Bad Movie Review: Disaster Movie

I haven't done a Bad Movie Review in such a long time. It's probably because, usually I love bad movies. I love the attempt at trying to be great on a shoestring budget. The overacting in place of talent. Bad costumes with the glimmer of hope that maybe, the audience wont notice.

But. Sometimes, there comes a movie that dares us to sit through it, while it slaps the intelligence out of you.

I saw Disaster Movie. And how well named this movie is! So, I am now planning to find who made this movie, and going back in time to make sure they can never be born and poison my mind like they did. I used to have such a beautiful mind.

For the sake of your own lives, I will now tell the entire movie, in the hope that you'll never have to suffer such as I did. Spoilers be damned, this is compassion that I do this for all of you.

While watching the movie, I noticed that the filmmakers were so much in love with their genius, that they actually edited in 30 second pauses after each joke, as to allow the people in the audience time to catch their breath and fully recover from the obvious conniption fit of laughter that must be issuing forth from them. How thoughtful. Although, it came off in the theater as mournful moment of silence in honor of the humor that just died. I did hear some children laugh at the two minute belching joke. I'm guessing these are the kind of children that laugh at their feet.

And so the motion picture begins:

The movie starts out with the audience disappointingly getting their hopes up that they wont be wasting two hours of their lives. It also begins with a 10000 BC sequence. the "comedy" starts with a falling into dinosaur poop joke. Our main character (i really can't say "hero", as this no name actor has the presence of wood glue). He runs through bushes, and gets into an American Gladiator joke for no apparent reason that goes on far too long. He then runs into Amy Whinehouse...

How do we know it's Amy Whinehouse? Because whenever a imitation of some kind of current pop culture bad imitation, SOMEone always says something like, "Hey! It's Amy Whinehouse!". To which the said identified person will say "It's me! Amy Whinehouse!!!"

Anyway, She goes on way too long and we got the joke minutes ago. She produces a crystal scull from between her legs (an ongoing theme, as you see), and says if this skull doesn't return to it's proper place, disaster will befall the earth...and our movie begins!

...as our hero (dammit...), wakes up from this dream. Yeah, it's a dream opening of the jokes the "writers couldn't figure out how to place in the rest of the movie. He brakes up with his girlfriend who leaves him and...I even started to taste a little vomit here as I recalled this moment...leaves him and takes the midget. That's the joke. And I'm guessing the producers thought this was such comedy gold, they have an entirely different midget joke later. But I digress...

The hero has a (joke) MTV sweet sixteen party for himself where (joke) he meets the guys from Superbad, where is best friend/funny black jive-ass sidekick does some (joke) Wanted shtick with the real Kim Kardashian and Carmen Electra where they (joke) wrestle in a dream sequence yet again, and then (joke) a High School Musical number plays out entire parody songs...

Interspersed within all this are more and more side jokes. I also realized that these...writers...were making "funnies" on the trailers of all these movies! They never saw any on these actual movies of these parodies they're doing! Oh, and you've just saw the biggest stars of the pic: A chick whose claim to fame is being rich and a boring sex tape, and Ms. Electra, who'll do anything for a cig and a ride home afterwards. Ask Dennis Rodman.

Back to the epic! The ground shakes and (joke) Cloverfield like destruction starts. So, Mr. Wood Glue, talentless Kim, Jive-ass Sidekick, and (joke) the preggo kid from Juno, try to find Wood Glues girlfriend and stay alive. By the way, we've wasted almost an hour of movie before ANY disasters happen, not counting the actual existence of this celluloid piece of crap. Wind and tornadoes. Yes. That's our marque named disaster.

While they're walking about in the streets trying to get... somewhere... They run into, (joke) the Hulk who loses his pants and (joke) gets hit by a cow, pass (Joke) "Hey! It's Hannah Montana! Who gets crushed by a meteor, who turns out to be (joke) "Hey! It's Miley Cyrus! Meet (joke) the princess from Enchanted, run into (joke) the Sex in the City girls, do the exact jokes from (joke) Don't Mess with the Zohan...

Que dream sequence numbah three! (joke) Jumper, and (joke) Prince Caspian. back to the waking world...

Then meet (joke) the Chipmunks.

Who sing not one, not two, but THREE full fricken songs! With shots of our protagonists enjoying them all. They attack and kill most our heroes, and the whole of human culture thanks them. But unfortunately, Wood-Glue, Jive-ass, and Enchanted escape, and are headed to the (joke) Night at the Museum, where Gluey's GF works. So our group (joke) steals Speed Racers Mach five (which looks nothing like the Mach 5) . Oh yeah, (joke) "Hey! it's Batman!"

Enter the museum where the girlfriend is rescued, produces a Crystal Skull from between HER thighs and says they need to replace the skull in this very museum to save the world. To get from A to B, (joke) Beowulf attacks them, Kung-fu Panda attacks them. And they get to the Crystal Skull room where...

oh Jesus. Midget number two. a tiny black Indiana Jones.

Okay, i'm sick of all this crap. needless to say, as if anyone cares, they replace the skull. and people pour out of the theater angry they've just spent hard earned cash that could have been spent way more satisfying, paying a hobo to beat you with a dead rat behind a dumpster.

the end.

And just as some kind of redemption to myself, I didn't pay to see this. No one should.

I have just saved your soul.

Secrets of the Male Species

Seeing as that I don't have many guy friends and don't fully subscribe to the male-mind set of misogynistic buffoonery, I feel I might be the only outlet to the other half of the human race for the secrets of the male mind.

And seeing as i'm totally clueless about females of any type. I'm kinda hoping for an information exchange.

yeah. I'm a traitor to my gender. But, we're guys. We can get into a fight about something, totally forget about it when we see a nice looking girl, then forget what it was all about and go have a beer and talk sports, or boobs, or whatever.

1) the man-hug

It's a written rule from back in Roman times that a man to man hug last exactly 2 seconds or less...and no more. You are not allowed to swoon, cry, close eyes, or sigh. You place your hands, closed fingers, in the middle of the back and pat continuously (i.e. no rubbing!!!), and you don't place your chin on the others guys shoulder. You also do not stroke his hair.

2) "WOOOOOT!!!"

When humans are just babies, to get attention, they would cry. While women grow out of this, males evolve the screeching wail, into one word: "wooooooooooot!" This is usually answered with a pack mentality amongst nearby males, and accompanied with the pumping of a fist into the air. Don't believe me? Go to a MTV event at a beach and watch when a bikinied girl walks by. Watch a sports event of any type. Witness a drunken frat party. It's a species war cry that transends all other drives. I think it's the same urge that fuels dogs to occasionally eat their own poop.

3) Boxers or briefs?

Actually, it's three choices: Tighty Whities, boxer-briefs, and boxers.

Tighty Whities should only be worn by pre-teens, and that's it. End of story. If you date any guy, and you find out he's wearing white "panities", he needs to grow up. No guy looks good in tighty-whities. Even those male models you see in wal-mart and target ads look...odd, with their perfect hair and flashing smiles as two guys are wearing nothing but white Haynes and sharing a pillow fight. And if you notice, they're as smooth as a Ken doll. Somehing to think about.

Boxers. I just don't get those. It's like wearing an ass cape with a waistband. Whats even worse is the guys trying to look "street" by wearing low cut pants exposing some very rumpled boxers. Not a sexy sight, many women tell me. And wearing the voluminous boxers is like throwing a hot dog in a shoebox: no protection in any shape or form. Bits get crushed and are all a-sway in very unflattering ways.

Now the way to go for all guys are the Boxer-briefs: the hybrid of all the forms of pantinones! has the security of the thightys without being that tight, and the coverage of boxers without looking like you're wearing your dads underwear.

Oh, and never buy white in any form. Men can't maintain a whiteness in any cloth. The most we can manage is a dull yellow.

And whats with the 1000's of panties that women get to choose from in specialized stores? Unlimited designs and cuts! What we guys get is a 3-pack on sale at Target.

4) An ongoing list of words no man should use, ever.

Garment --- Periwinkle --- Magical --- Supple --- Duvet --- Precious --- Faaaabulous --- Adore --- Lavender --- Mommy or Daddy --- Scootch --- Weewee --- "teeheehee" ---

5) Urinal commandments

No excessive or undue conversation in the restroom. Keep eyes forward whenever possible, if you have to, go into a trance and stare at the tile in front of you, or admire the urinal cake intensely Always close the stall door, even when going #1. If you have an option, never use the urinal right next to a man who is already "underway". Never talk to another man while your junk is hanging out. Never discuss shape. Never say "ooooooh...impressive...".

I'll be leaking more information soon. Every pun intended.

Spider-man vs. My Mom.

My first comic book was Giant Sized Spider-man Man-Thing. Saw it at a magazine stand in a California Ralph's and I had to have it. That was my first foray into the whole sequentual art scene (as those who are embarrassed to admit they read "funny books" will say they "invest" in).

Not gonna lie to you, that was my love afair with comics. Like your first crush. I think at that point, I saw more than the here and now. I started to wonder how Peter Parker was going to get out of that mess and what will happen next week. Who is this Mary Jane and Gwen Stacy? The Lizard? He's brilliant! That's no Batman TV series costume, that's some f'ed up threads Parkers sporting there! I was quite tiny and young, so I'm going to assume I thought, "f'ed up".

(I still have that comic too!)

My mom so didn't want to by me anything, especially a comic book like that. But I was relentless. Only later did I experience how much she detested that decision.

I was so excited when the Cheerios cereal I was eating advertised that you could get a free...yes! FREE!!!..Official Spider-man Web-shooter. This, was like seeing the face of GOD! It was Official, and it was just like Peter Parker kit bashed it in his room at Aunt Mays house! It was blue and red, with...er...a spider-man face on the strap...and...okay, it had a suction cup dart with a plastic web strip and a 2 foot line. Not very accurate, I know. And it wouldn't stuck on walls, nor support my weight, but to a 6 year old Spider-fan...it was pure kiddie cocaine.

And it was free: for 6 proof of purchase and $5.95 shipping and handling. Well, shitcakes, I need to eats me tons of that cereal! I ate that oaty crap as much as I could, and ate, and ate, and ate. My mom wondered why the milk was always running out and the sink was filled with bowls and spoons. And ants, from all that sugar I was tossing about the kitchen. I started to hate that cereal and the happy yellow box, but, If evil had to be smited, I needed the tools to do that! I needed that web-shooter asap!

If I was only stronger of stomach and fortitude, I could have probably choked down 6 more boxes of that crap to get a second web-shooter. You know...backup. And my Mom was starting not only loathe Spider-man (I was practicing daily bouncing off of things and those Spider-poses), but my need for. More. Cereal.

Thank you Spider-man for my spider-diabetes!

When I finally had enough for one shooter, I begged anyone who would hear for the $5.95 and a stamp. All I had to do was wait a few days to get my bounty...not realize what "up to 6 to 8 weeks" really meant to a 6 year old. That, my friend, is an eternity.

Daily, I asked my mom if the Web-shooters arrived. This is what drove her mad, I think. Because, I had to ask, every single day, My spider sense was tingling every afternoon, and that must mean that mom HAS to check the mail! After a bit of time, the headache induced fire stare at me, meant I shouldn't ask anything anymore.

I had to make time pass, so I practiced my moves. I practiced my web-shooting poses with the two inner fingers tapping the center palm. Making sure of the accuracy and proud of the tight strain of the forearm as I extended my hand. Doing research on the types of webs i would be able to make (if it were all real), and building myself a spider utility belt out of cardboard, markers, and masking tape.

OhMyGod!!! Did I forget to ask mom to check the ma...

"NO!!!! STOP ASKING!!!"

So, enveloped in my Dojo of the Spider...the day finally came...four months later. It came! And as my mom threw it at my head, I saw it was lovinging packaged in a brown cardboard container with no writing on it. Well, of course! If it came straight from Peter Parker, he wouldn't just write on it "Caution web-Shooter" across it. Secret Identity, y'know. He can trust me, and yes, he's very clever!

When the box was opened, it was magnificent. All plastic with bad "engrish" instructions and a arm strap too small for even a child hand. Okay, so the dart wasn't activated from the center palm, but it was the coolest thing in the entire universe. And I couldn't wait to take it to school and show the guys tomorrow! I will not pimp it and put it on today. Nay. it will be more awesome at school, when I will then impress the kids with my spider-skills.

The next morning, I was up so early, it was still dark outside. Skipped breakfast as it turned my stomach now, delicately packed and maintained my crime fighting tools in my backpack, and was drooped off at school. The wait for recess was intolerable.

When the bell rang, I gathered all the kids and opened my backpack...and proceeded to strap on the official Parker made web-shooter. It was like a slow montage from a summer movie: straps went into place, the 2 feet of twine was carefully unraveled, the single suction cup dart was inserted and the release lever cocked back, with a musical score rivaling John Williams played in my head. I had a friend place an empty juice box 3 feet away and stand back! To moved to position and trust out my arm with the two inner fingers hovering over my palm, ready for the first test run of my first superpower. Just press down and... Thwipp...

A large hard was clasped upon my device before I could say anything and i was hastily hauled into the principals office. Looking down as I sat, the Web-shooter was...missing!

Apparently, they thought this pen spring controlled Nerf dart that can only shoot, no, more like fall, 2 feet, was a dangerous murderous device. It was to be confiscated.

I was devastated. When I went home, I waited at the door for my mom to come home. She would get my web-shooter from those neanderthals! They were impeding Justice! My mom will go for bat for me! She knew how important this all is...

When she came through the door, I speedingly told her the fate of the Web-shooter. She gave off a scary smile. I was so cold...

"Yes, your teacher called me. I told them to keep it. maybe you will learn your lesson, hmm?"

What frikin' lesson?!

Probably a teacher took my shooter and gave it to her kids! I think this was the point where me and my mom deviated from each other. Decades later, it still bothers me. Can you tell?

Over the years, I became Peter Parker, hapless romantic, born loser with a heart of gold. My mom stopped talking to me, but, Spider-man never left me.

And then, I saw this at a Goodwill...

It's not the same hokey piece of crap from way back when, I can't even find a picture of it, maybe it did kill a kid! But it is an echo of my lost childhood friend. And, hell yeah, I put it on! But it stays in it's box until such extreme heroics are needed.

With great power, comes great responsibility. That's what Peter taught me...

Back in the Saddle, for Kinda the First time

"...On behalf of the group and me-self, I hope we pass the audition." - John Lennon on the rooftop of Abbey Road.

I am not good at dating.

I don't have the chops, or the experience. And many times, I don't even know that the get together of a man and woman can be construed as a "date". What is a date? God, I just wanna meet people, and it's like an audition for a part that i haven't even read the script for.

I never dated. Oh, I've had relationships and girlfriends, but a date with a phone call, and a pick up at the ladies house, and the dinner and a movie with the capper peck on the check, kind? NO. Only seen it in movies where it's usually Wally or the "Beve", and they bring a box with a flower in it to pin on the breast of a young adolescent. They also wear sweaters with arm patches and the word "condom" doesn't exist yet. Probably not the best role models.

Usually I just happen to fall into relationships. It just happens. And I wake up with a "okay...what the hell just happened" puzzled look on my face next to a beautiful girl with a smile (for the moment, seemingly), and I find we're going to the mall together. Checking out Spencers Gifts and Hot Topic while I hold her purse.

...and as I'm holding her purse like it's a bag of dog poo, I see other guys standing about with similar bags held aloft and looking lost. No, not lost, but wondering "what the hell just happened?" It's like I was the last to know we're "together". I am so clueless when it comes to this crap.

And I know once again, I skipped the "date" part.

Y'know, let me take that back. I DID go on a date! Once. And as I remember it now, there is a reason why my mind chose to lose that information.

looong long ago in a far away land of Whittier, California, I was working at a pizza place and finally got the testosterone to ask this girl out that wasn't a buddy to begin with. She was young and pretty with long blond hair, and unknown to me, quite an attitude. I was damn surprised she said yes!

I picked her up at her place and it felt like a real "Leave it to Beaver" Date! She dressed better than usual, and I was a gentleman and opened the door for her even though I thought it was cliche'. I told her where I was taking her to dinner a really really nice Italian restaurant...

When She said she didn't want to go that far, and wanted to eat at the place we worked. Expensive Italian food, or a chinsy pizza parlor where all the co-workers will think I'm the cheapest dumbass date in the entire world. Thank god we didn't work at a McDonalds. And the "dinner" was quite fast and relatively talk free. Why did she say yes?

Afterwards, she invited me back to her place, (a nervous "score!" would be applied here, like I know what to do next, right?). So what did we do, you little perverts? I'll tell you in all the sexy detail: She brought out a photo album filled with Polaroids of the guys she's really lusting after for me to see how awesome he was. Why did she say yes?!

Next on the agenda? Me saying good night. I never know when the kiss, or hug, or handshake is ever applied and I was so uncertain what to do...but I needn't bother. She asked me since I was going, could I drop her off at the pool hall Mr. Awesome hung out at. You know me. I'm a dumbass. Of course I did.

Why did she say yes? I found out later she said yes, because her friends told her, "eww. Don't go out with him...", and she wanted to piss them off. And so my mind sealed the records of that caper ASAP. No dates for you, buddy.

Leap almost two decades later: I'm now dating again, and have NO clue what the hell I'm doing! I met this girl and we talked for a long time, I finally ask her out and she says, to my surprise once again, yes. She's funny and intelligent, and we talked about so many comfortable ideas, it seems like it'll be a good time had by all! We make a date to met at the Starbucks and confirm which one, since theirs 18 per block by law in Vancouver.

I arrive all nice and neat, I look fantastic since I don't have that High School fatness and nerdy grr-animal clothes. This is my FIRST date! The big leap in the deep end! And I get to Starbucks an hour early.

When she didn't show up the first hour, I figured, "oh women and getting gussied up". I drank that cup of tea slow because I had to get a loan to afford the "Grande". When Hour two showed it's head with no one there, I was trying so hard to look like I wanted to be there as a solo. Read the coffee menus a billion times and attempted to look casual instead of disappointed level 10. Hour three. maybe she was attacked by Yetis and had to carve her way out of the stomach of the King of Snowmen with the jawbone of a steer found within his gut. Then, fight her way to a cliff side and leap off into a torrent of rapids, trying her best to get within a cell phone area to make a call to me saying she'll be a little late.

Called it at four hours and pronounced the date, D.O.A.. I also felt a bit pathetic for staying that long. Hope and stupidity ride the same road it seems. Never heard from her again...

Why did she say yes? Deja vu all over again

Later I met Catt and we had a good sushi lunch. During the fried calamari, I was of course, clueless as to be expected, but this time, I so needed to know:

"Uh, Catt...can I ask you a question?"
"Yeah, shoot..."
"...are we on...a date?"

The Lost Band Journal

A while back, a few of the missing months in fact, the project was started to clean out my life.

I probably threw away about 87% of my life. Old letter, picture, clippings, magazines, books, pogs, crap...if I picked it up, and saw no need for it right at that moment, I knew I wouldn't ever. Goodwill so made out like a bandit with me. Now I need a bed, a couch, and a pony named Frank.

Anyway, I found quite a few things I thought had long ago disappeared. One being another Band Journal. As I've stated in blogs of past, this was something I did for the fliers of the current bands I was in. I hated the blase fliers with just "we're awesome!!! KICKASS!!! Come to da SHOW, Beeotch!!!" that was sooo normal...

I wrote these to have an edge that the others didn't. This one never saw print:
___________________________________________________________________

Earwax isn't flammable. that must be the reason why you can't just buy earwax candles - the damn stuff simply will not burn. So all of you who are looking in that direction for a miraculous alternative energy source can just relax, cause you need a blow torch to make ear wax burn...

This is the type of knowledge one can acquire when one's television is on the fritz. In fact, a plethora of discoveries awaits the individual whose attention is no longer anchored to the tube, which recently came the case with us, as our TV joined our refrigerator and our microwave in the mysterious major appliance die-off.

In the interest of saving millions of American tax dollars in the form of government research grants, here's a partial list of some of the breakthroughs the band has made in the absence of television:

1) Over a long period of time, belly button lint can be formed into comfortable socks...

2) There was a time when our couch was white...

3) If you take a piece of aluminum foil, wrap it around the head of a match, then light it with another match, the foil-match will shoot across the room and burn your stereo system right to the ground..

4) Never, never, never, never, never ever look at the underside of a coffee table.

See you at the show...

_________________________________________________________________

I don't know. It works, I guess...