Sunday, February 12, 2006

Snake Eyes is not a myth

From time to time, as some of you may know, my creative side gets the better of me and I'll belt out some work that may or may not be worth a crap. That being said, below is a picture I did of the famed character "Snake Eyes" (of G.I.Joe). He's a bad motherfucker and I think this picture captures just that. Enjoy!

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Kill the Bitch

Match Point: movie review
Directed by: Woody Allen
Starring: Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, Scarlett Johanssen, Emily Mortimer, Brian Cox

What, you don’t want to read my review of the new Woody Allen movie? Why not? You don’t like Woody Allen movies? Hmm. Well, neither do I. Except this one. So quit bein' choosy and read on you freakin' brat.

Truth be told, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen a Woody Allen movie for the very reason that it IS a Woody Allen movie. They all seem rather wordy and boring and pretentious, but I couldn’t say that unequivocally because I simply don’t know.

However, when it comes to Match Point, I do know. When I saw the trailer for this movie I thought it looked like a good “Fatal Attraction-like” thriller. Then, I saw Woody Allen’s name on it and was taken aback. It did not look like his normal coffee table dogshit. It actually looked interesting.

And it has cheating.

My wife and I, or rather, my wife, like the cheating movies. Infidelity is inherently interesting and sparks those feelings that regularly pulse through your brain when you’re attached to someone in a monogamous relationship. It’s great to watch the events unfold onscreen and, hopefully, not be able to relate to them in any type of nostalgic way.

And it’s good to look over at your significant other and put them in the situation of the characters onscreen.

“I swear, if you ever did that I’d…”
a) Cut your dick off
b) Blow your brains out
c) Take everything you have and leave
d) Kill your whole family
e) Burn your action figure collection

Anyways, Match Point involves an Irish Tennis Pro (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) who moves to England and meets some well-to-do folks at the Tennis Club he is teaching at and is quickly involved in their circle of life. He meets a woman (Emily Mortimer) and falls in love. Mortimer’s brother is engaged to the striking, American beauty Scarlett Johanssen, playing a struggling actress/sultry seductress. The Tennis Pro is instantly smitten, but still deeply cares for Mortimer.

Rhys-Meyers is dedicated to seeing Johanssen in every way he can. He is a sneaky little snake throughout the entire film and does everything he can to cover and slither his way through life, while manipulating everyone around him with every twist and turn of emotion and wording he can get through. And the truly interesting aspect of it is that he does all this without being utterly nasty about it. You actually kind of like the guy and want him to do well.

Eventually he marries Mortimer after Johanssen and the now-brother-in-law split. He starts to move on, but as fate would have it, he sees Johanssen again and simply can’t help himself. The pursuit is on again.

From this point on the affair is in full swing and it’s great to watch Rhys-Meyers snake his way through every situation and close call of being caught in the act. He handles it remarkably well and even though suspicions arise, no one truly believes that he is actually up to no good.

As with marriage, comes the pressure of squirting out a kid, and so Mortimer puts the squeeze on Rhys-Meyers for a rugrat. They try, but obviously all the good baby batter is being wasted on Johanssen, so…

…You guessed it, Johanssen gets knocked up first. BAM! Now, Rhys-Meyers is truly fucked and Johanssen’s sultry seductress becomes a raving psychopath that wants her Irish Tennis Pro all to herself and to raise her bun in the oven together and to once and for all leave his wife.

Rhys-Meyers, obviously in what some would call a “pickle,” decides there’s only one thing he can do…

Kill the Bitch.

I audibly laughed in the theater when he goes to get his father-in-law’s shotgun and plans out the crime, clumsy as it may have been. Here is a man that has shown absolutely that he has a conniving will and the cunning of a fox that would allow him to commit such an act and yet you somehow don’t want him to do it. You feel that there is something that would make him change his mind.


He kills the bitch. Blows her away. He kills the neighbor as well, robbing her to make it look like a botched robbery. Everything seems to have fallen into place.

He returns home and settles back in like nothing ever happened. He tosses the jewelry that he robbed from the neighbor and tosses it into a river, a single ring bouncing off the railing and falling back to the ground. This is to signify the “match point” that is associated with Tennis, where you can either win or lose the game with that one shot.

We are led to believe that the ring will cause him to “lose” the match. However, it turns out that it actually saves him.

After he kills Johannsen I actually wanted him to get caught and go to jail. But then, I thought about it some more and as the movie progressed to its conclusion and kept pulling the audience in either direction, I wanted him to get away with it.

The police get involved and one of the detectives figures the whole crime out in his head down to the intricate details. I figure that Rhys-Meyers is done. But no. The ring. The match point ring was picked up by some other criminal who was killed in another robbery, thereby linking him to the two deaths that Rhys-Meyers actually caused.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he gets away with it. I felt a pang of victory, although I don’t know why. Perhaps, because too many times we’ve seen the same movie where the husband or wife is punished and sent to prison and will feel sorrowful and repent his sins and that’s life.

Match Point gives us another take and it’s refreshing. It also gives me hope. Why you ask? Well, now I feel that I can have an affair and get away with it. Yep. That’s right.

So, if there are any women out there that want to have an affair with me, its game time, baby. It will be sweet, passionate, hot, dirty, and ultra-secretive. But…and this is a big but…

…If your ass gets knocked up and you go all psycho on me…

…I’m fuckin’ killin’ your ass with a shotgun…

Movie Grade: A

Friday, February 03, 2006

Where the fuck have I been??

I’ve gotten, like…two complaints that I haven’t updated my blogsite in a long while. I don’t want to be one to disappoint my fans, so I’ll give a brief update and hopefully crank out some ramblings over the weekend.

So, no I haven’t been kidnapped, had an operation, gone to a school, or began protesting with Cindy fucking Sheehan. I’ve just been…busy.

I promise to only spend one paragraph on the boredom that is my current state of transition in the Army (boring because it would take too long to explain everything, including the acronyms…I’d basically have to send you to boot camp and smoke your ass).

Fuck. Okay, two paragraphs. But, that’s it.

I have been in the same Company and Platoon since I arrived at Fort Richardson in 2002 and was offered the opportunity to “switch it up” and I took it. I am now part of a super secret squirrel outfit that is body guarding the CSM (Command Sergeant Major) and BC (Battalion Commander…I tell you these so that you’ll remember and I’ll never have to tell you again…take notes.)

Fuck. Seriously, three paragraphs and I’m done with the Army shit.

Yes, bodyguard. However, this allows me to do some bad ass training that I wouldn’t otherwise get (driving school, sigarms [fuck you, I’m not explaining…google it], blackhawk handgun school, submarine sabotage, experimental super soldier serum drug enhancements, penis enlargement (intimidation of the enemy), and razor-edged boomerang throwing school (take off an Insurgents head “Aussie-style”).

May as well go for four. You two deserve an explanation.

So, now I am in a super-secret organization and have a lot of pressure to perform at the top of my game, which is the reason for my absence (coupled with some bullshit field problems). We do PT (physical training…do I really have to tell you this?) twice a day and it’s pretty hardcore and grueling. We have to maintain a certain average that is not the norm for the majority of infantry soldiers. We have to jump through walls and shoot lasers out of our eyes, too.

I like odd numbers. Let’s keep it going. I like where I’m headed, even though I don’t know where that is. It just feels good and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight and do the Macarena.

Big changes for me and I’m all for it. Before I came into the Army I worked out six days a week with martial arts on Saturday. I was lookin’ and feelin’ pretty good and lived under the notion that joining the Army would make me look like Ryan Reynolds (more on him later).

The recruiters duped me. I should’ve known, watching them dunk doughnuts into their coffee as they told me how cool the Army was, that my physical transformation would be born of a whole different animal.

Upon arriving to Fort Rich I was thrown into a bit of a depression, seeing as I had no idea what to expect and didn’t like what I came to know as the Army way of life.

However, over time (and multiple deployments) I have begun to get myself back to where I want to be and this new job will allow me to leap forward to my goals and beat the shit out of Ryan Reynolds with a flick of my eyelashes.

Anyways, this has also caused me to change my diet immensely and man o man do I miss the carbs! Anyone who knows me well knows that I love doughnuts more than Keira Knightley in white silk panties and spiked on Ecstasy. Keira or toasted coconut doughnut? (it’s not donut you bastards! Stop butchering my language!), Keira or toasted coconut doughnut?…Keira feeding me a toasted coconut doughnut while in white silk panties and spiked on ecstasy AND the new episode of 24 playing in the background.


One thing of note; Could Hershey’s have picked a worse time to release the candy-coated kisses AND the peanut butter-filled kisses? Don’t they know what I’m going through? Those insensitive motherfuckers! I’m trying to think green and organic and they’re tossing the wonderful world of processed carbs with the pure beauty of chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, chocolate…

Where was I?

Right. Fuck Hershey’s. And Ryan Reynolds. Don’t get me wrong, I really like Ryan Reynolds. He’s funny and a good actor to boot and has a great penchant for action roles. I look forward to seeing where his career goes. But, much like women hating Lindsey Lohan and Jessica Simpson for setting a body image bar that far surpasses that of a large majority of women, Ryan Reynolds does the same to us guys.

Girls dream of the six pack and sweet pecs and bulging biceps all in a nice, cut frame (is this how gay guys describe men? Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have seen Brokeback Mountain). Men dream of…well, there’s no mystery there. We like chicks. With boobs. And a nice booty. And doughnuts. Oh, and a great personality.

Anyways, as America grows larger, which is in my view the natural course of things as body types have changed over the ages and always will, the struggle to become or maintain that perfect Adonis figure has become a nearly unattainable goal. However, I am of the belief that you can accomplish anything with dedication, will, and good old-fashioned hard work. And liposuction.

And so it is, that I am challenging Ryan Reynolds to a graphic design competition. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’ll whomp his ASS!! Take that Ab-ripped fuck face Van fucking Wilder! Yeah, watch me control the mouse, oh yeah…oh snap! Did you see that? Uh huh, you know it, Photoshop just done whupped up your chiseled ass!

What else did I want to talk about? Oh yeah…Superman. Since I began watching “Smallville” on DVD (19.95 everywhere during Christmas for all seasons…nice) I’ve kind of become “Smallville” obsessed and with the new Superman movie coming out this summer I’m even more jazzed (hey, let’s start using jazzed again…make it happen people).

Anyways, “Smallville” is laced with a nice layer of cheese but packed to the max with Superman mythology that most of the teenage girls that masturbate to Tom Welling don’t get because they’re too busy gossiping about the 90210 melodrama. Well, this cat is well known as a “comic book nerd” or “fanboy” and I get worked up on the same level over the comic book melodrama. So, we’re even I guess.

Oh, and fuck Tom Welling! He’s just like Ryan Reynolds! I wish NASA would invite them on a shuttle cruise and send those bitches into orbit somewhere along the Milky Way so we can all get fat and get a McDonalds IV that just pumps pureed Double Quarter Pounders into our bloodstream while we play video games and masturbate to internet porn AND NOT FEEL GUILTY AT ALL!!

Okay, all joking aside, Tom Welling is pretty cool. For those of you that don’t watch “Smallville” I’ll include a copyrighted picture so that Warner Brothers can sue me for my action figure collection and you can see who the fuck I’m talking about. I’m not gonna go into a rant about “Smallville” but it is a really fun show. I highly recommend it.

Also, if you’re not watching “24” then you’re not allowed to read my blog anymore. Seriously. Yes, you. Get out. Now. Go catch up then you can come back. For real. I’m not fuckin’ around. I’m not gonna explain my Jack Bauer references to those of you out of the loop. It is still the best fucking show on television and, YES, I do have to say fuck a lot because nothing drives the point home like a good “fuck.”

In other news, I’ve decided to never masturbate again.

Okay, enough with my “Dave Chapelle moments.” I’m not crazy. I just wanted to see if you were still paying attention.

All right, so onwards to my wrap up (yes, it has to end sometime). I saw some movies but they aren’t really worth reviews. Underworld: Evolution…more of the same but not enough. I can’t even remember the other one I saw, so it must have sucked like a Hoover with a full bag.

I’m going to see “Match Point” this weekend because the wife and me like movies about cheating. I may audiotape the conversation on the ride home and translate it to my blog for your enjoyment (how many of you are left? I need a headcount…and no that has nothing to do with blowjobs).

That’s it. My world keeps turning and I haven’t gone missing “Chapelle-style” nor have I turned my back on my expansive fan base. I’m still in love with you all and hope you keep coming back for more of my guiding wisdom, insight, and offensive humor.

And I’ll say “fuck” as much as possible.

Oh, you should watch this fucking trailer. You’ll laugh. Maybe pee a little.