Saturday, September 23, 2006

Jackass Number Two, Or, Boys Will Be Boys

Girl Kid announced a month ago that we'd be seeing Jackass Number Two on opening day, no exceptions. We had seen the original Jackass movie, and although I almost barfed at that movie's "pee snow cone" scene, I was surprised at how entertained I was. The opening "guys in giant shopping cart hurtling down a hill to strains of Carmina Burana" scene is one of the most sublime moments in the history of film. I also kind of have a crush on Johnny Knoxville in a weird "he's so grotty he's kind of attractive" way, and, he's an interesting person, or at least he was on The Henry Rollins Show. The point is that, even though I had no choice in the matter, I didn't really object to seeing a second Jackass movie, and so yesterday Girl Kid and B-Friend and I all piled into the automobile and trundled off to Mr. Multiplex to witness the downfall of civilization.

"The Best Movie Ever Made"
That's what Girl Kid announced as we were leaving the theater. (I think there is maybe something wrong with her that will require professional help.)

I'm not sure I'd actually call JNT a movie at all. I don't know what it was. It works as a full-frontal assault on the senses, if it works at all. Plus, I've now officially seen enough ass to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. There is a LOT of nudity, (or mostly nude-ity). I now know exactly what Johnny and The Boys look like naked; for instance, Johnny Knoxville is very skinny but has a surprisingly round white butt. He also has a bruise on his inner thigh that is as big as Britney Spears. I know that Chris Pontius has a pretty decent sized weiner. In any other movie I'd be suspicious that the sock covered member being chewed on by the snake was a prosthetic, but because it's these guys, I suspect the mangled member was the real deal. The snake didn't look too happy either. In fact, snakes are a recurring theme throughout. Did you know that Bam Margera is really afraid of snakes? Now you do. (Of course, anyone would freak out after being locked in a cage with a king cobra. That's just common sense.) Johnny Knoxville didn't seem too phased by the enormous anaconda in the kiddie ball pool, even when it bit him several times, making ol' Johnny very leaky. In fact; he bled enough to make him forget all about the second anaconda, until it rose up and grabbed the other guy by the leg and sucked him down into the sea of little plastic balls while everyone laughed and laughed.

Spoiler Alert
And speaking of, no I can't go on. Hang on a minute. Okay: "Old Man Balls", "Pubic Hair As Beard", "Ass Chugging", "Naked Old Lady Breasts" (as played by Spike Jonze, director of Being John Malkovich and Adaptation in sagging fake boobs? Seriously?), "Poop Lands on Dollhouse Toilet" and the scene where the dude drank the horse ejaculate. I really, really did not need to see any of this. It's just natural not to want to have a close-up view of a large, soft poop coming out of a dude's behind. I also think that someone who will drink horse "stuff" for only two hundred dollars would probably drink it for free.

Still, Bam has a really nice set of tattoos, very artistic. Too bad he's not taking care of them. And now he also has six penises branded on his butt. For life. Because he jumped when the brand first hit skin, and they had to keep branding him over and over to get the entire cock-and-balls image on there. Apparently getting branded hurts, who knew? When Bam's mom yells at Ryan Dunn, "Why would you burn him in the first place?", he looks at her like she's retarded and states, "Because it's funny". I'm sure Bam's ass brand will be the talk of the nursing home in about fifty years, if he lives that long.

There are a few funny moments in Jackass Number Two, most of which involve trying to drown Wee Man, or smother him with people so fat it's a wonder they can walk, but nothing is funny enough to make the retinal and psychic damage worth your time and money. Nevertheless, to my shame, I did laugh when Steve-O puked inside his astronaut helmut. (There is huge amount of vomit in this movie, and not all of it is coming from the audience. Circle puke, anyone? No?)

The B-Friend thought the movie was so focused on bodily fluids and functions because Johnny and The Boys are running out of ideas. I think he may be right. Plus, at thirty-five years old, Mr. Knoxville might just be getting a trifle old to be jumping over parking meters. He missed by the way, hence the bruise.

Verdict? If you are twelve, and a boy, (or a disturbed teenage girl), or are really into "water sports", then by all means go. For everyone else, avoid Jackass Number Two at all costs.

They really are not kidding about the number two.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

News Bites. No Seriously, It Bites.

I’m having trouble getting to writing this week, and possibly for future weeks, due to circumstances beyond my control. So, quick and dirty today, and then I’ll have to leave my two readers in the lurch until the weekends, sigh.

And Don’t Let the Door Hit You On the Way Out
Thailand’s Prime Minister learned a hard lesson this week—never leave home. Seriously, how hilarious was that? Fly off to NYC to be a big international player at the UN, only to have your military sneak in and lock the door behind you. “Ha ha, sucks 2 B U”, (or the Thai equivalent). What I would have been to be a fly on the desk when the first phone call came in from back home…funny stuff, I’m sure.

Proving All The Stereotypes Are Correct
Three grandparents are shot at a Little League game over a custody dispute in East Tennessee—wow. There are no words. Well, I guess I won’t be vacationing there this week. The natives are crazy. And armed.

And also in this category:
The Pope repeats some crazy smack from the 14th Century, and the Muslim world Goes Wild. Hey stupid people—the Pope’s point was that Islam might promote violence. Way to prove him right, fucktards! I think the word “irony” doesn’t translate. And the Pope is an idiot too.

3.5 Million Year Old Dead Baby Joke
Actually, this is hella exciting. I wish I was an anthropologist right now.
The girl, who is thought to have been aged about three when she died, possibly in a flood, was a member of an early human species called Australopithecus afarensis.—

Go Scotsman! Seriously though, I think the day we decided to come out of the trees was a HUGE mistake. The chimpanzees and gorillas have it right. Who’s happier right this minute? A monkey lying on a branch scratching his belly, or you, “getting right on it Sir” for your boss? I rest my case. Our poor little dead girl just proves my point.

Rich People Just May Save the World
Jeez, I may have to rethink my negative opinion of the rich. Just when I thought that evil corporations were ruining the planet, dudes like Bill Gates (who is responsible for Windows OS and is therefore still evil), Warren Buffett and now Richard Branson commit billions to saving the earth and the people in it who need the most help. Even Arnold Schwarzenegger is bucking his party and making anti-pollution deals between California and England. Our government is trying to kill us, and most of us are too busy descending into poverty to do anything about it, so rich people are spontaneously picking up the slack. I’m stunned.

Bag of Spinach is Smoking Gun
I couldn’t write anything as funny as this headline from Mutant Renegade Spinach jokes are running rampant in my brain. Must. Not. Snort. Drink. Out. Nose. At. Work. Spinach Gone Bad, can you think of anything more funny? I think not.

And now I must go, sorry. I’d rather be with you.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Movies, and Gay Marriage

Two With Aaron Eckhart
Aaron Eckhart is a pretty good actor. He’s also a: good looking dude, of the chiseled-chin variety. Until yesterday, I’d never seen anything starring Old Aaron that I didn’t like. For example…

Conversations With Other Women
Girl Kid and I saw this last Thursday, but it’s been out a while, in fact you will probably be able to get it on DVD very soon. This film is not for children, not because of sex scenes per se (although there is one that is more realistic than most), but because this movie is for adults, about adults. Helena Bonham Carter, usually so annoying, definitively proves why her directors keep falling in love with her. (In case you didn’t know, Ms. B. C. broke up Emma Thompson’s marriage to Kenneth Branagh, who’s career never recovered; she also busted up Tim Burton and Lisa Marie, the skank). I can find no biography for Conversation director Hans Canosa, but from the movie, you can tell right away he’s been married and divorced at least once. Unless Mr. Canosa is a total troll, Tim Burton should watch out. Conversations two stars are never named, they are just “Man” and “Woman”. The director did the entire movie in split-screen, which as first was beyond annoying, and then which grew on me. The technique creates the mood of two people talking, but still totally inside their own heads. Plus, if was fun to watch a background actor walk from one screen into the other, or a hand reach out from one into the other. And Helena and Aaron were a joy to watch—these two good (and good looking) actors who obviously like each other and at the top of their game. I want Ms. Bonham Carter’s shoulder definition. She’s hot. The movie does get a bit too “theatery” at points, but don’t let that deter you, this movie shows adult relations in a way I can’t remember from any other movie. Recommended for grown-ups.

But Then…
On Sunday, Girl and Boy Kid were otherwise engaged playing D ‘n D, so I went on my lonesome (yeah, alone time) to see The Black Dahlia, also starring Aaron Eckhart. This movie badly wants to be a film noire thriller, but it is not, it’s just bad. The best thing I can say is that the hairstyles were all very nice, and that Scarlett Johannson wears red lipstick well. This was Scarlett’s “red” year—that busty red dress at the Golden Globes (as gleefully felt up by Isaac Mizrahi), that red bathing suit in Scoop, and now those red, red lips in The Black Dahlia. Other than lips and hair, this movie is a snore, which Josh Hartnett’s perma-squint and full-backal nekkid cannot fix. Brian de Palma proves that sometimes getting old is a bad thing. I think he peaked with Scarface, and that was 23 years ago. Everything since has pretty much been crap. Well, Wise Guys is my father’s favorite movie, so there is that. Still, plenty of older directors put out amazing movies in their advanced years (I love you Werner Herzog), but Mr. de Palma is clearly out of ideas. His last movie was 2002’s Femme Fatale, so I rest my case. I see Brian de Palma has two new movies coming out in the next couple of years. I won’t hold my breath. Verdict? Don’t waste your money, and more importantly, don’t waste your time. This one was no fun at all. Oh yeah, and Hilary Swank needs to never play period again. She proved she can’t pull off anything earlier than 1960 with 2001’s The Affair of the Necklace, and she fares no better here. Stick to playing modern women Ms. Hilary, or even better, stick to playing modern men, or we’ll have to come to remove your Academy Awards by force.

And Another!
Last night, Girl Kid was bored out of her skull, and so we went to see Quinceañera, which is a lovely little flick about love, acceptance, Hummer Limos, and what this crazy concept of “family” really means. And it’s gay friendly to boot. Verdict? You’ll like it, especially if you are not a dude, or at least not a straight dude.

Brangelina for President
And speaking of Gay Marriage—how rockin’ was Brad Pitt for stating in Esquire that he and “Angie” wouldn’t get married until all people who want to marry can legally do so? Yeah, this comment spawned a million jokes about dogs getting hitched, but we all know what he meant. Brad and Angelina officially win over that Vince guy and Soccer Mom Look-Alike Jennifer Aniston. Rock on. Marriage for everyone (of legal age and like, human, duh), or for no one at all, is all I’m saying. With Freedom and Justice for All. It’s the American way.

And now lunch break is over. Toodles my babies.

Friday, September 15, 2006

I Need a Nickname, and The Great Chicken Revolt

I changed my template, thereby confusing my handful of readers even more, ta da! But, I think it's easier to read now. There were complaints. Okay, it was Girl Kid doing the complaining, but still. I listen to my readers, even if they live in my house. Sometimes I even do what they want. That's just how great and magnanimous I am.

I need a cool nickname. Well, Mistress Squidia is a pretty cool name, but it's not as cool as "Ze" or "Lo-Rez" or "Ga-Dget". Okay, I made that last one up. It would have to be short and techno and shiny and express the stupendousness of the fabulousness that is me. Help me out in my quest for a new nickname by emailing me:

On Survivor last night, the whole Race Wars did get a bit interesting. The brown people's team lost, and sent Big Blowhard And Deluded Self Appointed Leader Who's Name I Won't Remember So Why Try home, much to his aggrievement. He and his other male team mate treated the women like they were there to cook, clean and follow orders, and then acted really surprised when the three chicks ganged up on them. He keep saying how sorry they would be when they couldn't make fire without him. Funny thing—he never managed to make a fire in the first place. And then as soon as Blowhard was given the boot, Jeff gave the remaining members flint, and you should have seen the smirks on the women's faces. Brutal. More importantly the chickens escaped. I'm sure animal rights groups are sending hotly worded missives to CBS as we speak. It was an all-round bad day for the cute little chickens: dragged around by their feet upside down, almost drowned several times, being trapped in a box...and then, saved at last by the clueless Roller Girl(who is butt-lucky that her team won immunity) when she turned over the box to see what was inside. I expect the chickens are still having the time of their lives out there on Cook Island, just very possibly starting their own roller derby themed religion. Go Fighting Chickens. Speaking of which, what's for lunch?

No longer post today, because I am tired, hungry, and otherwise engaged. Sorry. Later today we will go to see Crank again, because Girl Kid's b-friend has not seen it. According to the box office returns, neither have you. If you have delicate sensibilities, that might be for the best. But, if you are not a big wussy, or if you are a male type person, you should get off your ass and go see Crank right away, because this movie obviously won't last long at the ol' monsterplex, and it really deserves to be seen on a big screen. Unless you have a 90" plasma screen TV at home (in which case, invite me over), you should not wait for the DVD. It's fun on a bun. A big bloody bun on crack. Rise up from your desk job right this minute and go forth and see Crank now. Your co-workers will never miss you, (nor you them). Is there no greater pleasure than munching popcorn and gazing happily up at Big Stupid Movie all on on a sunny Fall Friday afternoon when you are supposed to be at work? I think not.

Seriously. Go. Now.

Until we meet again, my sweeties, be happy, be bitchy, be inappropriate, be full of beans, be sitting in a darkened theater, and be thinking up cool nicknames for me. Ta.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Mucus Wins RockDorks: SuperTroopers

Well, well, I never would have seen that coming. The now infamous Muskrat And Paraplegic Midget Lukas (AKA “Mucus”) took the big “prize” of becoming the new front man for “supergroup” Supernova last night. This proves, once and for all, that clothes do make the man. I think Jason, Gilby and Tommy Pee [no, not a typo] picked Mucus because he looks like he wandered into the wardrobe department and decided, just for yucks, to try on absolutely everything. It’s like Hot Topic exploded on him. “Big white belt, long black coat….ta da…the boy’s a dime bong!” Hee hee.

On the show, Mucus sported a weird raccoon faux-mo on top, which was also dyed black and white, and loaded up on so much big spiky jewelry and cunning gloves with rivets that it’s a wonder he could walk without tipping over. Wait a minute, maybe that explains his performances, which were mostly comprised of one part high decibel emo mumblings and three parts cerebral palsy satire. Lather, rinse, repeat. Our boys in the “band” kept saying that Mucus’ performances were “getting better and better dude”, but I couldn’t see it. His routine never varied from: grab mic, knock knees together, fling back left arm, squint, and then emit sounds better suited to a badger in heat. I guess he’s got, you know, emotions and stuff. However much I didn’t like him, I liked Supernova even less. Did you hear how crappy their “song” was? Um, “be yourself”? (You can see from the excessive use of quote marks how miffed I am.) Still, metal-detector wet dream and rock and roll pixie Dilana made it to second place, and no one, especially her, really expected that. Rockstar: Whatever is a pretty sexist show. Did you see how the producers were stacking the front of the stage with hot chicks? Jerks.

And finally, at least until next summer when Rockstar returns, and I, in spite of my better judgment, watch it again—Tommy Lee must put on a shirt. I know Mr. Lee has so many tattoos that he already looks like he is wearing a shirt, but damn, man, we don’t want so see your naked, diseased and self-abused flesh anymore. And “Tommy Hawk” (I just barfed) if you do take off your shirt, please, for the love of god, put on some high waisted pants. I really don’t need to see your pubes. Now I have to go scrub out my eyes. And barf some more. At least I don’t have to look at Dave Navarro anymore. Dork.

And in Other TV News
On Project Runway, Vincent and Angela were brought back from the dead to compete again, only to prove once more why they were kicked off in the first place by creating cocktail dresses so hideous that the judges had to wear special eyewear to view them without injury. Oh yeah, and Pregnant Dominatrix Ice Maiden Laura cried, threw a minor hissy fit, and trash talked Angela right to her face. Wicked. Laura did win the runway show though, with a dress that, had it been a tad longer, would not have looked out of place on Phillis Diller. Cheerful ex-fat boy and Drag Queen Wannabe Kayne was given the boot, boo. Now I’m sad. Philistines.

However I can cheer myself up with the thought that the Evil Granddaddy of All Reality Shows (USA division), Survivor makes a triumphant return tonight with Season 13: Race Wars, the most Controversial Show Ever Made, We Swear! Not really. Now, if they had someone from Lebanon and someone from Israel on there, then we might have something to talk about. We know that the Survivor producers will dick us along for one or two shows before merging back to the traditional two teams, like they always do. If they made the big prize five million dollars, then you’d really see some bloodshed. One million dollars is not really enough incentive these days, but “EVS”. I’m still watching Survivor, so what does that say about me? It says that I am Mistress Squidia, Media Whore, taking one for the team (that means you, dearheart). Read about my viewing habits and tremble, puny humans. Excelsior!

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

If I Was King

But before we get going on that, in celebra-ta news (the only news that doesn’t make us cry):

Britney Spears Drops It Like It’s Hot
Oh god, there is another Kevin Federline devil spawn in the world. I swear, in 50 years, that man’s DNA is going to be present in one-third of the population, leading to America being eventually renamed to MickeyD-Land, as “fast food flunky” will be the highest position for which any of our citizens will be qualified; that, or backup dancer. Speaking of which, if K-Fed used to be a backup dancer, how come he was so bad at it when he hosted the Kids’ Choice Awards?

Now, I know Ms. Britney was all jealous of Justin Timberlake’s inexplicable ability to get over her after she dumped him, and so maybe we can forgive her decent into White Trash Purgatory and Video Diary Hell; but damn girl, stop giving it up to Our Boy Fed. He’s nasty, and he’s not discerning, so what does that say about you? You’re a mom now, you need to grow up and put away childish things, starting with Mr. Federline. And use a car seat already.

Anna Nicole Smith, Saddest Girl Ever
Yipes! You couldn’t make this stuff up. What could be more tragic than Anna Nicole becoming a mom again at the age of 84? Having her 20-year old son Daniel die in a chair next to her in the hospital in the Bahamas three days after she gave birth to his sister, that’s what. I have no words; it’s just bad and sad. Predictions? Anna Nicole is over, she can’t go on acting like a Glad Mad Party Ho anymore without it looking really inappropriate. She will also develop a humungous drug habit (again), gain 100 pounds, (or lose 30 more), lose custody of her daughter, whom she will have named Danielle. Later she will claim to be psychic, and start a multi-million dollar chain of séance emporiums. Sigh. By the way, how do you die in a chair in the hospital at 9:30 in the morning? Was no one checking in on Ms. Skank and her baby? I know when I had my kids, the hospital staff would not leave me alone. I was like catnip to them.

And Now, If I Was King
Here’s how to fix the world—make me king. Here is my platform:

Foreign Policy
First, we need to stop supporting Israel financially. Now, I know it was important to help them out with their new country initially, but dude, it’s been more than 50 years now. It’s time for Junior to get out there on his own and pay his bills himself, and to stop using our money to bomb Lebanese civilians and bulldoze Palestinian homes. Yes, yes, those guys have also done bad things, but sometimes you just have to let siblings work it out for themselves. A thousand Lebanese civilians died in the recent Worst Summer Holiday Ever events, and we here in the US basically paid for the bombs that killed them. Most importantly, if we stop supporting Israel it will take away one of the supposedly biggest reasons that Crazy Arab People Who Want To Kill Us hate us so much.

Second, get out of Iraq, and leave Iran alone. We need to get out of the Middle East entirely, and bring our soldiers home. “But wait” you say, “won’t that leave a bigger mess than was there before we invaded?” No, it won’t. Give Iraq lots of money, (because we kind of owe them after taking down their government [however despotic] and destroying their economy), and give them experts. Send lots of free consultants to help them learn how to govern and police their own country; but, don’t send any more military personnel or weapons. This is important. The longer we stay in Iraq as a military presence, the better Al Qaeda is at recruiting new members, which means the US is now less safe than it was before we invaded Iraq. Provide the Iraqis with cops, lawyers (and hey, that means fewer lawyers for us…bonus!), doctors, politicians and oil field workers. And don’t even get me started on Iran. So, how do we keep evil crazies from developing nukes and plotting world domination? Use money and diplomacy—the carrot, not the stick. It will be massively cheaper for us, make us look like the good guys for once, and the combination of cash, aide and talking will actually work; whereas continued military actions over there never will.

Third, don’t rule out targeted assassination as a foreign policy option. What’s less morally indefensible, killing one bad man, or being (at least partially to mostly) responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of Iraqi civilians, not to mention the deaths of thousands of our own soldiers? I think assassination is a much more moral option than war, especially in the case of an un-winnable war.

Fourth, bring everyone home, everywhere (except for diplomats). We here in the US need to start focusing on ourselves here. It’s time to be selfish. We are spread too thin around the world; it’s costing us too much; and, as we are now the most hated people on the earth, what we are doing now is clearly not in our national best interest. As with Iraq, give money and non-military support where we owe it, and get the fuck out. What will we do with all the money we save? That leads us to….

Domestic Policy
We here in the United States love to crow about how we are “the best country in the world”, but best at what? We are not best at keeping our children alive, that’s for sure. In a recent report by Save the Children, the US came in thirty-second out of thirty-three in the industrialized word in infant mortality. We were second-to-last, sandwiched between Slovenia (who beat us), and Latvia. Slovenia did better, damn, that’s harsh. This statistic is so embarrassing that I’m blushing beet red just thinking about it. Just a few years ago, we were nineteenth in the world for infant mortality, so we’ve gotten a lot worse in recent years. We are also not number one in literacy, life expectancy, or per-capita income. Where are we really number one? We’re number one at eating and polluting. Way to go. We’re fat and we spew out garbage. What an image to present to the world. “Yeah, Number One!” indeed. As King, what would I do about this sad state of affairs? I’d spend all that money we now waste overseas getting everyone to hate us so much.

First, every kid in gets a free education and a free computer. Japan is beating us at the Shiny Cool Gadgets game; India is doing all our tech support and software programming; and, China will soon own all of us as domestic pets. We desperately need to fix this problem, or by 2050, we’ll be so far behind the rest of the world in education that we’ll all be wearing paper hats and asking if the rest of the world would like fries with that. As King, I’d provide every American with the constitutional right to a free education, all the way though to the graduate school level; and give all students all the computers, books, and science equipment they need to really become number one. “PhD’s for everyone!” As part of my education package, I would also tie teacher salaries to congressional salaries. If Congress wants a raise, every teacher across the land gets a raise too. And since this would all be paid for with income taxes already being collected, that would mean no more school levees or property tax hits, which would provide Americans with even more delicious spending cash, which would boost the economy.

Second, every person has access to free healthcare. In fact, I’d do away with the private insurance industry altogether, and provide free Home, Health and Auto insurance to everyone, (with low deductibles for home and auto coverage only). Healthcare would always be free to everyone, rich or poor. Because of the free education, our doctors would be the best, and as King, I’d make sure doctors and nurses were paid very well, to attract the best to those jobs. Oh yeah, and I’d strengthen Social Security, and raise the amounts of money provided on retirement at age 60 (not 65 or 70). Once I’m King, there will be no more old ladies eating cat food.

Third, I’d invest in non-petroleum energy sources. In fact, I’d completely end our dependence on foreign oil by 2020. If every public building, parking lot and other suitable space in the hot-and-sunny states were required to have solar panels on them, and every windy-or-watery-or-soybean-growing state was invested in other sustainable energy systems, we’d not only be able to provide free electricity and bio-diesel fuel to every American, but we’d be able to sell our excess to other countries. Oh yeah, all cars and home heating would have to be electric or bio, no exceptions. As King, I’d pay all the companies and households to help them make the switch. As a bonus, we’d be polluting a whole lot less. As part of this program, I’d also invest heavily in environmental programs of all kinds. No more drilling in ANWAR equals cariboo are happy.

Fourth, I’d provide free, good, licensed childcare to all families. In-house daycare would be required of all companies with fifty or more employees. To help families even more, I’d require companies to offer all employees flex-time; six weeks of paid vacation per year, and one year of family leave at three-quarter pay to both parents. Companies would receive federal assistance to offset the costs of these programs.

Fifth, I’d fully support the continuation of a free and unregulated Internet, and of a free press. The free and unfettered exchange of ideas (and porn) is good for the advancement of scientific research and public education in general; and as such, is too valuable a commodity to restrict or regulate. As part of this policy, I’d provide free WiFi to all communities. No one should have to pay for access to the Internet, cable, electricity, fuel or healthcare. We should be spending American tax money on making American lives better, not Iraqi lives worse.

Sixth, I’d abolish the Electoral College. Well, if I was King, maybe this would be a moot point; but damn, that thing has to go. One person, one vote, that’s how it should work. I’d also abolish campaign contributions and political fundraising. Instead, I’d set up a system where everyone who wanted to run for any level of government was given a set amount of federal money to spend on his or her campaign. No other money could be used to get someone elected, which would level the political playing field. I’d also eliminate political action committees (PACs) and lobbyists. This would mean that we’d finally have a system where any American could actually grow up to be president, and where no politician was beholden to corporations. Government really would be of the people, for the people.

And finally, seventh, I’d raise the minimum wage to $12 per hour across the country. As part of this program, I’d mandate that CEO salaries must never be more than ten times the salary of the lowest-paid employee. If you want a big raise, everyone in the company will have to get one too. After some extremely loud whining, I’m sure industry would find a way to still make everyone heaps of money.

I’m sure all of you out there are now shouting, “But King Squidia, if your programs are implemented, income taxes will be sky-high!” No, I think you are wrong. I think that once we get our military back in-country, and vastly reduce our military spending (we have nukes, y’all, we don’t need a millions of military personnel and programs), we’ll be rolling in cash. And once we truly are, Number One, our economy will be strong, and we will be living in the best country in the world. “Yeah, Number One!” I wish.

To elect me King, send your votes to: There may eventually be a T-shirt.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

George Bush Doesn’t Care About People

"The safety of America depends on the outcome of the battle in the streets of Baghdad," Bush said.

Um, yeah…it does now you ginormous fucktard! It didn’t in March of 2003, but now it does. Al Qaeda had almost no people in Iraq in 2001, now they practically run the place. We are the best recruitment tool for terrorist organizations around the world ever! It’s sickening. Do you, dear reader, honestly think we are safer today than we were in 2000? No, we are not. More people hate us than ever, and a lot of them are armed to the teeth. Some of them are Danish, so you know it’s gotten bad.

Last night I listened to part of Dubya’s 9/11 anniversary speech whilst driving home, and I was struck by several things; firstly, how well written it was. Kudos to Mr. Speech Writer, whoever you may be. My, my, so sincerely did Mr. Bush convey his condolences to the 9/11 victim’s families. Why, he must have spent upwards of twenty seconds expressing his regret and sympathy, before launching into the smoothest justification slash excuses-and-latest-hot-button-talking-points-about-why-we-will-be-at-war-forever diatribe yet given by his administration. I was, like, super impressed with how well this speech folded the concerns of the anti-war public (now, finally, most of us) into his verbiage. (Think you are against my policies dumbasses? Well, here, in your own language, is why you are not.)

“I am often asked why we are in Iraq when Saddam Hussein was not responsible for the 9/11 attacks…"

Oh my god, he actually admits it! Way to preempt the Democratic rebuttal! Fucktard.

Bush is a Big Old Faker and Liar
And then something stuck me—there was something weird about Old Georgie’s delivery—it was coherent, with no “Bushisms”, no mispronunciations, and almost no hint of that “good old boy” Crawford, Texas accent. I mean, I knew that Dubya’s “Just a Chump from Texas” accent was a bit of the old dog-and-pony show, but to hear my suspicions proved so dramatically was a bit unnerving. I’ll bet he even dropped the Alfred E. Newman facial expressions for this one. He gave a perfect performance of what he is: a rich, Harvard-educated Connecticut aristocrat. In the last six years, and until last night, we have never heard the real George W. Bush speak. It was spooky.

Where We Get No Respect At All
And what does this stellar performance by a consummate speech-giver mean? It means that all of that down-homey chat, mispronunciations of “nuclear”, and botched homilies, (“Fool me once…heh heh…”) are a calculating and morally corrupt construct designed to fool middle Americans into thinking Mr. Bush is not just another rich white northerner who thinks he knows what’s best for them; but, is one of them instead. A guy you could have a beer with, a good guy, a doofus just like them. I know we all make jokes about how much of an idiot Bush is, but he is not one. We suspected he might not be as stupid as he looks, but we were afraid of what this might mean about how our leaders feel about us—that we are retarded sheep, to be led around by the nose and blinded by bright shiny things and misdirection. And they are right, just barely enough of us have been fooled to get him and his into office, twice.

It is beyond insulting to think that George W. Bush and his pals have sat around writing “yokel” scripts and practicing. “No, George, dumber! Slow it down, mess it up! Act the dope, they’ll eat it up.” And we do. It’s perfect. Real dumbasses love Georgie for being just like them, and those of us who fancy ourselves to be more aware are distracted by all his stupid misspoken antics. Meanwhile, cold, calculating and morally bankrupt people with no scruples lead us into global war for the sole purpose of lining their pockets and bringing on Armageddon. By the way, that’s one story I do believe about our comic-friendly President—George W. Bush believes in The Rapture, and he thinks he’s first on the bus.

Why the switch? Because, for the first time, Old Georgie was speaking to the left, not to “his base”. George was stumping for the November elections, and instead of pandering to Middle America Red State People like we are all used to him doing, he was attempting to bedazzle the people from the Blue States instead. This is how rattled he and his people are right now—instead of ignoring us like usual, he was ready to adapt his act to try to fool the us Blues into buying his agenda. Let's not, umkay?

What Do We Do?
Hear me now people—wake up! Go vote in November (and two years from now), and get these people out office. These people steal elections and are not afraid to act illegally; how do we stop them? Democrats, do something! The Democratic National Committee seems to be on drugs, so we need to figure out a way to shake them up. You—dear reader, stop being a deer in the headlights. The people who are currently running this country want you to die so they can mine your carcass for body oil. They don’t think of you as even the same species; they think of you as a resource of money, and of dead bodies in the Middle East. They want your services, but not your opinion. They don’t care about you. Make them care, and make them stop. Go register, go vote, and make something happen. Do it! Run for office if you have to. Your Mistress commands you.

And now I have to go for a quiet cry.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Haiku Monday

Head filled with empty
I can’t think of what to blog
Sad day, 9/11

Dark theater, soft seat
Soda puddles trap my shoes
Cell phone light annoys

Work deadens the soul
Electric bill must be paid
I miss the Dark Ages

My Death List of Ire
I should update to include
Cheerful co-workers

Why can’t I grow up?
I might be leaving it late
Not “Mom!” but Crone soon

I broke my diet
For my birthday—bacon, booze
That was back in March

When I grow up I…
Don’t know what I want to be
Someone else perhaps

Chmod g+rw your_base
You might be a nerd

Mistress Squidia
She loves all of her readers
But she loves you best

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Two More to Avoid, and Why Are Chicks Are So Messed Up in the Head

Yup, Girl Kid and I took in two more movies so you don't have to (free movies for us, thank god).

First up—Hollywoodland. Here's a movie which seems to have all the right credentials, that just adds up to...nothing much. This movie wants to be LA Confidential, but it falls short. I blame the director, who's done a lot of TV, (Sopranos, Sex and the City), but who's never done a movie before, and the writer, who worked on 21 Jump Street and so is clearly out of his element with the film noire genre. These guys are no Curtis Hansen or Coen Brothers, and that's too bad. Diane Lane squeezes out a partially unflattering portrayal of Toni Mannix, sometime Ziegfeld girl, mistress and wife of Hollywood studio executive Eddie Mannix, and long-time sugar mama of George Reeves, TV's favorite Dork In Tights and Suicide Boy. Adrian Brody proves once again that yes, he can act. But it all adds up to less than something. In fact the only person who will benefit much from Hollywoodland is Ben Affleck, who these days actually HAS to prove that he's worth his SAG card. He does a reasonably decent job, in fact it's the best he's been in years, and even if I didn't like this movie, I hope Ol' Ben keeps trying to make better choices. I like his supposedly less handsome brother Casey much better though, which is another example of how "Hollywood Good Looks" can sometimes ruin a person. "Ugly" people get to have personalities. Verdict? This movie wants to win all sorts of Oscars, but it will only get ones for costuming and maybe cinematography. I was just bored, but Girl Kid hated this movie so much she spent the rest of the night in her room, seething. Save your money, or go rent 200 Cigarettes and see Casey Affleck as a cute punk boy, and Courtney Love bang someone in a bathroom stall. Good times, and Elvis Costello worship too.

Did I ever tell you that Girl Kid and I ran into Elvis Costello at Whole Foods once? We saw Dave Matthews there once too, but I don't like him. Seeing Elvis made me all happy.

Today Girl Kid and I went to see The Puffy Chair, which was made by two brothers with a cam-coder and no money, and which made me think that maybe I wasn't watching enough of The Real World. The movie is about a road trip to pick up a Barcalounger bought on eBay....snore. At first I thought maybe I am just getting too old to be interested in the trials and relations of 20-somethings, but Girl Kid thought they were a bunch of whiners too. Also, and hear me on this—couples who engage in baby talk should be shot on sight. The Puffy Chair contains a lot of baby talk, which leas me to....

God, What Is Wrong With Women?
The girl in The Puffy Chair is 26, and just like Maggie Gyllenhaal in Trust the Man, and 90% of the women on iVillage, she just wants her man to commit, to get married, and to start shooting out babies already. She's not really sure why, and even though he constantly calls her "dude", she really, really wants her boyfriend to pop that question already. She's the source of all the baby talk, and her guy goes along with it, but he'd clearly like a break. By the end of the movie, so do we. She throws fits, she wants him to tell her what he loves about her at 12:20 am, she freaks out when her man questions his brother's motives when he marries a woman he just met four hours ago. I think she called him "relationship retarded". Um, someone's retarded alright, but it may not be her boyfriend. I would have been infuriated that the moviemakers were objectifying and stereotyping women in this way, if not for the fact so many women DO act like this. At least there was no evidence of teddie bears. Woman who collect toy bears should also be in the line of fire, if you know what I'm saying. Grown women should not be acting like babies, and neither should they feel as if their sole purpose in life is to get married. God, did the Women's Movement never happen? Maybe I dreamt it. Verdict? As much as I'd like to recommend such true indie fare, I just can't. Try a straight-back chair instead, and shoot baby-talkers for sport.

Now Boy Kid and I are going to watch Rockdorks: Super Trooper webisodes, yeah! Oops, I guess it's Battlestar Galactica webisodes. That's fine too.

More later my snoogum woogum pooty wootie cuties...BANG!

Thursday, September 07, 2006

I’m feeling CRANK-y and Why Bald Is Beautiful

Hoo-boy. Yesterday was Boy Kid’s birthday, and so I sped home, changed clothes, and then we all piled in Mrs. Automobile again (because something called a “Kia Spectra” just has to be female) to speed back down the other way to gobble up a nice Indian dinner at the Bombay Grill (which took approximately forever to come, but which was de-lic-ious when it finally arrived). After that, we went to see Crank, starring the extremely hunky and oh-so balding Jason Statham. He’s British, he’s covered in muscles, he looks like he eats gravel for breakfast, and I cannot think of a single other actor who could have pulled off this role. It was made for him, and I doubt there is any way Mr. Jason can top this performance. His career is officially over; it’s all down hill from here. God he is dreamy, and I don’t usually like muscles.

No Spoilers Here, Or Not Much
Um…I shouldn't tell you a thing about this movie, but I will anyway; because there is no other movie out there like it, it is more cheerfully violent than anything I’ve seen, it’s about bad, evil and/or stupid people frenetically doing horrible things, and it is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. That being said, this movie is not for you. Don’t go. You will regret it. I warned you. The fact that I enjoyed Crank so much only reflects badly on me; and I’m sure you are a lovely person who would be scarred for life. I am not a nice person and I should never have laughed so hard at the guy crashing his Vista Cruiser on the mall escalator, standing on a moving motorcycle while wearing a hospital gown and with eyes shut doing 50 on the boulevard, fist-fighting a dude while attaining terminal velocity, or shooting someone with their own gun which is still attached to their own bloody hand. I am a bad, bad person. Well, maybe not bad enough to snort cocaine off a dirty men's room floor, but bad enough to hork chocolate out of my nose laughing when Mr. Jason does it.

Crank is just like it sounds—on speed. It utilizes spit-screen, text–on-screen (watch for the elevator scene) pulsing walls, Photoshop filters, inverted colors, and a large quantity of stunt persons mangled and abused in ways never before imagined. It is gloriously unapologetic for being completely reprehensible. Bad guys do bad things. More drugs are consumed than is technically possible. Boys shoot people, girls hang around in big plastic bubbles with no clothes on; and Dwight Yokum is beyond hilarious as the main character’s doctor. Google Earth rules all. Yowza. It’s beyond description. The ending of the movie is more inventive and sublime than any I can think of right now.

Seriously though, don’t go. If you do go, don’t think badly of me. And eat dinner beforehand.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

News Nibbles

Or, What's in the News Today, Munchkins?

Princess Kiko Whomps Princess Masako In Most Sexist Womb Division

"Upon hearing the good news, I felt myself purified and invigorated as if I were looking at a crystal-clear autumn sky.” —Fujio Mitarai, president of Canon, Inc.

Um, sure…. I guess with the birth of little royal baby boy (to be named later), Japan has successfully avoided that whole Women’s Lib thing for another generation. And wow, can you imagine the CEO of say, Boeing, talking this way? Way poetic dude! Congrats on your culture staying behind the times socially, while at the same time beating our asses in the technological realm. We love your delicious and adorable cameras; please bring on the housecleaning robots already! Actually, I think Asia’s biggest export is style. Harajuku kids are da bomb cousin, and I don’t care how last year it is to say so.

Natascha Kampusch, the young Austrian woman who escaped her captor after 8-1/2 years in a tiny cell in the home of Wolfgang Priklopil, supreme fucktard and suicide boy, says she’s sorry he’s dead because maybe he could of answered some questions if he hadn’t off’d himself. Yeah, he probably could have cleared up one or two things, but he probably wouldn’t have answered the question we all really have, which is…“What the fuck?” Good luck to Ms. Kampusch, who now faces a life that includes strained sexual relations with any man she hooks up with, dark confinement fantasies, and some seriously messed up ideas about parenting. But, at least the fucktard didn’t kill her, so there is that.

Most Ironic Death, Non-Grizzly Bear Division
Steve Irwin, Animal Planet’s Croc Hunter: death by stingray. No one saw that one coming. Well, I’m sad about it. Because of ol’ Steve, I routinely use the phrase “Crickey!”, and now it’s going to seem sort of in bad taste when I say it. I’ll bet the crocodiles are pissed too.

Bin Laden Still Missing
Um, yeah. Maybe we should put him on a milk carton or something. My god, what are we paying the NSA, the CIA, and all those other agencies ending with “A” if not to find the bad guys? My tax dollars feel abused. Actually, I suspect that Bin Laden is under lock in key in the MGM Grand Casino in Las Vegas—with hot and cold running vestal virgins at his beck and call—just so we can drag him out of retirement in time to get Dubya (or one of his cronies) elected again. Boy Kid swears Dubya will get a third term, and he may be right. Marshall Law anyone? Terrorists are just great, because they help governments keep their own citizens in check. Who is the real threat our government is so afraid of? It’s us, not “them”.

Mexican Stand-off
Mexico finally has a new president, Felipe Calderon, in what was a very close race that had to be delayed, recounted, and finally decided on by courts of law. Hmm, why does that sound familiar? Actually, the loser, Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador, refuses to recognize Mr. Calderon, and vows to set up his own counter-government. That should be fun to watch. Gosh, if we really want to fix that pesky immigration issue, maybe we should focus on problems closer to home, like helping Mexico develop an economy that doesn’t require it’s citizens to risk heat stroke, deportation and death just to come here to cook our food, pick our fruit, trim our hedges and raise our children for less than minimum wage.

Guilty Thoughts
Tropical storm Florence is gaining strength in the Atlantic. I know it’s horrible to say this, but I kind of want another ginormous hurricane to wipe out Florida or somewhere, thus proving once and for all just how Suck Ass our homeland security systems really are. Maybe then people will wake up and demand a better government, or even just an ounce of accountability. Is that too much to ask for? I think not.

Katie Couric is a Hit, But Pudgier Than We Thought
Jesus Christ, who cares? Sure, it’s great we finally have a female news anchor in this, the United States of the American Taliban, but how excited can I be when CBS decided they had to maker her look slimmer in publicity photos? Can anyone imagine this happening to a male anchor? And now all we’ll have to look forward to are comments about her hair and what’s she’s wearing today. My god people, what is wrong with all of us? A woman should be judged by the content of her character, not the contents of her bra.

Well, there is more, but that’s it for now. Go forth with love and good thoughts my babies, or at least with evil guilty ones. Onward.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Three Movies that Sucked This Weekend

Movies and More Movies
Eegh. Let’s all just admit it—there is something seriously wrong with director Neil LaBute.

On Friday night, all of us piled into the car and tootled over to the local multiplex to view The Wicker Man, which is the latest offering from Spokane’s wunderkind, Neil LaBute. I’d seen the 1973 original of course, and I’d been a sort of fan of Mr. LaBute’s prior work, so I had expectations that this remake at least wouldn’t suck. I was wrong. Neil LaBute has made a big deal in the press about how he insisted that there be no advance screenings of this movie not because it was bad (the usual reason for no press previews), but because he wanted to save the “twists” from getting out before the official opening. Mr. LaBute is a big, fat liar. This movie is at its best, laughable, and at its worst, silly, stupid and unnecessary. It is bad. It is really bad. The only thing I can say about it is that at least it employed a lot of female actors…but this is faint praise, because all of the women are portrayed as, at best, highly suspicious, and at worst, the incarnation of evil.

And this is the problem—the movie is just another entry into the Stuff Is Evil category of film making. You know the kind: Children are Evil (Children of the Corn, The Omen, etc.), Technology is Evil (Pulse, The Ring), Adults are Evil (The Faculty), and in this sub-genre, Women are Evil. Actually, woman being evil is kind of the theme of every Neil LaBute movie. I know, I know, his first feature, In the Company of Men was supposedly about how men are bastards, but that movie was infused with the sense that the men were just retaliating for wrongs inflicted on them by women in the first place. I don’t know what caused Mr. LaBute to hate us chicks so much…maybe his mommy used to butt out her cigarettes on him, or maybe he was rejected one too many times by the high school slut; but damn, that man does not like or trust women. I’d hate to be his wife. (Apparently, he and his wife recently split up. I’m not at all surprised.) Verdict? This movie sucks Monkey Ass, and is no fun at all. Don’t go. However, Boy Kid and I did laugh a few times at the more ridiculous bits, and now he can’t stop repeating, “Ow! My legs! Who broke my legs?” Yeesh.

On Saturday, Girl Kid and I went to see Factotum, starring Matt Dillon and Lili Taylor. “Eeh.” Yeah, yeah, Matt Dillon will probably finally get an Oscar for this portrayal of Charles Bukowski alter ego Henry Chinaski, but frankly, this movie is no Drugstore Cowboy. Lili Taylor provides a beautiful performance as his sometime girlfriend, and she has a scene where she is cooking dinner in her underwear that is somehow more brutally intimate than if she’d been nude. But, this one is not very much fun, and is not really the masterwork it’s being hailed as either. It’s grimy, it’s gritty, it’s badly lit and everyone acts as if they are on Qualudes. We get it—being a drunken asshole is a drag. Verdict? Probably not worth your time, but Mr. Matt will finally receive the accolades that he should have gotten for last year’s Crash. (It’s a good thing for Matt that Philip Seymour Hoffman doesn’t have anything major out this year.)

On Sunday we saw no movies. Shocking, right?

Yesterday, Girl Kid and I went to see Trust the Man. Again, “eh” pretty much sums it up. The movie is a somewhat enjoyable look at the relationships of two New York City couples; and as such, it works reasonably well for the first 80% of the movie, before veering off into a slapstick ending that made no sense at all. Still, a movie that stars Maggie Gyllenhaal is usually a Good Thing (not including World Trade Center). Julianne Moore is always interesting to watch, and David Duchovny is usually adequate to the job of middle-aged hunk o’ man flesh. Let’s see—the main message that Ms. Moore’s director and husband Bart Freundlich wants to get across is that marriage and children are good, and fooling around, watching porn, and being single are bad, so come on all you men, just grow up and settle down already. Um, no. I also have to wonder what naughtiness Mr. Freundlich got up to to necessitate this filmic apology to Ms. Moore. Bad boy.

There are some simple moments involving the kids that ring true, and the actors are all certainly committed. The movie does work as a love story for the city of New York; still, I really can’t recommend this movie either. (By the way, Hetero America, a guy wanting sex a few times a week does not make him a sex addict, and neither does expecting the occasional blowjob from his wife.) All through the movie I kept thinking, “This family’s problems could be resolved if she’d just blow him in the morning; like ‘duh!’” Maggie’s character just hopes boyfriend Billy Crudup will wise up and want marriage and kids, but he’s an insensitive jerk at heart, so why would she bother with him in the first place? And why would she later choose to stick it out with Stupid Effete Generic European Dude just because he says he wants children? If he’s so boring, why consider staying with him? Really, these are our choices? Maybe Maggie shouldn’t have been so quick to blow off Ellen Barkin’s lesbian advances.

By the end the whole thing spirals out of control into slapstick during the movie’s final “opening night of her play” sequence and the boys finally become men and accept what’s really important in life, AKA, a marriage between one man and one woman with the express purpose of producing children. Could Trust the Man have been financed by conservative whack-job operation Focus on the Family? I have to wonder. And of course, the movie is yet another in the “Everyone is so bloody rich and talented” genre. Apparently the only way to live in New York is to be filthy rich. Well, duh, but…not everyone is that well off and has an impossibly clean three bedroom apartment with it’s own elevator and polished hardwood floors. What about their stories? Apparently poor people are not worthy of romantic comedies. And how many more perfect dinner parties with fabulous and successful friends can I view without blowing chunks or commiting suicide? According to the movies, everyone in New York City works in advertising, at an art gallery, or is a writer or publisher. Oh yeah, and their kids go to cutesy private schools where the all the other parents are hot divorcees. Um, sure, that sounds realistic. No, it doesn’t.

And there’s another thing I hate—I don’t go to a movie to see a play. There are so many movies that use a school play or whatever as a third act. Hey, Hollywood, if I wanted to see a play, I’d go see one. This lame artifice smacks of weak script writing, if you ask me.

Verdict? I hate Billy Crudup, and this movie is a cop-out. The scene where Julianne is attempting to narrate a porn flick while hubby David Duchovny masturbates under the covers is kind of funny though.