I'm a waste of space, anyone with two nickels to rub together can tell you that, mostly because I'm asking for his nickels. Sadly, there's nothing much I'm willing to do about that right now. I have given up and gone to the darker hipper side of life. That's right, I have entered the dark domain of William Burroughs and Darth Vader. Oh, uh...Willie for the literary, Darth for the phallic weaponry. Nothing says, too depressed to speak than a man holding an opened copy of Naked Lunch while clenching a lit up sword meant to double for his penis. Now, I'm afraid I've gone too far into my own blackened soul, wallowing in a deep, depressive funk I can't seem to rip myself out of. I'm suicidal, barely treading water in an ocean of my own self loathing, my mind, almost completely gone. I have taken to walking around my house nude for hours on end, muttering lines of scripture interspersed with Flintstones dialogue, occasionally I'll toss a yellow gold brick of Cap'n Crunch in my mouth...and sometimes missing. Crunch berries? I'm not good enough for Crunch Berries. I cry. I don't shave, I barely shower, as for the piss and shit...well, whatever doesn't end up on the floor...gets flung on the walls in fits of heated sobbing brought on by hatred of sinking in my own filth and my inability to properly fling it out windows. What am I to do?
I'm as sad as Thom Yorke is lazy eyed.
Nah, I'm fucking with you. I am a waste of space, I won't argue that, but, I'm not that depressed. I just piss away a lot of time. The easiest way to do that? Netflix, baby. If ever there was a program that filled a dreamy, empty meaningless need for a movieholic, DVD/Blu-ray junkie such as myself, Netflix is it. Ah, but, with anything this dreamy, there is a dark, annoying, bullshit side to everything that seems to be a shiny beacon of awesome. Like a wish granted from The Monkey's Paw, be careful what you wish for. Alright, you're staring at me like you need an example, so, here's one: Recently, I got into watching Newsradio, an awesome comedy show from the 90's. I watch it on Netflix and I'm almost to the end of Season 3, the last season available on Netflix. The series had 5 seasons altogether. Yeah, so, FUCK YOU, ELTON! AHAHAHAHAH. THE LAST TWO SEASONS ARE LAYING HERE, RIGHT NEXT TO "PERFECTION" AND THE ANSWER TO END THE ABORTION DEBATE! See. Dark bullshit side.
Fuck you very much, Elton!
So, with the "darkside" duly noted, I have found numerous films that have just plain fucking tricked me into watching them. Their promise of an interesting plot or established actor tainted my usually keen quality movie sensor and allowed in their horrible, horrible filth. Being taken by a con artist is a dreadful and humbling experience, I hear. It's never happened to me though. I'm probably gullible enough to get ripped off. My only recourse for my possible slow wit when being conned would be my inhuman penchant for extreme violence. To be taken by a program like Netflix, I just feel cheated in a small insignificant way. Why not share my cheated, used and violated feelings with you, my sweet, kind and indifferent reader. Here is some of the bullshit cinema ass rape I've contended with.
TiMER
What can I say about TiMER? Is it a horrible movie? Is it the cinema equivalent of an glass bottle to the mouth? Yes. Yes it fucking is. It's an asshole of a movie. Fuck you, TiMER. Fuck you for your promises, fuck you for what should have happened and didn't. Why you ask? I'll tell you why.
Timer, is the story of a vapid, shallow blonde bitch played by Emma Caulfield. You might know her as one of the characters on Buffy The Vampire Slayer. I don't know. I didn't watch that fucking show. I wish I didn't watch this hunk of shit either. Sorry, I just wish I could pluck this movie from my memory and replace it...maybe with a puppy memory. A fluffy puppy. No? How about a dead one? I'll take a dead puppy over this movie. No? How about a puppy...I killed, a puppy I killed with my own, bare, shame driven hands. Blood, shame and tear soaked hands. I'll take that over this movie. No? Well, fuck. Sorry, I digress.
Aren't we just soooo cute and empty, honey!
Yes, we are...yes. we. are.
She plays a 20 or 30 something chick whose sole infatuation is with when she's going to meet her "soul mate" or some such shit. This is determined by a timer that everyone has implanted in their wrists, it counts down to the exact instant you are to meet your "one true love". It only works if you and the chump you're destined for both have a timer. If they don't and you do, your shit doesn't activate. Get it? Yeah, it's pretty retarded. Ohhh, but, wait we're at the beginning of this horrid trip through Shitville. The dumb shit gets thicker here on in. The plot is basically this, the main lady's timer has yet to light up her sister's has but, it's an absurd amount of years in the future, because of this, she decides to basically be a whore. The premise, which flies off the rails later, is this: Is there really a one and only end all be all person for each of us or do you find that person by trial and error. The movie gears you toward the latter, which is a noble message of realistic love. You shouldn't live your life in any way chained to superstitious nonsense. Search out your love and you will find it. Kind of beautiful, right? Well, fuck all you know about love. The bitch goes with the Timer and it's dictation, eventually breaking a nice guys heart and throwing the moves on her sister's man. What a cunt.
The Nines
The Nine, The Nines...fuck The Nines. You would think, oh, Ryan Reynolds, okay, possibly funny. He has his hit and miss moments. Anyone see that turd with Sandra Bullock? Miss. I had never heard of The Nines, maybe I had found a lost gem, a Netflix diamond in the rough. Oh, and look at that, I now shit gold coins and piss Cristal. Great, that should ease my financial woes. The Nines is not a comedy. It's Ryan Reynolds doing the ONLY three ways Ryan Reynolds can act. Normal Ryan Reynolds, effeminate Ryan Reynolds and slightly more serious Ryan Reynolds...with a beard. THAT'S IT! Follow me here...imagine taking one of those surprisingly long shits, right? The kind of shit that...concerns you. The kind of dump that, when you turn around, look in the bowl, you think, "There's no fucking way that came out of me! I have to tell someone of this monstrosity of long fecal greatness that I has evacuated my body. Where's Mom?". Now, imagine laying that shit out on a news paper...and carefully, oh so carefully...cutting that dump...length wise. Okay, now, wipe that shit in your fucking eyes and scream, "Why! Why did I do this?!". That's what this movie is. Now, hate yourself.
Ryan Reynolds says, "Start the hating."
The Nines, is a movie in three parts with Ryan Reynolds playing the male lead in all three parts. The parts relate...sort of...and it's funny...eeehhh...not at all. It starts out kind of...well, it starts out. Ryan Reynolds plays an actor that freaks out, decides to smoke crack and drive drunk...oh, and get down with a fat black hooker. No joke. So, he ends up on house arrest, which he violates. Then, his blondie hot neighbor milf chick, is all about doing him and such because he's Ryan Reynolds. Anyway, they start talking about some shit about 9's. They don't get it, you don't get it. Ryan Reynolds ends the universe. Next Ryan Reynolds version? He's a t.v. writer...presumably gay. He writes a show that's going to be made, then, gets sabotaged by the hot neighbor from the previous incarnation, but, is now a t.v. exec. He slaps her, gets pissed, leaves in a huff and discovers he's in a real life version of The Sims.
I'm gay Ryan Reynolds. Hi.
Wha? Did I lose you. WAIT. Third incarnation of Ryan Reynolds, he's a video game creator or...something. He's hiking...or something, with his wife and kid. The car won't start so, he goes walking, alone, to find help. He runs into the blonde chick again, this time a hiker. She offers to help, ends up drugging him and we find out that Ryan Reynolds is God...or something. Oh...and he ends the universe...by pulling off a thready friend bracelet, like the kind elementary kids make, but, then he re-makes it. The universe, not the bracelet. I'm still not sure. It's fucking stupid. It'll make you feel stupid and also like Ryan Reynolds, somehow, owes you something for having wasted your fucking time watching it. Don't try to figure it out. It will just leave you hurt and dejected. Even with repeat viewing, the damage that would be done to the human brain would quickly out pace the ability to decipher the shit that is this movie. Look, any movie where Ryan Reynolds is a god...should not have been made. It should never have been made. It should be seen as little more than a thought exercise in what not to make into a movie. As a footnote, Ryan Reynolds playing three characters is actually a cheap joke perpetrated on the viewer...it must be. It has to be a joke because, the only character Ryan Reynolds is capable of playing...is Ryan fucking Reynolds...and gay Ryan Reynolds, which may be the real Ryan Reynolds.
Well, that's it for me. I'm off to romp through the storied mountains of Netflix to running it's peaks and valleys. Rolling with the classics...and occasionally, when the mood hits me take a chance on a movie. I could, in the off hand chance, maybe, find that diamond in the rough. That something special. Perhaps, my next favorite, an indie Citizen Kane or maybe a cool thriller or as yet undiscovered crime, thriller, sci-fi soft core porno bliss-ography with a great plot, story, acting and oooh so many nice tits...and hopefully without Ryan Reynolds done three ways.
Yep. Ryan Reynolds. Ryan Reynolds, aaaaannnd Ryan Reynolds.
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