Cover. Count it.
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(703): fucking a dude
(703): i mean: fucking a, dude
(703): wow, that comma made all the difference there
Sometimes you see things like this and you think “Wow Beave! The world sure is a swell and neat-o place!”
Other times you see things like this and wish that you had died on the toilet as a result of a thromoboembolism due to the inability to properly move your bowels long before you ever got the chance to truly enjoy the experience of kissing a girl for the very first time.
The picture really is cool though.
The Thursday Threespot
Just like the plague or any album released by Coldplay, summer movie season is officially upon us and there is nowhere to hide.
With no absolute slam dunks like The Dark Knight or Wall-E on the horizon, I figured I would take a couple of minutes to wade through the toxic waste dump of sequels, re-treads and Wayans Brothers projects to talk about three movies that I’m actually excited to pay to see.
We haven’t gotten anything from Tarantino since Death Proof kicked the crap out of Planet Terror as the second half of Grindhouse in 2007. Interesting spelling choices and American Idol appearances aside, the man usually knows exactly what he’s doing. Basterds is the passion project he’s been working on for the better part of the last decade. For those who don’t know the premise (and you can find the trailer right here) I’ll break it down for you right quick: Brad Pitt leads a group of 8 semi-psychotic Jewish-American soldiers through German occupied France during WWII. Their sole purpose is to make a serious dent in the Third Reich by brutally taking out as many “nat-zi’s” as they possibly can. Expect a dialogue heavy picture full of obscure music, bizarre character names, ridiculous deaths and historical inaccuracies. But also expect it to be totally original and beyond entertaining.
I’ve been hearing about this movie for the better part of a year now but only recently did I actually start seeing spots for it. Apatow, to me, is at his absolute best when he’s captaining his own ship. The man has a million production credits (and that number is only going to get more and more staggering as the years progress) but I don’t think any of the obnoxious Will Ferrell movies or Walk Hards are even in the same stratosphere as Freaks and Geeks, Undeclared and Knocked Up. The stories he likes to tell are complete. Of course they’re funny. But they’re also absurd. Uncomfortable. Gross. Touching. Emotional. And perhaps most important, realistic. I expect nothing less from Funny People. Interesting Fact: Apatow and Sandler were actually roommates in New York way back in their early 20’s. If you want to hear a pretty hilarious anecdote about it check out this clip at about the three minute and twenty second mark.
This one is the wildcard. I’m not exactly sure just what we’re going to get yet. All of the trailers seem like they’re trying to put this movie into the Kate Hudson Terrible, Horrible Date Movie Zone but I sincerely hope they’re just kind of skewing it to sell a couple of extra tickets. Everything I’ve read about it gives me hope that this movie is very much the exception and not the rule. From longtime music video director Marc Webb, 500 Days of Summer follows (the super awesome) Joseph Gordon Levitt as he meets, falls in love with and subsequently has his heart lawn-mowed by (Natalie Portman’s replacement as the pretentious indie nerds number one crush) Zooey Deschanel. The movie follows no specific timetable though as it careens back and forth through all 500 days of their relationship at random. From the time they initially locked eyes until the point where he’s convinced that he’s finally over her. The story lends itself to being more Garden State or Eternal Sunshine than 27 Dresses, and I sincerely hope that that is in fact the territory it ends up landing in.
And while we remain on the subject of summer movies there is one more very special person that I just have to address. Michael Bay, the first time I let all the transgressions slide. The fact they had mouths. The ridiculous advertising tie-ins. The flame decals. The fact that Optimus Prime said “My Bad.” I was just that excited to get to experience a live action Transformers movie in my lifetime. This time however, the gloves are coming off. If you fuck up this one anywhere near as bad as it appears that you have (Egypt? Seriously?) I am going to ride my bike to Hollywood, buy a map to the stars apartments, visit Martin Lawrence and make him give me your address, show up at your house and dropkick you in the dick so hard it will catapult you back to 2004 so that you can change your mind and let Scarlett Johansson show her boobs in The Island, thus ensuring the DVD will sell more than 18 copies.
And Spielberg? Consider yourself next.
It still weirds me out that this movie is over 10 years old. It seems like only yesterday I was watching it in this girl Tara’s basement while my dumb friend Derek kept trying to feel her up.
Two other things: 1. Go immediately listen to The Replacements song the movie is named after. 2. Denise Fleming is a tampon.
You Make The Call
You guys remember those old stupid NFL commercials right? Great! Let’s move on.
Well, just in case you don’t, they were ads they used to run during games where they would show you a play and let you assume the role of the referee and try to predict the outcome (or in the case of Ed Hochuli, tear telephone books in half with your mind).
So I figured I would roll through a couple of highlights from my Sunday and let you guys try and figure out what actually happened and what I wish had happened instead.
10 AM
I’m at my baseball game with my girlfriend and my dog. I manage to hit for the cycle in the first inning. I’m playing flawless defense at 1B and we’re up by 42 in the 4th when a passing ice cream truck experiences a Speed-style dilemma and must immediately unload all of it’s Chaco Taco’s (for free) or else Dennis Hopper detonates the bomb.
Or…
I’m at my baseball game with my girlfriend and my dog. I go 0-1 as I just miss a first pitch fastball I should have lined back into the pitcher’s face and ground out to the SS instead. I get yanked from the game because we are getting slaughtered and it doesn’t even look like my spot in the order is going to come up again (and this is just as my grandparents arrive to see one of my games for the very first time). We manage to hang around and my spot in the order comes up two more times and the only ice cream truck I encounter is blasting mariachi music and has bullet holes in it as a result of it only operating in the greater Maywood area.
3 PM
It’s about midway through the second period of the Hawks/Wings game and we’re up big and cruising toward a crucial series tying win. Cristobal Huet is earning every single cent of the 5.625 million we’re paying him this year and stopping every single shot the Wings throw at him, especially the limp wristed one the Johan Franzen flips toward the goal from 40 feet out with 20 seconds left in the first period. I totally dig his creepy playoff neard and don’t even mind that he used to have a Liam Neeson in Batman Begins style samurai ponytail.
Or…
I want to stab Cristobal Huet in the fact with a machete made out of various metal alloys, AIDS and (an even more lethal substance) pubic hair from the crotch of Daisy of Love.
6 PM
I’m hanging out at my brother’s house and eating delicious meat he’s prepared with Coca Cola barbeque sauce he made specially for his cookout. We’re talking and drinking with my sister and all of his friends I don’t get to hang out with nearly enough. After that I bike over to my friend Grant’s house to partake in this taco meat he actually has shipped to him from Texas and has been telling me about for years. We sit on the porch with his wife Heather, his 5 month-old daughter Emmy and all of the other dudes from my baseball team stuffing our faces until Rachel and I ride home hand in hand singing Toto songs to each other the whole way.
Or…
I’m passed out face down in my bed with Seinfeld DVD’s playing in the background as a result of only getting 4 hours of sleep between the time I got home from work last night and the time I had to get up to head to said slaughter ruling. I awake to the sound of my (now drunken) girlfriend returning home with breath that smells like Christian Slater and my stomach is growling and bereft of any sort of meat whatsoever. I go to the bathroom and notice that not only did I do some more awesome work on my farmer’s tan but I also have sweet wristband lines on my arm now as well.
11 PM
I’m spending loads of quality time with my girlfriend because it’s one of the truly rare instances where she doesn’t have to get up at the buttcrack to bust her ass at work all day. We walk Willis around the boulevard all night without him trying to eat any plastic wrappers, grass clippings or dead birds and manage to avoid all of the weird “You have a dog? I have a dog! Let’s talk about them for hours!” cult people that always seem to be lurking in our neighborhood. We sit on the front porch eating ice cream and playing Your Car/My Car until we both decide to call it a night and drift off peacefully to sleep together in the spoon position.
Or…
Rachel has already been asleep for an hour or so after making it through the first 4 minutes of Shaun of the Dead. I’m sitting in the living room with the laptop typing out this nonsense while the dog keeps trying to eat my socks (which are still currently on my feet) and Melby is pausing various scenes in Get Smart so that he can try to see Anne Hathaway in her underpants.
Anyways, tomorrow is Memorial Day and I hope you guys all have awesome plans to go out and stuff your faces (because seriously, what else is America about if not overeating and the subsequent shame that immediately follows it?). If the weather holds up I think we’re talking about grilling, making some smores and busting out the DVD projector so that we can watch Indiana Jones movies in the backyard.
And this is probably going to be the most important link I ever post on this site. It is every single line Tracy Jordan said on Season Three of 30 Rock. Feel free to read them all and enjoy the hilarity totally out of context or you can just wait until I post them all individually on Twitter instead.
And The World Would Be A Better Place Without…
People Who Want To Be Vampires
It was bad enough when I was in High School and it was just two or three weirdos who worked stage crew and would get together every Friday night to recite Interview With The Vampire to each other. These days it seems it is an all out pandemic.
Gone is the golden era of the 90’s when only one out of every twenty five or so episodes of Maury Povich was dedicated to people who had ridiculous dental procedures to give themselves fangs and spent all day sleeping in race car beds coffins in their parent’s basements so that they could emerge at night in search of (fellow) virgins, Funyuns and Big Gulps.
At least then the cults would occasionally off a parent or two in their quest to become creatures of the night (and by the by Rod, pretty sure Dracula wouldn’t have used a crowbar).
With Twilight now replacing Harry Potter as the most popular book meant for 11 year-olds yet somehow worshipped by adults and that horrible HBO show where Anna Paquin shows her boobs all of the time and hangs out with vampires in the south (I done want to suck your blood, y’all) coming back for another season it appears as though there is no end in sight.
Don’t worry though. Me, Rudy, Frankenstein, Horace, Phoebe and Scary German Guy are totally on top of this shit. Does anyone know what a “ver-shin” is though? And maybe where we might find one?
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