Atheists don't get mad if you tell them there IS a god.
I have never seen news footage of PETA protesting leather clothing while standing outside of a biker bar.
I've never heard a gay person say "gross!" when they see a hetero couple kiss.
People who throw fits over the phrase "Happy Holidays" don't throw fits when wrestlers use Bible passages to market themselves. See: Stone Cold Steve Austin.
I checked, and there is no rule in the English language that states putting a "c" or a "k" after an "s" magically switches the letters around. "Escape." "Ask." "Retard."
If you see someone smoking, it is acceptable to tell them they are killing themselves. If you see someone cramming greasy burgers down their throat, it is not. (These are things I've NOTICED, not things I UNDERSTAND.)
If pictures on Facebook are a reflection of reality, 95% of women under the age of 30 are always making a sexy-kissy face.
People who spit while they are outdoors do not spit while they are indoors.
*
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Random Schmandom.
Cockward (noun, CAWK-wurd): Awkward feeling associated with a man's crotchal-region. Example: "I got busted checking out this other dude's package in the men's room. It was a very cockward situation.)
What does it say about this world that reporters are forced to write and news anchors are forced to read stories reminding people of the following things:
1) You should wash your hands after you pee
2) You should turn the lawnmower/snowblower off before you stick your hand in it to pull something out
3) Ice is a bad thing to ride your snowmobile on, unless you live in Nunavut or want your smooshy corpse found barely contained in your snowmobile suit by drunk fishermen next July
Canada is the plain girl. The U.S. is our hot friend. The guys (terrorists) aren't interested in sleeping with us (blowing us up.) They just hang out with us (hide in Canada) so they can get to (blow the shit out of) our hot friend.
Canada is also the weird, probably-'tarded kid on the playground. No one really wants to hang out with us because we eat squeeze-cheese sandwiches and smell like wet socks, but if you beat us up, the whole world will think you're a total tool.
What does it say about this world that reporters are forced to write and news anchors are forced to read stories reminding people of the following things:
1) You should wash your hands after you pee
2) You should turn the lawnmower/snowblower off before you stick your hand in it to pull something out
3) Ice is a bad thing to ride your snowmobile on, unless you live in Nunavut or want your smooshy corpse found barely contained in your snowmobile suit by drunk fishermen next July
Canada is the plain girl. The U.S. is our hot friend. The guys (terrorists) aren't interested in sleeping with us (blowing us up.) They just hang out with us (hide in Canada) so they can get to (blow the shit out of) our hot friend.
Canada is also the weird, probably-'tarded kid on the playground. No one really wants to hang out with us because we eat squeeze-cheese sandwiches and smell like wet socks, but if you beat us up, the whole world will think you're a total tool.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Hilarious and Insightful Blog Post About Something
Witty opening line, just off-kilter enough to grab your attention.
Slightly more detailed explanation, followed by disclaimer about how, regardless of what I type afterward, I'm not judging anyone who believes differently than I do (even though, let's face it, I am.)
Silly anecdote about what prompted me to write this post, likely referencing a friend/co-worker/smelly fellow bus passenger.
Paragraph containing comments and observations written with humour and light-hearted teasing, used to disguise (thinly) my distaste and reproach for subject matter.
Ha ha ha I'm so funny aren't I witty? don't you just hate it when blah blah blah blah blah.
Slightly more sensitive comment about the serious problems faced by poor people/cute little animals/something else that's lame.
The word 'fuck' a bunch of times, interspersed with words that aren't 'fuck' so I don't sound like a complete jackoff.
Summary of my point/argument/spazz-fest, which is hilarious but also almost reveals that I'm actually upset/sad/care about something.
Just kidding. Everyone can blow me.
Slightly more detailed explanation, followed by disclaimer about how, regardless of what I type afterward, I'm not judging anyone who believes differently than I do (even though, let's face it, I am.)
Silly anecdote about what prompted me to write this post, likely referencing a friend/co-worker/smelly fellow bus passenger.
Paragraph containing comments and observations written with humour and light-hearted teasing, used to disguise (thinly) my distaste and reproach for subject matter.
Ha ha ha I'm so funny aren't I witty? don't you just hate it when blah blah blah blah blah.
Slightly more sensitive comment about the serious problems faced by poor people/cute little animals/something else that's lame.
The word 'fuck' a bunch of times, interspersed with words that aren't 'fuck' so I don't sound like a complete jackoff.
Summary of my point/argument/spazz-fest, which is hilarious but also almost reveals that I'm actually upset/sad/care about something.
Just kidding. Everyone can blow me.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Barf, Swallow and Repeat
I did the unthinkable today. I uttered words I never thought I would ever utter. I had to force myself to say them, and then I barfed a little in my mouth, then swallowed my barf then barfed up it up again, plus a little bit more. Six words which, on their own, are completely harmless, but when combined caused the very fabric of my existence to disintegrate. Six words I have never said or even thought before today. Six words which, when I type them in just a few moments, will likely make me do the whole barf-swallow-and repeat thing again.
"I wish I had a boyfriend."
Barf. Swallow. And repeat.
I said those words to a very good friend of mine, who belongs to the unfortunate set of ears into which I unload everything that's ever bothered me EVER. He's either a very patient man, or he's just biding his time until he comes up with the perfect way to murder me without getting caught. He's a good sounding board, because he's the most honest person I know and always tells me what I should hear, whether I want to hear it or not. In fact, I often know as I'm asking him a question that the answer will piss me off, yet I ask anyway because I know he's only going to say what he's going to say because he knows it will be good for me to hear it. Also, he can move pretty quickly, so if I ever try to take a swing at him, he knows damn well he'll get out of the way in time.
So I said the "Sickening Six" words today, and he almost immediately had advice. That advice was Internet dating. Aaaaaaaaaaaand.....barf-swallow-and repeat. No, I said. Weirdos, I said. I need to actually see someone IN PERSON to know if I'm interested, I said. Give it a chance, he said. There are good ones on there, he said. Barf-swallow-barf, I said.
Sitting at home now, and just closed the Internet window on which I had been perusing a local dating site. I pretty much do everything my friend tells me to, because he's usually right. Usually. You were not right this time, good friend. One check-mark in the loss column for you. Your winning streak is over.
I have learned three very important things from the half hour I spent on that website.
1) Knot vary meny peeple r gud spellerz anee-more
2) A lot of men who shouldn't have mustaches DO
3) Men who are bald on the head can still have an awful lot of hair on their shoulders
I have also learned that at least three people on Earth still say they like "long walks on the beach" (barf-swallow-and repeat), a lot of men have been burned (or, in one case, 'berned') by women in the past, and anyone can cut and paste a picture of a sexy fireman into their profile, even if they are not, in fact, a sexy fireman.
Listen, I know there are good people to be found on the Intertubes. I have friends who have found them. Unfortunately for the rest of us, they found them all and now there are only bahd-speling, inappropriately-mustached, bald-yet-hairy-shouldered ones left. To those friends of mine, I say "Good for you. Now go clone your men, invent a way to make them age quickly to about 30 or so, slow their development down to normal levels, give me one, and I will name a building after you."
To my friend who is forced to listen to my rantings and ravings and whinings and bitchings and mopings and irrational gibberish, yet continues to be my friend for some reason I have yet to figure out, I say "You have until tomorrow to come up with a way to get me a boyfriend. You might by spry now, but someday you won't be as quick as you are, and I will be able to get a few punches in before you can get away."
"I wish I had a boyfriend."
Barf. Swallow. And repeat.
I said those words to a very good friend of mine, who belongs to the unfortunate set of ears into which I unload everything that's ever bothered me EVER. He's either a very patient man, or he's just biding his time until he comes up with the perfect way to murder me without getting caught. He's a good sounding board, because he's the most honest person I know and always tells me what I should hear, whether I want to hear it or not. In fact, I often know as I'm asking him a question that the answer will piss me off, yet I ask anyway because I know he's only going to say what he's going to say because he knows it will be good for me to hear it. Also, he can move pretty quickly, so if I ever try to take a swing at him, he knows damn well he'll get out of the way in time.
So I said the "Sickening Six" words today, and he almost immediately had advice. That advice was Internet dating. Aaaaaaaaaaaand.....barf-swallow-and repeat. No, I said. Weirdos, I said. I need to actually see someone IN PERSON to know if I'm interested, I said. Give it a chance, he said. There are good ones on there, he said. Barf-swallow-barf, I said.
Sitting at home now, and just closed the Internet window on which I had been perusing a local dating site. I pretty much do everything my friend tells me to, because he's usually right. Usually. You were not right this time, good friend. One check-mark in the loss column for you. Your winning streak is over.
I have learned three very important things from the half hour I spent on that website.
1) Knot vary meny peeple r gud spellerz anee-more
2) A lot of men who shouldn't have mustaches DO
3) Men who are bald on the head can still have an awful lot of hair on their shoulders
I have also learned that at least three people on Earth still say they like "long walks on the beach" (barf-swallow-and repeat), a lot of men have been burned (or, in one case, 'berned') by women in the past, and anyone can cut and paste a picture of a sexy fireman into their profile, even if they are not, in fact, a sexy fireman.
Listen, I know there are good people to be found on the Intertubes. I have friends who have found them. Unfortunately for the rest of us, they found them all and now there are only bahd-speling, inappropriately-mustached, bald-yet-hairy-shouldered ones left. To those friends of mine, I say "Good for you. Now go clone your men, invent a way to make them age quickly to about 30 or so, slow their development down to normal levels, give me one, and I will name a building after you."
To my friend who is forced to listen to my rantings and ravings and whinings and bitchings and mopings and irrational gibberish, yet continues to be my friend for some reason I have yet to figure out, I say "You have until tomorrow to come up with a way to get me a boyfriend. You might by spry now, but someday you won't be as quick as you are, and I will be able to get a few punches in before you can get away."
Friday, November 20, 2009
If I Give Up Beer, Movies and Groceries, I Can Afford a Parking Spot So I Can Drive to Work
A few years ago - when I was apparently being punished for being Satan in a past life - I had to ride the #14 OC Transpo bus to and from work. The #14 is commonly known (by me) as The Wacky Bus to Crazy Town, The Red and White Sin Shuttle and That Bus With All The Drug Dealers On It. Riding that bus regularly is about as comfortable as riding a pony made of razorblades and hate. I came up with a list of rules for the people riding that bus with me, which I have since lost. It made mention of the importance of brushing your teeth at least once a month and possibly showering occasionally.
Now, I ride the #7. Seven is half of 14, and it seems fitting that the #7 only sucks half as badly as the #14 does. I should also point out at least half the people riding the #7 with me at any given time appear to be employed, which is more than I can say for the #14. On that bus, I'm fairly certain the driver and I were the only ones with jobs that didn't involve poles, baggies or the job title Guy That Picks Cigarette Butts Up Off the Sidewalk.
For the most part, the #7 isn't a bad bus. No more than 15 or 20 minutes to get to and from work, and most of the people don't have actual stink-lines rising off them like Pig Pen in the Peanuts comics. However, motivated by an incident last night that involved a crazy (I hope) man "Air-Wanking" at me as he walked up the bus aisle, I feel it's important I come up with a set of rules for the #7.
1. Don't Air-Wank at me. For those of you unfamiliar with Air-Wanking (which is a phrase that, as far as I know, I invented yesterday) it is when one mimes the act of wanking, aka Jerkin' It.
2. People who sit on the outside-seat next to an empty inside-seat on a full bus are dicks. You think I want to sit beside you? I do not. But that old lady carrying the one little bag of groceries that would be nothing to you but is basically a sack of heavy rocks to her might want to have a seat. You are a selfish piece of shit, and I hope you get cold sores on your eyeballs.
3. Your kid is staring at me. Make that stop. It's important to note that if your kid is staring at me on the bus, chances are good your kid is not actually sitting on the bus seat. No, your kid is propped up on his toes, his back to the front of the bus, leaning over the back of the seat, while you check for text messages from the guy who's his daddy this week or count your pocket change so you can get a coffee at Timmy's or pick stuff out of your belly button that you may or may not but probably will eat. Not only is your kid creeping me out by staring at me (likely with snot bubbles popping merrily from his nose) but if the driver happens to hit the brakes really fast, your little baby-bonus cheque angel is going to spend every other bus ride for the rest of his life sitting comfortably in the disabled seating section. Then you'll have a disability cheque in his name that you can cash-in to buy cigarettes with as well.
4. No one cares. Doesn't matter what it is: phone conversation...what you did last night...what you're doing tomorrow night...how awesome the songs on your iPod are...that you missed your stop because you were like, totally looking at that like, cute boy...that your nose ring fell out...that you're drunk.......NO ONE CARES SHUT UP I HATE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU DRUNK AT 9:00 A.M.?????
5. No matter how hard you stare at my crotchal-region, you will not be able to see up my skirt. I'm not a moron. I know how to sit properly while wearing a skirt. I will not be giving you a Sharon Stone peep-show, accidentally or otherwise. This goes double for the kid who was staring at my Area while he was sitting next to his mom. That was extra-awkward for everyone involved, and I hope she beat your ass when you got home.
6. Please do not scratch your balls near my face. Sometimes buses are very full, and people have to stand up in the aisle. Sometimes when I am sitting down, someone will be standing right next to me, with their crotchal-region quite near my face. Sometimes those people get itchy in the balls. To those people, I say subtlety is an important skill, especially when it comes to scratching your balls.
7. Just because you're not getting off the bus doesn't mean I can't. I am truly sorry you had to sit next to me. Really. I'm more sorry for me than I am for you, but at least I'm sitting next to the window, loser. However, I have to get off the bus now, so please move. Seriously, get up. MOVE, ASSHOLE. Pulling your legs under the seat does not count, and I will step on you if I have to.
8. Why do you need a stroller that big? This topic came up recently when Ottawa City Council debated the possibility of banning strollers on the bus unless they could be folded up if more space was needed. I understand this debate, having seen some of the Humvee-stroller-hybrids people bring on the bus. You could fit five kids in one of these things, or, as is often the case, one kid and shopping bags from every clothing store in a mid-sized mall. And three boxes from pretentious gift shops. And a car. So, yes, even if I crack my ribs and collapse my lungs so I can squeeze by this monstrosity to get to a seat, I might brush up against it a little. I don't need you snarling at me with your freshly-painted bitch-red lips like I just dropped a rock on your baby's head.
9. Showers are not how the Devil gets inside you. Admittedly, not as many people on the #7 stink quite as strongly as those on the #14, but there are still a few out there. To those people, I say: TAKE A FUCKING SHOWER. I DO NOT CARE IF IT'S ONLY ONCE A WEEK, JUST DO IT. I saw an ad on a bus a few weeks ago asking people not to wear strong perfumes or colognes on the bus because it could bother other passengers. Quite frankly, I'd prefer having Drakkar Noir squirted directly up both nostrils over sitting next to Dirty McWaterIsPoison. I will obey the "no strong perfume" signs when I start seeing "wash your filthy self because you smell like wet socks and dog shit" signs. It's like sitting next to a rubber boot with a hole in it that's been walked through a manure pile.
I hate the fucking bus.
Now, I ride the #7. Seven is half of 14, and it seems fitting that the #7 only sucks half as badly as the #14 does. I should also point out at least half the people riding the #7 with me at any given time appear to be employed, which is more than I can say for the #14. On that bus, I'm fairly certain the driver and I were the only ones with jobs that didn't involve poles, baggies or the job title Guy That Picks Cigarette Butts Up Off the Sidewalk.
For the most part, the #7 isn't a bad bus. No more than 15 or 20 minutes to get to and from work, and most of the people don't have actual stink-lines rising off them like Pig Pen in the Peanuts comics. However, motivated by an incident last night that involved a crazy (I hope) man "Air-Wanking" at me as he walked up the bus aisle, I feel it's important I come up with a set of rules for the #7.
1. Don't Air-Wank at me. For those of you unfamiliar with Air-Wanking (which is a phrase that, as far as I know, I invented yesterday) it is when one mimes the act of wanking, aka Jerkin' It.
2. People who sit on the outside-seat next to an empty inside-seat on a full bus are dicks. You think I want to sit beside you? I do not. But that old lady carrying the one little bag of groceries that would be nothing to you but is basically a sack of heavy rocks to her might want to have a seat. You are a selfish piece of shit, and I hope you get cold sores on your eyeballs.
3. Your kid is staring at me. Make that stop. It's important to note that if your kid is staring at me on the bus, chances are good your kid is not actually sitting on the bus seat. No, your kid is propped up on his toes, his back to the front of the bus, leaning over the back of the seat, while you check for text messages from the guy who's his daddy this week or count your pocket change so you can get a coffee at Timmy's or pick stuff out of your belly button that you may or may not but probably will eat. Not only is your kid creeping me out by staring at me (likely with snot bubbles popping merrily from his nose) but if the driver happens to hit the brakes really fast, your little baby-bonus cheque angel is going to spend every other bus ride for the rest of his life sitting comfortably in the disabled seating section. Then you'll have a disability cheque in his name that you can cash-in to buy cigarettes with as well.
4. No one cares. Doesn't matter what it is: phone conversation...what you did last night...what you're doing tomorrow night...how awesome the songs on your iPod are...that you missed your stop because you were like, totally looking at that like, cute boy...that your nose ring fell out...that you're drunk.......NO ONE CARES SHUT UP I HATE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU DRUNK AT 9:00 A.M.?????
5. No matter how hard you stare at my crotchal-region, you will not be able to see up my skirt. I'm not a moron. I know how to sit properly while wearing a skirt. I will not be giving you a Sharon Stone peep-show, accidentally or otherwise. This goes double for the kid who was staring at my Area while he was sitting next to his mom. That was extra-awkward for everyone involved, and I hope she beat your ass when you got home.
6. Please do not scratch your balls near my face. Sometimes buses are very full, and people have to stand up in the aisle. Sometimes when I am sitting down, someone will be standing right next to me, with their crotchal-region quite near my face. Sometimes those people get itchy in the balls. To those people, I say subtlety is an important skill, especially when it comes to scratching your balls.
7. Just because you're not getting off the bus doesn't mean I can't. I am truly sorry you had to sit next to me. Really. I'm more sorry for me than I am for you, but at least I'm sitting next to the window, loser. However, I have to get off the bus now, so please move. Seriously, get up. MOVE, ASSHOLE. Pulling your legs under the seat does not count, and I will step on you if I have to.
8. Why do you need a stroller that big? This topic came up recently when Ottawa City Council debated the possibility of banning strollers on the bus unless they could be folded up if more space was needed. I understand this debate, having seen some of the Humvee-stroller-hybrids people bring on the bus. You could fit five kids in one of these things, or, as is often the case, one kid and shopping bags from every clothing store in a mid-sized mall. And three boxes from pretentious gift shops. And a car. So, yes, even if I crack my ribs and collapse my lungs so I can squeeze by this monstrosity to get to a seat, I might brush up against it a little. I don't need you snarling at me with your freshly-painted bitch-red lips like I just dropped a rock on your baby's head.
9. Showers are not how the Devil gets inside you. Admittedly, not as many people on the #7 stink quite as strongly as those on the #14, but there are still a few out there. To those people, I say: TAKE A FUCKING SHOWER. I DO NOT CARE IF IT'S ONLY ONCE A WEEK, JUST DO IT. I saw an ad on a bus a few weeks ago asking people not to wear strong perfumes or colognes on the bus because it could bother other passengers. Quite frankly, I'd prefer having Drakkar Noir squirted directly up both nostrils over sitting next to Dirty McWaterIsPoison. I will obey the "no strong perfume" signs when I start seeing "wash your filthy self because you smell like wet socks and dog shit" signs. It's like sitting next to a rubber boot with a hole in it that's been walked through a manure pile.
I hate the fucking bus.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
I Watch the Glittery Vampire Movie, and Don't Totally Hate It Even Thought I Really REALLY Want To, and Also, What's the Deal With That Guy's Nose?
Tuesday night, Law and Order: SVU and CSI:New York are over. My quota of murder, sexual tension and lame quips sated (but still I am left unfulfilled by the lack of shirtless Chris Meloni) I scan the Rogers OnDemand for something to watch. After several severely-pixelated failed attempts to watch Fox Mulder have a bunch of The Sex on Californication, I decide to take the plunge, swallow my pride, and watch that loathed vampire abomination Twilight.
I love vampires. I watch the movies and the TV shows, I read the books, I picture the good-looking guys I know with fangs and silvery eyes. I accept different, varying takes on the legend: can't go out in the sun ... can go out in the sun ... crosses and church and garlic bad ... crosses and church and garlic do nothing ... they do have souls and reflections ... they don't have souls or reflections. Whatever. To me, there are only three things that don't vary: fangs, blood and lack of glitter.
Which takes me to everything I perceived would be wrong with Twilight.
First, the little buggers don't have fangs. Second, abundance of glitter. (Please note: in order for there to be an abundance of glitter, there really only needs to be one glitter. Glitter = Lame.) To be fair, I didn't make the No-Glitter Rule until after Twilight was created, because until then, NO ONE WAS DUMB ENOUGH TO THINK THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA. You suck, Stephanie Meyer Or However the Hell You Spell Your Last Name, Because I Don't Feel Like Looking it Up.
They manage to pass the Blood Rule, because feeding off animals is an acceptable vampire practice as far as I'm concerned. See: Stefan in Vampire Diaries (which was a book WAY before Twilight was, so shut up with your little copycat theories, TwiTards.)
Before I get into the Everything I Thought Sucked About This Movie portion of the evening, let's go over what I DID like -- and there was actually quite a lot. The clothes were pretty awesome. The actress who plays Bella was good. She's pretty, and she does "moody" well, without being annoying. Her truck was pretty cool, however, I question how she was able to pick up driving a standard so quickly, after having to ask which pedal was the clutch.
The setting was great. I've seen photos of the real Forks, Washington, and this portrayed that well. Yay for Vancouver -- you're really good at being damp and rainy.
The main components of a good vampire movie were there for the most part: the vampire guy who doesn't want to love the human girl because he doesn't want to hurt her, the conflicted human girl who trusts the vampire guy, the kindly vampires resisting their nature, the mean vampires who just want to eff everything up for the kindly vampires for some reason, the borderline-violent kissing. Overall, not a bad story, although they fell in maddeningly sickly love just a little too fast for my taste.
Now let's get to the fun part, where I bitch about Twilight. I've been bitching about it forever without actually knowing much about it, and I feel like less of a dick now that I can bitch about it after seeing it.
They glitter. THEY GLITTER, for crying out loud. When the vampires go out in the sun, they fucking glitter. I figured it would be lame, but the glittering in this movie far out-lamed anything I could have ever imagined, even in my Liberace-iest dreams. Really? The effects on a film with a decent budget couldn't have been just a little better? Did they cover him in glue and blow arts and crafts sparkles at him? No. Just, no. Don't ever do that again.
No fangs. Don't really have to go into any great detail about that. Self-explanatory, really. Vampires. Have. Fangs.
In Twilight, the vampires have venom. Venom is for snakes. That is all.
The vampires can run really fast, which is fine. How they carried out this particular trait in this move is NOT fine. It's the opposite of fine. I can't really explain it properly, because something in my brain short-circuited every time it happened and I can't really remember what it looked like. I just remember thinking of cartoon characters running in place, and then my eyes would roll back in my head for a while from the sheer dorkiness if it all.
The first half of the movie held my interest, but they lost me part way through. I think it might have been WHEN THE VAMPIRES PLAYED FRIGGING BASEBALL. Seriously, Stephanie Oscar Meyer Wiener Breath? BASEBALL??? Jackass. No one likes you.
Some of the acting was ass. Most of the acting was pretty good. I especially liked the long-haired native boy who is probably a werewolf. (Spoiler Alert!)
And then there's Edward. Edward, Edward, Edward. I actually really liked the character, but I rather wish the actor would get hit by a train. Failing that, I wish he'd wash his hair and get less ugly. What the hell is wrong with his nose? Did someone pound him in the face with a shovel? I know all women everywhere who have ever opened their eyes find him attractive, but I just don't see it. I shouldn't really judge, though, since I keep a picture of Shirtless Keith Richards on my bedroom wall. I shouldn't judge, but I am. Please, women of the world, do not encourage him. At least refuse to drool over him until he buys some Pantene. I beg of you.
So, despite all my preconceived notions, I didn't hate Twilight. I didn't love it, but I didn't want to gouge my eyes out with a pickle fork after having watched it. Will I see the next 43 Twilight movies? Meh. Perhaps. Maybe one day, when they're on the Movie Network and I'm done watching whatever incarnation of CSI/Law and Order is done for the night. Unless Chris Meloni takes his shirt off.
When that happens, Melanie needs some alone-time.....which made Oz difficult to watch.
I love vampires. I watch the movies and the TV shows, I read the books, I picture the good-looking guys I know with fangs and silvery eyes. I accept different, varying takes on the legend: can't go out in the sun ... can go out in the sun ... crosses and church and garlic bad ... crosses and church and garlic do nothing ... they do have souls and reflections ... they don't have souls or reflections. Whatever. To me, there are only three things that don't vary: fangs, blood and lack of glitter.
Which takes me to everything I perceived would be wrong with Twilight.
First, the little buggers don't have fangs. Second, abundance of glitter. (Please note: in order for there to be an abundance of glitter, there really only needs to be one glitter. Glitter = Lame.) To be fair, I didn't make the No-Glitter Rule until after Twilight was created, because until then, NO ONE WAS DUMB ENOUGH TO THINK THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA. You suck, Stephanie Meyer Or However the Hell You Spell Your Last Name, Because I Don't Feel Like Looking it Up.
They manage to pass the Blood Rule, because feeding off animals is an acceptable vampire practice as far as I'm concerned. See: Stefan in Vampire Diaries (which was a book WAY before Twilight was, so shut up with your little copycat theories, TwiTards.)
Before I get into the Everything I Thought Sucked About This Movie portion of the evening, let's go over what I DID like -- and there was actually quite a lot. The clothes were pretty awesome. The actress who plays Bella was good. She's pretty, and she does "moody" well, without being annoying. Her truck was pretty cool, however, I question how she was able to pick up driving a standard so quickly, after having to ask which pedal was the clutch.
The setting was great. I've seen photos of the real Forks, Washington, and this portrayed that well. Yay for Vancouver -- you're really good at being damp and rainy.
The main components of a good vampire movie were there for the most part: the vampire guy who doesn't want to love the human girl because he doesn't want to hurt her, the conflicted human girl who trusts the vampire guy, the kindly vampires resisting their nature, the mean vampires who just want to eff everything up for the kindly vampires for some reason, the borderline-violent kissing. Overall, not a bad story, although they fell in maddeningly sickly love just a little too fast for my taste.
Now let's get to the fun part, where I bitch about Twilight. I've been bitching about it forever without actually knowing much about it, and I feel like less of a dick now that I can bitch about it after seeing it.
They glitter. THEY GLITTER, for crying out loud. When the vampires go out in the sun, they fucking glitter. I figured it would be lame, but the glittering in this movie far out-lamed anything I could have ever imagined, even in my Liberace-iest dreams. Really? The effects on a film with a decent budget couldn't have been just a little better? Did they cover him in glue and blow arts and crafts sparkles at him? No. Just, no. Don't ever do that again.
No fangs. Don't really have to go into any great detail about that. Self-explanatory, really. Vampires. Have. Fangs.
In Twilight, the vampires have venom. Venom is for snakes. That is all.
The vampires can run really fast, which is fine. How they carried out this particular trait in this move is NOT fine. It's the opposite of fine. I can't really explain it properly, because something in my brain short-circuited every time it happened and I can't really remember what it looked like. I just remember thinking of cartoon characters running in place, and then my eyes would roll back in my head for a while from the sheer dorkiness if it all.
The first half of the movie held my interest, but they lost me part way through. I think it might have been WHEN THE VAMPIRES PLAYED FRIGGING BASEBALL. Seriously, Stephanie Oscar Meyer Wiener Breath? BASEBALL??? Jackass. No one likes you.
Some of the acting was ass. Most of the acting was pretty good. I especially liked the long-haired native boy who is probably a werewolf. (Spoiler Alert!)
And then there's Edward. Edward, Edward, Edward. I actually really liked the character, but I rather wish the actor would get hit by a train. Failing that, I wish he'd wash his hair and get less ugly. What the hell is wrong with his nose? Did someone pound him in the face with a shovel? I know all women everywhere who have ever opened their eyes find him attractive, but I just don't see it. I shouldn't really judge, though, since I keep a picture of Shirtless Keith Richards on my bedroom wall. I shouldn't judge, but I am. Please, women of the world, do not encourage him. At least refuse to drool over him until he buys some Pantene. I beg of you.
So, despite all my preconceived notions, I didn't hate Twilight. I didn't love it, but I didn't want to gouge my eyes out with a pickle fork after having watched it. Will I see the next 43 Twilight movies? Meh. Perhaps. Maybe one day, when they're on the Movie Network and I'm done watching whatever incarnation of CSI/Law and Order is done for the night. Unless Chris Meloni takes his shirt off.
When that happens, Melanie needs some alone-time.....which made Oz difficult to watch.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
I Violate Football
I don't know anything about football. I don't have anything against it, I just don't watch it or pay any attention to it or really care about it in any way whatsoever. Today, Hopper was doing his football picks for a football pool thingy, and I decided I would do some, too. What I have done flies in the face of statistics or fan devotion or logic or anything, really. I just decided which one of the competing teams' things-they're-named-after could kill the other in real life.
I apologize to people who love football for basically making fun of it. If it makes you feel better, I once dressed up as Strawberry Shortcake for a tap-dancing recital. You can poke fun at me for that if it makes you feel better. Although, I'm not sure a Strawberry Shortcake costume is more embarassing than those pants football players wear.
Also, I feel the need to stress that I did research for this. Actual research. Because who the fuck knows what a "49er" is? (They were gold prospectors, by the way. Don't care.)
Titans v Steelers
(Titans, because they're gods. Can't beat gods.)
Dolphins v Falcons
(Falcons, because they could probably get a falcon-gang together and swoop down and peck the dolphins' eyeballs out. The dolphins would be all "Wah! Let's all get along! Boo hoo! I'm a pretty dolphin! Love me! Oh no -- my face is bleeding and now I'm dead.")
Chiefs v Ravens
(Chiefs, because they could just shoot the ravens.)
Eagles v Panthers
(Panthers, because the eagles would swoop down, and the panthers would be all "screw you, bird!" and chomp them right out of the air with their pointy teeth.)
Broncos v Bengals
(Bengals eat horses. Fact. Probably)
Vikings v Browns
(Vikings will pillage the village, bitches.)
Jets v Texans
(Jets, because they'd just crash into the Texans and pulverize them.)
Jaguars v Colts
(Sorry, little horsie. Kitty gonna eat you.)
Lions v Saints
(Lions eat everything.)
Cowboys v Buccaneers
(Buccaneers were dicks and they were good at killing, so they'll totally win.)
49ers v Cardinals
(Cardinals are pretty, but they're dorks. They lose.)
Red Skins v Giants
(Giants squish things. They get to win. Also, 'Red Skins' is racist. Fix it.)
Rams v Seahawks
(seahawks would probably dive bomb rams, but then the rams would ram them with their rammy heads. Rams win.)
Bears v Packers
(Bears. What the fuck are packers? Like, luggage packers? Meat packers? Why would you name a team that? That's stupid.)
Bills v Patriots
(The Bills are basically named after Buffalo Bill Cody, who was a big fan of Native and women's rights, and also shot buffaloes. Patriots, I imagine, are named after the Americans who fought against British rule. Both could fight, but Buffallo Bill could fight BUFFALOES, which are WAY bigger than British people. Bills win.)
Charges v Raiders
(Chargers are horsies, I guess. Raiders are pirate-guys? Raiders, then. It would be way cooler if they were Cylon Raiders like in Battlestar Galactica.)
***So those are my picks for this coming whatever. You guys are all gonna feel really dumb if I'm right.
I apologize to people who love football for basically making fun of it. If it makes you feel better, I once dressed up as Strawberry Shortcake for a tap-dancing recital. You can poke fun at me for that if it makes you feel better. Although, I'm not sure a Strawberry Shortcake costume is more embarassing than those pants football players wear.
Also, I feel the need to stress that I did research for this. Actual research. Because who the fuck knows what a "49er" is? (They were gold prospectors, by the way. Don't care.)
Titans v Steelers
(Titans, because they're gods. Can't beat gods.)
Dolphins v Falcons
(Falcons, because they could probably get a falcon-gang together and swoop down and peck the dolphins' eyeballs out. The dolphins would be all "Wah! Let's all get along! Boo hoo! I'm a pretty dolphin! Love me! Oh no -- my face is bleeding and now I'm dead.")
Chiefs v Ravens
(Chiefs, because they could just shoot the ravens.)
Eagles v Panthers
(Panthers, because the eagles would swoop down, and the panthers would be all "screw you, bird!" and chomp them right out of the air with their pointy teeth.)
Broncos v Bengals
(Bengals eat horses. Fact. Probably)
Vikings v Browns
(Vikings will pillage the village, bitches.)
Jets v Texans
(Jets, because they'd just crash into the Texans and pulverize them.)
Jaguars v Colts
(Sorry, little horsie. Kitty gonna eat you.)
Lions v Saints
(Lions eat everything.)
Cowboys v Buccaneers
(Buccaneers were dicks and they were good at killing, so they'll totally win.)
49ers v Cardinals
(Cardinals are pretty, but they're dorks. They lose.)
Red Skins v Giants
(Giants squish things. They get to win. Also, 'Red Skins' is racist. Fix it.)
Rams v Seahawks
(seahawks would probably dive bomb rams, but then the rams would ram them with their rammy heads. Rams win.)
Bears v Packers
(Bears. What the fuck are packers? Like, luggage packers? Meat packers? Why would you name a team that? That's stupid.)
Bills v Patriots
(The Bills are basically named after Buffalo Bill Cody, who was a big fan of Native and women's rights, and also shot buffaloes. Patriots, I imagine, are named after the Americans who fought against British rule. Both could fight, but Buffallo Bill could fight BUFFALOES, which are WAY bigger than British people. Bills win.)
Charges v Raiders
(Chargers are horsies, I guess. Raiders are pirate-guys? Raiders, then. It would be way cooler if they were Cylon Raiders like in Battlestar Galactica.)
***So those are my picks for this coming whatever. You guys are all gonna feel really dumb if I'm right.
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