The Gospel According to Prisco

I was going to write a big long diatribe about the Golden Globes.  How they were a travesty, how they were terrible, about how I don’t care if you were delusional enough to like Sweeney Todd, there’s not a fucking chance in hell that’s best comedy or musical, let alone Johnny Depp scowling his way to a win, or how Atonement won because the HPFA is a f-in’ FA, and thusly nominated anyone with an accent or who LIVES in a foreign country.  How I was stunned that they got some things so right, like giving a great big old fuck you to network television and basically giving awards to anything on cable.  How I didn’t even watch the reading of the lots, because who fucking cares.

But that’s what Ben Silverman wants me to do.  He threw his little tantrum that how dare we, the writers, piss on his little prom.  How dare we ruin the Golden Globes! Shame on us!  So I’m sure these were rigged like a Rube Goldberg execution machine, and the results were made in order to foster discussion about the wrongness of the selections. 

And that justifies them.  Nobody picked a winner when there was no World Series because baseball went on strike.  Nobody won anything.  I refuse to acknowledge them. 

And Ben Silverman, fuck you.  Fuck you hard, you shitstain.  He looks like some sort of Willy Wonka/Michael Jackson hybrid who’s one “innocent beautiful mistake” away from a huge out of court settlement.  Or as the priests at the parish called it “a pat on the head and a bag of peanut M&Ms”.  He’s sad he didn’t get his prom.  Well, dance away, fucknuts. 

It reminds me of that scene in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels where Michael Caine forces the toothpaste heiress to dance to show up Steve Martin.  Dance and smile!  Pretend it’s all wonderful!  And so, out of anger for Ben Silverman not getting that prom he so richly wanted, I am going to push Steve Martin down a flight of stairs in a wheelchair.

As the primaries dawn upon us, the blogosphere is awash with the embittered rehashing and metahashing of the political adventures.   I must shamefully admit something.  I know diddley-shit about politics. I don’t say this with pride.  I don’t say this to show off my ignorance like some sort of Mister Dumass of Amerika sash or something.  I sincerely cannot understand American politics or what is going on. 

And I’m pretty sure I’m not alone.

I have voted in one presidental election.  For Bill Clinton.  Yeah, it’s been that long.  Both of the other elections, I was out of the state, and trying to get an absentee ballot is harder to get a hold of then a ex-Disney Channel star with her hymen still intact.  And it would have been a 5 hour drive from my colleges to return home to vote.  Yes, I know, there are people in other countries dodging bullets and machete wielding orangutans to cast their ballots.  But frankly, that’s the equivalent of driving up I-81 or through the state of Connecticut for me.  Also, my state (PA) went the way I wanted it to both times and, apparently, that’s all that matters to win.  Not total votes like I was taught in elementary school. 

I am a registered Democrat, because at the time, I didn’t know any better.  I still don’t.  Picking a political party is like picking a religion.  I only know what I’ve been told, and I’ve been raised one way for so long, it’s almost foolish and too complicated to tell people how you really feel.  I don’t know what party I support.  I think I’m a Libertarian.  But I feel like one of those kids in high school that goes to prom with one of his friends because his parents wouldn’t really accept it if he went with Bobby. 

I have my belief system.  I’m open to having those beliefs changed.  I support the death penalty.  I support the right to choose.  I do not support gun control.  I support the legalization of gambling, marijuana, and prostitution, and taxing the hell out of these vices to raise money for social programs.  I believe in universal health care.  I think the war in Iraq is terrible, and we should end it, because it’s not something we can “win”.  I think our reputation abroad is fairly repugnant and totally well-deserved.  I think we should have open borders.  I support gay marriage.  I support music in schools.  I support the dismantiling of corporate America.  I support a flat tax rate with some social caveats.  I support freedom of speech.  I support violent video games and pornography. 

I don’t raise these issues to start a fight on the internet.  I am willing to have my point of view changed.  I was firmly for gun control until a roommate made a valid point.  I thought we didn’t have the right to tell people what to do, for things like abortion and gambling, so what right do I have to tell them not to have guns.  Not having guns won’t make it safer.  And it doesn’t mean I have to own a gun.  I said well, what about stronger regulations on getting a gun.  He said, that just stops people who legitimately want a gun from getting a gun.  Anyone who wants a gun knows how to get one.  He had a point.  My opinion was changed. 

But the point of this is, I don’t know shit about politics, and I don’t know how to change that.  I don’t know how to unstupid myself.  Because I don’t know where to turn.  Media is unsafe because it’s biased.  I tend to ask others, but most people are protective about their beliefs.  Or grievously disappointing.  Have you never found out that someone you care about is a rabid warmongerer?  Or they desperately believe that the Ten Commandments should be branded in schools?  It’s like confessing to the priest and having him blast a taco fart through the little mesh screen into your face.

But while I’m pretty locked down on my beliefs, I couldn’t tell you what the politicians believe or support.  Because most of them waffle like the glorious greasy House of the same name.  I wish somewhere there was a convenient website or something that said “You are a Star Bellied Sneech.  Your opinions are best represented by The Lorax.”  Or at least something that broke down the candidates and showed me what they’re pretending to believe this week. 

I can’t really support either of the two major parties.  I remember when the campaign was “Anyone But Bush”.  But then we put up Kerry and it was like, “Maybe we spoke too soon.”  As a Philadelphia sports fan, I am used to shameful defeat.  I root for teams that are bound for disaster.  I also watch the NCAA March Madness with rabid fantacism.  So while every year, a team is put on the chopping block of the 16th seed. I know there are fans out there rooting the fucking shit out of the Akron Zips, and believing that they can win the tournament.  But third party candidates feel like that.  They feel like an inevitable loss. 

I’m watching the election, and I’m rooting for Barack Obama.  Because I like his speeches.  I don’t know what he supports.  I don’t know what he’s for.  I don’t like Hillary Clinton.  Not because she’s a woman.  But because she’s Hillary Clinton.  All politicians reak of phoniness to me, but she seems worst of all.  Of the Democrats.  I would sooner vote for Sanjaya on American Idol than for a Republican.

But I don’t really know what Obama stands for.  I remember hearing him talk, and thinking, alright, I can get behind that.  I can’t lie, I think it would be pretty cool to have our first black president.  But I feel like I’m ignorant when it comes to political history, and politics in general.  I don’t have answers to what’s wrong with our country.  I saw Sicko and it really, really pissed me off.  To the point of looking into buying a fucking villa in Italy and raising my family there. 

I hear politicians rally behind things like Education and Lowering the Deficit.  And I’m like, well, no shit.  I mean, seriously, who’s against education?  Who thinks kids are learning too much?  Well, I guess maybe President Bush, who set up the odious No Child Left Behind.  As the brother of a first grade teacher, the nephew of a former high school principal and guidance counseler, and avid watcher of Season 4 of The Wire, I can tell you exactly how good that does.   And the Deficit means nothing to me.  It’s an arbitrary number, like something Dr. Evil would ask for in lieu of assaulting us with friggin’ laser sharks.

I think there’s a lot wrong with America.  I agree that we’re a lazy country that takes a lot for granted.  We’re like a drunk high school kid, waking up after a house party, their living room trashed, holding on to some ugly girl’s tit, the word BALLS scribbled in permanent marker on our face.  I don’t know how we got here, or how we’re going to fix this, but hopefully someone’s got an idea.  I think we’ve got a lot of freedoms we take for granted.  I know I do. 

But the problem is that, as much as I’m an uninformed idiot, I don’t vote, but there are plenty of uninformed idiots who do.  So I’m scared of politics.  I’m scared of how bad things can get. But I want to change. 

I’ve got friends on MySpace and here on the interwebs like Beckyloo Who over at If A TV Falls in the Woods and John Berry at the jb show who do a great job of letting me know what’s going on politically.   I just feel like there’s no point to politics anymore.  It seems to me to be like trying to figure out what order the guys went who gangraped you.  I mean, shitty things happen, and I can’t do anything to control it, and I don’t know how to advocate change.  And there is no one out there speaking for me.   

But I’m part of the problem.  As I stated on The JB Show, “I’m an overeducated white boy living in poor economic housing, working paycheck to paycheck without viable healthcare options, my dreams literally being sat on by corporate fatcats and lazy artistes locked in battle to see who gets to crush up the pills in the pablum, and sunk deeper in debt than the worst Pitfall player.”  

But at least I’m willing to address that.  I can no longer stand on the sidelines and be content to be a lazy uninformed observer.  I want to be a lazy informed observer.  So help a brother out.  

As a baby of the 80s, my fond childhood memories have been vigorously skullfucked by the studios in the name of remake.  What could have been a renaissance of nostalgia has all the warmth and aplomb of being teabagged by Jack Frost.  It’s not the same as it was, it’s bigger, it’s faster, and it’s shinier.  And so, though I held a modicum of breathless anticipation that the reincarnation of the American Gladiators on NBC would be fantastic, my hopes were dashed to bits like a elementary schooler sledding into the highway during the morning commute. 

The show returned with a bevy of new gladiators, 24 new contenders to compete in a tournament style showdown for a measly $100,000 (which might very well have been the same amount they fought for last time) and a little of the old and a little of the new.  The format of the show is still the same, four games and then the eliminator.  They’ve kept the concept of the ladies and the men matching up in some differing contests.  Which I was all for.  I like that you might get to see some six or so challenges in the course of an hour.  Unlike Deal or No Deal, which has all the variety of “You pick box!  Now pick other box!” like something you’d see on Taiwan cable access, it helps the hour move along. 

Serving up hosting duties instead of Sportscoat McWhatshisface like the last series, we’ve got Hulk Hogan and Leila Ali.  Honestly, I don’t know what woman would work for this format.  I’m all for putting in a gymnast, like Kerri Strug or someone tiny, and having them leap to try to communicate with the gladiators (or be the same size as the fucking contenders, but we’ll get to that).  Leila Ali can throw a brutal punch, and maybe if she were beating the fucking shit out of the contenders it’d be interesting, but instead we’ve got her awkwardly smiling her way through the cue cards like one of those nerds at the Scripps Howard spelling bee.  Hulk at least is a natural choice, and fits in for the carnivalistic bullshit of the new show.  I think they need to mine the WWE for some talent, or at least scab up some writers. 

The new gladiators are for the most part lame.  I mean, they’ve got names like Militia and Fury.  Titan looks like Henry Rollins in drag, with that dimpled chin and blonde sweepback.  And he’s potentially the least offensive.  Justice and Mayhem are excellent, just giant towering monsterish freaks of nature.  When they stand next to the contenders, they actually look like they might eat them.  The ladies at least look like ladies for the most part, which was obviously what they were going for.   They knew that would be part of the criticisms.  But the lady gladiators for the most part have no personality or charisma.  They look like they creatined up a couple Miss America castoffs and told them to punch people.  It’s sort of a low grade bimbo, not what we expect thanks to Vince McMahon. 

Then we’ve got the gimmicky gladiators, the poorman’s wrestler.  Wolf at least has the decency to own up to sucking.  If he howls one more fucking time, I’m seriously going to kill something small and furry with hammers.  No worse an offender than Toa, who’s apparently the Rock’s cousin.  I hope someone snaps his fucking neck by grabbing the tribal beads in the middle of one of his Maori chants.  But the greatest disappointment of all is Helga.  Seriously.  You’ve got a giant blonde gladiator with pigtails and a skirt.  She’s got all the Viking fervor of Lars Van Trier.  Except Lars might cut a motherfucker.  He crazy like that.

The gladiators were never dressed up like characters.  They were giant pumped up superathletes, who talked trash and fought hard.   This time, there are no personalities that leap out, and the ones that do are marketed to the point they’re probably already got action figures.  It makes me long for the days of Killian bringing out Subzero. 

The games aren’t as exciting.  I’m honestly pissed they got rid of the hamster cages.  That spectacle was well worth the event.  But the ones they decided to keep are the boring ass ones.  You’ve seen more exciting challenges on Dog Eat Dog.  Hang Tough was never a good event, neither was Pyramid.  It was only amusing because of the puny contenders getting hurled through the air.  The new one, Hit and Run, is shit.  It’s great on MXC, when small Asian women are hurled to their doom in rivers of shit.  It’s less impressive or gladatorial to see these massive muscle mound hurling giant beanbag swings at people scampering on a drawbridge.  Get rid of it.  And Earthquake would be good if there were no pussy ass wires hanging around.  It should be illegal to grab the wires.  Then it’s a match.  I don’t understand the water obsession.  Why does everyone have to fall into water?  That’s not athletic.  That’s what happens at Splash World.  And why the fuck do they insist on playing “Another One Bites the Dust” when it happens?  What is this, a fucking high school football game?  Next up, Rock and Roll Part Two! 

But nothing pissed me off worse that what they did to my beloved Assault.  What kid did not want to fire Nerf guns at someone shooting at them with a fucking tennis ball cannon?  That’s the bread and butter of America, son.  But no.  The weapons are all kinds of stupid fucked up.  They look like props left over from a bad Sci-Fi Channel movie.  And the contenders have to load them themselves?  What the fuck is that?  They couldn’t even figure out how to fire the second gun.  And they made them jump into a sandbox to dig up an arrow for the crossbow?  What the fuck is that Muppet Baby shit about?  At least the gladiator now gets launched four thousand feet into the air if you can figure out how to shoot them.  It’s like those Atari games you’d get where you couldn’t figure out how to start the game or what you were supposed to do, because there were no instructions. So you’d play for five seconds, get frustrated and throw them away. 

The Eliminator is new and combines every single piece of gym equipment they could burgle from Bally’s and mount on giant girders and set on fire.  There are no more Gladiators involved, which I found disappointing.  It’s not so much what they had done in relation to the action as what they had done when they were hurling their balance beam beanbags (see there, it makes sense, not as a fucking event unto itself).  The Gladiators would shout and cheer on the fucking contenders.  That was awesome. 

And then we’ve got the biggest problem.  The fucking contenders.  These pussyrags are crap.  One gets ankled out during POWERBALL.  For fucks sake.  They don’t stand a chance against the Gladiators.  In any match of strength, they were getting tossed like fucking salads in prison.  The guys only won the Joust because the fucker stepped on to their platforms because he was whooping their ass that hard.  The Eliminator has them fucking staggering to the finish line, like they ran the Boston Marathon carrying Mario Batali on their backs.  I’m sorry, it’s really nifty that the Asian kids are strong willed and can do backflips and shit, but they’re built like popsicle figures. 

At least the second batch starting talking trash and mixing it up.  That’s what we want.  Violent confrontation, coupled with backpats and headbutts.  You want them to kill each other, talk smack, and then fucking punch shoulders after the battle.  I want battle.  None of this new age, life coach shit I was getting yesterday. 

I have little hope for this being much better, but it’s early in the taping (they taped everything for competition over three or four weeks).  So maybe the Gladiators just needed some time to get into their own.  They need to cut out the goddamn reality TV, “I’m doing this for my momma who’s dying of cancer/new baby girl/beautiful life partner Guido/country/Jesus/fat kids everywhere” speeches before each show.  I don’t need to know what these fucks do for a living.  I just want to see them fight in foam rubber and take on giant sweaty mongoloids. 

And if you don’t think we need writers more than ever, just listen to the banter these fuckers “spontaneously” spout before competition.  I’ve heard better lines from the boxers in Punch-Out.  Bring me the head of Soda Popinski!

ADDENDUM:
I watched last night’s show.  They definitely ramped it up.  It was fun to watch.  It seems like they’re at least trying to make it a little more entertaining.  I still hate Assault (and it was sponsored by Nerf), and I still think the female gladiators are lacking in personality, but it was a much more aggressive contest.  The contenders were by far better this time.  And I guess that’s what’ll do it.  If you’ve got people who will throw down. 

American Gladiators should be like wrestling.  I want spectacle.  I do remember the original Gladiators, and what made that fun was the same thing that makes World’s Strongest Man or the Stihl Outdoor Games fun.  It’s not that we’ve got dudes who are strong or good at lumberjacking.  It’s that they are competiting in brutal challenges.  It’s impressive that a guy can lift a fucking 350 lb. keg in the air.  It’s better when he’s racing other guys to see who can throw the most kegs into a beer truck.  What bothered me about the first night’s show was that there was no contest.  The contenders sucked and the gladiators were not very interesting either.  Monday’s show was much better.  When Wolf (howling aside, he’s growing to be my favorite) reached out with his legs to grab the contender from the platform and pulled him free, I was stunned.  When the two women were grappling in Hang Tough in a leg lock, that was awesome.  I know, Hang Tough, right?  That’s what I mean.  I want there to actually be a chance.  Yeah, as funny as it was to watch the little dudes get hurled off Pyramid, you want them to have a fighting fucking chance. 

I want this show to make it.  I love stuff like this.  And last night’s show gave me hope.  Viva los Gladiators!

The word “hipster” gets bandied around a lot by folks, and I’m as much to blame as the rest of you.  But in the hallowed (and paraphrased) words of Apu Nahasapeemapetulan “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”   Or rather, maybe I’m confused.

In maligning the movie Juno, or more particularly the screenwriter Diablo Cody, people slam her dialogue by calling it “hipster”.   In every definition of the word “hipster” I understand or have heard, it would be difficult not to liberally whitewash Ms. Cody with such a classification.  But before you go brandishing that paintbrush, I ask you to look deep into the mirrors of yourselves.  Because this it the pot calling the kettle hipster.

I may be wrong about the term “hipster”, so I think I need clarification.  I used to live in Allston, MA, just below Harvard, and butting west up against the city.  When walking to and from my apartment to the laundromat, lugging a laundry bag over my shoulders, I would often play the game “Hipster or Mexican?” guessing who which person it would be striding past me as I grunted and sweated my way to the quarter wash.  I could almost always guess properly. 

This is my understood description of a hipster:  Hipsters are usually thin, and most will either be vegetarian, vegans or rabid anti-vegetarians.  They tend to have unwashed hair in some sort of fauxhawk/emo swoop.  They usually wear mostly black, often purchased from thrift stores.  They tend to wear thick black geek specs, have tattoos or piercings, and usually wear Converse or Vans.  They only discuss movies, art, film, or books.  They hate everything that’s popular, even if at one time they claimed to like it.  They often drink fancy coffees or teas, and most smoke cigarettes.  They will not shop corporate.  They shun anything that’s popular, unless it’s older or Japanese, then they will embrace it with an uncanny fervor.  They hate anything that’s cool, and that makes them cool, except they would never call themselves cool.   They work retail or shitty jobs, usually for the corporations they hate.  They are for the most part college educated, liberal arts degrees paid for by their parents.  They never have much money, so they drink PBR, because it’s funny to drink a working man’s beer.  They only watch obscure cult films and listen to bands nobody has ever heard of. 

There are two important classifications of hipster.  One, they are intellectually and culturally superior to you, and need to demonstrate that on a constant and derisive basis.  And two, they refuse to be called hipster.

If a hipster likes something it is because a) it is someone you have never heard of and thus they are better than you for knowing about it, or b) it’s ironically cool.  Things like “The Golden Girls” or “My Little Pony” or anything else ironed on to a T-shirt and sold on the internet.  If a hipster doesn’t like something, a) everyone else must like it now, b) and they will shit on you for being a sheep and thus proving their intellectual superiority.

This constant complaint is often bitchy or snarky.  Like you’re an idiot for having a thought different than theirs.  Everyone is an idiot to a hipster.   And god damn do they hate their own.

For I time, I’m pretty sure I was a hipster.  I still have the square frame glasses, two ear hoops, and a tattoo on my lower calf.  I was never thin, but I wore thrift store clothes and hoodies.  I carry a messenger bag full of writing that I would break out over diner food.  My bag had patches safety pinned to it.  And as evident by this blog, I hate everything, and deride people who think differently. 

But I think I’ve gone past the hipster effete into my own brand of personal “Go Fuck Yourself”.  I do care what other people think of me, and I refuse to be a non-conformist solely for the purpose of making people think I’m awesome.  I’m awesome because I’m fucking awesome.  And fuck you if you think otherwise.  I will stove in your head with my fucking Chuck Taylors. 

What kills me most about these people tar and feathering Diablo Cody with the cutesy “hipster-holier-than-thou” swath are just as guilty of it themselves.  But instead of praising the fact that one of their own managed to break through the ranks, they’re more content on giving her the back of their hand.  The one holding the cigarette, not the latte.  They’re annoyed by the fact that everyone likes it. 

Of course nobody talks like the characters in Juno.  Capturing teenage dialogue is like bottling lightening.  Fast Times at Ridgemont High had Cameron Crowe pretending to be a high school student to get an ear for it.  At the time it was dead on.  Nowadays, yeah right.  Dawson’s Creek got mocked for having kids talk TOO intelligently.  Watch MTV.  Teenagers can actually be eloquent and well-spoken and intelligent.  But for the most part, they tend to pepper everything with either profanity or um/like/whatever.  

Yeah, Diablo Cody has become her own brand name.  She’s sold herself.  But isn’t that the point?  Can’t we be happy for once, goddammit?  Do we have to keep cutting each other when we’re sick of cutting ourselves?  The answer is NO, NO, and YES.

I can appreciate people crapping on Diablo Cody for overstylizing her dialogue.  And yes, Juno had a fucking hamburger phone.  And she stole furniture and smoked a pipe.  Not a one-hitter, a fucking tobacco pipe.  For every nuance like that, there was something even greater.  For every “That eggo is preggo” there was the “I’m the Cautionary Whale”.  C’mon, tell me you missed that she was wearing a fucking Slinky shirt when she was pregnant.  You know what else rolls down stairs and over your neighbor’s dog?  Pregnant women who can’t afford abortions.  That’s fucking hilarious.

The hipster culture annoys me.  I want to punch pretentious people in the face.  These little fucks who presume that because they’re in their twenties and they’ve seen four movies with subtitles that they are fucking Jean-Luc Goddard.  Smarmy is hard to swallow, because it comes with this narcissistic sense that you are somehow entitled to your opinion because everyone else is stupid.  Grow up, you fuckers.  There’s nothing wrong with fighting for something you believe in, and having passionate feelings.  But for Unclefucker’s sake.  Stop creating a culture where nothing feels good and everyone is stupid for disagreeing with you. 

Maybe I’m wrong though.  I’m being a hipsterocryte myself.  So correct me.  Because unlike most of the great unwashed, I’m willing to accept the fact that I might actually be fucking wrong. 

I switched from Netflix to Blockbuster, because for the same price, I could exchange my movies in store for three immediate new films while they sent me the others.  AND they send you a monthly coupon for a free movie or video game.  It made sense.  It was awesome.  Also, Netflix puts you on a list.  If you exchange movies too fast in too short a period of time, they send your films out staggered.  So even if you mail them in at the same time, they’ll send on out one day, then the next day, then the next day.  It’s kind of shady, and I forshamed them with my cancellation email.

So I was in Blockbuster heaven.  Especially when you consider I’m in Burbank!  So surely, in an industry town, they’ll have a great selection in store, right?  WRONG.  You are very fucking wrong, sirs and madams.  Blockbuster has the worst in store selection I’ve ever seen.  If the film is actually there, usually it’s checked out.  Which is because there are no late fees.  So fuck if I’ll bring shit back on time.  So even though they bring in nine thousand copies of the latest release, its usually not there.  So sure, you get free exchanges.  But for what? 

Well, then I go into the store, and after browsing, I finally scrounge together the three films I’ll watch.  It’s shit like this that leads to Epic Movie rentals.  I bring them to the register.  I am informed, not by email, but in store, that I have exceeded my quota for the month.  Mind you, it’s November 7th.  So I say, “Isn’t it unlimited?”  They tell me, “That’s how it was.  You have to upgrade to get the unlimited.”  And by upgrade, they mean, you now have to pay $25 a month to get unlimited exchanges.   Instead of $18. 

I agree to the blood money.  But I’m really pissed.  First that I have to get embarassed in store by not being able to return shit, but second that I have to pay $25.  And third, that they discontinued the motherfucking free monthly coupon.  It was how I addressed my Wii addiction.  Because to rent a game costs $8 at Blockbuster.  And I despite my constant reviewing, I don’t have that much free time to spend playing games to afford Gamefly or Gametap or Tapfly or Vidcrotch or whatever they call it these days. 

Well, fine.  So I’m continuing my trend.  Then I get an email. 

The email informs me that blockbuster will be increasing the monthly amount for 3 at a time and unlimited instore to $35.  As soon as the number got above $30 my blood pressure burst a vein in my forehead like Sweeney Todd trimming my bald dome.  Also, I think I had just gotten done watching Epic Movie.  So I sent them an email. 

Much to my chagrin, I had to forego a lot of my poetic profanity because the complaint department only reads 255.  So it read like a sailor sending a telegram.  Fuck you Blockbuster.  STOP.  How dare you ask me to fucking shill out more money for your crapass DVD collection?  STOP.  Fuck you in the face.  STOP.  Netflix, which I’ll be returning to, has a much much better selection of films.  Unlike your garbage assortment.  STOP.  And that doesn’t even begin to touch on the bevy of retards you have working at your stores who couldn’t find their assholes with both hands, a flashlight, and a starved dog.  STOP.  Fuck you and your shitty in store selection as well.  You know who needs forty copies of I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry?  Someone stupid enough to fucking shop at your garbage store. STOP.  I will not only fucking promise to cancel my account immediately, but I will my make it my life’s quest to ensure that nobody ever dare speak your name in my presence.  You just fucked with the wrong bitch.  STOP.  Again, my sincere hopes and wishes that you get promptly and vigorously fucked in the face.  STOP.

So yeah.  Cancel your Blockbuster accounts if you do the online.  If you shop in store, well, that’s your business.  Go back to Netflix.  Sure they’re doucheshady with their blacklist.  But fuck it.  For $25 you can get 4 movies at a time.  Even with their mail system, that comes out to almost 13 movies a month if you watch fast.  That’s less than $2 a DVD.  And you don’t have to try to park in the worst fucking parking lot ever.  Blockbuster parking lots suck, have always sucked, and will always suck, world without end.

This is not me shilling for Netflix.  I don’t get paid endorsement.  In fact, motherfuck Netflix.  This is about casting hell on the blue and gold cocksacks at Blockbuster.  They will rue the fucking day they crossed this little bald motherfucker.  RUE!

Nothing inspires more disdain or remorse or bad feelings than a top ten list.  My favorite thing in a world is to see someone else’s list and just shower it with scorn and hatred and WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING? 

So of course, I would just have to do one.  Here it is, a scant 11 days still remaining in this, the year of your lord 2007, and there are far too many movies to mention that are still coming out.  This would be better relegated to after the new year, when so much isn’t out yet, but goddamn, if I’m not anything but quick on the draw.

There are still a number of movies to see: I’m Not There, August Rush, Youth Without Youth, Charlie Wilson’s War, Sweeney Todd, There Will Be Blood, National Treasure: Book of Secrets, Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, Persepolis, oh Lord, so many coming out.  And my plan is to see most of these before the new year.  So yeah, they’ll be another bigass Pasadena run coupled with DGA viewings.  To clear most of this off the list.  And no doubt, at least two of these will end up on my list of the best of the year. 

This list is up for argument’s sake, to inspire scorn, and for people to throw out “HOW COULD YOU FORGET…”?  But so far, in my humble estimation, here are my top ten movies of the year, in suspenseful reverse listing, without my inevitable justification blathering that will make the final list of the year. 

Honorable Mention: Live Free or Die Hard

10.  Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead
9.  Eastern Promises
8.  The Bourne Ultimatum
7.  Enchanted
6. Waitress
5. Lars and the Real Girl
4. No Country for Old Men
3. Once
2. Ratatouille
1. Juno

Much like the violent, 14 year old girl I appear to be with my movie choices, this list is subject to fits of inexplicable change at a mere whim.  Some of the movies will move up the list, some will move down, some will disappear entirely.  I gotta say, it was actually a pretty fucking good year for movies.

Now, fight!