Tag Archives: factory wrapped douches

Cinematics

Suck Knows No Gender

Sex and the City 2 has now been unleashed upon the world. Judging from general public opinion (i.e., people I follow on Twitter and Facebook), the backlash against this movie is so enormous, I wonder if anyone is going to see it in either a non-ironic fashion or without the express purpose of pissing themselves off.

Personally, I have no plans to see it and, god willing, never will. Then again, I always swore I would go through life without seeing an episode of Two and a Half Men, but a flat tire and a Strauss Auto Parts waiting room conspired to break that vow. But even with this willful ignorance, I’m sure that all of the negative reviews/reactions are completely on the mark. Particularly this hilarious, Haterade-drenched review in The Stranger.

It’s not the woman-y-ness of the SATC franchise that bugs me. I object more to the City part of the title, because the New York on the show resembles no reality known by 99.9% of New Yorkers. It’s the perfect Giuliani-era show, because like Rudy’s administration, it has no use for anyone who makes less than seven figures a year (or anyone of color, either). In SATC, New York is a glittery playground full of cosmotinis and obscenely priced shoes and gourmet cupcakes, where the non-rich only exist at the peripheries as nannies, waiters, and fuck-toys.

(I also don’t understand why the show has such a huge gay following when all of its gay characters are outdated, flamboyant, queeny stereotypes. But that’s not really my battle to fight.)

However, as Julie Klausner points out here, I’m clearly not the market for this entertainment. It’s meant for lady-types, and I’m not a lady-type. I can criticize it all I want, but I’m not sure doing so is useful in any way. It’s almost as pointless as going to a restaurant and judging the steak served to the guy at the next table.

And is SATC really any worse than most popular culture, which is overwhelmingly aimed at guys? Truth be told, the Dudertainment out there is every bit as lame and infuriating. Just look at this small list of phallocentric glop and tell me it’s any worse than SATC. Go ahead, I dares ya.

Entourage: I have seen no more than 15 cumulative minutes of this show, almost all of it in YouTube clips. Nevertheless, I feel qualified to say this: It is one of the worst things human beings have ever made, right behind the hole in the ozone layer and the BP oil spill. I can’t fully divulge what I want to do to everyone associated with this show, because it might be considered prosecutable hate speech.

The stakes for this show could not be lower or more homicide-inspiring. Rich, famous assholes want to get richer and more famous. There is not a single person on this show that I would cross the street to piss on if they were on fire. The fact that Entourage is exclusively aimed at men is perhaps the biggest argument against penises ever made.

THERE’S A GUY NAMED TURTLE ON THIS SHOW! I DON’T KNOW WHY THAT PISSES ME OFF, BUT GOOD LORD, IT PISSES ME OFF!

Just look at this. Look at what these people did with cameras and lights and bajillions of dollars. Look at this and tell me these people don’t deserve to be waterboarded. 



Transformers: I don’t know what’s worse: the movies themselves, or people who complain that their suckitude has somehow retroactively ruined their childhood. Transformers was never any good, you guys. It was just on TV when you were a kid. Don’t confuse nostalgia for quality. Most of the things you liked when you were 8 are not any good. That’s why you don’t have fluffernutter sandwiches for lunch everyday anymore. At least I hope you don’t.

Comic Book Movies: Yes, there are many lady-types who like comic books. But the recent spate of movie adaptations are clearly aimed at the BOOM! POW! Dude Audience. This trend has resulted in one masterpiece (The Dark Knight) and two entertaining movies (the first two Spider-Man flicks). All the rest of these movies are thoroughly expendable. You could have not made any of them and the world would have kept on spinning just fine. They either eschew any kind of story so stuff can get blowed up real good, or they try to cram way too much back story and exposition/origin tale in a vain
effort to woo the Nerds (who will hate it anyway).

Like how The Avengers movie has been setup/teased in the last slew of films based on Marvel comics. A large chunk of Iron Man 2 involves Nick Fury trying to woo Tony Stark into The Avengers. And by the end of the movie, he’s still thinking about it! It’s okay to stretch out resolution across five or six issues of a comic book. It’s NOT okay to do that in a movie. That’s like if George Lucas devoted huge portions of the Star Wars prequels to discussions of trade tarriffs. Oh, wait…

Ultimate Fighting: Take boxing, add kicking, subtract the troublesome rules and sense of fair play, and voila! All sports are, in one sense or another, a form of combat. Ideally, they are a sublimated form of combat, where man’s desire to kill and maim is channeled through a proxy (the team you root for). They shouldn’t be televised bar fights, which is what ultimate fighting, for all intents and purposes, is.

So before you take a big dude-dump all over Sex and the City 2 (which it probably deserves, mind you), just think of all the Pure Garbage aimed at your own nutsack.

Football

Op-Ed: A NYC Super Bowl Is a Bad Idea, by A Giant Douchebag

Here to present his opinion on why a Super Bowl in New York is a bad thing is A Giant Douchebag.

sbdouche.gifI’m only gonna say this once, because time is money, capisce? Especially my time. I make more caysh in one afternoon than you do all year. I don’t know who you are, but if you’re 98 percent of the population, what I just said is true.

The Super Bowl should NOT be in a cold-weather city in an outdoor stadium in the middle of December, or whenever the hell the Super Bowl is. We have a Super Bowl so titans of marketing like yours truly can go schmooze and hob nob with other titans of marketing for a week. If you have it in a city like New York, I’ll be freezing for those 30 seconds when I’m getting out of my limo and climbing into the stadium shuttle bus.

Some people think snow and cold weather are great for football. Hey numbnuts, get your dicks outta your ears and listen: I could give two shits about football. Same goes for everyone else who goes to the Super Bowl. We’re here to party on the company dime and be seen. If everyone else in the industry gathered around a steaming pile of diarrhea, I’d go to that, too, and I wouldn’t have to pretend I like a buncha thyroid cases in spandex running around, either.

New York’s great, don’t get me wrong. Where else could I spend so much dough on so little? I know this place in Soho that sells $7000 fortune cookies. The same exact ones you can get from a take out place. I bought one, cuz I could and you can’t.

But how am I supposed to pull up to some hot club in my Maserati in New York winter weather? You know what road salt does to a Maserati? Of course you don’t, because you’ve never seen one. My Maserati’s even more special than all the other ones you’ve never seen, because mine has a special paint job. Oils mixed by Da Vinci. No shit. I have to get it recoated every time the temperature goes over 75 degrees. Costs me a fucking fortune, not that it matters to me.

Here’s the other bad thing about New York: the people who work here aren’t thrilled to see you. There’s too many big shots here already, so when an A-list mad man like myself shows up, no one gives a shit. Not like other Super Bowls I’ve been to. When I went to Jacksonville, I paid six guys to carry me around on their shoulders from club to club. In Detroit, I ordered foie gras at this one restaurant, ate it, and paid a waitress to let me regurgitate it back into her mouth, like a bird.

You can’t get away with that in New York. The waitresses there are all uppity. Even the strippers act like they got dignity!

Hold on, I gotta take this.

NO, I SAID 6:47 FLIGHT, NOT A 6:48 FLIGHT, YOU STUPID CUNT! I SWEAR TO ASS-RAPING GOD, IF I’M ONE SECOND LATE TO SUNDANCE NEXT YEAR, I AM GOING TO MAIL YOU MY SHIT IN A BOX FROM ASPEN AND MAKE YOU EAT IT, AND MAKE YOU VIDEOTAPE YOURSELF EATING IT SO I CAN WATCH IT WITH THE WEINSTEIN BROTHERS!

Gotta roll. Meeting a Murdoch for lunch. Can’t remember which one, doesn’t matter.

A Giant Douchebag demands to know if you know who he is.

Politics Schmolitics

Virginia Is For Lovers of Selective Memory

mcdonnell.jpgGovernor McDonnell here! I wanna let alla y’all know that April is officially Confederate History Month in the Great Commonwealth of Virginia. Or Virginny, as my grandpappy used to call it. He didn’t have much of what you might call book learnin’, and he liked to get in fights with parking meters, and he used to drink gasoline with his evenin’ vittles, but he was still a good son of The South. Though he mighta been born in Springfield, Massachusetts, now that I think about it. But I’m not here to talk about the past. I’m here to talk about history!

Confederate History Month will celebrate all the brave men who defended their homeland against invading aggressors from a foul foreign land: The North. Yes, Northerners are different from Southerners, and that’s the way God intended it. If not, why’d He put the North all the way up there?

No, The South did not want this war. Our leaders did everything they could to prevent it from happening: Fomenting bloodshed in Kansas, refusing to compromise on any slavery issue, beating a senator savagely with a cane, and several other things that escape me at this moment.

The South believed there should be two Americas. Those who liked snow and books could have The North, and those who liked mint juleps and rigid social strata could have The South. Just like another proud son of The South, Colonel Sanders, thought Americans should be able to enjoy extra crispy and original recipe.

But for some reason, The North didn’t like this idea. How else could The South have proved the merits of this glorious experiement unless we seceded and took up arms against our former countrymen? If you have a better idea, I’m all ears!

We have many exciting events planned for Confederate History Month. First, we’re gonna take down all these damn Yankee stars and stripes and burn ’em, just like our ancestors did. This will be okay because I declare for the next month that Virginny ain’t a part of the Union! Then we’re gonna replace them wretched things with the good ol’ stars and bars. Hang ’em from every window in the governor’s mansion! And then we’re gonna crank some Molly Hatchet.

One thing our celebration will not involve is any mention of slavery. I don’t think it was a significant part of Confederate history. Some might say it’s the reason why the whole war started. And when I say “some”, I’m referring to every historian ever. But that doesn’t make it significant.

Is milk a significant part of cheese? Is water a significant part of ice? Once something is transformed into something else, what caused that to happen is of no concern to us. History isn’t about figuring why things happened. It’s about puttin’ on funny ol’ timey costumes and charging 20 bucks a head to look at an old cannon.

And while we’re at it, let’s get rid of those ingredient panels on boxes of food. They just mess with your mind!

I’m also introducing legislation to celebrate the heroes who resisted that second heinous act of Yankee aggression, the so-called Civil Rights Movement. I want to honor the brave men and women who blocked high school entrances and turned hoses on protesters, and even the ones who did something as simple and noble as throwing eggs at children, so Virginians could continue to enjoy those lovely signs we took the time and care to hang on separate water fountains.

Did some bad things happen in The South during the Civil Right Movement? Beats me! The schoolbooks I grew up reading never mentioned it, and neither will any schoolbook produced under my administration. But I will add a special chapter on the bands of the 1970s and why Molly Hatchet remains a shining beacon of rockitude. And I will also commission a new cover to these textbooks painted by Frank Frazetta.