Hey. Back. This is a good thing, take my word for it. I am fully aware that the last couple of years have seen my output dwindle, and my readership with it. I'm fairly certain I'm sleeping with the only person who reads this anymore. Bah well.
I took a look at a British newspaper today, although I use the term 'newspaper' loosely. I don't know if it was one of the proper tabloids, per se, but it took a mighty stab at it. What a load of shit. The first half-dozen pages were about illegal immigrants, and how they're slipping through the cracks and not conforming to 'British values'. Then the really important news started. Namely, Jude Law's apparent siring of another bastard child with another model. Now, I don't know about you, but I really don't give a fuck. But I read bits of the article anyway. I think the stand-out section was the interview with this model's 80-year-old grandmother, who expressed her sincere belief that Law had taken advantage of her precious granddaughter. Who is 24. I'm sorry, but doesn't there come a point when the "but I'm just a kid" defense begins to wear a bit thin? Twenty-four. Hardly plucked off the jungle gym. Maybe - just maybe - she thought Jude Law was dreamy and wanted his junk all up in her junk. I'm fairly certain girls occasionally want to do it, even ones as distressingly young as whasserface. Oh, and the grandmother was going on about how 'I know it takes two and everything, but he really should have prevented this [the pregnancy] from happening.' Talk about a sweet deal. She bears no moral responsibility for what she's done, will have a genetic freak of an attractive child and will receive retarded amounts of money from Law for the next eighteen-or-so years. Now, Jude Law might be the world's biggest asshole, for all I know, but that's not really the point. The point is, this shit is not news, nor is the horny 24-year-old model's grandmother an authoritative source on anything apart from being a gin-soaked war bride. I really hope the DNA tests prove the kid is someone else's. Even better, I hope the kid comes out brown. Really brown. Like, illegal Somali immigrant brown. Now that would be news. Oh man yeah.
This also caught my eye and is, I think, actually worth mentioning. Not the main point of the article, just the bit where Doug Finley complains about the fact that there is "no respite” from the Liberals' “attempts to smear Stephen Harper.” Sweet, huh? Didn't the Conservatives base their entire campaign in the last election - and well beforehand - on what a useless wiener Dion was? I seem to remember something like that. And aren't they now airing ads smearing Ignatieff as an elitist carpetbagger? Wow do I ever hate that whole nest of amateurish, cynical, out-of-touch douchebags. I really loathe them all severely. There is nothing good you can say about them. It's best if nobody even speak a quasi-positive word about them in my presence anymore. I bear no responsibility for my actions if you do. If Jude Law's new wang ornament can do it, so can I.
lycradog
Monday, August 03, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
bram stoker is rolling over in his coffin
So I did something last night I had sworn I would not do. I watched … “Twilight”. Look, fuck off, ok? I told you my movie selection was limited and I’m in the bile duct of humanity. It was either that or Final Destination 3, and that shit ain’t happenin’. Yet. Anyway, as soon as I heard about this phenomenon I told myself I would have none of it, especially when they said it was the “next Harry Potter,” which I found powerfully insulting. A teen girl romance series about vampires? I think we all know what this is about before we even read/watch it, don’t you? And this is precisely why I watched the movie: to see if I was right.
Before the movie started, I opened Word and wrote down the following:
“Angsty teen girl meets mysterious dreamboat who turns out to be a vampire, and she pursues a romance with him not in spite of the fact that he is the undead, but rather largely because of that fact. He feels some sort of powerful, inexplicable attraction to her, but is afraid he might end up killing her. He saves her life at least once, likely twice: once to get her hooked and once to reel her in. They probably end up together at the end, but since there are more books/movies on the way, they might leave us hanging.”
So, with my prediction permanently enshrined in indestructible binary code, I pressed ‘Bullshit’. Wait, I mean ‘Play’.
The movie focuses around two characters: Bella and Edward. Seriously, those are their names. "Was this story actually written by a 15-year-old girl?" I asked myself. Anyway, Bella is a brooding teenager who moves to some shithole town in the Pacific Northwest to spend time with her Daddy. She has trouble fitting in at school, at least at first. Then she meets some other rejects and voila. She has black hair and pale skin. Edward – who I couldn’t think of as anything but “Diggory” – spends his first couple of scenes in such a deep, all-encompassing smoulder that I thought he was going to implode right there on screen. He has this look on his face like he has to shit and puke at the same time, and he’s trying to decide which will be less embarrassing in public. I came to think of this look as ‘shitmouth’.
The first little while is basically just a few disjointed scenes depicting Bella and Diggory’s obvious attraction to one another. But Bella is confused, because apart from the occasional shitmouthed glance, Diggory totally avoids her. As is the case with most vagina-havers, this strategy of ignoring her works like a charm, if, unlike Diggory, your strategy is to win the attentions and affections of the ignoree (shut up, it’s true). In Diggory's case, this is called 'backfiring'. It backfires so badly, in fact, that before the movie is 30 minutes old I was convinced she was going to rape him. However, that might have been wishful thinking, like, “Gee, I wish something would happen.” Eventually something does. One day a guy almost crashes a minivan into her face, and Diggory races across the parking lot, pushes her out of the way and stops the van with one hand, which I’ll admit was a pretty bitchin’ move. She wakes up later in hospital, which, incidentally, makes no sense; nothing happened to her – Diggory saved her ass, which was the point of the scene. My theory is that Diggory’s display of naked heroism made her so wet that she almost drowned from the inside out, which required a visit to the hospital. Until you can prove me wrong that’s what I’m sticking with. Anyway, Bella then confronts Diggory, asking him, basically, ‘WTF?’, which I thought was fairly on-the-ball for a chick her age. I expected her to just fall head over heels and defend him when other people started asking questions. You know, “He’s complicated!” or, “You just don’t want us to be together!” or, “You don’t understand!” Shit like that. On the contrary, Bella wants answers. Bizarrely, nobody else does. Bella seems to be the only one who noticed Diggory run the fifty-yard dash in 0.02 seconds and stop a van with his bare hands. You’d think the guy with the giant dent in the side of his van, at least, would be curious. Or, you know, Bella’s police chief father. But whatever. This inconsistency is rapidly eclipsed by Diggory’s response to Bella’s inquiries. Diggory, who is, as one suspects right away, far older than his outward appearance would suggest, has somehow never managed to concoct a list of ready-made excuses that he could use in the event that he ever had to explain away odd, vampiric behaviour. He just tells her she was, you know, seeing things. Smooth.
So from here on, Bella and Diggory’s relationship blossoms with remarkable speed, reaching a level of complication and weirdness that usually takes kids that age at least a month. Otherwise, they behave much like real teenagers, only about a zillion times more earnest. Bella proceeds to become totally obsessed with Diggory, despite fairly clear, frank warnings – from the dark weirdo himself – that she should stay away from him. Again, you’d think that an immortal creature would have learned a little more about human behaviour in his, as we find out later, 107 years. “Let me think. I’m a dreamy dreamboat, but I’m a creature of the night and I’m afraid I might eat this chick’s face. How can I get her to stay away from me? I know! I’ll tell her to avoid me because I’m nothing but trouble!” Good strategy, Rommel. Obviously, this backfires also, so Diggory takes a new tack. One day he brings Bella up a mountain to show her who he really is, in the hopes that this will convince her he’s, you know, risky. Well, he goes about this all wrong, too. First off, he runs up the side of the mountain at about 300kph. While carrying her. Then he shows off his superhuman strength, reveals that he can read minds, and that in the sunlight, his fucking skin actually sparkles like it’s covered in diamonds. Gee, I wonder if a woman wrote this story… *Googles it*… Yep. So needless to say, Bella’s hooked. Like, caffeine meets heroin meets tobacco meets a hooker meets an actual hook hooked. My irritation is occasionally interrupted by pangs of envy, which are in turn eclipsed by the recognition that, vampire or no vampire, Voldemort could still kick his little monkey ass.
Bella, unsurprisingly, takes the news that her beau is, you know, a monster, quite well on the whole. Why, you ask? Well you see, he could be an anus-devouring Mafioso Predator Nazi and it wouldn’t matter; cheekbones + tussled hair + broodiness + radiating the 'stay away from me or you'll end up hurt' vibe = recipe for success! Far from encouraging her to reconsider, the vampirism seals the deal. If his shitmouth had actually begun manifesting itself in intermittent bouts of projectile vomiting and diarrhea, it wouldn't have mattered. Vampres - get - bitches.
I will admit, however, that when they finally kiss: O.M.G! ... *Ahem* Trouble here is that if he actually touches her intimately, he starts to get the urge to, you know, brutally murder her, so all they can do is cuddle. Nothing but incessant cuddling and staring wistfully into one another’s eyes. Hang on, going to double-check… *Googles author again*… Yep.
Look, that’s basically it. Some other shit happens, like some other vampires show up and want to kill her and Diggory saves her ass again and blah blah blah. Oh, and she tries to convince him to turn her into a vampire. I can only assume this is an attempt to one-up her girlfriends; if she’s a vampire, then when she says they’ll be together for “like, ever and ever”, she’ll actually mean it. Eternity = checkmate, bitches.
Oh, and there is some weird, tacked-on bit involving some First Nations people who, naturally, know about the vampires and share with them several intense staring scenes.
I’m not sure if the story was written as an ironic statement about how fucking stupid young girls are, but boy does it ever come off that way. I mean, this guy actually tells her, explicitly, that he is a custom-designed killing machine, that he has murdered people before and that he has trouble resisting the urge to drain her body of blood. But she is unbowed. “Oh I don’t care! Our love is all that matters! Do me you sexy bastard!” I can change him, she thinks. He’s the ultimate project hunk.
I sincerely hope this series ends with him killing her. In the final scene of the book/movie, they're kissing passionately after he saves her for the umpteenth time, when he finally loses it. He sinks his teeth into her neck and goes to town, draining every drop of Type Dumb Negative blood from her body as she stares helplessly at the ceiling, wondering what went wrong. Then, wiping a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth, he looks down into her fading eyes and says, "What did I tell you?" Roll credits.
Conclusion, this piece of bullshit was exactly what I expected it to be, down to the letter. The only quirky little detail they threw in was the good vampire/bad vampire thing, which hardly counts as redemption. Next Harry Potter my nuts.
I give this film one half-star, for the Radiohead song at the end.
lycradog
Before the movie started, I opened Word and wrote down the following:
“Angsty teen girl meets mysterious dreamboat who turns out to be a vampire, and she pursues a romance with him not in spite of the fact that he is the undead, but rather largely because of that fact. He feels some sort of powerful, inexplicable attraction to her, but is afraid he might end up killing her. He saves her life at least once, likely twice: once to get her hooked and once to reel her in. They probably end up together at the end, but since there are more books/movies on the way, they might leave us hanging.”
So, with my prediction permanently enshrined in indestructible binary code, I pressed ‘Bullshit’. Wait, I mean ‘Play’.
The movie focuses around two characters: Bella and Edward. Seriously, those are their names. "Was this story actually written by a 15-year-old girl?" I asked myself. Anyway, Bella is a brooding teenager who moves to some shithole town in the Pacific Northwest to spend time with her Daddy. She has trouble fitting in at school, at least at first. Then she meets some other rejects and voila. She has black hair and pale skin. Edward – who I couldn’t think of as anything but “Diggory” – spends his first couple of scenes in such a deep, all-encompassing smoulder that I thought he was going to implode right there on screen. He has this look on his face like he has to shit and puke at the same time, and he’s trying to decide which will be less embarrassing in public. I came to think of this look as ‘shitmouth’.
The first little while is basically just a few disjointed scenes depicting Bella and Diggory’s obvious attraction to one another. But Bella is confused, because apart from the occasional shitmouthed glance, Diggory totally avoids her. As is the case with most vagina-havers, this strategy of ignoring her works like a charm, if, unlike Diggory, your strategy is to win the attentions and affections of the ignoree (shut up, it’s true). In Diggory's case, this is called 'backfiring'. It backfires so badly, in fact, that before the movie is 30 minutes old I was convinced she was going to rape him. However, that might have been wishful thinking, like, “Gee, I wish something would happen.” Eventually something does. One day a guy almost crashes a minivan into her face, and Diggory races across the parking lot, pushes her out of the way and stops the van with one hand, which I’ll admit was a pretty bitchin’ move. She wakes up later in hospital, which, incidentally, makes no sense; nothing happened to her – Diggory saved her ass, which was the point of the scene. My theory is that Diggory’s display of naked heroism made her so wet that she almost drowned from the inside out, which required a visit to the hospital. Until you can prove me wrong that’s what I’m sticking with. Anyway, Bella then confronts Diggory, asking him, basically, ‘WTF?’, which I thought was fairly on-the-ball for a chick her age. I expected her to just fall head over heels and defend him when other people started asking questions. You know, “He’s complicated!” or, “You just don’t want us to be together!” or, “You don’t understand!” Shit like that. On the contrary, Bella wants answers. Bizarrely, nobody else does. Bella seems to be the only one who noticed Diggory run the fifty-yard dash in 0.02 seconds and stop a van with his bare hands. You’d think the guy with the giant dent in the side of his van, at least, would be curious. Or, you know, Bella’s police chief father. But whatever. This inconsistency is rapidly eclipsed by Diggory’s response to Bella’s inquiries. Diggory, who is, as one suspects right away, far older than his outward appearance would suggest, has somehow never managed to concoct a list of ready-made excuses that he could use in the event that he ever had to explain away odd, vampiric behaviour. He just tells her she was, you know, seeing things. Smooth.
So from here on, Bella and Diggory’s relationship blossoms with remarkable speed, reaching a level of complication and weirdness that usually takes kids that age at least a month. Otherwise, they behave much like real teenagers, only about a zillion times more earnest. Bella proceeds to become totally obsessed with Diggory, despite fairly clear, frank warnings – from the dark weirdo himself – that she should stay away from him. Again, you’d think that an immortal creature would have learned a little more about human behaviour in his, as we find out later, 107 years. “Let me think. I’m a dreamy dreamboat, but I’m a creature of the night and I’m afraid I might eat this chick’s face. How can I get her to stay away from me? I know! I’ll tell her to avoid me because I’m nothing but trouble!” Good strategy, Rommel. Obviously, this backfires also, so Diggory takes a new tack. One day he brings Bella up a mountain to show her who he really is, in the hopes that this will convince her he’s, you know, risky. Well, he goes about this all wrong, too. First off, he runs up the side of the mountain at about 300kph. While carrying her. Then he shows off his superhuman strength, reveals that he can read minds, and that in the sunlight, his fucking skin actually sparkles like it’s covered in diamonds. Gee, I wonder if a woman wrote this story… *Googles it*… Yep. So needless to say, Bella’s hooked. Like, caffeine meets heroin meets tobacco meets a hooker meets an actual hook hooked. My irritation is occasionally interrupted by pangs of envy, which are in turn eclipsed by the recognition that, vampire or no vampire, Voldemort could still kick his little monkey ass.
Bella, unsurprisingly, takes the news that her beau is, you know, a monster, quite well on the whole. Why, you ask? Well you see, he could be an anus-devouring Mafioso Predator Nazi and it wouldn’t matter; cheekbones + tussled hair + broodiness + radiating the 'stay away from me or you'll end up hurt' vibe = recipe for success! Far from encouraging her to reconsider, the vampirism seals the deal. If his shitmouth had actually begun manifesting itself in intermittent bouts of projectile vomiting and diarrhea, it wouldn't have mattered. Vampres - get - bitches.
I will admit, however, that when they finally kiss: O.M.G! ... *Ahem* Trouble here is that if he actually touches her intimately, he starts to get the urge to, you know, brutally murder her, so all they can do is cuddle. Nothing but incessant cuddling and staring wistfully into one another’s eyes. Hang on, going to double-check… *Googles author again*… Yep.
Look, that’s basically it. Some other shit happens, like some other vampires show up and want to kill her and Diggory saves her ass again and blah blah blah. Oh, and she tries to convince him to turn her into a vampire. I can only assume this is an attempt to one-up her girlfriends; if she’s a vampire, then when she says they’ll be together for “like, ever and ever”, she’ll actually mean it. Eternity = checkmate, bitches.
Oh, and there is some weird, tacked-on bit involving some First Nations people who, naturally, know about the vampires and share with them several intense staring scenes.
I’m not sure if the story was written as an ironic statement about how fucking stupid young girls are, but boy does it ever come off that way. I mean, this guy actually tells her, explicitly, that he is a custom-designed killing machine, that he has murdered people before and that he has trouble resisting the urge to drain her body of blood. But she is unbowed. “Oh I don’t care! Our love is all that matters! Do me you sexy bastard!” I can change him, she thinks. He’s the ultimate project hunk.
I sincerely hope this series ends with him killing her. In the final scene of the book/movie, they're kissing passionately after he saves her for the umpteenth time, when he finally loses it. He sinks his teeth into her neck and goes to town, draining every drop of Type Dumb Negative blood from her body as she stares helplessly at the ceiling, wondering what went wrong. Then, wiping a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth, he looks down into her fading eyes and says, "What did I tell you?" Roll credits.
Conclusion, this piece of bullshit was exactly what I expected it to be, down to the letter. The only quirky little detail they threw in was the good vampire/bad vampire thing, which hardly counts as redemption. Next Harry Potter my nuts.
I give this film one half-star, for the Radiohead song at the end.
lycradog
Saturday, May 23, 2009
vacation spots to avoid: summersisle
So I don’t often do film reviews, but this one was definitely called for. Last night I watched “Wicker Man”. The remake with Nicholas Cage. (My DVD selection leaves a lot to be desired right now.) I have not seen the original. Now, I like Twilight Zone-esque movies where good does not triumph and you get a glimpse into a dark little world, giving you the feeling like it’s always been there and will continue long after you’ve finished watching. That stuff is just neato. But ‘Wicker Man’ was not quite so neato. Head’s up, I’m going to ruin the movie for you.
What a bunch of dumb shit. Nicholas Cage goes to this island after getting a letter from his ex-fiancée saying her daughter has gone missing. First off, tough nuts babe. You leave me, get knocked up and have a kid which you then proceed to lose, well, you’re on your own. Yeah, I said it. Suck it. I mean sure, the kid obviously turns out to be his, because it’s a movie, but in real life I’d at least write a letter back before I went traipsing off to some dude-forsaken shithole looking for some kid who, as far as I know, is just a walking reminder of some other dude’s junk all up in my ex-lady’s junk. Fuck. That. I’d be all:
“Dear Traitorous Harlot,
Is the kid mine? Check the box:
□ Yes. I’m a total whore who took your sperm and ran. Now that I’m in more trouble than I can deal with on my own, I need you.
□ No. After I left you I became a groupie for a third-tier rap-metal outfit called ‘Ass Menu’ and now I’m the bass player’s Baby Mama. But I, like, lost it, and now he’s on tour in Stockholm, so I figured I’d ask you to help.
If you checked ‘A’, I might come help you, although frankly I’m still on the fence. If you checked ‘B’, well, I suggest you give Gunther a call, biatch, and tell that sucka to wrap his shit next time.
Cage out”
But what does Nicky do? He goes gallivanting off to some freaky chick commune in the middle of nowhere, for two very stupid reasons: a) he’s a whiny little shite who can’t get over his ex, and b) he had some weirdo experience with a little blond girl in a car on the side of the road (not what it sounds like) – which is never explained, by the way – and this somehow prompts him to go to some place with no phones to help some slizzat for some reason. Not a good beginning.
So he gets there, and it’s nothing but chicks. Cranky chicks. No dudes at all, except the odd deaf mute wiener skulking around bein’ all meek. To make a long story short, he spends a few days pissing around the island trying to figure out where the little girl went getting no help from anyone, including the kid’s mother. He eventually gets lured into a trap and burned alive in a giant wicker man. Now first of all, why these women need to go through the song and dance of dicking this poor bastard around for a few days is beyond me. As soon as he arrives on shore, wait for him to turn around, whack him in the back of the head with a rolling pin and bam, you got your sacrificial lamb. But oh no, they need their little drama. Mind you, it’s an island full of matriarchal pagan nutjobs dancing around in bird masks and asking the sky to improve the honey harvest; what the hell else would you expect?
Second, if you’re Cage, you gotta see that something not so awesome is coming at some point. Just go down to the shore, get in the water, swim back to the mainland, get a bunch of swat motherfuckers and some boats, go back to the island and clean house. Bam! I mean really. For example, did he actually think an island full of Celtic Feminazis (like, real ones) was going to burn a small girl alive at the stake? I mean come on, Nick – that just doesn’t make any fucking sense.
And what in the hell is up with the dudes on this island? I know being used for breeding sounds awesome and everything, but I bet it isn’t. I’m sorry, but this is just totally unrealistic. At some point, one or more of these guys is going to clue into one simple, inescapable physiological fact: “Hey guys. We’re, like, bigger and stronger than these crazy bitches. Maybe we could, you know, stop acting like little pussies and start throwing our weight around a little?” Seriously. Give me an effin’ break. A pagan cult executing random dudes they’ve spent years luring into their fiendish trap? Fine, I’ll buy that. But a bunch of dudes getting pushed around by Ellen Burstyn and Leelee Sobieski? Come the fuck on. I’m sorry, but no. Just no.
And another thing: a bunch of earthy hippy-dippy goddess mother women running around in costumes bein’ all girl power and none of them get naked and do it? Bull. Shit.
And why did they kill the pilot who brought Cage to the island? It made sense when we thought they didn’t want him there, but when we find out they intentionally engineered his arrival on the island the murder of the poor pilot just seems pointless.
As far as the end goes, I’m sorry. First of all, the women resort to using one of the dudes to bring Cage down. Fucking typical. I’d have appealed to our common dudeliness and talked the guy into helping me out. Then we’d have been all, “Oh hell no you wack bitches. Take somma BAM! And how’s about a little bitta BA-BAM!” Shit woulda been over real quick. He had the right idea when he slammed that one frumpy babe in the face, but he went soft.
I give this film zero stars. All they had to do was throw in a boob and they’d have gotten themselves a star. But oh no.
lycradog
What a bunch of dumb shit. Nicholas Cage goes to this island after getting a letter from his ex-fiancée saying her daughter has gone missing. First off, tough nuts babe. You leave me, get knocked up and have a kid which you then proceed to lose, well, you’re on your own. Yeah, I said it. Suck it. I mean sure, the kid obviously turns out to be his, because it’s a movie, but in real life I’d at least write a letter back before I went traipsing off to some dude-forsaken shithole looking for some kid who, as far as I know, is just a walking reminder of some other dude’s junk all up in my ex-lady’s junk. Fuck. That. I’d be all:
“Dear Traitorous Harlot,
Is the kid mine? Check the box:
□ Yes. I’m a total whore who took your sperm and ran. Now that I’m in more trouble than I can deal with on my own, I need you.
□ No. After I left you I became a groupie for a third-tier rap-metal outfit called ‘Ass Menu’ and now I’m the bass player’s Baby Mama. But I, like, lost it, and now he’s on tour in Stockholm, so I figured I’d ask you to help.
If you checked ‘A’, I might come help you, although frankly I’m still on the fence. If you checked ‘B’, well, I suggest you give Gunther a call, biatch, and tell that sucka to wrap his shit next time.
Cage out”
But what does Nicky do? He goes gallivanting off to some freaky chick commune in the middle of nowhere, for two very stupid reasons: a) he’s a whiny little shite who can’t get over his ex, and b) he had some weirdo experience with a little blond girl in a car on the side of the road (not what it sounds like) – which is never explained, by the way – and this somehow prompts him to go to some place with no phones to help some slizzat for some reason. Not a good beginning.
So he gets there, and it’s nothing but chicks. Cranky chicks. No dudes at all, except the odd deaf mute wiener skulking around bein’ all meek. To make a long story short, he spends a few days pissing around the island trying to figure out where the little girl went getting no help from anyone, including the kid’s mother. He eventually gets lured into a trap and burned alive in a giant wicker man. Now first of all, why these women need to go through the song and dance of dicking this poor bastard around for a few days is beyond me. As soon as he arrives on shore, wait for him to turn around, whack him in the back of the head with a rolling pin and bam, you got your sacrificial lamb. But oh no, they need their little drama. Mind you, it’s an island full of matriarchal pagan nutjobs dancing around in bird masks and asking the sky to improve the honey harvest; what the hell else would you expect?
Second, if you’re Cage, you gotta see that something not so awesome is coming at some point. Just go down to the shore, get in the water, swim back to the mainland, get a bunch of swat motherfuckers and some boats, go back to the island and clean house. Bam! I mean really. For example, did he actually think an island full of Celtic Feminazis (like, real ones) was going to burn a small girl alive at the stake? I mean come on, Nick – that just doesn’t make any fucking sense.
And what in the hell is up with the dudes on this island? I know being used for breeding sounds awesome and everything, but I bet it isn’t. I’m sorry, but this is just totally unrealistic. At some point, one or more of these guys is going to clue into one simple, inescapable physiological fact: “Hey guys. We’re, like, bigger and stronger than these crazy bitches. Maybe we could, you know, stop acting like little pussies and start throwing our weight around a little?” Seriously. Give me an effin’ break. A pagan cult executing random dudes they’ve spent years luring into their fiendish trap? Fine, I’ll buy that. But a bunch of dudes getting pushed around by Ellen Burstyn and Leelee Sobieski? Come the fuck on. I’m sorry, but no. Just no.
And another thing: a bunch of earthy hippy-dippy goddess mother women running around in costumes bein’ all girl power and none of them get naked and do it? Bull. Shit.
And why did they kill the pilot who brought Cage to the island? It made sense when we thought they didn’t want him there, but when we find out they intentionally engineered his arrival on the island the murder of the poor pilot just seems pointless.
As far as the end goes, I’m sorry. First of all, the women resort to using one of the dudes to bring Cage down. Fucking typical. I’d have appealed to our common dudeliness and talked the guy into helping me out. Then we’d have been all, “Oh hell no you wack bitches. Take somma BAM! And how’s about a little bitta BA-BAM!” Shit woulda been over real quick. He had the right idea when he slammed that one frumpy babe in the face, but he went soft.
I give this film zero stars. All they had to do was throw in a boob and they’d have gotten themselves a star. But oh no.
lycradog
Friday, May 08, 2009
open door policy
Have you ever heard the phrase “open door policy”? It’s what a boss will say to you when they want to earn your trust. It’s like saying you have an, “I’m not a massive fucktard” policy. “Come on in any time,” they’ll say. “My door is always open.” Now, their doors are obviously not, in the most literal sense, always open. Sometimes they close their doors. And when the door is closed, well, it isn’t “open”. What some people don’t seem to realise is that there is a very simple, generally well-understood system for knowing if a person’s door is “open”. And here it is: Look at the door. Is it open? Then it’s fucking “open”. Is it closed? Then it is not “open”. That’s not to say there aren’t some shades of grey – there are. Two of them.
Here we go:
Open door (Black): An open door is an open door, both in the literal and figurative senses, and its physical openness implies its figurative openness. If the person didn’t want anyone coming in, they’d have closed it. So in you go. (A little knock is, of course, always merited when walking into someone else’s space, but if the door is open you can pretty much walk in as you’re knocking.)
Half-open door (Shade of grey #1): A half-open door sends a slightly more ambiguous message. Not so ambiguous, however, that a concussed bison couldn’t figure it out. A half-open door clearly says: “If I’m in here, I’m doing something, but not something so important that I wouldn’t be willing to take a moment away from it and have a chat, as long as it isn’t an utterly pointless chat.” So, interestingly, the extent to which the door is “open” appears move in lockstep with its actual level of physical openness. A quick knock and a courtesy lean-in are appropriate for half-open dooredness.
Closed over door (Shade of grey #2): The closed over door is still, technically speaking, open, which, we’re safe to assume, means it is also still, to some degree, “open”. But there’s a very clear message being sent by a closed over door: “I’m busy. It’s not that I’m revoking my ‘open door policy’, per se, it’s just that I’m doing shit and I’d rather be left to do it in peace. If, however, what you have to say is actually of some importance, go ahead and come in.” Obviously, we’re knocking here, and waiting for a “come in”.
Closed door (White): A closed door is not “open”. You are, for one reason or another, not welcome, so just go away and come back when the door is no longer not “open”. (NOTE: If the door opens to the outdoors, this rule obviously does not apply. One should therefore use as a fallback position the standard operating procedures outlined for closed over doors.)
The reason I’m bringing this up is because I’ve noticed that some people seem to have made it to adulthood without intuitively picking up on this very simple social convention, as difficult as I’m sure that is for many of you, my fellow mammals, to believe. They get pissed when you walk in and the door is open, even if you give it a little knock first. What the fuck? If your door is open – “open door policy” or not – I assume it is “open”, and I’m well within my rights to do so. If you don’t want anyone coming in, close the goddamn thing.
Now, I’m sure there is someone reading this who’s saying, “Yeah, but my office has no window and I don’t like keeping the door closed because I need air.” Well, then put your door in the half-open position and shut the muthafuck up. It’s not like the air gets all jumbled up on the threshold if the door isn’t all the way open; you’ll still get your precious air, and you’ll do it without being a mixed-message sending dick.
lycradog
Here we go:
Open door (Black): An open door is an open door, both in the literal and figurative senses, and its physical openness implies its figurative openness. If the person didn’t want anyone coming in, they’d have closed it. So in you go. (A little knock is, of course, always merited when walking into someone else’s space, but if the door is open you can pretty much walk in as you’re knocking.)
Half-open door (Shade of grey #1): A half-open door sends a slightly more ambiguous message. Not so ambiguous, however, that a concussed bison couldn’t figure it out. A half-open door clearly says: “If I’m in here, I’m doing something, but not something so important that I wouldn’t be willing to take a moment away from it and have a chat, as long as it isn’t an utterly pointless chat.” So, interestingly, the extent to which the door is “open” appears move in lockstep with its actual level of physical openness. A quick knock and a courtesy lean-in are appropriate for half-open dooredness.
Closed over door (Shade of grey #2): The closed over door is still, technically speaking, open, which, we’re safe to assume, means it is also still, to some degree, “open”. But there’s a very clear message being sent by a closed over door: “I’m busy. It’s not that I’m revoking my ‘open door policy’, per se, it’s just that I’m doing shit and I’d rather be left to do it in peace. If, however, what you have to say is actually of some importance, go ahead and come in.” Obviously, we’re knocking here, and waiting for a “come in”.
Closed door (White): A closed door is not “open”. You are, for one reason or another, not welcome, so just go away and come back when the door is no longer not “open”. (NOTE: If the door opens to the outdoors, this rule obviously does not apply. One should therefore use as a fallback position the standard operating procedures outlined for closed over doors.)
The reason I’m bringing this up is because I’ve noticed that some people seem to have made it to adulthood without intuitively picking up on this very simple social convention, as difficult as I’m sure that is for many of you, my fellow mammals, to believe. They get pissed when you walk in and the door is open, even if you give it a little knock first. What the fuck? If your door is open – “open door policy” or not – I assume it is “open”, and I’m well within my rights to do so. If you don’t want anyone coming in, close the goddamn thing.
Now, I’m sure there is someone reading this who’s saying, “Yeah, but my office has no window and I don’t like keeping the door closed because I need air.” Well, then put your door in the half-open position and shut the muthafuck up. It’s not like the air gets all jumbled up on the threshold if the door isn’t all the way open; you’ll still get your precious air, and you’ll do it without being a mixed-message sending dick.
lycradog
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Number 2
This is one of those quiz things that I usually avoid. This one is about your "Number One Person!" See you answer a bunch of questions about them, and then everyone reads the answers. Well, Imma do this thing for some reason, but I've picked someone other than my Number One Person, for my own inscrutable reasons.
1) What’s their full name?
Ana Ivanovic. That's terrible grammar, by the way.
2) Does he or she have a boyfriend/girlfriend?
So now we've figured out the he/she thing, I see. Anyway, she keeps all playin' like she wants one. I say no, we bone.
3) Do you get along with this person all the time?
I assume this is a typo. Yes, we get it on all the time.
4) How old is the person?
What am I, her accountant?
5) Has he/she ever cooked for you?
She tries, bless her, but she got two helpings of backhand and zero helpings of making herself useful.
6) Is this person older than you?
No, a female tennis player older than me would be washed up, and I have an image to maintain.
7) Have you ever kissed this person?
Who put this quiz together, a twelve-year-old Menonite? Yes, and we've held hands at the fair, too.
8) Are you related to this person?
She's Serbian, fuckhead. Serbian. And I'm not from Arkansas, which means I don't roll like that. I'd appreciate a little more attentiveness if we're going to continue with this.
9) Are you really close to him/her?
Not presently, no. That would cause something of a commotion.
10) Nickname?
Too bad - you were on a roll with those nearly complete sentences there for a while. This just sounds like you're offering me a nickname. If that's the case, no thank you. I do have a nickname for her, though: Angelingus.
11) Do they have a nickname for you?
A few, yeah: Poonmaster, Wangzilla, Sir... she occasionally calls me "Maria", but I'm a'ight with that.
12) How many times do you talk to this person in a week?
We're on a weekly schedule, are we? OK, well, then about 0.014.
13) Do you think they will repost this?
Still with the pronoun issue. I don't think we'd get along, I really don't. Anyway, no, probably not. I don't know. Maybe. No.
14) Could you live with this person?
What are you, her mother? Quit sweatin' me.
15) Why is this person your number 2?
You don't know me at all, do you?
16) How long have you known this person?
Dunno. Two years or so. I had a decorative basket of suggestive lingere sent to her house on her 18th birthday. She called the number I wrote on the back of a picture of my nads so fast there was a localized sonic boom around her house that killed her parakeet and knocked out her neighbour's pacemaker. Sweet.
17) Have you ever been to the mall with this person?
Do. I. look. like. a. Jonas. brother. to. you?
18) Have you ever had a sleepover with this person?
A "sleepover"? My God, you are a child. Don't read my answer to question 16.
19) If you ever moved away would you miss this person?
I really hate this.
20) Have you ever done something really stupid or illegal with this person?
Free lesson in written communication: define your terms. What do you mean by “stupid”, exactly? Sure, insisting she call an injury time out so she could service me at last year's Wimbledon wasn't the best idea in the world, but I'm pretty sure she'd have lost anyway. She wasn't getting enough of her first serves in. Illegal, on the other hand, is pretty straightforward, depending on which country you're talking about. Let's just say that until I see a law that explicitly prohibits doin' it doggie in the ballroom at Ikea, my answer is no.
21) Do you know EVERYTHING about this person?
I'd better.
22) Would you date this person’s siblings?
She has siblings? I don't know, might be worth a look, at least... I don't know. Maybe. No. Yes.
23) Have you ever made something with this person?
Too easy.
24) Have you gone skinny dipping with this person?
If you are, as I suspect, an eleven-year-old girl, this is a highly improper question for you to be asking, and even more so for me to answer. Yes, at Seaworld.
25) Is your #2 on drugs?
Rohypnol. Heh - just kidding. Well, she's a professional athlete, so possibly Demerol or Cortisone, along with the occasional dose of Spoogitrex.
26) Have you ever worn this person’s clothes?
She owns clothes?
27) Does this person wear your clothes?
That's right, because that's what we do when we get together. We play dress-up.
28) If it was “freaky friday” would you switch bodies with this person?
The answer to this is far too indecent to put in writing. Just... nothing, never mind.
29) Have you ever heard this person sing?
Not per se.
30) Do you and this person have a saying?
”Let’s call Maria”
31) Do you know this persons Facebook password?
m-a-r-i-a
32) Have you and this person ever gotten into a fight that lasted more than 2 months?
Who fights with anyone for two months? If Hitler came back to life tomorrow, I'd argue with him for 15, 20 minutes, tops.
33) Have you and this person gone clubbing?
Nah, she thinks seals are "cute".
34) Do you know how to make this person feel happy?
I think I've covered this one already.
35) Do you and this person talk a lot?
Define "talk".
36) Do you like this person?
Who would pick someone they don't like as their #1 person? I mean, what kind of pathetic bastard would you have to be? I suspect our author got bored and let the dog write question 36.
37) Has this person yelled at you?
She's yelled because of me.
38) Have you and this person got into a fist fight?
I guess this is the one question geared toward a dude who picks another dude as his #1. But yes.
39) Do you know any of this person's friends?
Define "know".
40) Do you want to be friends with them forever?
Conclusion: The author of this monstrosity is a thirteen- to fifteen-year-old white girl from a place so boring it makes Jesus cry mucus.
1) What’s their full name?
Ana Ivanovic. That's terrible grammar, by the way.
2) Does he or she have a boyfriend/girlfriend?
So now we've figured out the he/she thing, I see. Anyway, she keeps all playin' like she wants one. I say no, we bone.
3) Do you get along with this person all the time?
I assume this is a typo. Yes, we get it on all the time.
4) How old is the person?
What am I, her accountant?
5) Has he/she ever cooked for you?
She tries, bless her, but she got two helpings of backhand and zero helpings of making herself useful.
6) Is this person older than you?
No, a female tennis player older than me would be washed up, and I have an image to maintain.
7) Have you ever kissed this person?
Who put this quiz together, a twelve-year-old Menonite? Yes, and we've held hands at the fair, too.
8) Are you related to this person?
She's Serbian, fuckhead. Serbian. And I'm not from Arkansas, which means I don't roll like that. I'd appreciate a little more attentiveness if we're going to continue with this.
9) Are you really close to him/her?
Not presently, no. That would cause something of a commotion.
10) Nickname?
Too bad - you were on a roll with those nearly complete sentences there for a while. This just sounds like you're offering me a nickname. If that's the case, no thank you. I do have a nickname for her, though: Angelingus.
11) Do they have a nickname for you?
A few, yeah: Poonmaster, Wangzilla, Sir... she occasionally calls me "Maria", but I'm a'ight with that.
12) How many times do you talk to this person in a week?
We're on a weekly schedule, are we? OK, well, then about 0.014.
13) Do you think they will repost this?
Still with the pronoun issue. I don't think we'd get along, I really don't. Anyway, no, probably not. I don't know. Maybe. No.
14) Could you live with this person?
What are you, her mother? Quit sweatin' me.
15) Why is this person your number 2?
You don't know me at all, do you?
16) How long have you known this person?
Dunno. Two years or so. I had a decorative basket of suggestive lingere sent to her house on her 18th birthday. She called the number I wrote on the back of a picture of my nads so fast there was a localized sonic boom around her house that killed her parakeet and knocked out her neighbour's pacemaker. Sweet.
17) Have you ever been to the mall with this person?
Do. I. look. like. a. Jonas. brother. to. you?
18) Have you ever had a sleepover with this person?
A "sleepover"? My God, you are a child. Don't read my answer to question 16.
19) If you ever moved away would you miss this person?
I really hate this.
20) Have you ever done something really stupid or illegal with this person?
Free lesson in written communication: define your terms. What do you mean by “stupid”, exactly? Sure, insisting she call an injury time out so she could service me at last year's Wimbledon wasn't the best idea in the world, but I'm pretty sure she'd have lost anyway. She wasn't getting enough of her first serves in. Illegal, on the other hand, is pretty straightforward, depending on which country you're talking about. Let's just say that until I see a law that explicitly prohibits doin' it doggie in the ballroom at Ikea, my answer is no.
21) Do you know EVERYTHING about this person?
I'd better.
22) Would you date this person’s siblings?
She has siblings? I don't know, might be worth a look, at least... I don't know. Maybe. No. Yes.
23) Have you ever made something with this person?
Too easy.
24) Have you gone skinny dipping with this person?
If you are, as I suspect, an eleven-year-old girl, this is a highly improper question for you to be asking, and even more so for me to answer. Yes, at Seaworld.
25) Is your #2 on drugs?
Rohypnol. Heh - just kidding. Well, she's a professional athlete, so possibly Demerol or Cortisone, along with the occasional dose of Spoogitrex.
26) Have you ever worn this person’s clothes?
She owns clothes?
27) Does this person wear your clothes?
That's right, because that's what we do when we get together. We play dress-up.
28) If it was “freaky friday” would you switch bodies with this person?
The answer to this is far too indecent to put in writing. Just... nothing, never mind.
29) Have you ever heard this person sing?
Not per se.
30) Do you and this person have a saying?
”Let’s call Maria”
31) Do you know this persons Facebook password?
m-a-r-i-a
32) Have you and this person ever gotten into a fight that lasted more than 2 months?
Who fights with anyone for two months? If Hitler came back to life tomorrow, I'd argue with him for 15, 20 minutes, tops.
33) Have you and this person gone clubbing?
Nah, she thinks seals are "cute".
34) Do you know how to make this person feel happy?
I think I've covered this one already.
35) Do you and this person talk a lot?
Define "talk".
36) Do you like this person?
Who would pick someone they don't like as their #1 person? I mean, what kind of pathetic bastard would you have to be? I suspect our author got bored and let the dog write question 36.
37) Has this person yelled at you?
She's yelled because of me.
38) Have you and this person got into a fist fight?
I guess this is the one question geared toward a dude who picks another dude as his #1. But yes.
39) Do you know any of this person's friends?
Define "know".
40) Do you want to be friends with them forever?
Conclusion: The author of this monstrosity is a thirteen- to fifteen-year-old white girl from a place so boring it makes Jesus cry mucus.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
bottlenecked
I've been letting shit build up. I shouldn't do that, 'cause now I have to write a long-ass post. Otherwise I'll burst.
First up, an article I read today for some reason tells me that George Clooney is dating Paris Hilton for some reason. I really just don't know what to make of this. On the one hand, I'm thinking "Atta boy, George. Pork that wench like it ain't no thang." I mean why not? He's The Clooney, for fuck's sake. The man can do as he wishes, and repeatedly slamming Paris Hilton's vacant cranium into a headboard ain't a bad way to spend a January. And the real plus is that he's quite obviously going to break her pink, frilly little heart. That's what the man does. And as much as the prospect of the non-stop media onslaught that will follow the break-up frightens me, dammit, shit'll be worth it, because she'll cry. See, Paris only has two emotions, 'no fair!', and skank. Only The Clooney can milk the second to bring the first to it's rightful, self-mutilating climax. But on the other hand, I really must object to anything that allows that smug little freak to go on thinking she's important. Because The Clooney deigning to fuck you makes you important, see, and now she has one more little notch on that ego belt of hers that will justify her continued feeling of self-worth. And this is something I do not support. She's a horrible person, George, and quite decidedly beneath you. Now back away from the vagina, George. She's using you to feel better about herself. Not that I'm worried about you, big guy, I just don't think she deserves to feel good about herself. But hey, your call.
Next, this. I know that some of you have probably wondered if this was an RDS mission gone wrong. Well I'm here to tell you that it wasn't. Know how you can tell? The inconsiderate fuck and his useless brood are still alive, that's how. He shot him in the arm. I mean, what the fuck is that? RDS doesn't make mistakes, bitches, we do things right. Besides, the article states that the guy had a .38 caliber "clipped inside his sweatpants." He was wearing sweatpants to a movie. In public. A public movie. Do you actually think I'd entrust that kind of person with something so important? Correct. Apology accepted.
And, finally, for something a little more serious. Namely this. In a nutshell, a dude in Australia was convicted in a court of law on child pornography charges. Why? Because he was producing depictions of the Simpsons children gettin' it on. Now let me be perfectly clear right off the bat: there's something not right about drawing pictures of Bart fucking Lisa. You'll get no argument from me there. But I still have to call bullshit, I'm afraid. First of all, the judge ruled that cartoon characters qualify as people, which is what made what the man did wrong. I'm sorry, but cartoon characters aren't people. They, you know, just aren't. See, for the slow kids in the class, the reason child pornography is wrong is because producing it victimises actual children, who are forced to do things that they have no capacity to consent to, and the viewing of such material maintains demand for it, which causes more children to be victimised. Followin'? So in order for the conclusion that this quack of a judge came to to make any sense whatsoever, one would have to argue that Bart, Lisa and Maggie have been victimised. Now, could Matt Groening sue this guy for misusing images that he holds the copyrights on? Sure! But to say that they have been victimised is, I think, to stretch the boundaries of credulity. Just a little. Call me crazy. Now, you might be saying, "Who cares? The guy is obviously a pedophile who belongs to be locked away anyway, so fuck him." Well, first off, I don't think this makes him a pedophile, necessarily. He could just have a weird cartoon fetish of some kind. Fuck knows there are stranger fetishes out there. However, I'll grant that he may very well be a pedophile. Let's say he is, just for the sake of argument. Here's an easy one: what is it that makes raping children wrong? I mentioned it above if you're having trouble. That's right: they cannot give, or for that matter withold, consent, which makes sex with them abuse. But here's another question for you: can you be a pedophile and never rape a child? The answer, of course, is yes. If you don't believe me, ask yourself if your sexual orientation would change if you suddenly decided to take a vow of celibacy. Would you still be straight just because you decided to give up straight sex? Yes, you would. See, a lot of people seem to be under the impression that it is illegal to be a pedophile, which it isn't, nor should it be (as opposed to it being illegal to commit an act of pedophilia, which is and should be). There are two (related) reasons for this: First, attempting to criminalise people for what goes on in their heads is wrong, plain and simple. We punish people for their actions, not their thoughts or feelings, and any compromise on this point is one fucking hell of a slippery slope. Second, when we start ciminalising people for what they are, rather than what they do, we give them absolutely no incentive to resist their urges. We remove any reason they have to feel halfway good about themselves - "I may want to, but at least I haven't" - and we make it more likely they will act out, because why the fuck not? If we hate their behaviour, there is still room for salvation in restraint, but if we hate them, well, might as well indulge, no? And then, of course, you pretty much have to kill the kid, because molestation is the only thing you can do in our society that puts you past redemption. Try to imagine living with that kind of burden for a sec. So, if Mr. Simpson (who only got a fine and a suspended sentence, by the way) wants to do some drawings as an outlet, maybe we should just cut him a little fucking slack.
Besides, Lisa's hot.
lycradog
First up, an article I read today for some reason tells me that George Clooney is dating Paris Hilton for some reason. I really just don't know what to make of this. On the one hand, I'm thinking "Atta boy, George. Pork that wench like it ain't no thang." I mean why not? He's The Clooney, for fuck's sake. The man can do as he wishes, and repeatedly slamming Paris Hilton's vacant cranium into a headboard ain't a bad way to spend a January. And the real plus is that he's quite obviously going to break her pink, frilly little heart. That's what the man does. And as much as the prospect of the non-stop media onslaught that will follow the break-up frightens me, dammit, shit'll be worth it, because she'll cry. See, Paris only has two emotions, 'no fair!', and skank. Only The Clooney can milk the second to bring the first to it's rightful, self-mutilating climax. But on the other hand, I really must object to anything that allows that smug little freak to go on thinking she's important. Because The Clooney deigning to fuck you makes you important, see, and now she has one more little notch on that ego belt of hers that will justify her continued feeling of self-worth. And this is something I do not support. She's a horrible person, George, and quite decidedly beneath you. Now back away from the vagina, George. She's using you to feel better about herself. Not that I'm worried about you, big guy, I just don't think she deserves to feel good about herself. But hey, your call.
Next, this. I know that some of you have probably wondered if this was an RDS mission gone wrong. Well I'm here to tell you that it wasn't. Know how you can tell? The inconsiderate fuck and his useless brood are still alive, that's how. He shot him in the arm. I mean, what the fuck is that? RDS doesn't make mistakes, bitches, we do things right. Besides, the article states that the guy had a .38 caliber "clipped inside his sweatpants." He was wearing sweatpants to a movie. In public. A public movie. Do you actually think I'd entrust that kind of person with something so important? Correct. Apology accepted.
And, finally, for something a little more serious. Namely this. In a nutshell, a dude in Australia was convicted in a court of law on child pornography charges. Why? Because he was producing depictions of the Simpsons children gettin' it on. Now let me be perfectly clear right off the bat: there's something not right about drawing pictures of Bart fucking Lisa. You'll get no argument from me there. But I still have to call bullshit, I'm afraid. First of all, the judge ruled that cartoon characters qualify as people, which is what made what the man did wrong. I'm sorry, but cartoon characters aren't people. They, you know, just aren't. See, for the slow kids in the class, the reason child pornography is wrong is because producing it victimises actual children, who are forced to do things that they have no capacity to consent to, and the viewing of such material maintains demand for it, which causes more children to be victimised. Followin'? So in order for the conclusion that this quack of a judge came to to make any sense whatsoever, one would have to argue that Bart, Lisa and Maggie have been victimised. Now, could Matt Groening sue this guy for misusing images that he holds the copyrights on? Sure! But to say that they have been victimised is, I think, to stretch the boundaries of credulity. Just a little. Call me crazy. Now, you might be saying, "Who cares? The guy is obviously a pedophile who belongs to be locked away anyway, so fuck him." Well, first off, I don't think this makes him a pedophile, necessarily. He could just have a weird cartoon fetish of some kind. Fuck knows there are stranger fetishes out there. However, I'll grant that he may very well be a pedophile. Let's say he is, just for the sake of argument. Here's an easy one: what is it that makes raping children wrong? I mentioned it above if you're having trouble. That's right: they cannot give, or for that matter withold, consent, which makes sex with them abuse. But here's another question for you: can you be a pedophile and never rape a child? The answer, of course, is yes. If you don't believe me, ask yourself if your sexual orientation would change if you suddenly decided to take a vow of celibacy. Would you still be straight just because you decided to give up straight sex? Yes, you would. See, a lot of people seem to be under the impression that it is illegal to be a pedophile, which it isn't, nor should it be (as opposed to it being illegal to commit an act of pedophilia, which is and should be). There are two (related) reasons for this: First, attempting to criminalise people for what goes on in their heads is wrong, plain and simple. We punish people for their actions, not their thoughts or feelings, and any compromise on this point is one fucking hell of a slippery slope. Second, when we start ciminalising people for what they are, rather than what they do, we give them absolutely no incentive to resist their urges. We remove any reason they have to feel halfway good about themselves - "I may want to, but at least I haven't" - and we make it more likely they will act out, because why the fuck not? If we hate their behaviour, there is still room for salvation in restraint, but if we hate them, well, might as well indulge, no? And then, of course, you pretty much have to kill the kid, because molestation is the only thing you can do in our society that puts you past redemption. Try to imagine living with that kind of burden for a sec. So, if Mr. Simpson (who only got a fine and a suspended sentence, by the way) wants to do some drawings as an outlet, maybe we should just cut him a little fucking slack.
Besides, Lisa's hot.
lycradog
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
remember, remember, my foot in your ass
Oh man this political crisis crap rules. I'm hard as fuck just thinking about it.
Other than me, I think everyone is getting far too excited about this. Seriously. People are acting like . . . what? I mean, what is it that's happening, really? Is it a power-grab? At least in part, sure, but that's politics. Harper would do the same thing if the positions were reversed. Of course, he actually tried to do the same thing when Martin was clinging to power, didn't he? Yes, he did. Now the shoe is on the other foot. He's the pathetic power-whore hanging on for dear life. He's also the one who fucked up. Think about it. The worst economic crisis since the Great Depression and what does he do? He tries to cut off funding to the other parties and bar the public service from striking. Then he calls it an economic update, as though we're all too dumb to notice that the economic update does nothing to update us on the economy. (To get this out of the way, yes, there should be public funding for political parties. It is democratic, as it is based on how many people vote for them, and it ensures that not only people with enough money to throw it at a political party can decide who gets to run. In short, it makes us not the US. Don't fucking argue with me.) Apart from the fact that they needed to free up some cash to avoid a deficit, of course. Because then they'd be open to that pesky argument that the Liberals surely would've thrown in their faces, namely that they gave the country a decade of balanced budgets, and in not quite 3 years the Cons have fucked all that up. (To get another thing out of the way, yes, the global economic situation has something to do with this, but so do the billions of dollars missing from the federal coffers due to the dickless, cynical GST tax cut Harper implemented. Right again, piss off.)
Now, the Liberals obviously want to be back in power. This should surprise no one. But don't you think that maybe - just maybe - they have actually lost confidence in the government? I mean, less than half of the population voted in the election, only 30-odd percent of which voted for the Conservatives. This is why we have votes of no-confidence. Minority governments are supposed to govern by consensus, taking the view of the majority of the population of the country - represented by the opposition - into account when they make decisions. Harper, on the other hand, thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and the opposition finally called him on it. Now he's whining about democratic principles like he's that guy from 'V for Vendetta'. Gimme a frickin' break.
And if one more person uses the word 'coup' in anything but the most thickly ironic sense I'm gonna go so fuckin' ninja, you don't even know.
lycradog
Other than me, I think everyone is getting far too excited about this. Seriously. People are acting like . . . what? I mean, what is it that's happening, really? Is it a power-grab? At least in part, sure, but that's politics. Harper would do the same thing if the positions were reversed. Of course, he actually tried to do the same thing when Martin was clinging to power, didn't he? Yes, he did. Now the shoe is on the other foot. He's the pathetic power-whore hanging on for dear life. He's also the one who fucked up. Think about it. The worst economic crisis since the Great Depression and what does he do? He tries to cut off funding to the other parties and bar the public service from striking. Then he calls it an economic update, as though we're all too dumb to notice that the economic update does nothing to update us on the economy. (To get this out of the way, yes, there should be public funding for political parties. It is democratic, as it is based on how many people vote for them, and it ensures that not only people with enough money to throw it at a political party can decide who gets to run. In short, it makes us not the US. Don't fucking argue with me.) Apart from the fact that they needed to free up some cash to avoid a deficit, of course. Because then they'd be open to that pesky argument that the Liberals surely would've thrown in their faces, namely that they gave the country a decade of balanced budgets, and in not quite 3 years the Cons have fucked all that up. (To get another thing out of the way, yes, the global economic situation has something to do with this, but so do the billions of dollars missing from the federal coffers due to the dickless, cynical GST tax cut Harper implemented. Right again, piss off.)
Now, the Liberals obviously want to be back in power. This should surprise no one. But don't you think that maybe - just maybe - they have actually lost confidence in the government? I mean, less than half of the population voted in the election, only 30-odd percent of which voted for the Conservatives. This is why we have votes of no-confidence. Minority governments are supposed to govern by consensus, taking the view of the majority of the population of the country - represented by the opposition - into account when they make decisions. Harper, on the other hand, thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and the opposition finally called him on it. Now he's whining about democratic principles like he's that guy from 'V for Vendetta'. Gimme a frickin' break.
And if one more person uses the word 'coup' in anything but the most thickly ironic sense I'm gonna go so fuckin' ninja, you don't even know.
lycradog
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