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Non Apologia. . ..
In the October 16 issue of Entertainment Weekly, there appears a short article in which Tyler Perry reveals he was the victim of extreme abuse as a child. Child molestation and its corollary abuses are criminal and repugnant on any level, to anyone. I hardly lack the compassion to not feel this was a terrible thing. However he and fellow spotlight whore, Oprah Winfrey are set to profit from this muy pronto by wide release of Winfrey’s latest cinematic cash cow.* I’m sure some of the take will go to charities they support. Anyone know how much? Odd they are so circumspect in that arena. Sweet restraint. If only they’d do it everywhere else.
I don’t like those two people. They exploit their pain in the name of helping others. Perry has been very successful wearing a dress & making movies of it. We all know what Oprah does. Though frankly, I’m not sure. She has a magazine which features her on the cover. Every issue. Excessive at best, egoistic certainly. Does she even know O is the title of a major erotic novel. She’s obviously aware it’s the Periodic Table symbol for oxygen, as she’s full of hot air. Regardless, Winfrey was also famously the victim of family horrors. Who knew it could be so profitable? Repeatedly. I’m guessing they did, every chance they got. It separates them from me, I know that for sure.
One has to question the motives of tossing this information out into the media, like chum to sharks. Does it help the sadly large numbers of others who have suffered and currently are suffering? Many of them in silence. Is it going to give the courage to some boy to put on a female family member’s clothing & upload it onto You Tube—in hopes he’ll hit number one, as opposed to being hit by someone. Most likely it will make him or her a target to a larger circle of creeps. Or worse. We’ll have another Tyler Perry. There will of course, never be another Oprah. Thank God & Steadman for that-amen.
They are not the only people to regurgitate their traumatic lives. MacKenzie Phillips just wrote a book and went on some shows to talk about her incestuous episodes with her father, John Phillips aka Papa John of The Mamas & the Papas, a successful folk-rock group in the Sixties. Papa John—not to be confused with the pizza magnate, though there is an awful joke there, I’ll skip it, was known to get doped up & was quite the ladies man. Apparently ( no pun-OK it is ) he had no governor on which lady, all were fair game. Maybe Mac will have a Lifetime movie. I’m guessing Valerie Bertinelli won’t be in it.
So, I’m sorry Tyler, I had no idea you were so fucked up. Listening to you speak, reading about your work, seeing how you want to own an island—I never guessed. But hey Oprah—try featuring something else on the cover of O magazine other than your fat face. You don’t see Malcolm Forbes on the cover of Forbes —what? he’s dead, machts nichts schnickelfritz, you think I don’t suspect you have a clause stating O runs your mug until the end of the universe?
And oh yeah, I was abused. But I don’t wear a mu mu for money in bad flicks. And I wouldn’t. I might use it to dodge a war. But hey, I ain’t stoopit.
* I know the title – I’m not helping them, even with my 3 readers
Correction
We’re sorry, the following title as it appears – I CAN DO BAD ALL BY MYSELF – is a typo. It is actually listed with the Screenwriters Guild and IMDb as – I CAN DO BAD MOVIES ALL BY MYSELF. QED
In a related story, all the resale & thrift shops in Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Van Nuys & Manhattan are out of womens size 23 clothing. Donations are needed. Thank you.
In the Year 2013. . .. or Larry King stole this style from me 40 years ago
I just realized the reason the Mayan Calendar ended at 2012. Those freaks ritually sacrificed all the guys who could do the math! which is apparently where the phrase ” do the math ” has its origins. They literally ripped the heart out of their civilization. The dumbasses killed the smart guys just to appease their gods. BTW Apocalypto was a really good flick. I do know two men who were disappointed by it though. I overheard them outside the theatre after the show. One of them thought it was Apocalypso. Well, there was dancing. The Mayans were nutjobs, but we can thank them for adding jai lai to world sports.
Speaking of ancient religions & suicidal tendencies, old Jehu Cristos must have had a major death wish. He not only took on the the entire Roman Empire with his big mouth, he confronted the alte cockers of Jeruselam. Not content to piss them off, he insulted and criticized the hierarchy of Judaism on a daily basis. Having been evicted from the Home Land by pharoahs, they were in no mood to take it on the chin from some snotty kid. Especially one who never got Bar Mitzvahed. Hey! no applause. This stuff just comes to me in between listening to sportstalk hosts refer to Shakespeare’s “novels” and the Egyptian pyramids where “the Mayans did their calendar.” Stick to Lou Piniella and Milton Bradley’s hissyfit & the scores Jason.
I know it’s way too much to hope that last night’s Baltimore Oriole comeback win—they were losing 10-1, over the Rat Sox will mean a deep downward spiral for those creeps. But Manny is due back in LA LA Land Friday. It will be fireworks somewhere this weekend. Good one huh.
Phillies should trade for Carl Pavano. He doesn’t beat his wife. But a move back to the National League and he just might beat enough teams to help the Phils. Unlike the rest of this blog, I’m virtually 100% serious.
I can’t help it—I love ENTOURAGE. But I’d shitcan Ari Gold in a NY minute, too counter-intuitive & petty for me. And who knew Adrian Grenier could sing—well, I have to wait for the DVD release. Thanks NetFlix—don’t fuck me up w/SMALLVILLE though. Please.
Where Angels Fear to Tread w/ commentary by Chico Marx
“Hey! thatsa pretty fonny. You canta fool me boss. Thosa Transformahs ainta racists, theyah battlebots they donta race!” Chico Marx
Let me get this straight. There are some people upset about racism in the new movie Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. The pervasive destructive disregard for life, property and national treasures, that’s okay? Not to mention the dogged possibility of damage to Megan Fox. And the veritable lake size puddles of oil they leave behind. I’d be an idiot of the same stripe as they are, to read as if I’d ever condone racism. But the superficial, knee jerk reactions of such people do nothing but actually pour some of that bot fluid on the flames.
They learned a big word once—stereotype. But they learned it in the context of an explanation with negative connotations. Am I even allowed to use negative? Stereotypes, as with the verbal equivalent, the cliché, exist for one reason—they are experiential human shorthand. If it waddles like a duck, we then see a duck, not some poor kid in a mascot suit. Unless of course, it is some kid in a mascot suit. Personally, I have seen just about every stereotype in real life, these jerkoffs complain about. It would be fine with them to have a white trash moron, an Italian mob goombah, a Jewish anything, but not a person of color who isn’t in Mensa? Could’ve been worse, they could’ve had Tyler Perry in drag Transformer. . ..
Bullshit. They are the people with the problem. It is so intense of a problem, they see racist in the use of the word people. In the Sixties, I was a second generation Italian, a teenager with long hair, a beard, wore sunglasses & drove a Corvette. If you knew anything about life before you were born or say, Heaven forfend, read a book, you’d know that was a set of characteristics sure to get you special notice by authorities. Luckily, I never did get any harassment. Because I was lucky and behaved myself, and never got caught the few times I power shifted, burnt rubber and wore a hundred miles off my tires. The only time was when a guy on my softball team, a police sergeant, advised me to be careful of the company I kept. He was right too. And I did. However, if you don’t think I got a taste of prejudice back then, you are culturally bereft. Sure, I had the ability and the option to “clean up my act,” a popular phrase of that era. Oddly, even when I did, I was still the same iconoclastic individual. My attitudes and foibles were internal. Have some groups had unfortunate extra attention? the sad answer is yes. As always, I ain’t here to do an exegesis of race relations. Just to point stuff out. Did I look like a small time drug dealer though? you betcha. Was I? Nope and that rhymes with—okay, but just that one time. And I was drunk. . ..
But including a dumbass black character in a movie is anathema? What! there no stupid blacks? how do you explain Martin Lawrence? You obviously don’t listen to WFAN. While possibly not the only choice for a movie character, if it’s an urban scene, what fits more for the point it makes? an African American with GQ cover looks and two doctorates? or some street thug. All y’all are just hater players. BTW why are you even at that movie? oh—Megan Fox! Sexist ahole huh. Or just hetero and enjoying yourself. I’d say lighten up, but I’m no racialist, you get the picture. Maybe. . ..
“Ha hah ha. Shoo, everybody knows they gotta lottsa juice in Florida. They come frommah Noo Yawk for the sunny shine!” Chico Marx
Manny Ramirez, eagerly ( LOL ) awaiting his return to Mannywood and the Dodger lineup, has caught some new attention himself. This because he is a stereotype—of a ballplayer caught using performance enhancing drugs. Apparently someone he’s been associated with has a father who is a doctor. A doctor can write prescriptions for said PED. Voila! This conduit from outside the US, up into Florida and servicing predominantly Latino jocks, is now under scrutiny. Again may I state: Boston, you are hypocrites & phonies. Have a nice day.
Wowie zowie! God didn’t waste anytime with the dead celebrity trifecta. Banging them out like ARod in batting practice. Only God can do it in the actual games too. Yeah sure Alex has had some good at bats the last few days—90 games to go hombre. Sorry, got off track there. So, Farrah Fawcett, Ed MacMahon, and Michael Jackson are at the Pearly Gates. Saint Peter sees Farrah, looks at his big book and says—-” Angel! go right in.” Ed steps up. Peter says-” Heyo!—you have all ready won. Go on in.” Then he looks at Michael Jackson, looks at the book. Looks at Michael again, then back at the book,* he asks — ” Moonwalk, eh! you were an astronaut?” Michael squeaks, ” Uh yes. Yes I was. An astronaut.” St. Peter smiles, ” Welcome to Heaven.” St. Paul throws Peter a look. Peter looks at paul and says – “Hey have you ever heard him sing She’s Out of My Life? The way his voice breaks at the end. That’s Heaven.”
*Take 2: St. Peter looks down at his book, looks at Michael Jackson. ” Oh dear, it’s Jackson. Whew–I thought they said Michael JORDAN. . ..”
Now if he can only keep his hands off the cherubs. Good night everybody! drive safely and don’t forget to tip your waitrons.
You Bette Your Wife
Once upon a time…
I reviewed a movie for the radio show I was doing. Afterwards, the general manager, a sociopath from the midwest who packed a .357 Magnum & sported framed pics of WW1 German fighter bi-planes on his wall, called me into his office. Basically, he told me not to give a bad review, seeing as how the multi-plex was a sponsor. That, and he hated my work. The movie was the execrable First Wives Club. It has the distinction of being the only movie I have ever walked out on, and I was there free. It was garbage. Whoever wrote it should be executed, forthwith. Retroactively.
Now, one of the flick’s perps, er um actors—Bette Midler, is campaigning for a sequel. While I wish her and her colleagues from that waste of cinematic effort–Diane Keaton & Goldie Hawn*, the best of luck for the rest of their lives, my response to this is —
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
In a related story, cross dresser/hacktor Tyler Perry is demanding he be the fourth wife, because there was no black woman portraying a wife in the original. AND if he got the part, there wouldn’t be in this one either…
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* At one point I was attracted to two of these three women. If you can’t guess which two, you really haven’t taken the time to know me. This saddens & depresses me almost as much as the Yankees 2009 season so far.
Set Phasers on Stunned
The new Star Trek movie (US release May 8 ) has a lot of really good things going for it. I have not seen it yet, but I will. This, despite the fact that along with some very poignant secondary casting i.e. fulfilling a dying academic’s last wish, director J.J. Abrams has included that pretentious prat, T. Perry.
Zoe Saldana portrays Lt. Nyota Uhura—I’m sure Perry is heartbroken he didn’t get the role. Does he play her mother? He’d be perfect as a Klingon—but they don’t wear mumus and eye shadow. This clown must have video of major Hollywood players doing donkey shows. Fortunately the rest of the cast can actually act, I’m praying to Zeus & Apollo the hacktor CD, has limited screentime. Somehow, I knew those old airline barfbags would come in handy.
AS for the old gag reflex, personal events kept me from commenting on the Yankees woes. Even a curmudgeon fifty-plus year baseball fan, knows not to get too negged out in April. Yet one can’t ignore the obvious. I admit I was wrong—this 2009 season’s version of the Yankees bullpen will not shine. Wow–do they suck. And A.J. Burnett, who had appeared to be the only Free Agent acquisition who came to play, totally blew up against the Rat Sox. Sorry, I guess he was nervous once he found out I was watching. I won’t do that again.
Good news is, once they leveled the A Rod-less Yanks, the Beanotown Nine has lost a bunch of games. Couldn’t happen to a more deserving bunch. I have no doubt both teams will be brawling against each other down the stretch. If Alex Rodriguez survives and hits, and Mark Teixiera finally shows up in the same batters box as his bat, the Yankees will be in it at the end. That said—
Selena “The Middle-aged Witch” Roberts’ book about A Rod has crawled out from under its slimy rock. She is the same Sports Illustrated writer who jack-rabbited a story accusing the Duke lacrosse team of party rape several years ago. Those student athletes have since been exonerated of crime, but not after Roberts made her tainted bones off them. Alex Rodriguez and I are not acquainted—but I’m guessing he might be guilty of using illegal, performance enhancing drugs. The key word, as always, in all this crap, is illegal. Because — corrective lenses for players with vision problems or batting gloves for players with sweaty palms are in fact, performance enhancing. As are bigger baseball gloves, tighter wound baseballs and @#%&*! lights for night games—of which there are way too many.
Having gone to journalism school, and been in trouble for my own work ( a few misplaced commas and ummm, some verbiage ), I know what it’s all about. Selena Roberts is only doing what comes natural, like the scorpion did to the frog. I personally chose not to be a reporter. Though, if I could nail Tyler Perry for something I would do it. But unlike Roberts, I wouldn’t write a book. I’d go to Mr. (?) Perry and tell him—if you stop making movies – I won’t publish. Quid Pro Quo Vadis.
They all lived happily ever after. Beam me up Simon…
Sed quis custodiet ipsos custodes
We now know who will watch the Watchmen—anyone too smart to watch a dumbass dude in a dress. They are indeed super-heroes for knocking that db off his hook. The average IQ of ticket buyers for The Watchmen-119. Cumulative IQ for the previous box office leader-83.
Homeless Box Office
Little did I know when I woke up today, that a cross dressing no talent hump would save my life. According to him, this clown was once reduced to living in his car or some phoney Hollwood bullshit back story. He kept praying to the Lord, and Taylor ( not Tyler ) apparently. Because one day, while dumpster diving for dinner, there amidst the Mickey D boxes & wrappers, he found a size 26 floral housedress.
The rest is dreck history. The Lord obviously sending the message, if you all ready believe in me and that hasn’t worked out, the next stage is dress like a woman and make movies. Larry King is too stupid to ask why this ahole keeps at least one fine big black woman out of work, it’s their problem, huh. Maybe they’ll find a Sumo diaper, move to Japan and make it there. In a related story, Queen Latifah and Jennifer Hudson are duking it out for the lead in a biopic— Tyler Perry: Drag Yo Ass.
My antipathy towards drag flicks—not drag racing Biff—aside, I do have him to thank. As soon as I am faced with my own eventual homelessness, I will not make my first stop a store to shoplift an air freshener for my car. I will go to Goodwill and get me a dress, sensible shoes, wig hat and a theatrical agent. Hedging my bets, I’ll drop by Sears and pick up a large Frigidaire box. I’ll probably never make a movie in a dress—just a guess.
I held an Oscar once—I don’t know about now—but 20 years ago, those boys were heavy. They should weigh even heavier on the consciences of the schmucks who didn’t vote for Mickey Rourke. In a year where they got almost everything else right, why? Anyone with a brain knows why. I never had a shot out there. But sometimes I’m glad I never did. I bet my old friend with the Oscar voted for Mickey though—that’s because the friend was a guy from Philadelphia. Ben Franklin & the Stallones would’ve given it to Mr. Rourke for sure. They’d know the difference between merely good acting and a huge heart.
AND since this is a bit random, I’d like to state once again ( and no doubt in a future post ) nothing says going backwards like boxing.* Nothing screams it louder than women boxing. Those idiots call boxing the ” sweet science “. Does the inclusion of women make it the sweeter science? Or maybe just butch-er. There’s a good chance most of them have no idea what science is—the last time beating people might’ve been considered scientific was just before the Paleolithic era.
Maybe I didn’t wake up at all and this is 1809. No wonder my fucking ISP is so slow!
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* Mickey Rourke was a professional boxer before his acting career & for a period of time, during which he left acting. So, I am open minded. Any guy who names a chihuahua after the Norse god of malevolent mischief, is OK with me.
Hack-ting Out
The Writers Guild of America, read: Hollwood hacks, is on strike. They have a point and you may find their issue described elsewhere in detail. Nub of the quill pen, hmmm I mean nib, would be writing royalties or residuals for DVD sales. Simply, they want to be paid part of those huge monies derived from television series sales; I agree.
Well, I agree, some of them should be paid. Not the clowns who write the same kinds of bad teleplays and scripts using phrases such as ‘ Excuse me!’ when a character is indignant ( typically when they are being told the truth about themselves.) AND my new favorite stereotypical response to being asked to comply with some questionable act: ‘ Hell, no! ‘ Nobody should be paid for that, in fact, money should be deducted! Every time either of those lines is uttered, an angel loses its wings. I bet they don’t do that kind of lame work in Islamic countries. At least not more than twice.
Make no mistake, even hack writing is work. It does require a modicum of discipline and an ear for everyday, conversational speech. Not to mention re-cycling other’s pap, churning out cliched crap and/or— I can get it for you wholesale plagiarism. If it was easy, I could do it! Actually, the real skill of these people is being able to sit down and type. Or having a girlfriend/boyfriend/life mate, who can. Being able to make it snow year round in a warm climate, doesn’t hurt either.
While I’m at it, last TV season’s breakout show Heroes, has sucked so far. It’s been soap opera slow with repetitive scenes. The producer, Tim Kring has acknowledged this, and vowed to fix it. Not having writers will be an impediment. Or will it? First sign of Heroes super-shark jumping for me, was the appearance of overly familiar ( and obnoxious ) faces such as Stephen Tobolowsky and Alan Blumenfeld. Whoever thought this was a worthy followup to first season casting of George Takei, Eric Roberts, Christopher Eccleston & Malcolm McDowell, needs to be terminated, rehired, then fired again, right after they buy a house in the Hills.
My sole experience with screenwriting was when I worked for a guy who scored movies. One day, after I had done a particularly good job feeding the cat, he took me aside. Seems he and his writing partner had a screenplay, a teen sex-ploitation comedy. I won’t tell you the basic plot ( think law suit ) but the catch phrase could’ve been: ‘ This one time. . . at Van Camp’s. . .. ‘ * He thought I could take a run at punching it up. What apparently inspired him, was my never-ending supply of anecdotes featuring my show biz failures. Also, he’d just torched some excellent weed. Wow. . . he should hear me now.
Once the smoke had literally cleared, that project went nowhere. However, after reading my version, he did say that I was really wacky. Excuse me? Then he told me it was time to clean the cat’s litter-box. Hell NO! So, I ain’t in the WGA. Or on strike.
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* sorry—gotta know your pop culture and canned goods for that one
Vex Absurditas © 