He Who Smokes Bitches

It's deep how I can be so shallow.

Baron Violent, Your Distinguished Man-At-Arms and Smoker of Bitches

Tuesday

Moving On

Ladies and Gentlemen,

It has been most fun slumming it on Blogger. I shouldn't say "slumming it", because for a free blog service, it's truly the best. However, if you pay a little bit of money, you get much better service. That better service, and just generally the need for change that I am perpetually experiencing, has prompted me to move on from Blogger to Typepad. As this site (mostly) took upon itself to do a variety of things, including commentary on movies, music, and random web trash, it has been impossible to have any organization of my thoughts and to deal with it on the Blogger venue.

If you want to see my new and (slightly) different adventures in blogging, check out ABSTRACT FOOLS, my typepad venture. Until then, enjoy all the random links cluttering up

Friday

I Just Blew Your Mind, Pt. 6!



In this time of difficulty, a tough time of the year for me, there are a few comfort mind-altering experiences I cling to to provide me mental refreshment. This is one of those. I like to call it "THE FUCKING GREATEST MUSIC VIDEO OF ALL TIME." You may have other opinions. But you would be wrong. Cosmopolitan people around the world would have seen this video long ago, so I'm sharing this in an attempt to sweep up all you ignorant yokels out there who haven't.

Monday

I Just Blew Your Mind, Pt. 5!

Some people, who have coddled and spoiled house cats as pets, forget that a cat in the outdoors can actually be quite the killing machine on smaller animals. Here's a reminder. And yes, this one can get a little gory. But, you know, circle of life and all that eco-bullshit.

Friday

In Case You Haven't Guessed

Things are really crazy right now. I mean, like SUPER DUPER CRAZY. I will return to blogging full time PLUS, I pinky-swear, in October. Until then, it will be really sporadic. In the meantime, I live you with this little piece of heaven.

Thursday

I Just Blew Your Mind, Pt. 4!



This movie has come out on DVD. If you ever played video games ever, the above image has probably sent you into some sort of nostalgiac fugue over things like THE POWER GLOVE and . . . SUPER . . . MARIO . . . BROTHERS . . . 3! If not, there's always Fred Savage, who consequently images of which will blow anyone's mind no matter what. Why? Because Fred Savage is obviously the real reincarnation of the Buddha. That current Dalai Lama is a complete Usurper and Fraud of Fred's proper place as a religious leader.

Monday

"Now What?"



Snakes on a Plane is truly an event film. Call it what you will. Popcorn movie. B-movie. Exploitation cinema. It is all of those, and so much more. Considering the well-documented internet and corresponding media frenzy about this film, it was destined to be a different flavor of entertainment. The unprecedented reshoots and the famous Money Line (tm) "I have had it with these Motherfucking Snakes on this Motherfucking Plane" added in response to this frenzy gauranteed it to be a cult film out of the box. And so, even with it's relatively unstellar (15 million) take at the box office, it will live on and still make bucks for New Line (budget of only 32 million). One could use descriptors like "schlockfest", "camp classic", and "extra cheese" to paste onto SoaP, but it transcends such labels. It is truly, in my mind, one of the most gloriously over-the-top films I have ever seen, and it is completely secure and celebratory of its utter ridiculousness.

What did SoaP promise? Aside from the obvious of snakes, it promised Samuel L. Jackson dropping f-bombs, amazing one-liners, gruesome deaths of both people and snakes, and general mayhem. What did SoaP deliver? Check all those boxes. I won't say whether it exceeded or met my expectations, because I found it incredibly difficult to form expectations. I expected greatness, but I did not know from whence it would come. I had the fear that many did, that this movie would turn out to be a dead-serious groaner whose laughs were all unintentional. Not so, this movie knows it is completely out of its mind, and it knows its script is not Oscar-caliber, it knows its cast of characters is 100% stock stereotypes, and it knows it is gratuitous. And you know what? This film is okay with all of those things. Better yet, SoaP is almost engaged in a constant effort to one-up itself, one ludicrous situation after another, throughout its entire running time. At the theater I saw this, the showing previous to mine had to be stopped as the cops were called in to disperse and pacify the crowd. And this was in Charlottesville, VA, people. That's the kind of movie this is. It's where the first tit shot elicits a triumphant cry of "BOOBS ON A PLANE!" from someone. It's the kind where the entire crowd emits endless "ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss" hissing during the lulls. And this more or less will happen automatically. You can't help it.

My beefs are short. The movie takes a little long to get them on the plane, and to bring out the snakes. This does have some payoff while you watch characters you may have some sympathy for get offed in increasingly gruesome and hilarious ways (the infamous "Snake in a Barfbag routine" a great example), but not enough to justify how long it takes. Second, the inclusion of an Anaconda was pretty freaking boundary-pushing even for a movie like this, especially because once they add it the thing gets way too little screentime. That said, some of the characters and possibilities are very underutilized. For instance, one passenger, a kickboxer, truly held infinite potential for killing massive amounts of snakes with his bare hands. But alas, that didn't happen. Some of this is for good reason, mainly to keep the spotlight on our beloved hero Sam, but it still represents missed opportunities for gleeful absurdity. Then there is the groaning dialogue and delivery. Obviously we're not going to get Oscar caliber acting here, but it could've used some basic work to enhance it greatly. The writer and director don't really know what to do before the mayhem sets in, setting up awkward introduction after wooden exchange, but they do hit their stride once the biting starts.

And the biting brings us to what is truly marvelous about this little screen gem. I wondered myself how anyone would survive such an incident if it occurred in real life, and this movie pretty much answers that question by killing off a good 3/4s of the plane passengers. Much of this happens in the first ten minutes of the snakes' rampage, and there is variety. People are bitten in their nipples, genitals, knecks, chests, asses, arms, legs, and eyesockets by a bewilderingly colorful variety of snakes that strike and kill at a lightning pace. The death scenes are graphic, brutal, exploitative, and diabolically eclectic. The movie creates a sense that it is going to take a miracle, namely a human one called Samuel L. Jackson, to get them out of it. And boy does Sam pull it off. From his tazer cracking snake holocaust to his barking and badass leadership ("We need to form a barrier between us and the snakes now!") its no doubt that he saves the day. He's not any anti-hero who has issues like a struggling cop or an ex-military guy, he is an alpha badass who rises to the occasion without motherfucking hesitation. It's almost refreshing to see a movie almost trot out and old archetype like Jackson's Agent Neville Flynn, who's almost like Clint Eastwood, John McClane (without the alcoholism), and Jules Winnfield all at once. There's even a bizarre nod to Jurassic Park when Jackson has to go reset the circuit breakers in the plane, an almost subconscious allusion to how his character Arnold famously failed at the task when he ran into some raptors in the generator room.

But enough of that. The bottom line is that this is quite obviously an experience film. There's nothing really like it out there, and it operates on a whole different plane of reason and reality that mainstream cinema nowadays is too afraid to risk. See it. Now. Or I'll customize a Samuel L. Jackson call for your ass.

Thursday

I Just Blew Your Mind, Pt. 3!

What do you get when you mix a viral marketing campaign that went too far and may have burned people out with an old tired joke from a badly translated Nintendo game and a GI Joe motif? This. If you survive the corny, get back to me. I'm sure I can hit you with something harder. We'll make a man/lady/eagle scout out of you yet.

Wednesday

Time Waster UltraSuperSaiyajinDeluxe, Vol. 6

In the fever-pitch of gory red-tape slinging that is my day job, often I have a hankering for a distinct type of relief. That relief is called yokelvision. Some say use Yokelvision as a term for viewing DVDs in Fullscreen format. Those people are wrong. The term for that is Unwashedmassesvision. Yokelvision is a term, for all I know, coined by a certain intellectual friend of mine who also went through his high school years in the redneck infested land that was my hometown and was long before the advent of DVD. It was coined while we were working in the salt mines. He often used it as a term for observing rednecks in a condescending way, particularly noting their uncouth habits and coarse tastes. A great example of Yokelvision, for instance, was observing the movie audience for this film, which was playing while we worked in the salt mines. In short, Yokelvision is a perverse form of schadenfraude gained from watching the miserableness of redneck/white trash life. And, as I grew up where I grew up this pleasure was found often and now is sorely missed.

What was I writing about again? Oh yes, MULLETS! I have found a version of grade-A Yokelvision on the web. The magnanimously mean-spirited Rate My Mullet, which is worth a gander for anyone who wants to laugh at sad and hilarious mullet-bearers. And, to cut to the chase, I give you the champ.

Dennis Leary Is Not to Be Trifled With



Observe Dennis Leary mocking the shit out of Mel Gibson (during a Red Sox game) as only Dennis Leary can. Too funny. Also, I think his general commentary that Jewish is not so far from Irish is also on point.

Tuesday

I Just Blew Your Mind, Pt. 2

Peep this. That's right. You saw it. Jeremy Piven. Common. Alicia Keys. Ray Liotta. Andy Garcia. Gunfights. Machete Fights. People killing each other by throwing paper cards. Explosions. My life won't ever be the same again, either. I'm forming a support group as we speak to deal with the horrible knowledge that this won't be coming out until next year.

The Answer!



I should've realized this was the way to solve the problem in the Middle East. Thank you Madonna, as always, for your infinite wisdom. And for destroying Guy Ritchie's career. And who knew it would involve so much homoeroticism! I never would've expected that! There's no one wiser, or better. That is, except Professor Whiskerson here.

Monday

How I Will Make My Millions, Pitch 2

There are many laws of firing. Well, not quite laws, as decrees. Usually a firing should be done in person. Over the phone or email just seems like bad form. But now, NOW, we have a new beast altogether that a company claims is perfectly appropriate. Firing by text message. I only wonder if they would follow it with "Pwned" or "Hah, n00b!"

So, I propose a business model. You don't even have to bother having any interaction with your employees anymore. I will start a firm called Zh1tkann3d (in classic leetspeak). This firm will send the text messages you want firing your employees, and for extra we will post their names and personal information on a forum site with the same designation, where they will then be flamed and victimized by the unwashed hordes of the internets who will accost them with many personal insults, racial epiphets, and other things that generally make people cry. We will continuously send links to these terminated employees via text message to draw their attention to particularly choice ego-destroying postings. This will guarantee that not only do you get to fire someone, they will be publicly humiliated and attacked with soul-crushing internets banter, most likely involving graphically inappropriate gifs made from their personal photos, likely involving Brian Peppers molesting them or Captain Jean-Luc Picard tackling and punching them, and or shooting them with a tommy gun.

If that's not a valuable service, I don't know what is.

Thursday

I Just Blew Your Mind, Pt. 1!



It's a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake, bitches. Yeah, you spend a few days in a padded room recovering from that. Then bake me a cake. And when you finish, this is on the agenda.

In Summation

How to capture the whole situation of Mel Gibson's crucifixion for anti-Semitism in one simple graphic? Ahhh, right here.

Monday

Wisdom of the Week

This time, brought to us by the Smoking Gun's infamous Lohan letter. What is the wisdom? No matter how awesome and hot you think you are, if you act like a spoiled child, make bogus excuses, and cause hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of property damage, someone will eventually call you on your bullshit.

Weirdest. Fetish. Ever.

I'm totally baffled. I can't tell if I Humped Your Hummer is a bunch of harmless scamps pulling pranks or a totally bizarre attempt at a fetish site. I report, you decide.

Thursday

Can He See or Is He Blind?



Jon Favreau talks Starks, muthamuckas. He talks about his vision of things like the uni-beam and making the story of Tony Starks relevant to today, including updating the nature of the thing to our current geopolitical times. Strangely, Ghostface Killah doesn't seem to get mentioned.

Monday

Wisdom of the Week

Evil Discussor explains exactly what the fuck is up with Chipotle's funky smell. Sorta. Spot on, chap. Spot on.

Arrrr, That'll Replace the Whale In Me Nightmares! Vol. XI



In the annals of freaky-ass shit, I don't think much can beat creepy Beatboxing Dog and his tabby sidekick. They are coming for me. I can feel it. And I will be ready. With this.

Arrrr, That'll Replace the Whale In Me Nightmares! Vol. X



I don't know who this Yahweh is, but he and Reverend Alecia's chair dance freak me the fuck out.