New Visitors Section Podcast 12/31/11

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/visitorssection/2011/12/31/visitors-section-new-years-or-end-of-times

Visitors Section Podcast 12/23/11

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/visitorssection/2011/12/23/visitors-section-christmas-extravaganza

Holiday talk brought to you by nog and cake crust.

Visitors Section Podcast 12/17/2011

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/visitorssection/2011/12/18/the-visitors-section-greedy-concussed-hobos

Visitors Section Podcast 12/5/2011

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/visitorssection/2011/12/05/the-visitors-section-utter-crap-fu-bcs

Visitors Section Podcast 11/28/11

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/visitorssection/2011/11/29/i-hate-wilson-pirtle

Visitors Section Podcast 10/19/11

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/visitorssection/2011/10/20/visitors-section-going-rogue

Visitors Section Podcast 10/13/2011

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/visitorssection/2011/10/14/visitors-section

Monday Movie Madness

It's October. That means things. Thing numero uno is that it rained (real, cow-pissin'-on-a-rock, cats-and-dogs,row-row-row-your-fucking-boat-down-the-street From The Sky rain) for the first time in about 6 months. So thumbs up for that. Another thing is that my son is 3 months old today. So that's cool, too. But mostly October means movies. The scary(ish) kind. Tara and I always que up about a hundred horror flicks for the month of October, from old staples (Friday the 13th, Halloween, _____ of the Dead, you know) to weird ass, drug fueled Korean mind-fucks. This year we started with goofy 80s Creature Features and a few zombies.

GREMLINS: A childhood favorite. Goofy and gross, with some of the best puppet work on film. I love this fucking movie. Gremlin's freaked me the hell out when I was little, more so that bigger, nastier movie monsters like Ridley Scott's alien or werewolves (take your pick) or big gahdamned bugs. I think it was the fact that they grew off poor little Gizmo, and their insanity. They didn't hunt and kill; they aren't really monsters in that sense. They're just loco, crazy, off their rockers nutzo and they spend as much time tormenting each other as they do the confused, 80's village folk. Something about that really bothered me. Oh, and the dad is just awesome. So awesome.

CRITTERS: One of those movies I was familiar with but didn't remember a single thing about. Critters isn't really very scary, and I guess I never sided with the family, so I wasn't worried about their potential destruction and consumption by the furry, toothy, rolly polly Critters. In fact, I was downright fucking cheerful when BILLY ZANE! and his rat-tail get om nommed. Not to say I didn't enjoy the movie. It's just silly enough (man, what the fuck is up with those "bounty hunters"?) to save itself, and provides at least one likable protagonist in the firework hurling son, but it's no Gremlins.

GHOULIES: I have been trying to remember the name of this movie for years. YEARS. I loved this concept-knock-off when I was younger (well, not THIS one, but I'll get to that in a minute) and could remember exactly what the itty bitty little demons looked like, but could never find them anywhere. Then, BAM, front page of Netflix like they'd been reading my fucking mind. Only, well, Ghoulies isn't the movie I was thinking about. Ghoulies, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the sequel. It's also not scary, and pretty confusing. That said, I was happy to have filled the gap in my memory, and quickly left this stinking carcass beyond in pursuit of its superior sequel.

GHOULIES II: I can't explain why I like this movie so much. The acting is pretty bad, the effects aren't good, the concept is ridiculous, the characters aren't likable, but gahdamnit, this movie just does it for me. It's really funny in a how-did-they-ever-get-this-shit-made sort of way, and I really dig the creature design. Like Gremlins, Ghoulies aren't just badass killing machines, they kill people in bizarre and illogical fashion, and then bow and high-five over the results of their destruction. Also, this movie had me double and triple checking toilets for years, but I don't want to spoil anything for you... Really, if you haven't seen this, do yourself a favor and check it out.

HIGH SCHOOL OF THE DEAD: An impressive anime about high school kids trying to survive the zombie apocalypse in Japan. It's currently maintaining a 5 star rating on Netflix, although I think this score is probably inflated by all the 13 year old boys masturbating furiously to the gratuitous panty and cleavage shots. But I'm not complaining, 'cause this is a solid zombie survival series. Yes, like most anime, the girls are wearing practically nothing and their tits are about 3 times too big to be real, but if you can get past that (or if, like me, you happen to enjoy enormous animated mammaries) then they're also strong, intelligent, and kick a whole lot of ass. And underneath all the bouncing boobs and zombie killing, there is a well conceived story and some interested discourse about survival and human nature. H.O.T.D. (don't ask me why there is no S.) rates pretty high up my zombie cinema list, and I strongly suggest you check it out.

Outside of the Horror genre, Tara and I also sat down to watch X-Men: First Class (finally).

X-MEN: FIRST CLASS: Creative, interesting, intense, most of all, fun. If 2 and 3 had been half this thoughtful or well put together, X-Men would be the best comic book movie franchise to date. Despite a couple plot holes (the helmet came from where again?), this is my favorite of the big screen X-Men flicks. I would love to see Deadpool come along and do even better, but, eh, I won't be holding my breath. I enjoyed the chosen mutants/powers on display, but more than that I was impressed by the creativity on display. The mutants actually used their powers in new and fun (and believable) ways. McAvoy and Fassbender were right on as X and Magneto. Their relationship is the foundation of the movie, and it holds up. While Bacon was distracting, his performance was fine. The two people who drove me just a little nuts were Mystique and Emma Frost. January Jones is oooooh so hot, but her performance was stiff (heh). She plays Frost exactly like she plays Betty Draper, and that's a problem. I don't even know why Jennifer Lawrence as Mystique wasn't doing it for me. Maybe because Stamos was so perfect... or something about the way she looked in the makeup. Especially her face. Anyway, I just kept wondering if there wasn't a better Mystique out there anywhere. But those are pretty much the only complaints I have about the movie, and they're rather small. The alternate history concept worked well, and there are a lot of possibilities for another movie or two in this time line.

New Visitors Section Podcast 9/7/11

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/visitorssection/2011/09/08/visitors-section-why-does-the-bus-smell

My cat threw up next to me during the making of this episode.

College football start

College football starts this Thursday and I for one am ready for it. Most of my friends have tried to fill their need for football with various fantasy drafts and feigned excitement for preseason football. I stare at line movements and anxiously update tweets for any hint at injury. My first game of the season is the face off between the Idaho Vandals and the Bowling Green Falcons. It is a rematch of sorts but I hesitate to call it such. When all but six of your players from one team have graduated since that last time these two teams faced off two years ago, it feels like a stretch to build the anticipation too high. The Vandals have too many options at halfback and lots of depth at linebacker. The Falcons have 54 freshmen on their roster and a coach that is generally trying to sound optimistic with the underlying tone that even he doesn't believe the words coming from his mouth.

Visitors Section Podcast 8/30/11

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/visitorssection/2011/08/30/visitors-section-no-sprinkler-is-safe

Visitors Section Podcast 8/15/11

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/visitorssection/2011/08/15/visitors-section-upon-further-review

I unappreciate

I am incapable of appreciating the things my girlfriend does for me. At least that is what I am led to believe. The love of my life has recently decided to redecorate our living room and dining room. I don't want people to misunderstand and take away that I had any say in the matter or even any notice that this was taking place. I walked in after work on Thursday and noticed my New York Jets banner that had been hanging on the wall was gone and we suddenly had more shit in our terribly crowded apartment. Muttering to myself I aggressively shaved my head, so aggressively in fact that the guard fell off and I managed to no-guard about a four inch line on the tippy top part of my dome. Fuck.

I don't think that my predicament is particular to me and my situation. As many of my buddies attempt to settle down and move in with their lady I hear it again and again. "My stuff. It's gone." It is always a bit of a shock to walk into a once wild buddies place and see it adorned with hummels and awkward couple photos. It is something as men that I don't think we even attempt to fight anymore. So maybe drunken Polaroids and posters with sluts holding beer cans isn't exactly fine art but where does it stand in comparison the worthless meaningless crap that is now tacked to each and and every one of our walls for those have surrendered to the fairer sexes whims? I fight hard to at least have a few of my things out although I hear about it to no end. Sure the huge ass lucky cat, the Zhang Fei porcelain with the creepy eyes, and the Jets banner don't fit with the overall decorum but damn it, they're mine.

That said I didn't realize that she had painted the walls an entirely different color until the cat walked by covered in paint. So what is my argument really? Clearly I'm so caught up in my own head I lack the faculties to posses an informed opinion. I don't really care what it looks and as long as it doesn't plunge me into seizures when I walk in the door. It is nice that the three of us can now eat together and I don't have to eat on floor because my daughter stole my seat at the table. There isn't a fine line of mold tracing the crevices of my home like there was in college. That's nice. I don't appreciate how I'm no longer allowed to bring home things I found in the dumpster, whether or not I think I can make furniture out of them. But I do like not cutting my feet on broken beer bottles and being surrounded the constant presence of vomit. Plus it just looks better. She did a good job. That Jets banner went back up though.

I'm Saying It.

How about Josh Portis! If I'm taking anything away from the first preseason game it is that we need to keep an eye on Josh Portis. He looked far to sharp to be a rookie free agent.

I don't think Tim Tebow is that bad. Just get him some more playing time. I'm saying it.

The Brand

Goodwill is that special blend of magical depression that both stimulates the imagination and crushes the soul. Please don't kick your child when he is on the floor playing with a toy; sweet, look at this ridiculous t-shirt! While on road trip recently to south Texas I bought an absurd hat that I can't possibly ever even attempt to pull off. I was assured by the helpful woman that sold me on it that it was both A) very popular hat, and B) look very good, on you (say those with some south east Asian inflection if you like.) I decided that, what I am now calling my money making and cigar smoking hat, needed a jacket. A partner in crime if you will. But where does one obtain an article of clothing on that same level of tackiness for less than the three five dollars bills that stand solemnly in my wallet? Goodwill of course.

It took me longer to find the mens jackets section than it did to identify the "one." A sword in the stone moment it was not, all the same it was clearly waiting patiently for me to rip it from its poorly sewn bonds. As I held it in my hands my eyes searched gently for imperfections. The sleeves too long, the color wrong and a weird stain several inches up on the right sleeve... Opening the jacket revealed that unlike all of the jackets that particular vestment called neighbors but never peers, a dark green fabric which laid in stark contrast to the drab gray and faded navy blue the others sported. I stared at it for a few seconds trying to make sense of what I was seeing. "It's, its the color of money."

I walked into my house eagerly to show my wife who promptly pointed out that the inside of my jacket is not green but the same tired gray I had attempted to avoid. Despite her attempt to destroy my excitement I have faith that it'll be a real pleasure to smoke my eight dollar victory cigars and consume chili dogs this season in  my magic jacket and tacky hat. 

Visitors Section Cheap seats already sold out. 08/06 by VisitorsSection | Blog Talk Radio

Visitors Section Cheap seats already sold out. 08/06 by VisitorsSection | Blog Talk Radio

The Anger Parade is Sexually Confused by Bad Teacher

Before I get into Bad Teacher, I want to apologize to the billions of people who don't read this blog. I know you don't visit this site to read half-assed movie reviews, because you don't visit this site at all and I'm not really sure why I'm apologizing to you. Huh.

Bad Teacher is funny. At moments, its really fucking funny. In fact, it had the theater howling for much of its run-time. Like any time Jason Segel is on screen. He nails the irreverent, immature, self-satisfied Gym Teacher perfectly. Also, Phyllis Smith's quiet, uncomfortable Lynn, the side kick, brings the giggles. The jokes are raunchy, the situations ridiculous, and there fun to be had in abundance.

That said, the whole thing never quite congeals, for a few reasons. One, is the other characters I haven't mentioned. Timberlake's awkward, out of place rich pretty boy substitute teacher too often overshot funny and landed in strange. Likewise, Lucy Punch brings a lot of crazy, but it's not always funny. Her character is a balance of cute and crazy, and when she's being silly and pouty she is freakin' adorable, but the wackier she gets, the less funny the character is. And then there is the biggest problem with the movie. Cameron "I'm too old for this shit" Diaz. I mean, come on. She looks like Edward James Olmos, for cryin' out loud. Not to say that she isn't funny. In fact, she plays the part of raunchy, over-sexed Bad Teacher woman very well, but too much of the movie relies on her being sexy, which she. just. isn't. I couldn't see guys drooling while she attempted a sexy car wash, for example. Diaz ended up being a huge distraction for me, and I would have much rather seen someone else in the role. I never really figured out if she was supposed to be a young, fresh teacher or a middle aged woman trying to escape this life she never loved. Which isn't all Diaz's fault. There are a number of issues with the screenplay. While the jokes often work, the story is a complete mess. We don't know why people are doing what they are doing, and while the ending isn't a surprise, because we know what's going to happen because, well, duh, it's not in any way built up to or believable in the world of these characters.

None of this ruined the movie, not for me. It was still funny and entertaining, but it falls well short of the other raunchy comedies of our generation, and if I were you, I wouldn't bother with Bad Teacher in theaters, but would definitely check it out on the rental platform of your choice.

My Bad Teacher

Here is a little something I wrote up for @headgeek666 for his Bad Teacher screening next week. This is my bad teacher story. Note, the name has not been changed to protect the identity of this asshole. Also note, that some events may be dramatized or misremembered or complete falsifications, but as far as I'm concerned this is what happened:


This isn't one cohesive story, but rather an overview of two of the shittiest years of my life, also known as Jr. High School. I like to put much of this shittiness squarely on the shoulders of one Mr. Carr. Mr. Carr was both the Jr. High English teacher and the Athletics coordinator. And he fucking hated me and my best friend Laura. Looking back, I think he chose to single me out because I was smart and quiet and nerdy, while he was big and dumb and boisterous (and for a teacher, this guy really was dumb. Get to that in a bit). I don't know why he didn't like Laura. Maybe because she was pretty and strong willed and didn't flirt with him and the other little girls.

Anyway, Mr. Carr fucking hated us. Any time he had a trick question to ask, he called us out. Something we hadn't covered yet? He wanted to make a point? Did he just want to growl at someone? Always us. Every day. And this went on for 2 years. At one point, Laura's parents complained to the school board that he was harassing us. It only got worse. If we weren't in our seats with paper and pen in hand when the bell rang, we were tardy. He didn't do this for anyone else. If we opened our mouths when we hadn't been called upon, we got yelled at. He rarely punished the twenty other students in the class. He'd make jokes about us being slow, or stupid, or how I was fat and had awful hair (which was true, but fuck you Mr. Carr) and Laura had big tits. My dad asked me if I wanted him to go to school and kick Mr. Carr's ass in front of everyone, and I know that he would have and I love him so much for that, but just knowing he was in my corner was enough and I said no.

But Mr. Carr was also the assistant football coach. I tried out in seventh grade, and made the team cause I come from a small town and everyone makes the team. But he never left me alone there, either. He found some excuse to make me run extra laps every day. He would harass me and call me names and tell me to quit. Which, for some people, might sound like a normal highschool football experience, but on our team, I was the only one getting this kind of treatment. Luckily, football was optional, unlike English, so I did what he suggested and I quit. Not because he suggested it but because I couldn't take an extra two hours of his bulging eyes and his greasy smile every fucking day. So it was a victory, in a way. It didn't help with English class though.

Eventually I moved on to highschool and away from Mr. Carr, but that's not the end of his story. There are a couple other things you should know about the man to complete the creepy picture. First, when he would get frustrated or angry in class, he would stop talking, sit on his desk, rub the bridge of his nose, and sing the Mickey Mouse song. You know, M I C, see you real soon, K E Y, Why, because we like you! That shit is seared into my fucking skull, except I don't hear Mickey's voice, I hear Mr. Carr's ethereal imitation. He used to put this little show on a lot, at least once a day, and often as a way of embarrassing the person who'd been speaking immediately before. Often me. The other thing you need to know is that Mr. Carr used to shamelessly flirt with the girls in the class. The seventh grade girls. He often employed the One Leg Up on Something stance, so his crotch would be placed squarely in front of the victim. Of course, there were girls who enjoyed it and flirted back, which only encouraged him. At the time, it just seemed like another cheesy, creepy thing about him that I hated, but looking back if feels genuinely wrong, but maybe that's what happened later.

You see, it was around this time that Mr. Carr’s life and career took a downward spiral. First, he got drunk and went down on a student’s mom in the local brew house bathroom. This was witnessed by at least a dozen locals, one of which happened to be my uncle so I got to hear about it firsthand. This didn’t get him kicked out of the school, but it was also around this time that we got a new Athletic Coordinator, and his wife left him. Oh yeah, Mr. Carr was married.

It was a couple years later that the other shoe dropped. A rumor went around that the school board had Mr. Carr’s computer confiscated, and that they’d found buckets and buckets of porn on the thing. A lot of people were saying “Child” porn, but he never did jail time so I’m willing to let that go as pot stirring. But this time it was enough to see him permanently removed from his post. And I’ll tell you, I’m glad to know he’s not out there torturing some other fat little Jr. High kid right now.

My new favorite thing:

(Not pictured: Our cat)











Washing our damn cat.
There is something deeply satisfying about turning the shower head on the little feline she-demon. I think it's the same pleasure soldiers at Guantanamo get when they water board a terrorist. She has been a frakkin' pest lately. The hotter it gets, the more demanding Kona becomes. She's an indoor/outdoor cat, and she's taken to running around the storm drains under our neighborhood so she reeks something awesome, and has also gotten lazy about cleaning her own ass. 'Course, if I had to clean my shitter with my own tongue, I probably wouldn't do it either, but you know... So, Tarable gifted me with the chore of de-stanking Sheba, Queen of the Urban Jungle. Best present ever. I didn't know how much fun it would be. I chuckled at her piteous mewing as I hosed her down. I laughed triumphantly every time I blocked her sudden mad, wet dashes for freedom. It was like payback for every time she peed somewhere she wasn't supposed to, or clawed the door to be let in/out/in again. And in the end, I felt the heady rush of victory as I stood proudly over her shrunken, disheveled, but distinctly less stinky form. I think Kona is getting bi-weekly baths from now on, and I'm going to be much happier for it.

The Anger Parade fights the Fear with Green Lantern

Just got home from a small screening of Green Lantern courtesy of @headgeek666, AICN, the Alamo Drafthouse, and of course Warner Bros. I started getting feedback about Green Lantern yesterday while Tarable (don't tell her I call her that) and I were sitting in line waiting for seats to Attack the Block, also courtesy of AICN, when a few reviews from a local press screening started popping up. The crowd of movie geeks around us exploded with conversation about the reviews, which were all negative. Really negative. The word hate was thrown around. I was surprised. So I went into the movie tonight with all this negativity, this yellow fear, buzzing in my skull.

Then Harry takes the stage and talks for a couple minutes about how unreal it is to be seeing a Green Lantern movie (I'm not old enough or so well versed in GL to share his awe at this point), and how he hopes its the movie we all want it to be, even if its not the perfect movie. Then he asks who's wearing their Green Lantern Rings, which Tarable and I are, so the crowd shows off their geek gear, and then he said something that I thought was funny, incredibly geeky, and a little profound. Harry said, basically, that we should all WILL the movie to be what we want it to be. This was an interesting comment, and I think it has bearing on the critical reaction to the movie.

With that thought in my head, and the pre-conceived negativity pushed to the back of my mind, I was able to sit back and enjoy the film. Green Lantern is an entertaining flick that delivers on the looks and the action, but stumbles due to poor writing, cheesiness, and clumpy pacing. Ryan Reynolds should bring in a crowd, and he's predictably charismatic, even when he struggles with poorly written dialogue. Blake Lively is smoking hot, but spends a little too much time as the damsel in distress. I thought her first scene was completely flat, which had me worried, but her Carol Ferris grew on me as the movie moved forward. Which brings me to something I really liked about the movie: there are a number of scenes where people geek out about how cool it is that their buddy Hal Jordan is now a superhero. I thought these scenes worked, were funny, and were generally well integrated into the story. It translated some of the wonder the audience is meant to feel onto the screen, into these side characters, and these scenes got appreciative laughs and nods from my fellow viewers. My favorite parts of Green Lantern were the trips to Oa. They were visually fascinating, and I wish we had spent more time with the alien members of the Green Lantern Corps. I hope this movie succeeds, if for no other reason than I want a sequel that isn't an origin story, in which some of the real potential of the Green Lantern Crops is unleashed.

Most of Green Lanterns most dangerous failures are not what it DID, but what it didn't do. If you make a movie about a Corps of Superheroes who can do quite literally anything they can imagine, the directors, screen writers, and special effects folks had better come up with some really creative fucking constructs to wow the audience with. This part of the film was underwhelming. The constructs looked cool, but there were too many mundane weapons and not enough Holy Shit moments. I wanted to have a shit eating grin on my face every time Hal used the ring, but I was underwhelmed. Sure, there are a couple cool moments, which I won't ruin for you, but damn it, I want more. So much more.

In the end, Tarable and I liked Green Lantern. I don't understand the violent hatred for it. and most of the people I heard talking about it liked it too. Partly, I think it has to do with the overwhelming number of Superhero comic book adaptions coming out this summer, and the fact that they're getting worse instead of better. It's been years since Iron Man and The Dark Knight showed the world what comic book movies could be, but no one has yet lived up to those examples. People want more than what we're being given. Though I haven't seen it, the X-Men remake supposedly bucks the trend of declining returns. Lets see where Captain America takes us next month.

Anyway, it's late and I'm tired. In the last couple weeks I've also caught Attack of the Block, and attended @headgeek666's awesome Super 8 event, which I'll be writing about soon. Here, just because, is the Green Lantern Trailer. Take the oath!

The Anger Parade Drives. Angry.

DRIVE ANGRY is a film full of promise and problems. I was grinning like a fucking skull one minute and then dying of boredom the next, due largely to poor pacing and an apparent lack of cohesive vision. Overall I would say I enjoyed the film, but I don't know if I liked it. It just wasn't... angry enough, for the Anger Parade.

This would usually be where I'd write a recap, but fuck that. I've embedded the trailer at the end of the post, and it tells you way more than you need to know. So watch that, then come back.

William Fichtner almost single handed-ly saves the film. His Accountant, who reminded me consistently of Agent Smith, grabs hold of ever scene he's in and lets you forget about Nic Cage being kinda angry in the background. He just sort of... saunters along, fearless and confident. His success is a certainty, and he never acts otherwise. I believed he was something otherworldly. But he wasn't emotionless or robotic, like Agent Smith (who was a program and thus supposed to be emotionless and robotic). The Accountant feels alive but unconcerned, like a cat lazily playing with a mouse it's already caught. It's a great performance. But not enough to save this movie. Along with Fichtner, Amber Heard's tire-smoking hot Piper and Billy Burke's drawling, devil-worshiping Jonah King are both entertaining and engaging in their own way. I found Piper to be surprisingly tough and foulmouthed. A perfect sidekick. And Jonah King is charismatic enough to be a believable cult leader, but annoying enough I wanted him to die fucking horribly.

The action was fun but, for a movie called DRIVE ANGRY, there wasn't enough of it. What should have been a high-octane, blood fueled race from start to finish limped along like a muscle car full of bullet holes. That is to say it sputtered and died repeatedly and took awhile to get started again. The fights were gory but silly, and not in that good, Grindhouse way either. Everything felt too shiny... it had that Hollywood polish, but this film should have been gritty unpolished to match the mood it wanted to set. Even scenes that had a tractor-trailer load of of promise too often were derailed by fatal blowouts just as they should have taken off. For example, there is a scene in which Cage's character, Milton, is attacked by a dozen devil-worshiping rednecks with melee weapons while he's fucking a truck stop waitress. Follows is a slapped together, unfunny scene where he shoots and kills them while he continues to fuck this woman. It could have been awesome. It's not.

The jokes... the jokes were fucking terrible. The 3D effects, which were probably cheesy in 3D, were triply so in 2D. Poorly rendered bullets flying toward the screen, slow motion, close up coin flips, unbelievable glass breakage... it looks juvenile, which goes back to my point about it feeling too glossy, where it should be dark and gritty. The plot is silly, but that's okay. What's not okay is DRIVE ANGRY too often pit-stopping to expound on some bullshit we don't fucking care about. There is a short, unexplained pre-credit sequence where we see a car busting out of a fiery prison. There is a bullshit voice-over about criminals thinking they can get away, but can't, blah blah blah. The should have info-dumped the plot right here, and then never stopped the fucking car for the rest of the movie. Driving, shooting, fucking, shooting, driving. That should have been the storyboard for DRIVE ANGRY. But instead it limps and fumbles and the result is a kind of entertaining film that is worth the dollar to rent at Redbox, but that's about it, and please don't forget to take it back on time. You really don't want to pay an extra dollar.

But if you think DRIVE ANGRY sounds awesome, then I have good news for you. They drop some corny bullshit before the credits that leaves the story open to a sequel. So look for Nic Cage as John Milton in

DRIVE ANGRIER 3D

Coming soon to a theater near you.

And here's the full trailer in HD for your viewing pleasure. This trailer is, however, fucking terrible. Just saying.

Preparing my daughter for the Revolution

It wasn't an easy decision to have a child while I've been pretty sure life as we know it is going to end this year. Ever since those Jackals eating the City on the Mount dreams that started in college, it has been a race against the clock. That said we brought little miss V into the world and it's my job to get her ready for the revolution. On our list of skills that we have checked off so far include throwing and kicking. She has super sweet attack moves like the "monkey paw" (she grabs you by the face, pulls you close and twists as hard as she can, all the while laughing. It is god damned frightening.) and she has mastered the "death weasel" (Repeated jumps on the victims' diaphragm) then theres some sort of terrible pinch punch to your collarbone. She can march in time and can skip on one leg. She covers herself in homemade tattoos of Elmo's family which can be super intimidating. And now she hangs out with a rapping Koala that speaks Chinese...Maybe it isn't perfect, but it is a work in progress. We're totally like Jet Li and kid in Legend of the Red Dragon, fighting undead robot circular saw throwing metal crab ninjas and shit...

The Idaho Vandals are the Mostawesomeistever

Everyone who has spent any time playing NCAA knows how frustrating it can be to play the guy who only plays as Florida State or Texas. He has memorized his standard eight cheap ass plays and even if his strategy is lacking the sheer amount of talent on his team makes it a frustrating afternoon. Don’t be that guy! Fuck that guy. Be a Vandal!

Hear me out. Here are some reasons you should seriously look at playing as the Idaho Vandals this season.

An Empty Urgency

When I lost my job I was terrified. As much as I had longed to separate myself from the company of my coworkers, I had no leads on future employment. It was the most unreal, nebulous week of my life, though not just because I learned on Monday that Friday would be my last. I reacted much better to the news of my impending unemployment than I did to the other, rather more significant proclamation that I would soon be a father, but that's another story. I mention it only to illustrate how fucking scared I was come 5:00 PM that Friday. My final conversation with my supervisor didn't go as well as I'd have liked, and I went home unsure what Monday would bring. At the time, even unemployment seemed like a long shot.

It felt a bit like trekking through the forest at night. You hear rumblings, but you lack the experience to identify them. You're imagination burns like a fire in the night, illuminating the unknown but showing you only the things you fear most. Every windblown branch is the crouching of a tiger ready to strike. Every grating rockfall is the lumbering of a bear stalking lazily after you. You don't know what the dark hides. Not really. So you fear it. Maybe the danger is remote, the distance of a problem that belongs to someone else, or perhaps the eyes of a hungry predator could be contemplating you right now, the danger very, very real. You don't know. That's what it felt like, leaving the shop that day, not knowing what dangers hid in the dark future.

But it worked out. That first check was like a taste of ambrosia. It was a reprieve, a second chance at a life that had been slipping away like sand between my fingers, each grain an opportunity lost, a dream forgotten in the brutal moment of wakening. But there was more to it than that.

The sensation of not having to live according the schedule of someone else, someone who doesn't give a squirt of piss about you, and who you in turn likely despise for the control the exercise over you, is akin to feeling a warm breeze under feathered wings you never knew you had. It's the kind of freedom that children feel the first morning of summer vacation, but is forgotten under the burden of responsibility and age. The freedom of a blank calendar. The freedom to spend your most precious resource in whatever way you wish.

This is where I told myself all the things I'd do with the time I'd been given. Sure, I'd look for work, but no problem if I didn't find something for awhile, right? There were things I'd neglected, important parts of me that had been left to atrophy and needed some exercising. I would write. So many ideas, but my work had been physically demanding and left me exhausted. Now I had all the time in the world... I would read. It had been months since I picked up a book. I'd lose weight. Nothing to stop me from working out every day now. I'd start a business, I'd learn to play the piano, I'd ride my motorcycle, I'd learn something new every day, I'd... I'd...

Suffer paralysis of choice. Do none of those things. Waste weeks of absolute freedom. My days would be devoid of thought and empty of action. My skin would lose its tan, my wit its edge, my passion its heat, my desire its force. And for every day lost, the next would seem so much more important. But the building urgency to capitalize on this rapidly diminishing window of opportunity is directly opposed by the weight of an empty calender. And the dark falls, and the fear returns.

You're probably wondering what the fuck I'm going on about, and hoping I'll clip the flowery rhetoric soon. Maybe you know exactly how I feel, and you understand exactly why I'm writing this. Maybe.

March Madness is Madness in March

I have to admit I know very little about basketball, especially college basketball. Luckily for you that means I know about a thousand times more than you on the subject. I mean I don't remember you beating me on NCAA Final Four Basketball. Not to sound like a jerk.., no I can be a jerk if I want to, I have a general comprehension of sports that most mere mortals could, well, never comprehend. It's not entirely your fault. Some of us were created in a little more of his image than others. Over time I have developed a very specific skill set that makes me far superior in the realm of sports commentary and analysis. It has meant much sacrifice in both my personal and professional life. I rarely look up from the stacks and stacks of spreadsheets and various screens that litter my every waking being. I think I may have had a cat at one point, but who has time for feeding time? Not I! Have you looked at how Virginia Tech is 11-23 against the spread after a non conference game? That's negative 13.5 units for gods sake! When I inhale I am filled with the aromas of dirty jocks and half empty cans of slurm but when I exhale I spread the sweet ambrosia of Bracketology to all those willing to receive the word.  Wichita State is +175? That is one I'll take! Have you looked at my baby? She is beautiful in her own way... I mean all children disappoint... We can only hope that they straighten up in the end... SAINT JOHNS WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU!!! I HATE YOU SO MUCH! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU! ........It's okay. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. You couldn't have, actually.., meant.., to... Who needs friends when I have all this beautiful beautiful basketball?! Most certainly not me. Kittens you look different today. Have you always spoken the riddles of Manucious? Hold me close Digger. Tonight we dine in hell!

Happy Pie Day, Anger Paraders

Man, I fucking love Pie. I love it so much that I spell it with a Capital P to highlight the divinity of Pie. Or something haughty and philosophical like that.

My favorite type of Pie, you ask? That's a really big question, but I'm relatively tradition (relative to what, I have no idea) in my love of Pie. A nice Dutch Apple crafted with fruit handpicked from my great grandmother Pauline's (Pie rest her soul) small orchard sits alone atop my Pie-power-tower, GodKing over all other baked goods. This is a sensation that lives on only in memory, however.
Lucky, there are many more tangible flavors more readily available. Rubarb Pie is a family favorite, and Huckleberry is a local delicacy that I miss. However, I've discovered a love of Pecan here in TX. Pumpkin Pie is, naturally, a fall favorite, and one rarely goes wrong with a sugar encrusted Peach Pie. Oh, and I almost forgot: The Olivia Munn Pie. Mmm mmmmmmm.

Now, lets talk a little bit about this whole cake vs. Pie thing: Don't you think...

Wait. Wait just a gods damned minute. I've just been informed that I'm a little off-base with this. Apparently - and I can't even believe I'm typing these fucking words - Apparently it isn't Pie Day. According to CNN, my go to source for light reading and current events, it's Pi Day. Instead of a day of celebration for the taste sensation that is a sugary filling baked into a crumbly, buttery crust, we're honoring a number. And it's not even a very exciting number! And really, it's a day for a symbol that represents a number, not even the digits themselves. How fucking esoteric and irrelevant is that?

Whatever. I'm going to go eat some fucking Pie. I leave you with this:

There can be only one: Charlie Sheen

It pains me to jump on any sort of bandwagon and beating dead horses just makes me sad, so I really intended to stay away from this particular wagon being drawn by a team of well flogged long dead equine, but then Mike and I spent two hours drinking and overindulging in the Charlie Sheen media blitz, after which I came home to find this over at Virtual Shackles and, well, here we are...

New Anger Parade Contest! Name Wade's Son!

As every expecting father knows, naming your baby can be one of the most challenging things you will face. I'm sure it ranks right up there with accepting you are always wrong, always smelly, always the cause of generally anything and everything bothering your pregnant spouse at any given time. It is your fault that this demon, heart burn inducing, devil spawn is in her. So man up and name your kid something awesome!

When I drink gasoline we all win!

If while out for a bit of grocery shopping don't hit a pedestrian with your two thousand pound Pontiac Bonneville. Especially not a blind one. At the very least, don't just drive off leaving before mentioned blind person bleeding in the road. That is a dick move, bra.

nice!