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Eight Ball Out, or: Two And A Half Grams
But I’m not gonna do that, because believe it or not, I actually have some sympathy for Charlie. Not much, and certainly not for his general behavior in life. It’s hard to wish anything but a hard stretch in the pen for a man who beat his wife, assaulted a hooker, and starred in The Wraith. Continue reading
The Last Temptation of Netflix, Part 2
And now it’s time for the Last Supper, except Scorsese stages it as all the disciples eating on the ground in a big square, thus allowing Marty to implicit call Leonardo da Vinci a dissembling hack… although if you pause the movie and look at how everyone is seated, where things are placed and how background objects are arranged, a secret message becomes impossible to ignore! That message is: you are drunk as a lord and bored shitless by this fucking movie. [read more at link] Continue reading
The Last Temptation of Netflix, Part 1
The Last Temptation of Christ starts with Jesus, living in poverty and working hard on a contract gig making crucifixes for the Romans, which immediately punted my suspension of disbelief since there has never been a contractor that finished on time without skimming ten percent off the top before subcontracting the actual work to Mexicans (And don’t give me any shit about this being Israel 2,000 years ago. He was Jesus. If Jesus wanted Mexicans to handle the scut work, there would be Mexicans, you fucking blasphemer). Continue reading
Outside The Street’s On Fire In a Real Death Waltz
“And when do I drink whiskey? When I’ve had a bad day at my office job, or a rotten commute, or when my brother calls me on the Goddamned telephone. So what do you think I’m gonna be doing when zombies are clawing at the front door? Eat a protein tablet, flare my nostrils and growl, ‘Let’s roll’? No! I’m gonna be fetal in a corner, wrapped around a quart of Jack Daniels, whimpering, ‘Well, at least I won’t be a vegetarian…'” [read more at link] Continue reading
Ghost: The Sequel
I knew my limitations: even at sixteen I knew that being asked by a girl to lift her over my head Dirty Dancing-style would be a no less fantastic request than had she asked me to pick her daisies from the surface of the moon, or to stop prematurely ejaculating. [read more at link] Continue reading