Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Silver Surfer and the FF

I have a lot of comic book points to discuss here. First off is that the Silver Surfer is going to be in the next Fantastic Four movie. I blew off the first one, but to call the second one THE RISE OF THE SILVER SURFER shows me that they want my money. They are making the Fantastic Four series look like it is going to be cool finally.

I have always liked the Fantastic Four. I liked them as a kid, except when Galactus showed up. I never really understood Galactus at all. It wasn't until later in life that the magic of Galactus caught my attention. Galactus is this huge, buff space behemoth with a heavy-metal headset that devours planets. When he finally shows up at the progressive humanoid infested planet that Norrin Radd inhabits, the story gets interesting. Norrin Radd steps up and tells Galactus that he will work for him and find other planets for Galactus' appetite if he will just leave this one alone. Galactus hires the guy and turns normally human looking Norrin Radd into this silver dude with a space surf-board. Norrin Radd scours the galaxy looking for Galactus treats, but he always seems to eventually have to deal with earth. There have been all of these wonderful Marvel battles featuring the Fantastic Four and some dude called a Watcher who go out of their way to stop Galactus' attack. The surfer is an emotional guy who has sacrificed his life to save his planet, leaving his girlfriend behind. I had a few issues of the SILVER SURFER when I was a kid, but I just didn't get it. It was too sophisticated. His constant moping made no sense to me then, but now that stuff would be gold. It was too complicated for me, unlike some other comicbooks that were coming out at the same time (make a DC skullnote, I will handle those bitches shortly).

Anyways, here is the trailer that just showed up on youtube this AM. It is a pretty
slutty copy:

Or check it for real here:http://www.apple.com/trailers/fox/fantasticfourriseofthesilversurfer/

Whatever the case may be, I am hyped that they are putting something together that might be worth my while. But I am not holding my breath. Similarly, I am not holding my breath for the Nic Cage GHOST RIDER which is another complex Marvel character coming to the screen shortly. Actually, I am really worried about the GHOST RIDER. I haven't heard JACK about the thing in months and it releases in a little more than 30 days or something.

Another Marvel hero coming to the bigscreen (in 2008) is IRON MAN. Now I don't know about you, but I am an IRON MAN fan from the old school. When I was a kid living in Downey, I traded a grip of MARVEL TALES to Mike Lyell up the street for a grip of IRON MAN comics. It was probably a 20 or 30 comic run...so I got immersed. Tony Stark is this badass corporate kazillionaire who invents this suit. Actually, I think the Russians kidnapped him and forced him to make this suit as some sort of weapon of mass destruction, but homeboy flipped the ruskies the bird and left with the suit. I think that is how it went. But the problem was that Tony Stark had a serious drinking problem. It was so real to me, this guy flying around in his super hero suit while drunk. One issue that will always stick out in my mind was a cover with Tony Stark staring at a bottle, hammered out of his head and it was entitled, THE DEMON IN THE BOTTLE. OH SNAP. Here it is:

Anyway, Robert Downey Jr. has been cast as Iron Man. As Tony Stark. I am personally offended. More often than naught though, people (including Casson) have said things to the effect of, "Tony Stark is an addict and so is RDJ, so it all works." I have to call bullshit here. Charlie Chaplin is not IRON MAN. No clown shoes are going to be able to handle the brunt of what IRON MAN has to take and deliver. Furthermore, Robert Downey Junior is a skinny little bitch. He is close to 50 or maybe 60 and he has never lifted a weight in his life. He is going to have to hit the gym HARD and get his swell on. I don't see it happening. Like I said on a site that I post on quite regularly, "they are going to have to CG that bitch up".

This is no Michael Keaton as Batman situation. Michael Keaton was a horrible choice and Robert Downey Junior is straight anathema. Keaton made his jaw act, and that is how he got around. he was a bad choice but somehow, they got Mr. Mom to get it together. Robert Downey Junior is going to have to ACT in a suit that totally obscures his face. It is going to be hard to work with that. Robert Downey Junior is no athlete, nor will he be by the time the film opens. Is this going to work? I DOUBT IT. I DON'T THINK IT CAN. Best role I ever saw RDJ in was in NATURAL BORN KILLERS. He worked in that movie because right out the gate you knew Mickey and Mallory were going to hand him his ass. You didn't know how, and the way they did served that pathetic fool correctly.

Iron Man is better than Batman. All of these people are out there saying that Batman is so damn hard, and the DARK KNIGHT this, and HE'S INSANE that...they all need to chill the hell out. I know DC comics. I also know that when IRON MAN was dealing with REAL LIFE PROBLEMS and trying to DRINK TO FORGET; Batman was a comedy show. Batman has always been a comedy show. DC sucks and it still sucks. People want to forgive it for it's lame past, but it's lame past is UNFORGIVEABLE. DC Comics is up there, maybe a shade more smarter than MAD MAGAZINE. You think I am lying? Have you ever read PLASTIC MAN? I know that you are going to contest that fact and say that MARVEL messed around a bit and granted MARVEL did, but not like DC. When Marvel swerved, you got things like OBNOXIO THE CLOWN (read on). In order for those DC fools to even out their mess, they had to have a Crisis on Infinite Earths to get rid of all of the stupid parallel dimensions that they had created. They forgot one dimension though, if you ask me.

Lobo was cool, but Lobo is beyond all of the Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern shit. Lobo didn't come with a comics code. It is kind of like Marvel and their Epic Magazine, it is some other stuff. I can't forgive DC for being completely lame, and I'm sorry, but Lobo doesn't help their case much. You can't right a generation of wrongs by suddenly introducing something cool. You can't right a generation of wrongs by suddenly trying to make your comics not suck. DC is dead to me. Did you see Superman Returns? DC IS DEAD.

You still want to defend DC? Check out these Superman covers. They are ridiculous. They are also accurate. Keep on clicking "next" until you get the picture, pal.

Batman didn't get serious until what...the mid-eighties? Iron Man has been more than serious his entire career. But I don't need to sit here and talk complete smack about the people who brought you AQUAMAN...my purpose is to say that Robert Downey Junior is horribly miscast. What ever happened to Leonardi DeCaprio? I used to balk at that, but I thought Nardo pulled it off in THE DEPARTED. Lastly, I have wanted to hit Robert Downey Junior hard in the past two films that I have seen him in, in the theatre. One being KISS KISS BANG BANG and the other being A SCANNER DARKLY. Yes, the man can act, but he is limited to a goofball overdelivery of the hyperkinetic twitchings of an ex-basehead.

WHAT ABOUT CHAPLIN? You people yell.

For every Chaplin, I will cite at least 10 other films that he totally sucked in.

This man is not IRON MAN. This man would be much better suited as, oh, I don't know, I don't even think he could do OBNOXIO THE CLOWN right.


My prediction is that the RISE OF THE SILVER SURFER isn't going to be as cool as anyone wants it to be. It can't be. It won't be. But hey, the hype is pretty good right now, and I am enjoying talking about this stuff.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Transformers The Movie

Everyone, I am sorry. I have been talking mad SMACK about this until now.

I have been saying that it wasn't going to happen, that it would be gay, etc, etc, etc.

I have been talking smack about Shia LeBouf(wtvr) and others involved in this thing.

But I just saw this trailer, and now I have wood.

Oooooh. CUt and paste this URL for a crisper, sexier version of the above youtube trash:

That is all.


I am going to rant now. You can suffer through it or get off of this page. I am going to talk about a man who is dead. I am not going to say anything nice about him. As a matter of fact, I will say that this man is similar to the "child-catcher" in the original CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY. This is a man peddling the cheapest of candy, and somehow, people are looking at his corpse with fond memories. I don't really want to piss on his corpse, but I want to explore how ugly it is. I want to pull his entrails out and point at them and show you what a tumor this man was. I want to show you how he and his buddy managed to compromise American pop culture and somehow be respected for it. I am attacking his body of work, and I am calling the man a sellout and a bastard of the worst sort.

All over my haunts of late, people are talking about this Joseph Barbera guy and how much he meant to them. They are pointing out the fact that he brought some of the best cartoons to life. How their lives have been enhanced by Joseph Barbera. I have been heading these mediocrity slaves off at the pass. But before I put here what I have been putting elsewhere, lemme give you a little history on the dead sellout who died on the 19th. This is ripped straight off of the NY Times...so consider it footnoted:

Joseph Barbera, an innovator of animation who teamed with William Hanna to give generations of young television viewers a pantheon of beloved characters, including Tom and Jerry, Yogi Bear, Huckleberry Hound and the Flintstones, died yesterday at his home in Los Angeles. He was 95.

Mr. Barbera and the studio he founded with Mr. Hanna, Hanna-Barbera Productions, became synonymous with television animation, yielding more than 100 cartoon series over four decades, including “Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?,” “Jonny Quest” and “The Smurfs.”

On signature televisions shows like “The Flintstones” and “The Jetsons,” the two men developed a cartoon style that combined colorful, simply drawn characters (often based on other recognizable pop-culture personalities) with the narrative structures and joke-telling techniques of traditional live-action sitcoms. They were television’s first animated comedy programs.

Before that, Mr. Barbera and Mr. Hanna had worked together on more than 120 hand-drawn cartoon shorts for MGM, dozens of which starred the archetypal cat-and-mouse team Tom and Jerry. The Hanna-Barbera collaboration lasted more than 60 years. The critic Leonard Maltin, in his book “Of Mice and Magic: A History of American Animated Cartoons,” wrote that Mr. Barbera’s strength was more in his drawing and gag writing while Mr. Hanna had a good sense of comic timing and giving characters warmth.

Mr. Barbera’s influence can be found today in prime-time animated series like “The Simpsons” and “Family Guy” and in cartoons that satirize the Hanna-Barbera style, including “The Venture Brothers” and “Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law.” His own work continues to be seen on the cable channel Boomerang, which broadcasts vintage Hanna-Barbera programming 24 hours a day.

Though he was often asked to explain the enduring popularity of his cartoons, Mr. Barbera was reluctant to subject his life’s work to close analysis. “To me it makes little sense to talk about the cartoons we did,” he wrote in a 1994 autobiography, “My Life in ‘Toons: From Flatbush to Bedrock in Under a Century.” “The way to appreciate them is to see them.”

This is all fine and dandy, but this man should have been shot for his reprehensible attack on American society. He was a pusher of the worst kind of mediocrity.
You think I am wrong? Here is a lengthy, cursory list of some of this man's crimes. Before I type it out though, you have to do something: You have to realize that when I damn your favorite cartoon series, that it wasn't that good anyway. You have to realize that what you feel towards said cartoon could be justifiable if Mr. Barbera hadn't been such a prolific hack. Someone please tell me that this guy was after art more than money. I freaking dare you.
Here goes:

Tom and Jerry
Flintstones and all related F-stone franchises
Magilla Gorilla
Quickdraw McGraw
Hucleberry Hound
Yogi Bear
Jonny Quest
Space Ghost
Scooby Doo and all S-Doo franchises
Dastardly and Muttley
Lippy the Lion and Hardy Har Har
Speed Buggy
Wheelie and the Chopper Bunch
Casper and his Angels
The Shmoo
Richie Rich

Now let's look at all of the toy/commercial related sell-out moves:
Pac Man
Super Friends
Fantastic Four (remember that little robot? OMG I WANT TO KILL SOMEONE RIGHT NOW).
Haelem Globetrotters
The Banana Splits
Kiss Meets the Phantom (yes, the slutty movie)
Go Bots
and countless others

I could go on and on about how most of these figure into some part of my childhood. But you know what? I was FOKKING ROBBED. I don't know how I can justify any of that above stuff. Here is an online rant that I made with some Barbera sympathizers and how I handled their mediocrity-loving asses accordingly. I understand that I come on a little strong to these fools, but they need that slap of cold water in order to get the ball rolling (I am Muphukka BTW):

Guy: The Barbera half of Hanna-Barbera is now resting in power. Too bad, I like cartoons n shit. Catch you on the other side cartoon guy...

Muphukka:He was good back when he was with Disney. But then he moved on, and became a sellout bitch. Barbera makin' dollars. That's what he was about. Art? Art was the furthest thing from that dead bitches mind. He was all about the money.

Hanna-Barbera made some of the sluttiest cartoons known to man. Those people cut corners and made that laugh-track that we all know.


You want to talk animator? Let's talk about RAY FUCKING HARRYHAUSEN


Killafox:Did he touch you as a child??

RIP Flinstones was tha shit!!

Muphukka:Nahhh, if he'd touched me, I would own this thread, LITERALLY.

You gonna tell me that the Flintstones was really worthwhile? It is fun to ponder the concept, but have you ever sat through an episode?



Don Bluth's jockstrap pwns Barbera, and you probably have no idea what I am talking about there, Foxxxy.

Guy: True, Hanna-Barbera cartoons were a little bit shoddy, but when you're a shorty watching it you don't give a shit about all that. You just watch it because it's cartoons. There are a million animators out there that do better work than Hanna-Barbera, but don't hate. Hanna-Barberra is part of growing up. My lil baby sister still loves the hell out of Scooby Doo.

Muphukka:You're right. What this culture needs is more celebration of unabashed mediocrity.

I made my point. Really. I don't want to piss on the man's grave or anything, I have always thought that Hanna-Barbera were capable of soooo much more.

Guc11:Like it or dont,there is a FACT: They were(are legends).

That's all.I grew up on T & J.I don't like it now but back in my past,it was part of my life.Yes there are more talented animators in today's world who make bloody cartoons filled with rude and sarcastic stuff.Well I think if you'll had children you don't want to see them any of today's bullfuck.Full with action,blood bodey parts every where.I don't say that you must show Teletubbies to you kids because that's horrible.
Jusr...oh never mind...

JfSr -L-

Muphukka:Remember that big arena rock band called KISS? Like them or not, they were legends.


That is the point I am trying to make here.

Yamakazi(sic):How about taking it to it's own thread though? Not disrespecting your opinion, it's just not the kinda stuff for a obituary/condolences/mourning thread.

Muphukka:You're right dude, I should start a HANNA BARBARA SPAM THREAD.


My condolences

And that is all I had to say to those people.

Cartoons don't have to be crap. I have a harddrive that I am typing on full of Donald Duck cartoons. That stuff is classy. That stuff is funny, and that stuff is well animated, voiced and produced. Yeah, I enjoyed LIPPY THE LION AND HARDY HAR HAR as a kid, but I would have enjoyed just about anything that Disney produced in the same era BETTER.

Ding dong, Barbera is dead. Now we need to see Sid and Mart Krofft go. Don't even tell me that there is anything redeemable about those bitches, they have sinned harder than Hanna and Barbera.

Rant over

Thursday, December 14, 2006

WMP 11 top 10

Enough of this, "My father is on his deathbed" isht. Time to change it up before I go loco and start drinking double Dewars like there is no tomorrow.

In celebration of Windows Media Player 11, I have my top 10 songs that are in my "Quick Work Mix" posted here for your perusal. I call it my "Quick Work Mix" because I have been working from home of late. So I fire up the laptop, and I click on the aforementioned shortcut and then I get to work making the tests that you fail.

Here they are. Please feel free to tell me how bad these songs suck and make suggestions. Music for me is a completely organic thing that could mean that you love one song one day and hate it when that season comes to a close. I will try to explain what these songs mean to me as well. Casson turned me onto some MEW the other day, and for the life of me, I can't crack it yet. It will happen, but right now, I am at a total loss for those tracks. This is how I usually work it though, I get new music, and I bounce it to the top of my work mix and I get down accordingly. As you can see by the next 10 songs, I haven't been in the loop for a bit, but that doesn't mean that I don't push up on the here and now, I just haven't got any that is on my radar right now.
I must say that a special mention has to go to KORN who have DEAD BODIES EVERYWHERE and WORD UP and TWISTED TRANSISTOR in slots 11, 12 and 13 respectively.

Sorry Jake, I know I suck.

I have liked this song forever. It grooves hard. The bass slappage makes it a keeper. We all know that Infectious Grooves isn't to be taken too seriously, and this song shows me that they could be taken seriously if they stopped talking about the "Plague That Makes Your Booty Move". Dare I say, it is catchier than the Led Zep?

This ditty reminds me of back when Luther was first born and we were moving into a duplex inj Nanaimo BC. I threw Luther in the bath and put SARSIPPIUS' ARK on. I know that if he were to listen to this album in its entirety right now he would have a lethal case of Deja Vu,

There is no justification for my liking of this little jam. It is about 4 pieces of pop-rock tripe mixed down into one fun piece of soundtrack history that is sooooo maany month old. The Samuel Jackson sample that doesn't show up in the movie is great. When Sam finally said, "That's it, I've had it with these motherf*cking snakes..." He is rather sedated. In this song though, he is about to totally lose it.

"So kiss me goodbye/honey I'm gonna make it out alive"

Sounds like someone is going to war, que no?

This is another oldie. This is one of the most melancholy pieces of pop that I know. It also signifies the return of DD after a lame hiatus. It is good stuff. The actual meaning of it all is about 10 years in the past when I was really struggling with hatred for a family member. I went in and through the other side. I learned to hate, and I learned to forgive. It was intense. I am not going to put the individual's name here, because none of that stuff matter anymore. I learned a lot during that season, and this song was the backdrop.

This is a little comedy piece about a band that has some serious interpersonal issues. All of these issues come to a head with a bizarre piece of feedback that keeps on showing up throughout the track. After a profanity laden series of feedback mishaps, the singer throws the mic down and leaves the soundroom. It is funny, it is course and I have been laughing to it since I was about 15.

I just found this CD at the house. It is BIGGER THAN THE DEVIL the 1999 outing by S.O.D. This is a reference to the previous thing I mentioned. It is polished and it is the hook done right, no feedback, no profanity and it crunches like fok.

Yeah, there is no excuse for this whatsoever. It is here, and it is a reference to this new neighborhood I live in. It may be the only thing that BODY COUNT ever did that was worthwhile.

If you don't own SHOVEL HEADED KILL MACHINE, you are totally missing on the highest level of superior modern speed metal. These guys don't slip. This song is tight, tight, tight. It is groovy at the same time. You could sweet-talk a full-blown hood-rat into ANYTHING with this pulsing out of your little Kenmore speakers. EXODUS only has one original member left, but this is the direction that I would choose to go in. The new SLAYER album was a complete joke and forced me to go on a serious hip-hop and jazz binge to cleanse myself of it. Yes, I recently bought a Slayer sticker, but I really haven't got the stomach to put it anywhere. What I need is an EXODUS sticker, t-shirt and tattoo. THIS ALBUM IS WHERE IT IS AT. OMG, if I wasn't writing what was in my playlist RIGHT NOW, I would bump the rest of the album up for spots 8, 9 and 10.

There is no reason why this band should go any further than they have. No one knows both Metallica and the Beatles. It just doesn't happen. SO with that being said, I must be a slight anomaly, because I know Metallica well and the Beatles I know by default. This song makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. It is an excuse to talk mess about Madonna and throw in a miasma of disjointed Metallica lyrics. Lotsa fun. It also has the infamous "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" quote that Madonna threw out to all of the people who were downloading her stuff a bit ago. They take that thing (which they probably didn't have to pay for) and they mix it DOWN. This is a groovy track that I hum incessantly.
How ridiculous.

If you don't know Khayree or YBB records, let me school you for a bit:
Khayree is the best producer for gangster beats out there BAR NONE. Dr. Dre has nothing on this man. 415 is the album that put him on the radar. MAC MALL's ILLEGAL BUSINESS put him on the map. I still think he is the best thing going on period, and I don't think he has put anything out in years. This comes from the CONSTANT DRAMA album, but if you are actually taking me seriously, you should get THE BLACKILATION which is one of the most positive gangster rap albums I have ever wrapped my ears around. Eric, this little hip-hop kid in one of my classes really made this clear to me by saying that it was the "only album that had ever touched his heart". It is the sweetness. My CD copy is on backorder with Amazon. I still have the tape though.

Ok, ASPHALT JUNGLE is that lazy RAY LUV delivery that we all love. It also has samples from MENACE 2 SOCIETY and SUPERFLY in it. The samples make it all work. The beats are solid, and RAY LUV'S history lesson underneath it all grab me by the chest and make me angry and reflective at the same time. This stuff is the hard stuff.

This is some good, top tier stuff right here. 2 plus minutes of serious scratching and sampling of stuff you have never heard.

I am telling you, there is so much stuff in this track that you will be dizzy. Multiple listenings show how he gives hints of the beat changes in the previous track minutes before it actually happens. This stuff is complicates and smooth, smooth, smooth. What? You can't find it? Gimme your email address and I will yousendit to you, because you are missing out.

Saturday, December 09, 2006


The hardest day yet. That was today.

The whole clan was scheduled for an 11:30 meeting with the doctors today. I got there at 11:39.
Highway 17 is a bitch. There was a flipped car on the road on the oncoming traffic side. How does a car flip? I don't know, but as I watched the traffic build-up, I realized that some people were going to be trapped in that two-lane purgatory for quite some time. As the traffic jammed up, I saw a fire-truck and an ambulance fighting their way to the top of the traffic pile. Veronica later said that the flipped car was smoking. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of suffering through Highway 17, you have to realize that there is no way out of it. Once you sign on for the 20-plus mile stretch, you are basically stuck. You can't flip a U. You don't have much of a shoulder, and if you fuck up, you are flying into a guard rail. The cement boundaries are covered with screech marks. I mean, screech marks that say that people caught air before they landed.

So the doctors pushed the "care" route again. One actually spoke up and said that my father has less than a 5% chance of living. They pushed the "do not resucitate" again and again and again.

Here is the thing though, my mother doesn't see it that way. She want to fight it out. She has been fighting it out. She has all of the power. If she doesn't tell them that they have the right for a DNR, then they don' have it. The point that we realized today was that whatever she tells them, they will still push for a DNR. They want this. If she were to tell them "no" they would still push for it.

*now it is all retrospect, because I slammed a double scotch and went to sleep right after I posted what is above*

Salinas Posting:


The long and the short of it was that everyone was there. Everyone was there and my father had a violent seizure. We had to make the snap decision on whether to give my father the ventillator(I spell this word wrong daily) or not.

I am for "comfort care" at this point. My sister is for "comfort care". I am not exactly sure where my brother is...but I think he is in the comfort care direction, based on my father's next bone-marrow test that will determine whether there is any leukemia in his system or not. My mother, however, still wants to fight it. So we had our moment. I told her that it was her decision, but that I feel that she is not ready to give up yet and so we might as well go for the ventillator. They told us we had 5 minutes to make a decision and we took 1o.

I saw my father within a minute of his seizure. He was breathing that paced, short breathing that an animal does on the side of the road after it has been smoked by a car. His eyes were open, and he was fully conscious as far as I am concerned. It was the "code red" and the doctors were everywhere. They shuttled all of the family out of the room and went to work.

My mother's order came through and they went in with the tube. They moved him to the ICU. I didn't get in to see him until 8 that evening. Lots of sitting around eating french fries and smoking cigarettes and talking shit until then.

Now my father looks peaceful. They have to keep him sedated enough so that he won't wake up and pull the tube out of his throat. I talked to him a bit. His hand moved. We are supposed to talk to him, apparently the hearing is the last thing to go.

There is athletic tape all the way around his head to hold the tube in place. There is blood in his mouth. There is blood in his nose. The ventillator is in, pushing the air into his lungs.

I just got off the phone with Casson (who was driving over the accursed 17). He says that my father's white blood count has doubled in the past 48 hours. he is on the rise somehow, and maybe that is because he isn't contending with all of that pain. Now that he is ventillated, he can take a more serious dose of pain medication.

The odds are sparse.
5% chance of making it.
2 of 100 patients that the ICU doctor has seen (in near my father's state) have actually gotten off of a ventillator. That doesn't mean that they made it out of the hospital though.

All I can say is that at least the pain is down now and the man can sleep. he can rest. he can rebuild himself. But I have to keep my hope in check. I have to keep it there because 5% is less than anything to really hang hope on.

Am I indifferent? No, I am just rather numb to it all. I need some sleep I think.

I need some sleep and another double-scotch.

Friday, December 08, 2006


The title says it all. Here is what I've got:

My father is in incredible pain.
His stomach has an infection.
His head hurts.
His left side is frozen.
He makes about 3 or 4 controlled movements. There are a lot of spasms.
He mumbles a lot.
He groans pretty much constantly.
The doctors say that even though there is no leukemia in his system, it is inevitable that it is coming back, so there is no "remission" definition for him.
His beard is sparse. His hair has fallen out...and then it hasn't.
The man grimaces.

So we had a big meeting with Dr. Oh yesterday. The bottom line isn't the bottom line with these fucking doctors. I want to be angry with them but I get it. They keep on telling us that they can do something about his pain. They can make him comfortable. They will do this, but we have to sign off on the DNR (do not resucitate).

What is being said is this: My father can have a level of pain medication. If he has more than they are willing to give, his lungs will collapse and he will be put on a ventillator.

If we sign off saying that we will NOT put him on the ventillator, then they will give him the pain medication he needs to assuage his agony. In essence, we give them the right to give him a lethal amount of medication.

If we don't sign off on this thing, then my father fights his way through his current existence. This is a grim sight to absorb.

If we sign off, he will have about 2 days of comfort before he sails on.

If we don't sign off, there is a small chance that he could actually negotiate his way out of the maze of pain and suffering and be conscious and human again. I strongly doubt that his mind will be back though...and that was some sort of mind.

If we sign off, he drifts off to sleep. The focus will be what these cynical-ass doctors call "comfort care". The shift will be away from his symptoms and more on making him comfortable. Yesterday, Dr.Oh gave the concession that they would still keep on treating his issues, but there would be more pain reliever in his system.

If we don't sign off, and he goes on a ventilaor, he will never get off of the bitch. Apparently, a youngster should only be on a ventilator for a minimal amount of time or the lungs atrophy and forget how to breathe on their own. Patients on a ventilator have to be rendered basically unconscious in order to make sure that they don't wake up and pull the tubes out of their mouths.

If we sign off, his pain will end on the micro and the macro.

If we don't sign off, th pain continues...and in all honesty, I don't see his situation improving.


So what is driving these doctors? Where is the truth here? No one is using words like "euthanize" so WTF?

It has to be money. It is always money at the bottom of the pile. I remember when I realized that I had to get out of teaching. It was when I realized that students get saturday school for cutting class so that the school can get the state money back that they lost for the absence...not for discipline. It was when I realized that suspension of more than a day was something that wasn't given out because the school LOSES MONEY every day a student isn't in class. When I realized that shit, I realized I was in the wrong profession; specifically if they are professing to care about kids. They don't give a rip about the kids. It is the money.

So, with these doctors, I am trying to chase the money trail down. Of course they won't tell me, but it has to be a financial bottom line here. They took their Hypocratric oaths to take care of people, but somewhere along the way, it is compromised. The compromise is probably being pushed by a kingpin in the system whom I have not even seen yet. You know when you go to a used car dealership and the salesguy goes to talk to a manager that you never see? That kinda shit.

So what is the money issue? Is the insurance running out? I know that they are worried about him being bedridden for a ridiculous amount of time. Maybe that is it, they have given up hope, and they want to employ their efforts elsewhere. I have to know what the TRUTH is underneath this thing.

They can keep him alive by following through with the status quo...indefinitely it seems. So why the give-up? I don't get it. Why the push for the give-up? There is a triple-beam assessment somewhere in this whole thing and some motherfucker has said that we need to slash our losses and get the hell out of Stanford.

I don't get it. I don't get how the money is working. I don't get how their minds are working. I don't get how much time my father has. I don't get any of it. I am blinded by my old man's pain I suppose. I can't rise above the blast radius that I am in. These doctors have perspective. They have a level of insight and vision that I don't have and unfortunately, I don't comprehend it either.

I guess "comfort" truly is synonomous with "pulling the plug".

Am I supposed to have the balls to vote that my father only should have 2 days to live? This guy brought me into this world and now I have to make this kind of decision?

Yes, I want him to have no pain.

Yes I want him to live.

No one can show me the future, and I have to make calculated guesses on all of this stuff.

My father, tough bastard that he is, is only in his 60s.

I am at a loss here. I have no idea where I should stand. I love the man, and I don't want to have him killed. But I don't want him in pain. I don' want him to suffer and suffer only to lose.

Suppose we put him through all of this agony and then he dies any damn way?

It is on my head that he suffered for the last of his life.
It is on my head that he was euthanized (let's cut the shit and call it what it is).

I have the word HOPE tattooed across my stomach. It was some of the worst pain that I have ever experienced. Yet I am just about out of hope on this one.

The best case is that he bounces back. He becomes a man again. he looks me in the eye. He gives the gentle smile, and he says something completely unpredictable like old times. Am I going to ever have that again?

Had I known that the day I checked him into the cancer ward...that it was to be my last full day with him, would I have been so flippant? Would I have given more of myself to him? Would I have interacted harder? Did he want that kind of interaction? Did I fail him on that day? Was he disappointed in me because my marriage has gone to shit? Did he still think that I was a hard person to deal with? Did I fail him as a son? Did I fail him as a man? What could I have done better? All I ever wanted to do was please him somehow...impress the guy. I don't think I will ever get that chance again. Yeah, we cleared our shit up as far as our all out hatred for one another, but now what?

Years ago, when we were driving back from Texas (Granny's funeral) the whole car was asleep, and it was just he and I. He told me that he was proud of me. He told me that I was shaping into a decent man. I think he meant it.

However, when I broke down and cried with him a few months ago and told him that I couldn't salvage my marriage and I didn't know what to do, he told me to man up. He told me to get back in there and make the shit work. For the kids. Make it work for the kids, he said. I countered him and told him that I couldn't, that I was dealing with a situation that I couldn't think my way out of. That it was a loss. He told me that he loved me and that he understood...and that no matter what I did, I was still his son. That last conversation fucks with me.

So I was dropping him off at the hospital that day, and there was so much shit in the air. So much of my shit, and so much of his shit...and we were trivializing and talking about pop culture as we always did. I wish I had known. I wish that I had known that was it. Maybe I would have reached harder. Maybe I would have scraped at that scab of a conversation that we'd had a few weeks before and hunted for some closure.

Comfort care, wtf. I want the old man back. I want him to suck up some sort of life power and get up and walk again. I want the man back. I'm not done with him yet.

Sorry. This one was a little raw.

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Casino Royale revisited

I had a conversation with Casson today trying to sway him in the direction of the new Bond film. He wasn't down. I thought that i hated that Bond bitch, but Casson is more firmly entrenched in his all out hatred of said prick than I ever was.

Note: Bond is ripped.
Note: Daniel Craig is 6 foot tall and my age.
Note: This is the only time I have ever thought that a Bond might be able to take me in an actual physical showdown in real life. And I was curling 75s yesterday and benched the 205 until I had to holster it on my own because I had no spotter. I'll betcha the new Bond does more.

I have been running some conversation online with some heads. This is a cut-and-paste of that conversation. I'll post something a little more worthwhile in a bit...but for you Bond doubters out there, this is for you.

And for the record, I have NO PATIENCE for any other Bond than this prequel that is out in the theatres today. NO PATIENCE. I will never go see them, they are not at the bottom of my Netflix queue...NO. NEVER. Furthermore, I will not be seeing any of the next CRAIG movies either. This movie explains it all, and leaves it at that...it is only downhill from here...

Read on, if you care:

SampleandHold wrote:

millionairemick wrote:

Sorry if there's already a thread on this but has anyone seen it yet? I went to see it on Saturday, and the cinema was compleatly packed, according to the guy working there every single showing from friday morning was completely sold out.

Daniel Craig gets my thumbs up as a bond, I know a lot of people were dubious, but I like him.

The worst thing about the movie *spoiler warning*

No gadgets, no Q, the DBS gets wrecked after 2 min. Holy F*ck, why the hell would they destroy that car! That is just cruel, why would someone do that to me And the DB5, greatest bond car ever, was only on screen for like 5min.


Message Edited by millionairemick on 11-20-2006 08:03 AM


Actually, the worse part of the film was the rampant commercialism in the from advertisement. I have never seen so many shots of brand names on cars in a movie in my life. The film also protrays women and minorities poorly as well. Why is it in just about every bond movie I see, there is always some connection to an African rebel group who is on the bad side. I can not think of a bond movie where there was a good black person in them. Can some one give an example of one? Also the women where oversexualized as well, but that is a bond stable, I guess. But this is from reading the film. This is what happens when you take a film class and you start to see all the hidden messages that are in the film. Plus, they always make something explode that would never ever explode in real life. The bus explodes? Really? How? All it did was get hit at the joint of the extension. I am pretty sure there is no fuel in that section of the bus. And if such a fault did occur, I think there would have been a recall.

The chase scene was pretty cool at the start... A little over the top though, but I could let that go. When the bus blew, I checked out. Just like one of the other films I saw where Bond was being chased by snowmobiles and every time they hit a tree, they exploded. I mean come on.



Muphukka says:

Bond has always been about cars and misogyny. This film stepped it up a bit. Bond has never had race issues in check. Bond is always the great white hope.

What I dug about it all was that it was a prequel.

"This did for the Bond franchise what Batman Returns did for the Batman franchise"
That is one of the closest pieces of truth I have read in this thread.

Bond has always been a dick. A misogynist, hard-drinking dick. The women throw themselves at him and half-drunk, he saves the world. I have hated Bond forever. HATED. I have tried to like the sonofabitch, but I haven't ever been able to buy into it.

They knew this when they put this one together. They had to show HOW HE BECAME SUCH A DICK.


Bond has his eggs cracked both literally and metaphorically. He has the torture and he has his heart broken. I have NEVER seen a protagonist in any film take a ball-cracking torture like that. Specifically JAMES FOKKING BOND. Bond has always been an untouchable, walking on water bastard. So much more do I hate the man, because he never takes a bruising. Not this time. There is a scene after a scrape-up at an airport, where his face looks like scraped meat-loaf.

This film is about the HUMANIZATION OF BOND.

The chase scene at the beginning was a simple homage to both ONG-BAK and DISTRICT B-13. With both of those films under my belt and watching this corker of an opener, I had no choice but to LOVE it.

The only issue I have with the film is the card playing. My GOD, how can they make a game of cards exciting? Well, if he is snapping necks and defibulating himself and having clothed showers with his love interest of course.


But I don't need to see anymore. I now know why he is an asshole...so why watch more of that stuff happen? I get the gist of it. Anything that explains any more about his transformation into asshat Brosnan is going to be more than I can take.

Yeah, I said it.

Monday, December 04, 2006

The pain level is pretty high

I have already cried twice today. I think I will probably cry again before the day ends. I am such a bitch.

I just got back from Stanford Hospital...the cancer ward. My father is on his deathbed. Apparently, half of his body has seized, and I can only talk to him through his right ear. I had to lean in to get his attention. His eyes lit up once or twice when he saw me...but all he could do was moan. He moans with each painful breath he takes.

Swear to God, I walked in there this morning and for a split second, I thought I was in the wrong room. He was lying in his bed, slightly to the left and his mouth was gaping open. He was white, white, white...like a corpse. Like any number of zombies that I have seen in film. He actually reminded me of SLOTH in the movie SE7EN. The weight loss and the loss of his left side has changed him; contorted him into something I am not familiar with.

A phalanx of doctors came into the room a little after 8AM this morning. When you have this many, you are seeing the machinery. The machinery was there to handle their own foul-up, if the foul-up was broached. I was trying to figure it out. I think a big part of it is that my father fell in the hospital a few weeks ago, and the internal bleeding hasn't completely subsided. The bleeding is in his head, which makes for massive headaches. They were pumping him with morphine awhile ago, but that wasn't cutting it. Now he is on something else. The problem is that he just finished his second round of chemo and he is weak. He is so weak in fact that the painkiller they have him on could collapse his lungs.

My father is in a space.

The doctors told us what they want to do. They want to make his life as "comfortable as possible". They kept on throwing the word "comfort" around. It is all about getting the man comfortable before he dies. Comfort is an option. If he is going to fight this thing however, comfort will not be an option. My old man will have to take the pain. he will have to take the pain, and he still might not make it. So he can die comfortable and relatively sedated, or he can die in pain, fighting the basic infections that Ivan shakes off several times a day in his 2nd grade classroom.

Of course, we could put him on a ventilator. The ventilator would keep his lungs working. Dr. Oh said that he has never seen a patient in my father's condition get off of a ventilator. The bottom line is cash money. They put him on that ventilator, he is going to be on it until someone pulls the plug. It is gonna cost some buckage to keep the machine going and a nursing staff working it. The hard sell by all of the doctors was that we should get ready to pull a plug somewhere. They don't want to put him on the ventilator, because then the pulling of the plug becomes much more of a concrete idea and image. If we downshift it now, the visibility of the plug to pull is a little more...ambiguous. Of course, they don't come out with that stuff, but that was their bottom line.

My Mom has chosen to do the full-court press and push for a ventilator and whatever else can be done to extend his life. Me? I am shellshocked. This is my father. This is a man who has thrown fists at people twice his size. Shit, I have gone toe to toe with the man myself. This is the intellectual. This is the man who set in motion the sort of life I am trying to live. This is a man who has seen more than I will ever see. This is a man who has read more than I will ever read. This is a man with memories of the 50s, 60s and 70s that will make you wonder how he got in the space of so many famous people.

The doctors eventually left us in the hall...to process their subtext. Dave, Veronica's husband, pulled me into a hug. I hugged him, willingly, and then it started. I started to cry like a little bitch. In my fighting down of my sobs, I was reminded of the sounds that Harvey Keitel makes in Abel Ferrera's BAD LIUETENANT. This is a battle that I am losing. It is internal and it is external. My father isn't going to make it. I am pretty sure of this. I am going to lose him, his mind, and his gentle spirit, which had become more and more gentle over the years. I am losing him and there is nothing I can do about it. In some ways I have already lost him. Communication is sparse if at all. He isn't telling jokes or dropping profanity into everyday conversation. He isn't INTERACTING anymore. He is somewhere else. I considered his spirit, and where it must be within this bruised body of his. I also considered what his spirit must want. Does it want to fight? Will his attitude be a fighting one? A last stand? A showdown? Or has it lost, and is it looking for a way out? I am figuring that it is probably the latter.

I sat outside and chatted with Dave and Veronica and later, my mother. But all the while, I was trying to think of my old man. I think all of our shit is done. I think that I have worked through all of my father/son angst with him. I am not angry with him anymore, and I haven't been for years. My last few years of interaction with him have been an attempt to compile as much of his knowledge of his past as possible. The man doesn't really like to talk too much, so you have to hit him with some ridiculous posturing to get him going. But when he gets going, he is a fount of wisdom. He drops the big words. He has the dark sense of humor. He has all of these personality traits that I would love to have. I am sure that I have some...but this is it. He is on the home stretch now, and even if he makes it through this one, I don't see him being "normal" again. He has taken too much damage. Plus, this pressure on his brain has me wondering if his priceless intellect and memories are gone.

I went back in to see him. I had him all to myself. He was muttering something. He said words like, "no" and "will" and "stop". I took his hand in mine. He gripped me. I got right into his face and said,"Hey." His eyes focused. He took me into his sight. For a second, just a second, I felt that warmth, and I saw him as I have always seen him. It was a metaphysical moment. He morphed in front of my eyes into my Dad, pre-this shit. He muttered something unintelligible. I looked him in his right eye (the other is dark) and told him point blank that I love him. Then I started to cry again. These were the free-falling tears, not that angry stuff that I'd done with Dave earlier. His eyes locked with mine and his tears started too. The stuff was intense. Was I actually communicating with him? Or was this some sort of reaction that he was having to any number of medications swirling through his system? I do know that after that moment that I had, he closed his eyes and when he opened them again, they were dim. I wasn't being focused on anymore.

And what can I do? I can't do a fucking thing. I have to ride this out. We all have to. I find solace in the fact that this is a part of life. Every man must go through the death of their father (provided they don't beat their father to the finish line). I try to find peace in the fact that my father has led a complete life. I don't see a bunch of loose ends that he needs to tie up. I don't think any of my siblings have loose ends with him either. So what can I do? I can continue going to the hospital. I haven't had hospital visits as an absolute priority on my list for many reasons. One is that I hate driving over Highway 17. Another is that I am not really into sitting around the hospital dealing with a man who is in and out of consciousness. Another is that my family seems to be in emergency mode, and that every time something happens with Dad, we all need to be in the hospital, because this could be the big one. I have had a hard time getting behind that one. Lastly? I have been asking myself, "What can I do?" for weeks now. What can I do? Not a damn thing. I have thought about if I was in his space. I would actually want to be left alone. I wouldn't want people around 7-24 (as Neal would say). I would want my own space. I would want to take the walk to the cursed earth alone. Perhaps my father isn't like this. But in life, he wasn't that social of a creature. Now he has more company than I am sure he knows what to do with.

I am not cursing God either. I am not begging him for my Father's life, nor am I calling him a bastard for taking him away. I get it. I understand this thing. But there I was, crying on Dave's shoulder this morning whispering, "Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit..." God damn this situation anyways.

My old man is on his way out, and all I can do is watch it happen.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006


Back in Downey California, I had Ms. Vleerick. She was this thin woman with glasses. The only reason why I mention her name is because I was recently in a conversation about what an absolutely sucky ban KISS was. I mean, KISS SUCKED. But as a kid, I wanted to understand these made up freaks. Dad wouldn't allow KISS records in the house. Once I even got one for my birthday, and he took me to the LICORICE PIZZA record store to find out how much Rock and Roll Over was worth. He bought it from me on the spot.

Anyways, I was having this conversation about KISS and I remember that Ms. Vleerick allowed Jeff Lopez to hang his KISS poster on the wall. She wouldn't allow the Farrah Fawcett poster, but we all thought we were getting over with the LOVE GUN poster. She made us fold the women up at the bottom so all you could see were the members of KISS.

KISS sucked then, and they still suck now. A friend of mine told me that Peter Criss is the worst drummer in the biggest band or some such trash. Then he said that Gene Simmons is the Peter Criss of bass. OH GOD DID THEY SUCK! But they were onto something. I remember seeing "KISS" tagged everywhere. It was the coolest thing. There were comic books. There were t-shirts. The stuff was on fire. I'll bet those charlatans made a billion dollars back then. Remember that damn movie "KISS AND THE RETURN OF THE PHANTOM"? I think that was the title. That movie sucked too.

Ms. Vleerick almost failed me in 4th grade. I had to go back to her in summerschool and make up whatever it was that I didn't get during the school year. I can't remember a thing that woman taught me. That woman was vicious. I do remember that KISS poster she allowed though. Here it is below, in all of its uncensored glory.


For reals. James Bond has always irked me. Irked me deeply. He is this suave older man who truly makes no sense. He is impossible and he knows it. I personally want to smack Pierce Bronson (or however you spell that punk's last name) in the face with a wet fish. I really want to kick him in the balls. This is personal.

Bond is trash and always has been. I think I have only sat through one entire Bond film until the past 5 years of my life and that was FOR YOUR EYES ONLY. That movie was some drippy trash, lemme tellyuh.

Now all of the Bond defenders are going to say, "You didn't look at the good stuff!" WET FISH SMACKS ALL AROUND, PEOPLE. You defend Bond, you are getting the fish. I was at a church of Lucifer rummage sale a few years back and picked up THE ENTIRE BOND BOX SET. No, not the books, smartass, the videos. I watched Dr. No. I must say that it had a moment or two, but nothing that I can even think of to post here off the top of my dome. Next up was GOLDFINGER. Well, I start-stopped that thing for a solid week until I realized that I was not going to stay awake through that crap no matter how many times I was teased with the idea of Connery's ball getting sizzled by lasers.

Oooooh, shaken not stirred! I am such a badass! I always wear a tuxedo. In some of my movies I smoke. I look like a wet blanket with my shirt off. The exotic betties flock to me. I have smooth quips. I shoot silenced bullets. I like gadgets. My hair is properly coifed. I have a permatan. I draw attention wherever I go. I am always high-rolling. I always say that my name is, "Bond, James Bond". Don't you want to be like me? - Ian Phlegming's character's inner monologue.


There is no use for such a character. The man is impervious to all! He has no heart. He is nothing but skill compounded upon skill compounded upon womanizing skill. He knows too much for every situation. He outhinks them all. He is constantly 2 steps ahead of the game and half-drunk. He is a baby-boomer fantasy. He just doesn't work for me.

People argue and say that Roger Moore was the best Bond. Any man that stars in a movie called Octopussy probably should get such a vote. I never made it all the way through Moonraker, but I am pretty sure that what I saw was complete drivel. Old schoolers swear up and down that it was Connery who was the man. Then there was Timothy Dalton (who was damn good in an episode of Tales From the Crypt where he turned into a werewolf). And what was the name of that failed Bond? Dirk Lazenby? Something like that? I would wind up with a freshly caught mackerel and splat each of these people in their perma-tanned faces and forget about it five minutes later. These people don't count. they are portraying something that doesn't work. They need to be humbled with rock cod scales across their bronzed faces. I cannot and have not been able to buy into the fantasy, until now.

So Matt, Gabby and I took it in yesterday. First we drove through a local "dirty burrito spot" and got California Burritos. This in and of itself was something new to me. You can't pick up a burrito this dirty at Taco Bell, you have do pick this up at the taqueria up the street that is in the faded white building with the menu handwritten in spanglesh. A California burrito is carne asada, pico de gallo, cheese and french fries in burrito form. Matt later remarked that it is basically a Happy Meal wrapped in a tortilla. The stuff was bomb.

The crowd in the theatre were from the generation that is a solid 20 and 30 years beyond mine. Once again, I was reminded of the fact that this was not my tribe and I freaking hate James Bond. Then the movie started.

Bond is now, people. Bond is right NOW. This was a prequel. We see Daniel Craig get his double-oh status and proceed to put in mad work. The opening scene is some serious action. Luther said that this scene out does the chase sequence in Ong Bak. He is right. But in Ong Bak, that stuff was real, and I am sure that many people died while filming it. Bond on the other hand was polished and wired and probably bluescreened. Still, it was some action to behold. And once that action broke and the movie got underway plotwise, I was riveted to my seat. Yeah yeah, you can get all, "If this was a prequel, why does Bond have a cell-phone?" on me. I understand. I let that one slide. You should too, or I will have to reach out and touch you with a rainbow trout.

Bond has ego. A little too much ego. M (Judy Dench in a pre-Q role) tells him more than once that his ego is going to get in the way. Bond's ego does get in the way, and homeboy learns from it.

Bond can fight. It seems that the aggression displayed onscreen was about 8 to 10 notches above anything I ever saw one of those previous asshats do. These are some serious hits to the face that he is giving and taking. In one post-fight scene, Bond really looks like he has been pounded and clawed to a point of ugliness. This is the kind of guy I can get behind. He bruises, and he deals out an impressive crunching.

Bond gets owned. He gets owned at cards. He gets owned in several fights. He gets owned by his boss. he gets owned by a poisoned drink. He almost dies...sheeeoot....he does die in one scene. Bond puts it down and makes the stuff almost possible. Somewhere along the baby-boomer path, the writers thought that it would be good to show a guy who never gets tarnished. They were WRONG. The new Bond goes through two tuxedo shirts in a rough-assed card game. One is bloodied the other one is soiled and scorched. The bloodying and the soiling and scorching have to do with Bond's enemy's fluids and his own. Bond gives at the office.

What drove the previous films (in my limited summation) is that the stuff was improbable. Basically, old-school Bond was like some sort of primped modern Greek god, doing the unholy and the inhuman, at an unholy, inhuman pace. People 20 and 30 years older than me were gobbling that crap up. Same as they gobbled up Superman and a bunch of other baby-boomer nonsense. Superman, Shazam and James Bond all needed a good fish swat across their kissers. Just enough to let them know that the common man, the real people with real problems weren't buying into their insulated escapist world. What has that world gotten me? Nothing. That world wants me though. Did you see Superman Returns? That world wants me, but that word will have to work a little harder. Superman is so damn perfect that they couldn't even really give him problems. That world called out to me last summer and failed heinously. That world called out to me again this fall, and this was no failure.

I am from the MARVEL-AGE, people. I am from a time when heroes have problems. Where heroes are real people in situations that should be handled by a boomer-hero, but the real hero pushes through with real blood, real sweat and real pain. I want a flawed hero. A flawed hero is real. Daniel Craig is the real.


What makes this all work and why I have so much wood for this film right now is this: IT IS A PREQUEL. You get to see Bond before he became the asshole that I hate. The key factor is his relations with women. Bond actually falls for this girl and gets OWNED. She uses him. This is the scar tissue that the rest of the series hangs on. I don't know about you, but I think it is badass. The lesson for Bond is that he has to close his emotional doors. And he does, you have all seen how closed those doors are. How ridiculous it all is. How he bangs woman after woman with no remorse. Why? He is incapable. He says it himself in Casino Royale. He says that he needs to get out of the business before he doesn't have any soul left. This is the brilliance.

Bond is successfully castrated as a decent male on many levels in this film. Furthermore, you get to see why. Goldfinger's laser never did get to sizzle Connery's nuts, but today's Bond takes a serious gas-pedaling via knotted rope. Bond's nuts are attacked on all levels, and because of this, we are able to see his sleazy over-the-top trysts of his future as a little more sensible...a little more compensating. This Bond has taken blows to the balls that wound the soul. The rest of the film syllabus speaks to how he handles his pain.

The other bit of genius? This movie was made for ME. Why? Because I don't have to see another Bond film as long as I live. I have seen him at the top of his game and at at his most vulnerable. It is made dead clear at the end of his film that Bond is preparing to slouch into the Connery, Lazenby, Moore, Bronson(whatever) direction of Bond. I now understand why Solomon told us to weep at the beginnings of things.

Daniel Craig is the man. I'm telling you, this guy puts it down like the way it is supposed to be put down. I have put my bucket of fish away.


"HAPPY FEET? MORE LIKE, 'CRAPPY FEET.'" - The Eyeball not too long ago.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006


Why do I title this blog "Harsh Times Indeed" and then have a picture of the movie poster for THE THREE EXTREMES? Because this is going to be a disjointed Blog that will bring Oregon, Santa Cruz, LA, Sacramento, Salinas, Marina and Monterey together. I might even throw in some Las Vegas and some Bangkok for good measure. Piqued? Its a good sales pitch, but the rub is a lot more benign than you would think.

I work at this place where I make the tests that you fail. When I started there, I was hanging out with this guy named John. John and I hit it off for whatever reason and we would walk around the building every day at lunch. It is a big fokking building. We would discuss film and literature and the world around us. John had spent some time in the east. He has even married a woman from Japan. He had an understanding of Japanese culture that I have always wanted but never quite landed.

Then John got it together, purchased a house in Oregon and moved there to work from home. John and I keep a sporadic email relationship up. Something about once a month or so. These are great, profanity-laden missives that really score the rusted underbelly of the pop-culture war machine. We still talk movies. We still discuss Japanese culture. We discuss it all, actually.

So a few weeks back, I had an opportunity to go to Sacramento on a job thing. John was supposed to be there. We were supposed to do the big beers, the late nights, all of that stuff. Unfortunately, my end fell through. John burned some DVDs for me and sent them back to me through this other guy who didn't get them to me until last Thursday. The DVD I want to reference here is the DVD of the movie THREE EXTREMES.

THREE EXTREMES is three short horror films mixed together in one big film. I am a big fan of the horror genre and so is John, and this is a film we had discussed multiple times. He said that the first episode called DUMPLINGS was pretty good. Thursday night, I started to watch Dumplings. It was smooth. It was well filmed. It was about a woman who eats these dumplings served to her in a seedy apartment. Some beautiful shots. Some clean close-ups. A lot of questions hang in the air as to what these dumplings are made of.

Friday was my day to lift off out of Santa Cruz, hang out with the babies in Salinas and take Matt (see SLUTTIEST BREAKFAST EVAR) out for his birthday in Monterey, via Marina. I was rolling in the Mustang and the doors have the pop-lock alarm button now, so you know it was a sexy drive.

The babies were supposed to go surfing and L-Dogg and I were supposed to watch Mortal Kombat. Well, the surf instructor failed and suddenly I was on 100% duty. We went to In and Out. We went to the mall. We went to Claire's and I checked out the Happy Bunny display ("I did it, but I am blaming you)". Happy Bunny is the dope.

Got to Matt's house and started to talk about the THREE EXTREMES. He said that he had the thing and that he had started to watch it before. I was into firing the thing up and watching the first episode before we went out to see HARSH TIMES which was my birthday gift to the man. So we fired it up.

DUMPLINGS might very well be the most fokked up film short I have ever viewed. The dumplings are stuffed with aborted fetuses. There is a lot of moloch worship in this little ditty from Hong Kong. It is filmed in such a way that you are hoping that these aren't fetuses being chopped and served, but sooner or later, you have to give in and accept that yeah, Fruit Chan the director does in fact go there. So you see an abortion performed in a kitchen. This isn't the fun sort of birth that happens in Monty Python's the MEANING OF LIFE. This is even cruder. Then it turns out that the actress who is finding the unborn so damn comestible learns that her latest mean was a product of incest. This is when the film actually raises up with a conscience. Hey, abort and eat, but having sex with your granddaughter is just too doggone far. Of course it is supposed to hit you like a water balloon filled with maple syrup. Of course you are supposed to cringe at all aspects. When protagonist woman finally does indeed abort her own child, you are left to wonder if she actually ate it, because blood is running out of her mouth and a gigantic, fast-moving, slug-like tongue launches out of her mouth and slobs up the crimson drool.

Over the top? HOLY SHIT. This film hit me as hard as the DOOM GENERATION did back in the day. Unfortunately, I am older and more cynical. I am desensitized and pretty much done. Matt's friend Tino had posited to Matt a few days before that all film should be viewed from the POV of a 14 year old boy. This is the way he views film, and this is why he enjoys the crap of the 80s so much. I have watched such classics as THE WRAITH starring Charlie Sheen with Tino. I missed out on IRON EAGLE 2 a few weeks back, but this is what I am talking about.
Here is the truth for Tino though: if Matt and I had watched Dumplings as 14 year olds, I wouldn't be posting right now...I would be locked up somewhere. The short is not for anyone under 30 and that is the cold truth.

So we locked and loaded and got to the Osio in downtown Monterey to check out the Harsh Times. The previews were everywhere. It is being heralded as the next big thing from the writer of TRAINING DAY. Christian Bale is up in there. JK Simmons is up in there. FOK Freddy Rodriguez though. That fool hasn't done anything for me that is worth more than one dollar. It is set in South Central Los Angeles. It has all of the trappings of a good film. All of the trappings I said. But this is one hunk of celluloid that falls flat. DEAD FLAT.

Christian Bale is some ex-death squad fool from Iraq. He is trying to get into LAPD now that he is back on the streets of LA. He fails the psych test and decides to get high. Form that point on, you see this fool unraveling. The unraveling of a protagonist is a movie can be a beautiful thing. Think about FALLING DOWN. Think about TRAINING DAY. Think about FULL METAL JACKET. Think about Mah-fackin SCARFACE. The unraveling is something that we are fascinated with. Well, HARSH TIMES has an unraveling that is sloppy and ridiculous. There is no true explanation of this Christian Bale kid. There is no real explanation who his family is, how this white-boy got so damn bilingual or why he has a girlfriend in Mexico. The point when he realizes that he has smoked pot and now has to pass a piss test is so unbelievable that I was through forgiving the movie at that point, and I was a mere 20 minutes in.

Bale can act, but then again, he can't. Is this guy a one-trick tough-guy pony? I am beginning to think so. He is the man however, when it comes to handing out ass-kicking or scowling. He did a damn good Batman. He did a damn good Machinist. He was also a damn good professor in The Prestige. He was damn good in Equilibrium. He was pretty damn good in American Psycho. Hell, I'll throw in Reign of Fire and Shaft too. I have never seen this guy get his ass kicked on the big screen. This is part of his schtick. Christian Bale does some damn good macho work. However, no matter how damn good he is, HARSH TIMES as a film misses something fierce.

Check it out: when a movie ends, and you hear 360 degrees of collective profanity as people get up out of their seats on the opening night of a film, there is something seriously wrong with the film. That was our experience as the film ended.

HARSH TIMES is a waste of time. As Matt and I drove through spaghetti hill and I showed him my old stomping grounds, I realized a few things.

#1. We were still talking about DUMPLINGS.
#2. DUMPLINGS is about 25 minutes long.

This means that the 2 plus hours of HARSH TIMES was eclipsed by a fraction or filmwork from the other side of the planet. If there was a time to see HARSH TIMES, it was last friday night. That still didn't save it. I am still thinking about DUMPLINGS and HARSH TIMES is now officially off of my radar.

I must say that there was some good dialogue in HARSH TIMES, but nothing that was spectacular.

My conclusion? THREE EXTREMES > HARSH TIMES but I wouldn't suggest either of them if you want the truth.

Sunday, November 12, 2006


Found this on a board I haunt.
Pretty damn funny.

br0kenrabbit says:hi

Greg_ValveOLS says:good evening

br0kenrabbit says:What's ip?

br0kenrabbit says:up?

Greg_ValveOLS says:my name is greg a member of the valve online Support team

br0kenrabbit says:On MSN?

Greg_ValveOLS says:yes

br0kenrabbit says:Why?

Greg_ValveOLS says:we logged multiple ips from your account and ned to verifi your information

br0kenrabbit says:My information?

Greg_ValveOLS says:we believe someone may have stolen your account mmmm you havent shared youre account infomation with anyone have you?

br0kenrabbit says:No. I don't even have it written down.

Greg_ValveOLS says:hmmm maybe a keylogger on you r PC then maybe you need a format?

br0kenrabbit says:Well...

Greg_ValveOLS says:if you can verify your account information to me i can insure that only your ip have access to it Its a new security feature were trying because this happens so muchlogin names and passwords aint safe anymroe You know. L

br0kenrabbit says:Well

Greg_ValveOLS says:dont worry this connect it secure

br0kenrabbit says:Can I be honest with you, Greg?

Greg_ValveOLS says:k

br0kenrabbit says:Look, I don't know how you go this MSN account name, don't really care, either.

br0kenrabbit says:Unlike you, I DO work for Valve. Trace my ip and you'll see.

Greg_ValveOLS says:huh?

Greg_ValveOLS says:bs

br0kenrabbit says:Trace it.

Greg_ValveOLS says:how

br0kenrabbit says:Start/run/cmd type Tracert and then my IP address and hit enter.

Greg_ValveOLS says:oh k

br0kenrabbit says:As an employee, I know that Valve employees will NEVER contact users over MSN. I also know a valve employee will NEVER ask a user for his/her username and password.

br0kenrabbit says:I'm putting a temporary hold on your Steam account.

Greg_ValveOLS says:why?

br0kenrabbit says:Have you read the ToS?

Greg_ValveOLS says:Tod?

Greg_ValveOLS says:tosbr0kenrabbit says:terms of service

Greg_ValveOLS says:were?

br0kenrabbit says:Greg, this is a serious infraction against the Tos. You are at risk of losing your account.

Greg_ValveOLS says:why

br0kenrabbit says:I just told you why

Greg_ValveOLS says:

br0kenrabbit says:I need some information from you if you want me to unlock you account. I'm going to write you up but I will only suspend you account for three days, since this is your first infraction, okay?

Greg_ValveOLS says:k

br0kenrabbit says:First, what is the name the account is registered to. Not the user name, the persons real name who created the account. This is for verification purposes.

Greg_ValveOLS says:xxxxx xxxxxxx

br0kenrabbit says:Is this you?

Greg_ValveOLS says:ya

br0kenrabbit says:Are you the only user of this account?

Greg_ValveOLS says:ya

br0kenrabbit says:Okay, and what is the username

Greg_ValveOLS says:xxxxxxxx

br0kenrabbit says:Okay.

br0kenrabbit says:I see you have purchased a few of our games, thank you.

Greg_ValveOLS says:some. dude

Greg_ValveOLS says:m

br0kenrabbit says:Do you always log on from the same IP?

Greg_ValveOLS says:ya

br0kenrabbit says:And who is your internet providers, your ISP?

Greg_ValveOLS says:xxxxxxx

br0kenrabbit says:Thank you. One moment, please, let me verify this information.

Greg_ValveOLS says:am i gonna be bale to play 2nite?

br0kenrabbit says:What is your city of residence?

br0kenrabbit says:That depends on if you cooperate. You're doing fine so far.

Greg_ValveOLS says:xxxxxx

br0kenrabbit says:Illinios?

Greg_ValveOLS says:yes

br0kenrabbit says:Okay. And what is the password associated with this account?

Greg_ValveOLS says:xxxxxxx

br0kenrabbit says:Okay. Do not try to log into steam. If you are connected now you need to log off.

Greg_ValveOLS says:why

br0kenrabbit says:So I can update your account.

Greg_ValveOLS says:can I play 2 nite

Greg_ValveOLS says:clan fight

Greg_ValveOLS says:wont win without me heh

br0kenrabbit says:Heh. You'll have to wait a few minutes. Are you logged off?

Greg_ValveOLS says:yabr0kenrabbit says:Okay. Give me just a moment.

br0kenrabbit says:Try to log in now.

Greg_ValveOLS says:kGreg_ValveOLS says:It says login failed wtf wtf!!@?

br0kenrabbit says:Greg

Greg_ValveOLS says:did u ban me???????????>WHY

br0kenrabbit says:Greg

Greg_ValveOLS says:what

br0kenrabbit says:Valve will never ask for your username and password.

Greg_ValveOLS says:what????

br0kenrabbit says:I don't work for Valve dude, but you just got pwnt.

Greg_ValveOLS says:omg dude wtf why?

br0kenrabbit says:Why were you trying to steal my account?

Greg_ValveOLS says:i wanst

br0kenrabbit says:Then why were you asking for my information?

Greg_ValveOLS says:i was just making a joke but not cerious honest dude just givemy acount back pllllleeease i'm only 13 and save d up for like a year to buy it

br0kenrabbit says:Greg

Greg_ValveOLS says:dude pleas

Greg_ValveOLS says:what

br0kenrabbit says:Go mow some yards, bitch.


I have been after this little clip for some time now. Apparently it was online for about .05 seconds before Sony pulled the plug.


Fak Sony.

*edit* FAK GOOGLE 2x without a condom. They pulled the link.

I'm a PS2 fanboy though.

I am sure that this is the LAST SCENE of Spiderman 3.

Enjoy the loop.

Saturday, October 28, 2006


Three years ago I downloaded Saw 1 and watched it unabashedly on my monitor. It was great to see Princess Bride cut his fat leg out of the shackle to go and die anydamnways. I had no faith in the thing, and that is why I disrespected it so. I mean, face it: horror movies suck these days and have sucked for a looooonnnng time. Modern horror films are slutty. Like diseased slutty. Like the kind of slutty that is not enjoyable and you need to take an introspective shower afterwards slutty. The kind of slutty that makes you go to the clinic. The kind of slutty that makes you wonder if you cinched up the condom high enough. Give me DePalma's Sisters. Give me Friedkin's Exorcist. Give me the Raimie Evil Dead. But this Ring/Feardotcom/Grudge/Hostel/Texas Chainsaw Massacre/House of the Dead whorish horror zone isn't worthy of anyone's respect. Yes, 28 Days Later. Yes Shaun of the Dead. Yes, the new Dawn of the Dead. Yes to Rob Zombie's attempts at making a horror show what it used to be...but by and large, Hollywood is weak, and splatter is their solution for horror. Truth in film? Perhaps. Truth in horror films? NOT A CHANCE.

Saw 1 was a step away from that. Gore was offscreen.
I had this conversation with my father the other day. I was explaining to him why I thought Tarantino is a bitch. The reason why is that Tarantino thinks I am an idiot. He has to get the camera right into the middle of the gore and show me with painstaking details what I am experiencing. I fully believe in the creatures of the Id however. If the camera backs off, then I am left with my mind to connect the dots. My mind is a brutal organ for a filmmaker to employ, lemme tellyuh. Here is my deathblow to Tarantino: Rez Dogs. The camera pulls away when the ear gets sliced. We go back to see Marvin the cop with a messed up head. We don't get to see Mr. Blonde putting in the work. However, Tarantino filmed the actual pulling of the ear...he just couldn't nail the special effect, so he covered his pretentious ass by pulling the camera away and then back in. I personally think that the scene is gold. But it wouldn't have been gold if Tarantino had been working with a budget.
Back on track:

I went to the theatre with Dave (R.I.P.) last year to see Saw 2. The stuff was dope. It was well thought out. It was a carnival of sadism with some sort of strange redemptive quality underneath it all. I dug on it. Not in the, "I will buy this DVD and watch it all the time like I do with Superfly" dug on it, but a dig nonetheless.

Yesterday, Matt and I loaded the mudguns and went to see Part 3. I went in there prepared to have nothing special happen. I am correct. Nothing special happened. Except for in the first 10 minutes. Donnie Wahlberg (superior to Marky Mark in all respects BTW)is shackled to a wall at the beginning (following right on the heels of the end of Part 2). He figures out that he has a hacksaw and that the only way to get out is to saw his foot off. But he looks around. He finds the lid to the back of a toilet. Donnie proceeds to pound the lid into the shackle. At least that is what I thought he was doing. But NO, he is breaking his foot so that he can get out of the shackle. And he does. This was one of the most badass moves I have seen in a Saw movie PERIOD.

The rest? It was alright. The gore is front and center. Gratuitous. You see bones popping. You see pig guts splashing:
You see the stump of a blown off head. You see open brain surgery. You see what you want to see, and you see it done well. You also get the cliffhanger that should drag your ass back next year. The twists are solid enough for a horror film of this type budget. Lion's Gate is known for making slutty films, and this one is much more of the "I haven't gone all out and become a full-blown whore" slutty type film, but it does have "easy" written all over it. She is easy, but she is also a good time...and you don't need to have an AIDS test afterward.

Where am I going with this? Nowhere, really. Saw 1 and 2 seemed to be more about Jigsaw's twisted way of having people face their shortcomings with some sort of torture device. How bad do you want to survive? This sort of thing. The permeating theme underneath this year's installation however, is forgiveness.

Forgiveness in a horror film? NO WAY, you say. I am serious. And Jigsaw isn't looking for the kind of forgiveness for someone taking your lunch money. He is asking for the forgiveness that you must bestow on someone who has given you a SOULWOUND. This is the truth. This is what lifts the Saw franchise above WRONG TURN or THE HILLS HAVE EYES.

If forgiveness isn't hard, then what is?

I wasn't even going to blog about this sub-par film that won't even show up if our society gets nuked and people go through the ashes in a thousand years. I wasn't going to give this film any credence, besides the fact that I was going to mention in conversation that NKOTB fokking owned this film. But then I was on Rotten Tomatoes this morning and I read a post from some religious zealot. The truth. We all want the truth. And I saw the TRUTH play out in this thread. The responses to this guy really hit home in my mind. So, into the didactic whirlpool you must go:

username999999 says:

Please understand the question. I am not asking if a Christian SHOULD see SAW III. I am not calling for a boycott.

My question is if a true Christian would be able to spend God's money and see such a horrific movie based on watching people suffering unbelievable pain and torment.

I believe some professing Christians are seeing this movie. Please post your opinion here and on our "Share Opinions and Ideas" topic. Also cast your vote on this topics poll at...

Bible Fourm

This is a standard question from a standard sterotypical Christian. WTF is a true Christian? I have no idea. But I like the way this bastard gets taken apart.

Noggy3230 responds with the blistering:

Yeah I am going to argue that Passion of Christ was a movie about torture simlar to Saw. I love the Saw series. They have been the most creative horror movies released in decades other than J-Horror films. It suppose to be entertaining thats it but if you want to bring religion into then I will.

Jigsaw only tortures people in order to help them in a sick way. He picks people have sinned so couldn't that be considered doing God's work? In the first movie, the girl that survived said that Jigsaw saved her life so you could say what that the tortures are justified.

Just don't look down on people that enjoy horror movies because they find them entertaining.

Finisher from the Bounty Hunter:

While SAW III is filled with violence, profanity, and nudity, a major theme of the movie is forgiveness. In that respect I would say that SAW III is morally higher than some of the drug and sex glorifying movies that are out there.

My opinion? If the movie can get this kind of thought and theory behind it,it can't be all bad, que no? I am not saying for one second that SAW 3 ranks up with THE DEPARTED or THE PRESTIGE for that matter...but there is some truth underneath it all, and that is what brings this franchise it's strength.

But on a final note, I think I am done with the franchise. The cliffhanger that was set up seems to me to be a little too tedious. Saw 3 is good. It has family values (err..the valuing of one's family). It has a moral standing (murder is not good). It has the quest for forgiveness. It also has a twisted old man trying to figure out what makes us all do what we do...from his deathbed. Don't take it too seriously, but understand that there is some truth here, folks. The kind of truth that you will not find in Silent Hill, Final Destination 3 or The House of Wax. Horror films. How far you have fallen? Why must I sing the praises of something slightly to the right of mediocre like Saw 3.

I think the truth of the matter here is that Hollywood and its regular consumers all need a serious enema. We are so far off the mark that it hurts. So far off of the mark that when something looks like it might be a nickel glistening on a pile of dogshit, we glom onto it. We are not looking for the diamond in the rough. We really should be looking, but it doesn't exist.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Cancer Ward

I thought about sitting here at this computer in the bowels of the Stanford Medical Center and talking smack as I usually do. I came into this sterile building sassy, full of caffeine and ready to do such a thing. I'd planned on drawing attention to all of the bullsh*t posturing I see all around me. I wanted to focus on the colorful personalities that surround me. I wanted to mock a bit, but then to also get some sort of view of the reckoning with thanatos that a lot of people around me are going through. I didn't realize that I would see so much futility and hopelessness in the countless eyes I have scrutinized today. The depression here is thick. Tar pit thick. The moments that I have had with these people have been grim. We are all contemplating mortality in our own ways.

I had planned to talk about what a good sport my father is as they bleed him dry and push saline solution through his open veins. I wanted to write a blog that would show you people what a badass my old man is. How he is staring down the barrel of the cancer cannon and he is stronger in some ways than I have ever seen him.

I wanted to elaborate on all of those points...and more, but I won't.

This place is f*cking depressing.

Monday, October 16, 2006

All I have in this world are my balls and my words.

Casson Demmon in response to my last blog about my Mustang:
What year is that?
I thought you were going to get a fixer upper, you got a fixted upted for sure.
I bought an old car too, I went for less power, its the slowest thing I've ever driven. Long, loaded down trucks flex on me because they know they have better acceleration.
Is this our version of an early midlife crisis? Should we get some hairplugs and start working out?

Look Pal,
A man gets married. Things are good. Then, the wife gets pregnant. Things start to really move. In my case, I was driving an '78 Mini Cooper when my wife got preggo. We had the kid and then it was the countdown till we got a new vehicle. Sure enough, Luther found out how to use his legs, and soon he could kick me in the back of the head from his little seat in the back of the Mini. It was time to move on. All around me were the hints and the proddings that I should get a minivan. That I should just reach into my pants with a boxcutter in lefty and slash my bag open, find the cords and saw my testicles off. I didn't want to clip my balls off. I didn't want to be a soprano driver. I wanted to live! Hey man...I like my nuts.

When I was a kid in Canada, some other kid told me that an ancient chinese torture was to cut your nuts off. That you would die instantly once they were clipped. That story haunts me to this day. It haunted me at that very minivan considering point of my life, and I wasn't about to have the bells slashed and tossed into a garbage disposal. No freaking way.

There is only one thing worse than a man with his balls in a garbage disposal because he is driving around in a mini-van. That is the man who uses the mini-van for his own transportation outside of his wife and kids. Any male who is rolling around (I don't care if he is going to the 7-11 for Similac) he had BETTER NOT DRIVE IN THAT MINIVAN without a passenger that demonstrates his need to use the minivan. This is the kind of man who has lost his member as well as the balls. The pork and the beans...GONE.

I was totally screwed. We had no income for a second vehicle, so we had to make the family vehicle COUNT. It had to count like Luke Skywalker's only photon torpedo shot at the Death Star. I couldn't risk the potential "driving around by myself in the minivan" scenario. I have some dignity. I have pride. I like my nuts. I didn't want people looking at me like I had once been a man. FOK THAT.

So I made the move on a Volkswagen Westfalia. VW Campervan does not equal a minivan. A VW van has class. It says "counterculture". It says, "I am going somewhere, and you aren't invited". It says "Woodstock". It says "Germany". It says "naptime". It also says "You are never in a hurry". In a lot of ways, it also says "FOK JOO". I won my battle against the minivans. Many nutless individuals that I know have not won this battle. Their balls pack the garbage disposals of motor city like some sort of vulgar egg factory getting ready to make a seriously compromised omlette. The switches are thrown once every two minutes in America. Every two minutes, a minivan is sold, and if you listen to the open air outside your office, you can hear testicles bouncing against the blades as water rushes down the sink. You can hear the balls getting flayed, shredded, wounded and sliced. You can hear the loss of manhood if you listen hard enough.

Huevos Rancheros, my friends.

Checkitout: Men who drive minivans have been neutered. This is an absolute. Furthermore, they KNOW that they have been neutered. There is no defense that they can offer in regards to this cold-hearted FACT. The duty of the rest of the males (with nuts intact) in their lives is not to remind the neutered males too often that their balls are in the fakking garbage disposal and the switch is still flipped and the blades are still chewing. There is a self-loathing that is involved here too. What man in his right mind pays big money to have his jewels torn from under his pudendum to be thrashed to bits in the whirling attack of a heartless, metal bitch? I have known such men. Stupid men. Men with no understanding of the phallic representation that the vehicle he drives carries. Men who traded in their hyper-phallic 4X4 vehicles for a mangina on thin tires.

Let's think more about this poor joe. Let's think about this pathetic sot, who cut off his own balls and dropped them in a garbage disposal because that was the only solution he could think of to move his family around. This sorry bastard will go for ten to twenty years driving around in a vehicle that states to all "testes-free". What a sorry lout. What a sucker. What a fokking she-male.

The most cynical part about this whole thing is that the bitches at the top of the auto industry know this. They sit around and make fun of the consumers. They say in their little closed door, donut and coffee meetings things like this:
"What is the ugliest fokking vehicle we can foist on the working family man?"
"How can we laugh at a fool for paying us twenty grand and feel good about it?"

Their aim is to make this misshapen castrati hungry. They know that if he buys a bland, no flavor having box with a name like "Voyager" that sooner or later, if this man ever returns from his nutless, zombie state, he will be a consumer FOR REALS. He will strap himself down with some serious debt to prove to all the men around him that he indeed has nuts, and that these nuts still work.
The auto industry tycoons' aim is to make this androgen want like nothing else to purchase a sports car. A car that he can ride down the street in and motherfuckers like myself won't point at him and yell things like, "Your nutsack is like a deflated balloon!"
So when that low-down sonofabitch finally clears, and the car seats are out and his kids can open and close doors by themselves and there isn't a steady trail of Cheerios behind him or in every last one of his jacket pockets, he makes a move on a different car.

Motherfuckers (not me, I understand the male desire to preserve/regenerate balls) step to this guy who is in his late forties or early fifties and they wonder why he picked up that sporty new vehicle. Why is he suddenly behind the wheel of a Corvette Stingray with the same sharktoothed hood that Mark Hammil had back in Corvette Summer? Why is this mildly paunchy, no fashion sense having father of the year suddenly rocking the Mustang? The Viper? The Challenger? The Dodge 300?


Society calls this "having a mid-life crisis" and a bunch of other trash. That is all bullshit. This issue has been going on as long as I have been alive. Back when I was a kid, I would see these pathetic-assed fathers trolling around in station wagons with the wood paneling (no offense Dad, you get a pass here). The minivan is the same damn thing, only modern. We all laugh. We all snicker and we all know that someone is missing their balls.

So, Casson, in response to your statement: NO. I am not having a mid-life crisis. I never lost my balls in the first place.