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Archive for June, 2011

BBC reporter Ben Anderson, embedded with the British troops in Afghanistan, reports on the Afghani hashish-stoned troops being hopelessly outmatched by the Taliban.

Bring the boys back home.

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Beat-box flute fella:

“Yeah, Aqualung!”

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So there was this adolescent named Adam. He was known in his family for eye-rolling. He was known in his peer group for being a young George Carlin (I’m assuming here that his peer group doesn’t know George Carlin).

Gee, I really could give this a proper introduction, but please spend a few minutes with Adam. You’ll find him annoying and kind of dumb, well, you’ll find him to be everything you’ve always thought was true about a fifteen-year-old boy. Hey, look at that! I gave it a proper introduction afterall.

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I can handle a lot of things. Clarence Clemons death is not one of them.

No one had a tone like that. No one did more with 8 measures than he did. Rest in peace.

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I cannot believe he is on this shooting spree. And there’s nothing in the news about it. No outrage, no congressional attention- will no one think of the children?

There’s no way I’m buying his reggae album now. Reggae is about peace, AM I RIGHT?

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Mansour Bahrami is the greatest tennis player and clown you’ve never heard of. A one man Harlem Globetrotters of tennis.

Don’t get too much joy in your cereal:

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Whilst our children are playing video games, the children of the former Soviet Union are doing feats of strength, dexterity, and fearlessness, making “Red Dawn: The Actual” an inevitability.

See their playfulness, oh Sons of Jefferson, and quail!

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Masterfully directed and animated by DC Turner. One of those pieces that reminds me, “Get your ass back to work.”

 

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“Elvis or Johnny Cash?” “Dancing With the Stars or American Idol?” “Leno or Conan?”

You’re kidding me, right? Four wars, unprosecuted financial robber-barons, eroding civil liberties, unprecedented attacks on democratic unions, and an insanely bloated military industrial complex.

Go f*ck yourself, John.

(Stewart’s take-down of the whole ridiculous charade here.)

 

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In this trailer, devil-horned Obi Wan Kenobi and hot manga apprentice Lucia Skywalker escort space cowboy/smuggler Indiana Jones Solo towards a courtroom/jail cell, when SUDDENLY- Lucia, what do you sense? “Darkness.” Jesus, not darkness!

Sith Attack!!!

Thank God Indiana Solo has the fastest ship in the galaxy. He can “get ‘er out on the Falcon.” Let’s go!!!

Uh-oh. Here come the Sith. How many lightsabers? I don’t know. How many can you EFFING HANDLE, CHUMP?!?

Thank the Maker that Obi Wan DevilHornObi can sacrifice himself so that Lucia can Jackie Chan her way to the Falcon and they can “get to those guns/don’t get cocky kid” while getting ready for the hyperdrive and fly through a Destroyer like a Death Star trench and then they can OH WHO GIVES TWO SHITS.

Have none of these guys watched Red Letter Media?

That being said, the thing is effin’ gorgeous. The uncanny valley is almost gone, the movement is fluid, the sets are unbelievable, and the overall design is really spectacular. It’s a beautiful trailer that could’ve been directed by Micheal Bay. Every character looks like a superhero (yawn). The tropes are all there, in mind-numbingly predictable fashion. If everyone in your “film” (even if created by CG) is beautiful (or beautifully scarred/ugly/EVIL), well, your story probably sucks. And this one does.

But none of this should stop Lucas from casting me in the live action Star Wars. Just sayin’. I’d ugly up that stuff with some authentic cynicism, lemme tell ya.

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I left the bar last night with the Dallas Mavericks down 15, with about 6 minutes left in the fourth. Apparently, the Mavs went on a 17-2 run to win the game, Dirk blowing by VeBoshiraptor like he was glued to the wood, finishing with his injured left hand.

Remember, people: the tears of David Stern, Pat Riley, Lebron James, Bosh and Wade can repair the polar ice caps. They can clean rivers, repair crumbling infrastructure, and put Goldman Sachs CEOs in jail. They can regrow amputated limbs, salamander-style. They can give everyone mutant powers: flight, invisibility, or Adriana Lima-attracting-musk.

Ask Marko Jaric. Wade cried on him once.

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And would you be sewprissed if I toweld yew, that’s theres no Rudolph MacFroody in the whole countystate of Mississsipi-alabama?

On the first take, John Grisley’s The Trial looks like a really clumsy Danish attempt at the micro-genre of Southern Courtroom Drama. You may experience a period of confusion where it’s difficult to tell who exactly is being made fun of. Is this artfully-crafted schlock or painfully sincere European imitation from the early nineties? Apparently the Swedish comedy collective Grotesco have suffered through as much of our bad tv as we have.

The technique is kinda brilliant in it’s simplicity: the words “how can I defend you if I can’t trust you?” is whimpered by lawyers in approximately 87% of legal dramas. It’s a phrase that should be in a home for battered cliches. Grotesco toys with your recognition of these tropes by showing that you still recognize them, even when they are delivered as near-rhymes or peppered with complete nonsense. The result is shame-inducing: “My god, did I really watch this exact same story that many times?”

Note for note, it is one of the most cutting mockeries of American middlebrow genre work that I’ve ever seen. I can tell you that Part 2 has a surprise ending, and you will still be surprised.

Part 1

Part 2

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