucks Coffee, taste it before you swallow.

This blog is for the drip coffee and espresso drinkers.  I’m not even going to start on you fat-frappuccino-drinking-fucks.

As far as the employees are concerned, know this: I don’t judge most of them — every once and a while I meat a genuinely nice person and I would wager that 75% of all Starbucks employees hate their jobs and sling caffeine to pay the bills – period.  If you fall into that category then please ignore what’s coming…  But to those of you who take an unnatural amount of pride in your work, get over yourself.  You’re not a barista.  Not since the La Marzoco machines left have any of you been a barista.  What you do is similar to what the untalented, zit-faced bastards at Jamba Juice do – you push a button.  You steam some milk and follow the recipe cards given to you at training.  That’s it!  Sometimes, when the beans run low, you fill it – but I know for a fact that is too difficult for some of you!

Do me a favor, the next time somebody comes in to Starbucks to get a drink, don’t act cool.  Act honored.  Because the ultimate truth to your life is this: You work for a company that is the essence of American corporate greed, doing a job that a monkey couldn’t fuck up, serving people who think the terms Short, Tall, Grande and Venti*  make no sense, probably because the closest most of them have ever come to a foreign country is the movie AVATAR!

You, Starbucks barista, are a tool.

Now, to close I’d like to point out that the logo for Starbucks is one of the greatest examples of irony – ever!  A siren.  I know that some of you may not get it, but a siren is a creature of myth that would sell coffee call from jagged cliffs to passing ships.  The sailors would try the frappucinos hear the song, become addicted to caffeine entranced and steer towards the music until their heart exploded from too much espresso or clogged vanilla-bean arteries ships crashed upon the rocks.  The sailors would then rot on the shores, unable to leave.

Enjoy your coffee, captain.

Mr. Wolff

Back to Semantink

*Consequently the sizes of Short, Tall and Grande are perfectly sensible and in Europe, would stand for small, medium and large respectively.  But that wasn’t good enough for us Americans – we needed a bigger size and created Venti, or “twenty” in Italian.

Last night was the People’s Choice Awards.  I wouldn’t normally watch it, but a dear friend of mine with a terminal illness and an affliction for fuckery happens to work for the show and asked me to tune in, so I did.  For maybe five minutes.  Then they announced the first winner in the Best Comedy category, which we’ll get to in a minute, and I turned it off.

Now the People’s Choice Awards claims to be a unique show in that they listen to fans (taken from their website):  The People’s Choice Awards celebrates fan favorites in music, movies and television and is the only major awards show where real people — not industry insiders — determine the nominees and winners, setting it apart from other awards shows.

That’s not entirely true…  You see, they don’t speak to all the fans, or go off of a movie’s gross ticket sales, or a TV show’s ratings, or anything like that — they just let people go to the site and vote.  Seems simple and fair, right?  No.  It’s not.  You see, the overwhleming demographic of voters are pre-teens in braces with a hankering to be loud and obnoxious — the rest of us are working or don’t care.  What irks me is that the celebrities who leave with these awards may actually believe they are the “people’s choice.”  SO, in an effort to make things perfectly clear, I’ve decided to go through and address each winner (in the film category only — sorry TV and music, I can’t stomach to even look at you), to let them know whether or not they were chosen by people or mindless, pre-pubescent, acne-ridden germ-incubators, overloaded on hormones teens.

Favorite MOVIE ACTOR
Johnny Depp

No problem, whatsoever, here.  Johnny Depp is one of the most talented actors around.  As far as I’m concerned this guy can’t win enough awards.  He has reinvented himself again and again and again.  My only complaint with Mr. Depp is thus: Maybe a little less Burton — I know you two love each other and I think you make a great team but the formula’s getting a little tired.  I’m sure you’ll be a fantastic Mad Hatter, but it’s just not new anymore.  We get it, you’re both eccentric…

Favorite MOVIE ACTRESS
Sandra Bullock

Sorry Sandie — no can do.  You may have been a qwerky kind of hot in Demolition Man and Speed, but something happened…  Somewhere along the way you started banking off your comedic acting and not your sexiness, which is fine, but you’re not funny.  I’m sure that women across the world would fight against me to defend you, but I’m going to say what all (non-gay) men are thinking: Please stop making movies our ladies want to see.  We’re running out of excuses to miss them.  And “Favorite Movie Actress?”  Not in a million.  You’re just below Tina Fey and barely above that ugly girl from Twilight.

Favorite ACTION STAR
Hugh Jackman

Oh Hugh, you silly bitch.  I want to love you, I really do.  You brought Wolverine to the big screen and for that I will always be eternally grateful.  But your action movies since the two X-Men films have all been, well, crappy: Swordfish?  Van Helsing?  Ex-Men 3?  Ex-Men Origins: (Not-so) Wolverine?  Sorry bud, but you’re not an action star — not yet.  I would give you the People’s Choice for “Best Manly Actor Who Is Probably Gay.”  Action stars are men like Arnold S, Sylvester S, Jean-Claude Van D, and Bruce W.  You’re nowhere near them.

Favorite COMEDIC STAR
Jim Carrey

Apparently Jim made a movie called Yes Man which isn’t so bad, but that’s the problem with this guy lately — all of his movies are not so bad.  None of them are good.  Remember Ace Ventura?  The Mask?  Hell, even Liar, Liar was giggle-inducing.  Somewhere along the line Mr. Carrey went all Eddie Murphy on your fans and forgot what funny was.  Do us all a favor and take a few years off, find your comedic-qi and get back in the haha-saddle.  Jim, you just won a “Best Comedic Star” award on the People’s Choice Awards — that should tell you you’re probably not funny.

Favorite BREAKOUT MOVIE ACTRESS
Miley Cyrus

I have nothing to say about this little attention whore.  I don’t know what movie she was in that helped her “breakout” (apparently she wasn’t famous before), but nobody in their right mind takes her seriously.  Nobody.

Favorite BREAKOUT MOVIE ACTOR
Taylor Lautner

First of all, he was in Twilight.  If that doesn’t establish this farce of an award show, then maybe the competition he “beat” will:  Chris Pine, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Sam Worthington, Zachary Quinto.  Any one of those men deserves ten times the success of Lautner, if for no other reason than this: they were not in a Twilight movie.

Favorite INDEPENDENT MOVIE
Inglourious Basterds

This movie should win every award it can — it was one of the BEST movies of 2009.  But Independent?  I dunno…  From Wikipedia (which is the most reliable site EVER) “An independent film, or indie film, is a film that is produced mostly outside of a major film studio. The term also refers to art films which differ markedly from most mass marketed films.”  Best film?  Yes, I’d be on board with that.  But Tarantino hasn’t done indie since Reservoir Dogs…

Favorite Comedy MOVIE
The Proposal

This movie beat The Hangover.  If you haven’t seen The Hangover then do yourself a favor and stop reading this immediately, go buy it and enjoy.  If you have seen it but didn’t like it, you’re an idiot.  If you saw it and saw this and thought this was better you probably produce unhealthy levels of estrogen and lack pubic hair.

Favorite MOVIE
Twilight

Fuck these films.

Now I encourage, as always, you to tell me what you think.  Since most of our readers are not drooling morons in high school, I want to know what you think about the “winners” from last night.  I have a serious sense of dread that our retirement homes will be full of Meyers books, Miley music and models-turned actors — the youth of America scare the shit out of me.

The Future of America…

Mr. Wolff

Back to Semantink

You hoes knew this was coming.

Sgt. Angle asked me to write for him this week while he takes over a small country in the South Pacific so here I am.  Now I know Sgt. Angle usually writes about concepts or ideas in film-making, but that’s not what Mr. Wolff is about.  So today we’re going to talk about the movie on EVERYBODY’s top-ten list for last year: AVATAR.

One of my courtesans is a beautiful blond with a firm butt, a six pack and a rack to make babies drool — malady is gorgeous, to be sure.  She’s also incredibly intelligent; not smart, intelligent — there is a difference and we’ll get to that.  If my car needs fixing or one of my many cyborg parts breaks down, she can get in there and fix it something quick because she knows science.  The  only problem with this buxom beaut is that in all other areas of life she is a recycled cliche of just-forgotten plot lines and bad dialogue.  I love to lay with her, I appreciate her intelligence, but I would never call her awesome because she’s so fucking stupid.  Her name is AVATAR.

By now most of you probably know about AVATAR’s history.  Cameron found the script twelve or so years ago and held on to it because the technology wasn’t around to make the film he wanted to make.  Brilliant.  The patience paid off because this movie is nothing short of a visual masterpiece.  I thought I was crying both times I saw it, but I quickly realized that it wasn’t a stream of tears rolling down my face, no: my eyes were cumming.  The render time for the CG is incredible, something like a frame every 30–50 hours.  Think about that for a second.  Yeah.  Awesome.

Yes. I would have relations with an alien.

Okay, so it’s pretty.  Nobody in their right mind will debate that fact.  What else is impressive?  The science.  Cameron hired sombody to create a fucking language.  I hold little doubt that while perusing through the halls of the San Diego Comic Con this year I will see somebody dressed as a Na’vi kickin’ it with a Klingon while they trade secrets on how to learn fictional languages and preserve their virginity.  You know it’s going to happen.  I bet somebody is reading this right now, translating the whole blog into Na’vi just to spite me.  Translate this: You’re going to die alone.  I’ve come across a few articles (like this one and this one) that defend the science behind AVATAR and you know what?  I’m in.  Sure, the film (mostly) works on an intellectual level.  I think that’s pretty cool, so chalk up another point for AVATAR.

Now this is when things go south, quickly.  Let’s talk for a moment about the plot of AVATAR.  Ex-military guy with baggage befriends would-be, tree-hugging enemies until he finds himself more comfortable with them then with his own kind.  Oh, you mean Dances with Wolves? Um, no.  This film has mechanical soldiers and advanced technology, like futuristic style shit!  Oh!  Soldier with Kurt Russel? No no, you see this takes places in an exotic rainforesty setting.  Okay, like Ferngully: The Last Rain forest? The indigenous people are big and blue.  Oh.  Well that’s neat…

The plot is tired, unoriginal and reeks of other movies that were, in their time, more original.  The message of the film is a bit more complex.  Some people say it’s anti-war.  Others are claiming it’s an environmental preservation piece.  Still some claim that it is all about cultural acceptance.  Well, I say it’s about all that without being about any of it specifically.  I think the fact that the film so vaguely clings to a message persay is both admirable and deplorable.  Admirable that it seems to serve more to entertain than to preach, and deplorable in its ambiguity so that people can attach their own agendas and claim camaraderie with the film itself.  I’m reminded of a politician who will avoid definite answers in order to capture votes from both sides.  AVATAR, you dirty Demopublican bitch!

The writing overall is just, well, bad.  The dialogue is comes off as half-cocked and ill-improvised in several moments, which, to be fair, could be to do with the actor’s delivery (when Michelle Rodriguez uses a big word like “martyrdom” I know immediately she’s acting and it takes me out of the film).  Then there were the plants and payoffs: predictable and poorly implemented.  When [SPOILER ALERT] Sigourney’s character fails to fuse with her Na’vi hybrid and dies I wondered, couldn’t our hero do that?  And guess what?  He totally did — shocker!  When we are told about the union of Na’vi through the Last Shadow Rider, I thought, well hell, I wonder if we’re gonna need to unite some bitches.  And when we did need to unite, guess what happened?  Our hero rode the Last Shadow!  Oh Shnap, didn’t see that coming did you?  [END SPOILER AND SARCASTIC SURPRISE]

I think it’s worth mentioning that James Cameron is brilliant.  Yeah, I said it: Brilliant.  The man has revolutionized cinema several times: Terminator 2 anyone?  The Abyss?  Titanic?  I don’t want you to think I’m anti-Cameron.  You see, I’m actually just anti-good-directors-forgetting-about-directing-a-film-in-an-effort-to-break-ground.  That’s all.

So here’s my final judgment:  Avatar is a very pretty, very intelligent retard of a film, like a hot autistic chick that has no business in the company of greater films like The Hurt Locker or Let The Right One In.  Go see it and be impressed (either 2D or 3D will do), but ask your local theater manager to do you a favor: mute it.

Mr. Wolff

PS: We might get some hardcore Na’vi action on the DVD!

PPSS: PAPYRUS is the SHITTIEST FONT EVER!  Bad choice Cameron, bad choice.

Back to Semantink

At midnight tonight we will begin not only a new year, but a new decade.  The last ten years have been…interesting.  We’ve had our ups (conquering racial boundaries with the election of an African-American President) and downs (the the realization that our African-American president is, at the end of the day, still a politician), but nobody can say we didn’t try our damnedest to make it memorable.  Unfortunately, some things/people will be remembered in ways the contrary to their hopes.  With that in mind I would like to close the otts with a tribute to the worsts of the decade in five fields: Television, Film, Comics, Music and Celebrity.

Television:  Heroes (2006)

If you’re familiar with my writing, then you know I despise Heroes.  Whilst some of you may be wondering if I have labeled them the worst of the decade for personal reasons, allow me to be clear: I have.  You see, TV shows come and go.  To find “the worst” according to ratings would be somewhat trivial as I would have to sift through an onslaught of shows that never were and describe them to you, since you probably never had the chance to see them.  Now, what makes Heroes the worst?  The fact that it started so strong and fell so flat.  I’ve exhausted myself on previous occasions berating this show so I will keep this somewhat short:  Heroes started in 2006 as a hot girl in high school — she had a nice rack, breasts to make a goddess envious and the playful kind of personality that would impress your parents at dinner and then fuck you something rotten in private.  But as seasons went on and Heroes left high school, she got dirty and fat.  She became abusive and started stealing from other (better) stories without the slightest semblance of an apology.  Then, before anyone knew what happened, we came home from a hard day at work to find our parents dead with Heroes stroking a dick she’d grown while worshiping an altar to some evil little bastard in the shape of Uwe Boll.

Film:  Ballistic: Ecks vs Sever (2002)

Look at this instead of the poster. Trust me.

Lucy Liu is hot.  Antonio Banderas is great.  So what doomed this potential money maker?  Everything.  The story was weak, the action was too much (and think about that for a second — “too much”) and the acting was, well, there wasn’t any really.  Currently Ballistic has a 00% on Rotten Tomatoes, in the company of: Witless Protection (2008), Superbabies: Baby Geniuses 2 (2004), and Pinocchio (2002).  I tried watching this movie once and one time only.  I was unable to finish it because I killed myself five minutes in after I saw something about nanobots or a homosexual orgy — I forget.  Point is, I killed myself and when I got to Hell, Satan tried to make me watch Ballistic for eternity, when he heard that they had released his torture of choice on Earth, he cried in a corner while I slipped out of hell, slapping some succubi ass on my way out.

Comics:  Trouble (2003)

Perhaps lesbianism would’ve saved this one…

Let’s start with the obvious:  Mark Millar is one of the best comic book writers ever.  That being said:  WHAT THE FUCK MAN?!  If you’ve never read Trouble, here’s the abridged version:  Aunt May (yeah, the old woman who looks after Spider-man) was a slut who got knocked up when she slept with her friend’s boyfriend.  Turns out she is Peter’s mom, but just barely since she almost aborted his ass when she went nuts learning of her spawn.  Instead, she had Peter, dropped him off with Mary and Richard (whom we thought were Peter’s parents) and goes home like nothing every happened.  First of all, I don’t ever, ever want to see sweet old Aunt May whoring out with two guys in one comic, even if she does have huge breasts — it’s just creepy.  And second, don’t fuck with Spider-man’s back story.  Leave that shit alone.  There’s enough confusing shit to follow and keep track of and I don’t need to learn about Parker’s skank of a mom who has lied to him forever.  Fuck this book.

Music:  The E.N.D. — Black Eyed Peas (2009)

Weren’t there some dudes in this band at a point?

When the Black Eyed Peas picked up Fergie, it was the best/worst thing they could have done.  It would launch them into the mainstream market and help them to bathe in money for the rest of their lives.  It would also decrease the quality of their music so enormously that musicians would laugh at the mere mention of this once talented band.  Need proof they suck?  They were nominated for a Grammy.  I know that some of you love this band (Fergie included), and that’s okay.  You people are considered tasteless and I don’t care what you think.  You’re probably the same people who think the Jonas Brother’s Movie was “fun,” and that Fred Durst will make a come back.  You’re cute.  Really.  Here, sing with this guy, he’s on your team:

Celebrity:  Michael Vick

Good boy.

According to a US Department of Agriculture report dated August 28, 2008, “Vick, Peace and Phillips thought it was funny to watch the pit bull dogs belonging to Bad Newz Kennels injure or kill the other dogs.”  Vick was tried and convicted, spent a little time in jail and ultimately wound up playing football again for the Philadelphia Eagles.  Folks, I know I can be a bit insensitive to women, retards and various forms of stupid, but abusing animals is an evil above most other evils, surpassed by only by Hitler and just above punching babies.  Michael Vick is a joke.  The laugh comes at the expense of our justice system which has grossly missed the mark.  Vick should be fed to the dogs he abused and then forced to drink the urine of puppies for the rest of his days.  Get this: He won the Eagles award for courage a week or so ago.  Courage, huh?  Fuck you.  What Vick did was the largest, most inexusable act of negligence performed by any other celebrity in the last decade.  I hope he gets rabies.

In less than 24 hours it will be 2010 and the beginning of the next decade.  I know that Semantink has a shitload of goodies lined up and I can only hope that the economic slump lessens with time, but the nice thing about the future is the opportunities it presents.  Get out there and do something awesome people.  If you insist on being a dumbass, stop breathing so the rest of us can try and make the world a little better than when we found it.

Until next year,

Mr. Wolff.

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