No-Nonsense Movie Review: The Dark Knight Rises

What a whiny fucking movie.

There I was, minding my own business in the crowded theater, in the seat next to the handicapped-accessible seat near the front row. This is a good spot because rarely do I see many circularly-enabled people wheeling into the movies, thus meaning no dickhead would sit next to me. For whatever reason, director Christopher Nolan decided to include a wheelie in this movie session however, just to throw a literal cog into my monkey-wrench. What transpired was the following:

Wheelie Bin

Can I have that seat there?

Me

Go right ahead, I'm not using it.

Wheelie Bin

Can you move to another seat for me?

Me

Why? That's the accessible seat, just sit there.

Wheelie Bin

Look, I'm handicapped, and like the space, so just do me this favor.

Me

What, so because you're in a wheelchair, the empty, reserved seat isn't enough for you? You need the whole row to yourself? You're not even fat, you can fit in the normal space. Just sit in the seat designated for you and be done with it.

Wheelie Bin

I hope you feel proud taking things away from handicapped people.

Me

The seats right there. Don't blame me for the loss of your legs, just because some chinaman took them from you in Korea.

At this point, wheelie bin angrily rolls off, and chooses, instead of in any theater seat at all, to sit in her wheelchair, in between a row of seats by herself. Since she clearly didn't want the seat made for her, I put my Raisinettes there instead.

I'm not sure what artistic point Christopher Nolan was trying to convey to the viewers with this particular scene, but it left me feeling awkward, that's for sure. Of course, so as to allude to things to come, this secret ending happened after the credits rolled:

Wheelie Bin

Thanks for taking my seat, asshole.

Me

You're still sitting in your seat.

I don't care if you did come to the movie dressed like this:

There's only so much special treatment you're going to get.


1 out of 5 stars

No-Nonsense Movie Review: Prometheus

Utter rubbish.

Lots of people had problems with this film because they felt it either left too much to the viewer's imagination in regards to its ties to the Alien plot-line, or because they felt that it was a stabbing at issues fundamental to all modern religions. However, my issue with it was far more intrinsic. As far as I can work out from my seat, Ridley Scott chose to fill the film with 124 minutes of:

• The 57 year-old pot-smoking man to my left constantly uttering combinations of the phrases "oh my god", "look out", "oh no", as well as endless surprised and/or approving guttural moans. Additionally, when any serious action would happen on screen, such as alien attacks, he would stunningly choreograph his own take on the fight scene by punching at the air whilst shouting his catchphrase "oh my god".
• A group of five people to my right adding awful one-liners to film dialog, like an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 written by, and staring, retards exclusively. Coupled with their incessant arguing for two hours that the character Peter Weyland in the film was played by Val Kilmer. Utterly convinced that this character...

Was not played by...

Guy Pearce; as we can see by there being no resemblance in the two photos. And was instead played by...

Fatass Val Kilmer.

Awful and terrible. Shame on you Mr. Scott. Were it not for these characters that you chose to incorporate into my theater experience for whatever reason, your film may well have been enjoyable.


1 out of 5 stars

So Long, And Thanks For All The Internets

Well, folks, it's all over for me. It's the end of the road, but it's been a fun journey. We've had some good laughs, some good pixels, some good internets, but all rides come to an end. Unfortunately, mine is ending sooner than I'd like, simply because I committed a hate crime, and must now face the consequences. Allow me to elaborate.

Like all racially-motivated crimes of hate, mine started at a local Great Khan's Mongolian BBQ establishment.

Since the courts will likely need a verbose explanation of my crimes, I've whipped up a handy diagram to explain my extreme guilt, likely leading to my permanent incarceration. The key to the diagram is as follows:

The Fonz giving an awesome thumbs up	Me
Cheech wearing culturally correct Mongolian head garb	Great Khan's employees
Martin Lawrence as Big Momma	Sassy black mother building piles of food on her tray
"I fucking love coloring" kid	Annoying child of mother, playing a Nintendo DS

Here we can see the state of things shortly after I paid my $8, earning the right to amass my piles of meats and veggies on my plate. Look out lamb meat, here I come!

Following normal, societal norms, sassy black lady and I both continued on our linear accoutrement journey through the various ingredient stations. Take note however, that her spawn is roughly stationary.

The issue outlined in the previous frame has become an ever more pressing matter now. As we can see, I'm right next to the child, which is highly engrossed in whatever games kids play nowadays; likely some simulation where you try to impregnate as many high school girls as possible. Regardless, the spawn is now physically blocking me from getting at the broccoli and bean sprouts, while the mother is miles away.

Despite looming directly over this impediment, my comments of "please participate in the line", and "jesus christ" simply fell upon deaf years. It was hail mary time.

I pulled from my bag of tricks a little move I like to call "shove the little black kid". Hate crime: committed.

The hint was well received, as he moved the fuck on, but at what price? I'll likely spend the rest of my life in prison, once news of this egregious assault reverberates through the African American community. I was only one more shoved black kid away from getting the chair, I'm sure.

The people that really suffer here, aside from the kid that was slightly jostled, are you, my loyal blog readers. I doubt I'll be able to continue contributing articles once I'm serving out my life sentence. And for that, I apologize to all of you. But not to that kid. You don't stand between a man and his cooked lamb meat. Some lessons are learned the hard way, but he knows that now.

So long, readers, and thanks for all the internets.

Every Damn Time

*In the checkout queue*

I must say, I'm surprised that they let women handle the money here. I never thought I'd live to see the day.

I own $36.42? Hmmm, alright.

I carry next to no actual American currency, but worry not, for I believe these food stamps should cover my bill.

What do you mean these are just regular stamps, and have no monetary value in this store?!

Luckily, I've brought this checkbook with me. Do you accept checks here?

I've had this trusty checkbook since 1954; ever since I helped to fight those godless Koreans.

Dagnabit!

Hmmm, after lengthy computation, I appear to only have $12 left in my account. I'll write a check for that amount, and then we'll settle up for the remainder.

What do you mean my bus pass doesn't count as a valid form of I.D.? I served in Korea!

Well, hold your horses now, I believe as far as the remaining balance of $24.42 goes, I just so happen to carry around this small satchel full of buffalo nickles; which will undoubtedly square us up.

Allow me to pay you with them one by one, as I count them out...

...forty one...
...forty two...

That reminds me, my youngest granddaughter is forty two years old, you know.

Now where was I?

...One...
...Two...

Meanwhile, everyone else behind the man attempting to barter with a chicken and two bushels of corn is simply wasting away from the passage of time.

Since I've long since died at this point I can only speculate, but I imagine that this man calmly leaves the store after finally paying for his goods, and quietly saddles up on his pet dinosaur he's had since he was a boy 70 million years ago, and gently rides off into the sunset. Content in knowing that he's ruined any plans that anyone had.

Inspirational Words For My Gym Friends

I wanted to commend you since I see you're up to 125lbs on the chest presses, Eastern Bloc man wearing stereotypical tracksuit and talking to himself in Russian. Nicely done comrade.

Looking good on those calf presses, man with world war 2 bomber navigator headphones hooked up to iPod. All the extra weight on your head probably is helping tone your neck as well.

Hello! I SAID HELLO! That's an impressive amount of weight you're able to dead lift there, man with ear buds blocking him from hearing his own aneurism-inducing grunts extremely forcefully on every rep.

I thought you didn't work out on Wednesdays? Either way, glad you could make it in today, woman with stretchy athletic pants with a seam sewed into them that bunches up in the anus region, making them resemble a pair full of dump.

I must say, you've had a great improvement in your form this week, compared to last, guy that works out in his business attire. Just because you're sweating profusely, there's no reason not to look boardroom appropriate.

You have great energy today, woman wearing full-length burqa, whilst carrying around a single free-weight, without ever actually using it. Keep that momentum going.

Those were some great ab curls you banged out there earlier; lots of energy and intensity. Keep up that great drive, group of free-range homosexuals congregating in the gym to talk about the TV show Glee.

Amazing stamina today, man who comes in to watch sports on the TV mounted on the wall by the free-weights, while doing no actual working out at all. You were in particularly good form when your baseball team did poorly, forcing you to stomp around the machines exclaiming "come on!"

Excellent performance on the stationary bike today. I must say it was quite impressive that you could pedal at 3.5 MPH for over 20 minutes, man that looks like Jesus, and spends his entire workout period talking on his cell phone.

You guys are improving quite nicely in your routine. Quite remarkable compared to just a few weeks ago, gaggle of squawking women coalescing by the treadmills.

Tremendous amounts of hustle on the bikes today, woman who's so rotund that she fills up the entire area between the seat and handlebars on the stationary bikes. Really good energy.

You're really making some headway today, congratulations. You've done a good amount of sets, woman that's nearing 80 years old and comes to the gym caked in makeup to the point where she looks like Mimi from The Drew Carey Show.

I applaud you on your seemingly endless amounts of energy, stocky man in one-piece spandex outfit that makes him looks like something out of a 1920s exhibit at a fitness museum. Should really come in handy when you box that kangaroo later.

It can be hard to stay motivated when it comes to your health, so I'm glad to see you made it in today, man with overpowering body odor, that never wipes down machines after use, and is apparently immune to noticing his own funky emanations.

I must say, that was an inspiring performance you put on over by the delt / pec machine, group of tweens roaming around the gym whilst all starring down at, and interacting with, their iPhones exclusively.

Excellent enthusiasm and energy on the floor today, man who's workout routine consists solely of watching himself run in place in front of the floor-length mirror.

Keep up the good work and the truly remarkable adherence to the principles of the buddy system, two old men that share a single machine. Each taking a turn doing a single rep, and then switching to let the other man do the same thing.

I appreciate your dedication, so it's too bad you couldn't join us today, angry man that drove to the gym, only to leave because the closest parking spot was half a block away, smashing his motivation and precluding him from actually making it inside the gym because walking is too strenuous.

Good work with the exercise ball, you have excellent core strength, woman wearing gaudy spandex pants eerily similar to the American flag pants worn at Rex Kwon Do in the movie Napoleon Dynamite.

And yes, these are all real people I've seen at the gym.

Public Transit: Paddywagon O' Crazy

Reminded by a friend recently moving to a new city, and having to rely on public transit to shuffle him to and from his job, I flashed back to just a few years ago when I, too, relied on the moving petri dish that is public transit. Akin to Vietnam, it brought back horrible, awful, smelly memories.

I'm sure many of you haven't ridden on a major-metropolitan transportation system before, but despite the many glaring downfalls and drawbacks to the system, it's really not as bad as you think it would be. Sure it took me two hours to traverse the same distance I could cover in a car in 20 minutes, but where's the fun in that?

Public transportation isn't JUST about a cheap and painfully slow means to get anywhere you want to go, but really it's about the sights, smells and sounds you take in while en route to your destination. There's a venerable cornucopia of freaks, degenerates, foreigners, losers, social outcasts, disease infested carrier monkeys, people with only few functioning body parts, people with MORE functioning body parts than the rest of us, gang-bangers (in both the guns, and herpes varieties), prostitutes, drunks, crazies and should-be-shots, that all call the bus their ride.

Granted, I've never used public transportation in any other city, but I imagine that southern California's city bus experience is second to only places such as New York or Paris. Although many of you perhaps have not ridden on a city bus before, I'm sure the normal rules of the bus aren't foreign to anybody. There's three simple, and easy to follow rules that are posted on all buses and trolleys, probably in every city in the world:

What many don't realize however, is that these three are not the only rules that govern public transit etiquette.

Nay.

These three were just widdled down from a much larger list of do's and do not's for riding successfully and correctly. Through many months of careful observation, and a few leaked internal memo's, I've been able to track down the full list of rules.

		If you're too old and crippled to live without assistance, and you are barely (just barely) mobile...then the bus and all it's boarding procedures are right for you. Yes, there are approximately three steps required to getting on and off the bus, but you shouldn't be able to do any of them without everyone helping you. Ideally it should take you between 2-3 minutes, compared to everyone else's 10 seconds, to get on the bus and move 4 feet to the seats meant for old people. In a perfect world, you'd be so crippled that any steps at all are beyond your scope of operations, so that the bus has to deploy its little ramp/lift thing to hoist you up 16 inches, all so you can go to the Ralph's three blocks away, get some diapers, and do the whole process over again on the return journey.
		You must be this fat *hand estimation of ginormous* in order to get the full effect out of riding the bus. If the heavy duty air suspension of the bus has to give way, leading to it listing to one side as you board, that'd be great. And please have an ass so fat that you can't fit down the aisle between seats on your marathon to the back of the bus. Don't let this discourage you from attempting to and brushing everyone's shoulder with your ass-lard on the way, however. You couldn't get out of your house without a special door being installed, but don't give a second thought about trying to squeeze into the bus.
		Under no circumstances is any one to use the rear doors of the bus. There are two sets of doors on the bus, so that entering and exiting can take place at the same time; but it's far better if everyone uses the front doors concurrently, resulting in a time wasting clusterfuck for all parties involved. Even if you're near the rear, take the extra time to walk to the front so that the people waiting to get on have to wait just that much longer. Any amount of time wasting is appreciated.
		While some people may prefer to sit with the person they wish to communicate on the bus with, it's preferred that you sit so far apart that it would warrant using two cups on a string to communicate. Just go ahead and shout your poorly-constructed, and idiotic conversation through as many people as required to speak to your friend who chose to sit six seats away. Silence may be golden everywhere else, but you should try your best to fill the bus with your important conversation about purchasing stamps. Or that old chestnut "Shandra had her baby this weekend and it was totally cute, and as soon as she determines who the father is, she'll be able to afford a crib".
		You know what the best place to practice your dope-fresh rhymes is? The city bus. Your crazy, silly, whack-ass, bomb, sick, shit-dope, retarded rhymes, that 're are totally off the chain are great, and everyone knows it. What better place to free-style rap about your hard-knock, white, suburban, teenage, middle-class life than within earshot of 20 other mostly silent riders on a city bus. Nod your head to the invisible and silent beats as you come up with asinine after asinine limerick, about your life; which I'm sure is worthy of many MTV documentaries about. Sure the buses may not have a radio for our listening enjoyment, but surely you can do us all a favor and fill the silence with the majesty of your songs.
		While shirts and shoes may be required for service in any normal establishment, they merely hinder normal bus operations. Ideal candidates for bus/trolley travel will have the top half of a shirt on (so that it looks like some shitty version of a midriff shirt, if they were made by wolverines), three or four pairs of layered pants on, all of which are sagging and being generally worn improperly, and shoes made out of trash bags. The purpose of this glorious wardrobe decision is so that their bloated, distended, sun burnt belly can hang out freely and become both a source of disgust and puzzlement for all passengers on board.
		Sanitation is a good practice for most people. By most people I mean those that don't ride the bus. It's your civic duty as a public transportation passenger to reek of as many disgusting and confusing odors as possible. If I can properly identify what the fuck you smell like or I'm not breathing through my mouth as a last defense, then your job isn't quite done. Piss yourself, have others piss on you, roll in some chemicals, and bake in the sun for a few hours then get back to us.
		Let's say for argument sake that you as a full-grown adult, for one reason or another, shit your pants. Great start to a story, I know, but let's continue with it. Your pants are full of loaf; what do you do now? Find the nearest restroom and attempt to salvage your pants? Quickly hide, and find a way home that involves the least amount of being seen? Kill yourself? The correct answer is, of course, get on the city bus and continue on your busy, shit-filled day. When you sit down, be sure to lean to one side at a steep angle so as to not sit directly on your own feces. But don't worry, no one will have to guess what you're doing as the smell of shit will be quite strong. Once you reach your destination, simply get up, and walk your stained pants out the front door, dragging as much smell with you as possible. Then just wander around aimlessly on the streets paying no mind to the nutty situation brewing down south.
		Be a grown-ass adult Get on the bus Get to seat Calmly sit down Begin weeping uncontrollably and loudly Make it so loud and powerful that people move away from you Mission accomplished
		Drinking when under 21 is generally frowned upon by most responsible adults. Drinking when under 13, however, is always a good idea as far as the bus is concerned. Don't let 'the man' tell you what you can and cannot do. You're 13 now goddamit and you make your own choices! That's why you drink the only beer manly enough for a 13 year old: Natural Ice. And you drink it at the back of the bus in plain site of all people. From the six-pack you carry around in your backpack. Which you probably bought from bullying milk money out of other 13 year-olds. No beer tastes as sweet as ill-begotten bus beer.
		Fare: Check. Idea of where you're going: Check. Shame: Check that shit at the door. One thing you may never bring with you on any public transportation medium is your sense of shame. For if one brought their shame with them, they might have reservations about dry humping their woman in the back row of the bus, while she's trying to restrain her child from climbing out the window. There's nothing wrong with public displays of erections.
		Not only can you get to your destination economically, but only on the city busses can you also get delicious chlamydia at the same time. It may be cold or hot outside, so the best and most comfortable environment for hookers to conduct business is, of course, on the bus. All the potential John's come right to you, and are trapped for long periods of time where you can entice them with a combination of dirty talk and that "cold sore" on your upper lip. Is that a shit or cum stain on my bus seat? Yes! Mixed together! "Hey baby. You want to watch me put this umbrella in my ass? Only $10."
		No one can understand your troubles and the issues affecting your life better than you. So who better to have a loud and borderline-violent conversation with about said issues than yourself? Fucking whore? I agree! My medication costs too fucking much? That's correct! Charlies in the trees? True that!
		Buses are tricky and sneaky urban beasts, and as such they can easily sneak right up on you. With this is mind, it's totally acceptable to wait until you're on board the bus to dig out and rifle through all your money to find your fare. Once you've dug out your money, feel free to argue with the bus driver over the fare you actually have to pay to get to where you need to go. It's a little known fact that each bus driver makes up the fare for their own bus, so there's plenty of room to haggle with them. When you agree upon a price, simply take the required bills and slowly and carefully force them into the bill receptacle, so that they bunch all up are aren't accepted. When the machine beeps and attempts to reject your bills...and it totally will if you fuck them up like you're supposed to...simply keep pushing them into until the bus driver has to do it for you.
		If you know where you want to go, but aren't sure how to get there, feel free to just hop on any bus. Once in motion simply ask the bus driver about all the other routes, and what it is you should do to get to where you want to go. It's best to not have the foresight to research what buses will take you where. Who has the time for all that noise, when you could just look like a a dipshit who doesn't realize there's 75 bus routes and maybe they don't all go to the Yarn Barn you want to get to. But in the grand scheme of things, this foresight is unnecessary as it's common knowledge that bus routes aren't rigid structures, and are instead open to your input and needs. Where you need to go is only three blocks off the normal route, so the bus driver will be happy to adjust his and everyone else's needs so that you might get to where you're going with the least amount of walking.
		All children ride the buses for free, so go ahead and crank them shits out! 2, 3, 6, 15 kids, the more the better! And whatever you do, don't sit with or have any control over your spawns. It's best that they freely roam around the bus under their own guidance, and take up as many seats as possible by laying in them and climbing on them. With as cheap as it is to load all the screaming, misbehaving kids up into a city bus, there's simply no reason to not have 15 of the fuckers. If you can get 50% of them crying and/or pulling the cord to stop the bus, you can also ride for free! Everybody wins!
		You see those people on the bus that look pregnant? Don't be fooled...they're not. Whatever is brewing inside of them that allows them to maintain the physique of a woman harboring an eight pound larva inside, is strictly a lifestyle choice they've made. Is she an alien incubator? Is it a giant tangled web o' tape worm colony? Perhaps storing things in her snatch is cheaper than a purse? No one can say for sure, and we'd all be truly horrified if we actually found out. But no matter what's causing her physical distortion, the point is, don't feed her. Whether it's worms or tiny Mexicans being smuggled across the border, feeding her will only exacerbate the problem.