**IT WAS RECENTLY BROUGHT TO MY ATTENTION THAT THE JERK HALF-BONING UP MILEY'S STENCH TRENCH IS ACTUALLY ROBIN THICKE, NOT ALAN THICKE FROM GROWING PAINS (OR IS IT?). I WON'T CHANGE IT IN THE ACTUAL POST AS I FEEL IT'S BETTER TO EXPRESS HOW LITTLE RESEARCH I DID ON THIS ASSHOLE IN THE FIRST PLACE. 

Special Thanks Marc J. Ouellette, and sorry Mikey's Dad.


So Miley Cyrus looked like a half finished Macklemore fetus and I didn't know who Alan Thicke** was when I saw this "OUTRAGEOUS" Miley Cyrus performance. To me there is nothing shocking about a shitty, drunk half-of-Gwen-Stefani shaking her little country flap-jack ass on gay Beetlejuices' rancid meat stick.

When I watched it, I couldn't figure out why this was even a thing. I needed to do some research. I proceeded to smoke a bunch of crushed up sleeping pills and stumble to my local library. After some public vomiting and a thirteen hour nap on a pile of books about the Holocaust, I went home and checked the internet, which told me Miley Cyrus was... wait for it, this is going to blow your fucking mind. HANNAH MONTANA.

My understanding is people are more angry at Hannah than Miley. How dare the real slut that Miley Cyrus is, ruin fake Hannah Monatna's pedo-bait country girl image by twerking at Alan Thicke**, who is apparently a less charismatic, syphilitic George Michael. Gross. You could almost hear Billy-Ray's achy heart break.

"Wut I gone 'n done?"

I contend that all that skinny ass shaking and the Gene Simmons tongue sticking out of the bloated, red, drunk Liz Taylor mouth was to distract us from the shitty music.

"Why so serious?"

"Rawrgarrblewarbble Fuuuuuuuck Yooooouuuuu yabbableurp!"

It's like everyone stopped being outraged by the absolutely horrible white girl half rapping half ... ... talking. That's not music, but we didn't care because she like, tried to do what is typically reserved for black women in strip clubs. Forget that, I don't care who twerks, my boner is color blind, but my ears hate shit. Miley Cyrus and Alan Thicke** are shit. THAT is what isn't okay.

Unlike everyone else, I focused on the ear rape I was subjected to, and not the twerking. I had to detox on music that I enjoy. Music I like to listen to when I'm trying to relax, drink a beer, do some writing, and not masturbate to Miley Cyrus. I'm going to basically list off a few albums I used to forget that Alan Thicke** is a real person, and remember the good old days of musical scandals, like Janet's big ass mocha frappaccino titty, and when Britney Spears kissed either Madonna or Cloris Leachman on stage.

Madonna, probably.

You don't have to like it, you just have to agree it's actual music, from a time when auto-tune meant finding the right rate of oscillation on your car radio by punching your younger sibling with your free hand until they found some suitable rock.

"Keep turning the dial you little shit I want some Ramones!"

First up we have Bob Log, specifically, Bob Log III.

SWAG

I'm pretty sure this guy is a sex alien from the inner-space of Denis Quaids alcohol addiction. One man bands always make me wonder what the fuck I'm doing with my life. How do they multi-task like that? If I try and drink something while I'm watching Netflix I will knock myself in the teeth with the cup and manage to somehow spill the television. This guys plays all the instruments. ALL OF THEM. And he's a complete asshole.

Such a dick.

Favourite Quote: "I'm a professional God damnit, I live in a car!"

Next, we have The Smugglers, Selling the Sizzle.

A Canadian pop-rock band from like, around when I learned how to tug my weiner, so it takes me back to a very rewarding time in my life. I broke up with a girl that had a weird mole near her goodies and had to smoke like, two grams of grass and drink a pot of coffee while listening to the "Especially You" track on a constant loop to get the anxiety fueled courage to end it. I never expressed that it was the beauty mark GPS map next to her gitch that was driving my desire to "see other people", but sometimes honesty isn't the best policy.

"Stop, in the name of labiaaaaaa!"

Favourite Quote: "You're sexy enough for sex I can get anywhere."

The Modern Lovers, Self-Titled

The Modern Lovers are a perfect, surreal and talented band in a talentless and non-sensical way. Jonathan Richman is absolutely terrible with a voice that sounds like an autistic child trying to force his dick into a keyhole filled with peanut butter. That's essentially what makes it great. There's a "Ramones before the Ramones" element in the "Government Center" track, Iggy Pop-esque blathering on the "Astral Plane" track.

For serious, though, don't.

Even a "I just came down from a 3 day acid trip and now I'm unemployed and my cat is dead" feeling to the ever depressing and unpopular "I'm Straight" as it drones on like David Cronenberg trying to talk dirty through a ceiling fan.

Exploding head due to dirty Cronenberg sex talk.

Favourite Quote: "Tonight I'm all alone in my room, I'll go insane, if you won't sleep with me I'll still be with you. I'm going to meet you on the Astral Plane."

In conclusion, listen to these albums, don't smoke sleeping pills and never let Cronenberg read Fifty Shades of Grey to you unless you have a death wish. Also Miley Cyrus isn't important enough to slap all over the news while Syria (though comparable to the situation in Alan** Thickes pants) burns. I'm on vacation all next week so hit me up on the book of faces or twitter and maybe we can twerk together or something.

                                                                          My Vacation: don't miss out.

On The Mad Max Video Game, Porn on Tumblr and Harper being a turd in Ireland

Hey kids, ever wanted a game in which you can be a crazy anti-semitic alcoholic shithead in a future post-apocalyptic NASCAR themed world full of midgets and Tina Turner?!

The Future

No? Well fuck you because Avalanche studios is making one anyway. Don't worry though, apparently Mel Gibson's iconic dick thumping, racist mechanic won't be stuck with that stupid authentic Australian accent. That's right, Avalanche decided that they weren't going to sully their twisted metal rip-off with any super homo foreign accents. Instead, he's going to sound just like Solid Snake, or Commander Sheppard, or any other archetypal tough white guy from any other video game. Thank God, we almost had a movie-based video game that wasn't a potato faced abortion. Don't believe me? Play the Charlie's Angels game, its like being uppercut in the dick with you childhood dreams.

Shoryuken!

Without having that Australian element in the game, I'm sure it's basically Fallout with Halo mechanics and Asperger's syndrome. Fallout didn't even HAVE a vocal aspect of your character, it did however have gamer created mods for realistic drug use and graphic polygonal fellatio. Also, they make sure to mention the lack of accent is because technically I guess you're not playing Mel "Auschwitz Lager" Gibson in this "game". 

"NO! Keep whipping him, I'll tell you when to cut you little son of a bitch PASSION OF THE CHRIIIIISSSSTTT!!!"

No, that would be too close to what the title of the game glaringly insinuates.You're just a generic North American asshole in the Australian outback. An unforgiving place filled with sheet-metal dune buggies and massive plot holes.

"Look out for the giant plot... holes... guys... Great, good job."

The chances of this game not sucking are about the same as the statistical probability that a meteor made of galactic sausage will hit George Takei and turn him straight. I'm willing to bet the game is filled with subliminal

pictures of Mel Gibson milking a lactating Adele onto a pentagram or something. 

Moo.

If it was about milking Adele's udders, I would buy the shit out of that game. I mean I would pirate it, because I pull in a barely working class income and I'm lazy. I'm so lazy that I watch porn on Tumblr. I'm desensitized enough that the gaping butt holes don't even bother me that much anymore. There's a lot of butt hole gaping pictures on Tumblr, that, and .gifs of weak ejaculation. Which I have difficulty ejaculating to.

There was a time when people has to pay a six pence at an old timey caravan on the outskirts of town to see the kind of questionably sexual material found on Tumblr. I'm glad those days are gone because carnies make my wang turtle up like an alien navel being eaten by a hairless mole rat. Which is likely also something you can find on Tumblr.

DTF

You know you hit a low point in your sex life when you can achieve orgasm by fist-stroking yourself to a 3 second .gif of a bimbo spitting on a cats face. 

Dude, seriously, what the fuck?

I always wondered why there is any porn at all on Tumblr. The internet took porn from the creepy basements and brown paper bags to the number one destination in the world. The most advanced communication system ever developed in the history of mankind is a giant boob-gina machine. 

The Internet

I feel like Tumblr takes it further though. It's like: "Hey, do you approve of what I'm masturbating to regularly? Stick around, more of what I pull my pud or punch my pink power ranger to in the next ten minutes!" It's like the Cole's notes version of someones fap-diary. It's condensed and horrifyingly accurate. It doesn't just feel like you're spanking it, it's like you're spanking it WITH the person that owns the Tumblr. Which in most cases is a morbidly obese, microwave popcorn enthusiast with bad eyesight and stubby, sweaty little piglet fingers dancing across the keyboard with lust fueled aggression. 

Holy shit, George R.R. Martin has a porn Tumblr?!

Yeah, you're fapping with THAT guy. Awesome. Kind of makes you feel like an asshole, right?

Speaking of assholes, guess what Harper did. He went to Ireland. It's bad enough that we couldn't hide our stiff twat of a Prime Minister from the jolly Emerald Isle, which is embarrassing, but while he was there, he was the most insensitive piece of cowboy hat wearing shit you can imagine. 

SWAG.

So Prime Minister Turdbot 2013 goes to Ireland presumably to be the second Canadian Prime Minister to address the British Parliament (That's right, this is the SECOND time those skew-toothed Limey's treat us like an actual country instead of a backwater bacon colony) and well... He essentially just got drunk.

Look how tiny that pint looks next to Harper's fat, inflated rat-face.

That's not the thing though, the thing is, the hot topic in Ireland right now? cirrhosis of the liver is at crisis levels among the youth and professionals in Ireland. We're talking to a point where the government is as concerned as any plastered Patty politician can be. 

Which, according to this picture of Irish politician Brian Cowen, is not very.

This is especially a problem for women, who, according to Irish doctors, are dropping like freckled, jaundiced flies over there. So you know, women still can't hold their liquor. That fundamental fact notwithstanding though, Harper spent the three days he was there with Guinness brewery representatives, like, the ENTIRE time. Basically rubbing alcohol abuse in the faces of every single Irish official he could chug a pint in front of. He even tweeted about it... Which probably doesn't matter because if you follow Stephen Harper's twitter for any other reason, you're a fucking idiot.

Stephen Harper ‏@pmharper16 Jun

Going through a secret passageway at Farmleigh. For you Clue fans it's in the study, with the candlestick. http://ow.ly/m5fil 

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Hurr hurr... Oh Stephen, you ridiculously unfunny piece of sterilized shit...

The bottom line is, our Prime Minister is Darth Vader with no force powers, social etiquette or personality. I know I'll be giving myself cirrhosis just getting through enough of this Mad Max game to get so bored that I take a break to see what you're jerking off to on Tumblr and creepily join you.

See you there...

Casually Confused Movie Reviews: Man of Steel

So I went to view Man of Steel at an actual theater which is something I reserve for very special occasions. I don't want to pay $163.95 for anything less than an aggressive Star Wars themed hand job from a female custodian with baby soft palms and REAL butter popcorn. Not the oily refuse that comes out like tears from a severely dehydrated Asian orphan. The Man of Steel was one such occasion. I even went with other people, which I typically don't like doing because surround sound makes me nervous and I'm a biter.

Before I even let the fan boys angrily wander into the imaginary territory where I must have "missed something" or didn't "understand the depth", I'll elaborate on a few things. I am a tremendous comic book geek, I wanted a good Superman movie as bad as I want to have commitment-less intercourse with an ethnic melting pot of supermodels, and yes, I saw this film with ALL the trimmings. We're talking the vibrating seats with the incredible surround sound experience. The concave wrap-around screen with such a high frame rate you can see your future self shitting your pants in real time and yes, I saw it in 4D, because when people say 3D, I give them a horrified look, pat them down and scream: "Jesus Christ are you okay? What was it like to exist without the dimension of time?!?". That's another reason I don't go to the theater with people.

All that to say I made a significant series of concessions because I was ready to see what I hoped would be the best Superman movie, no, the best comic book movie ever made. What can I say about it now? It was very good. That's the extent of it. It was very good, and I have a few beefs with it that I just can't get passed. It didn't make me as angry as Batman Forever.

No, we don't, shut your fat whore-mouth, Ellen.

but somehow, with all the hype, this film making me angry at all is blasphemous. Before I break it down, I want to convey that I REALLY wanted to like this movie. The same way black people REALLY wanted O.J. to walk. Maybe even more. Yes, definitely more. Let's break it down in a list of Pros and Cons because full reviews are boring and hopefully I'll find my pants and get sober enough to make a video review this weekend. (5% Nation of Aphorism - YouTube)

• The Cast

We are treated to a great cast in the vein of the Dark Knight trilogy, except worse. The thought is there though, which I can appreciate. You get Waterworld Merman (Kevin Costner), Aussie Rage (Russell Crowe), Fat Morpheus (Lawrence Fishburne) and Young Body with Old Lady Face (Diane Lane). We all know we get Henry Cavill as Superman, who's sole purpose in life is to stop your girlfriend from climaxing with you and Michael Shannon, who's absolutely amazing in every film except this one. Still, that's a cast and a half, and we forget that sometimes because we've been spoiled lately with great casts in comic book films. There was a time when all we had was Toby McGuire kissing Shovel Face with Boobs upside down. 

"Hahahaha, I know right? I can't believe this is a movie either!"

Oh, I forgot to mention Boring Redhead. Precisely because Amy Adams' presence in the cast wasn't a "pro". She delivered terrible lines with no merit and she wasn't sexy, she honestly looked like a divorcee recovering from an eating disorder and her third abortion. To be fair that's likely because she was being compared to Henry "Drano for your vagina" Cavill.

• More Krypton

Granted, Krypton was weird, which isn't necessarily what I wanted, but it isn't what I didn't want either and because it was different, I was pleased. I will say this: It seems like Snyder looked at every popular science fiction film of the last 20 years and just made a collage of success. He did it in a seamless, idiot savant sort of way so I wasn't bored enough to masturbate in public. It combined Geiger-esque bio-mechanical living building crap, Matrix-like thunderous bubble-babies, Avengers style large scale alien invasion combat and Riddick-style dark imperial bone armor. 

Well, the scowl is ... almost different... I guess.

There was one "what in the hot dick" moment during the destruction of Krypton where Russell Crowe flies away on a mutated dragon-fly vulture puppy or something, and then goes deep sea diving into a puddle on a rock tree to find a broken monkey skull in the underground baby breeding pools so... ... ... Yeeeeaaaaah. 

The rest of it was more than forgivable and had a lot of new material, and overly decent special effects.

• Flashback Origin Story

I was taken off guard when this started, because the idea that Superman's childhood being so traumatic that he has constant flashbacks made me think maybe Pa Kent took little Clark out to the shed for more than yard work. I quickly realized that even Dances with Wolves couldn't force young Supes into a round of barnyard bumming, and decided to wait and see what Snyder was trying to do with all these misty water-colored memories. Turns out, saving me an ass-load of time because I already know all this crap. Once I got used to it and realized the entire origin story (barring Krypton) was in flashbacks, I was oddly okay with this.

• Punching Action

Ever since I saw the first Superman, with fully erect Reeve action, and drunk Marlon Brando pronouncing Krypton improperly and glowing like the offspring of an Italian with a speech impediment and a lava lamp, that's what I wanted to see. Even though the sixties and seventies were less about violence and more about everyone acting a bit racist, I still wanted to see Superman punch someone. It kind of happens in the original films, but it's all bananas. Like when Kirk does an overhand axe-punch or a half assed judo flip. Watching combat choreography in the US in prior to the new millennium is worse than that stand-alone Friends spin-off "Joey". Seriously, screw Matt LeBlanc. 

"Aaaaaadriiiiiaaaaaannnnnn!"

This was the greatest thing about the movie. See something, then watch Superman punch it. See someone? Watch Superman punch that someone. See a satellite? Fuck satellites, Superman takes something and hits someone with that something into a fucking satellite. 

• The alien Invasion is actually menacing

Unlike in Avengers, where the alien invaders somehow manage to be less intimidating than a mentally challenged fifth grader squeezing your wrist with retard strength while sucking on a glue stick...

Thank you, thank you.

the Kryptonians are actually menacing. The invasion takes very little time, based on the sheer scale of destruction, I have to assume millions perish in the onslaught, and they literally spit roast our planet. They use massive spaceships to fully dick-pound earth into a seismic seizure. The Kryptonians go MMF threesome on mother earth and immediately start terra forming her loins. Superman is obviously the only thing on this planet that can stop them because he is one of them. It's simple, it's an epic-ally large scale threat, and it works.

• Superman straight up kills a dude

Yeah, for real. Some people are going to piss and moan about this, I think it's great. The greatest icon in history, the Christ symbol himself, the boy scout, big blue, the morally infallible Superman is a fucking murderer. How great is that? He roars about it too, not cries, not mumbles or is all like... "what have I done?". He's enraged, he roars like a big dicked space lion and then like, invades Lois Lanes mouth around a sea of corpses after breaking Zods god damned neck. And like three days later he's all smiley and being a jerk to military drones and getting soldier chicks to splosh all over the inside of their fatigues.

*SPPPPLLLLLLOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHHHH*

• Lois Lane and the Lois-Clark connection

Let me just say I don't hate Amy Adams, in the right light and with low enough self-esteem I'd munch her out. In this film, it felt like she just transposed a boring version of herself from "The Fighter". She came across as unattractive the entire time, her humorous attempts fell flat, she said things and took chances that made no sense and she somehow had "Superman detection" and was always popping up anywhere he was like every overly attached ex-girlfriend you've ever had. She was completely unnecessary  They also pushed along the evolution of Clark and Lois' interests way too much. Lois couldn't have fallen in love with Supes quicker she'd just gacked up thirteen lines of Colombian cocaine and he'd proposed with a diamond the size of John Travolta's head while wearing a tuxedo made of Ryan Gosling. 

"Oh ma' gawd, diamonds, Oh ma' gawd."

She also literally calls Superman "Clark" within ear shot of three police officers when she arrives on the Kent's farm for NO CONCEIVABLE REASON. For shame, Lois, for shame.

• Tornado Dad

So, Pa Kent get's eaten by a tornado, and is presumably sent to a far away land where Waterworld didn't suck. I understand what they tried to do here, but Kevin Costner did a phenomenal job with creating an interesting tone and character in Pa Kent (Which Diane Lane decidedly did NOT with Ma "just breathing should be enough" Kent.) Somehow though, Snyder decides to take you from a series of touching flashbacks and painstaking developmental back-story to an angry non-conformist Clark whining "You're not even my REAL dad!" 

"Well, you're not.... whatever... where are the pizza pockets?"

and ham-fistingly fast forwards to a Tornado that kills Pa Kent. It's supposed to symbolize Clark trusting his father and the guilt and blah blah with great power comes great teen-aged angst and all that. All it did for me was leave me thinking; what the eff, dude. Even if Clark ran at "normal" speed, he could have saved Pa Kent by subtly using his super-strength. He already saved a fucking bus full of children and showed everyone he was a Lou Ferrigno reborn, who cares?

"I SAID WHERE ARE THE FUCKING PIZZA POCKETS?!"

• Jor-El is Everywhere

Dad 1, Russell Crowe, like Tornado-face dad, had a great high level performance in this film, but he's there ALL THE TIME. It's hard for me to give a shit about your dead dad (or like, first dead dad, or whatever) When he just pops in to talk to you like, you know, whenever. 

"'Sup, did you find the pizza pockets?"

He even saves Superman's ugly girlfriend, dude. I found myself asking: is this movie about Superman or Jor-El's computer space ghost? Russell Crowe was severely overused, and Kevin Cost-balls was severely underused and it just felt wrong.

• Henry Cavill is trying to make me gay

That's literally all I can say about that.

• Makes a great actor just OK

I don't know how they did it, but they made Michael Shannon stand out LESS than "random military guy who fights Feora" in this film. 

Who the fuck is this, anyway?

He get's less screen time than I would have expected and I don't know if it's bad writing or bad directing or a mid-production Nolan-sized stroke, but Shannon was actually slightly campy at times. I couldn't believe it. Let's be straight, good 'ol "Pug-eyes" Shannon is still really good, but I think that's because HE'S REALLY GOOD. Zod on the other hand was bland, and again, they Usain Bolt'd the shit out of his character progression.

"You say origin story, Usain say plot summary."

• Pacing

The Achilles heel of this movie is really the pacing. Lois ovulates too quickly, Zod get's passed earth-tardation within a minute of combat, despite having been crippled by it thirty minutes earlier. You just start understanding Clark and Pa Kent's relationship and then a tornado eats him. 

"Tell you what son, we're having such deep and meaningful progression in our father son relationship lately, let's go for a trip to Tornado Coast, I'm feeling so good, let's not even check the weather forecast."

Within minutes of discovering his heritage, Superman wears a metro-sexual jumpsuit and tries to fly for the fuck of it. Heat vision is never explained. This is because developing his abilities don't even get a shitty Stallone montage, we are expected to just accept that the entire premise of this film is to freight train us to the point we get to watch Superman punch the shit out of Kryptonians, space ships, robots, buildings, satellites and virginity.

Take that, virginity!

All in all, I liked this movie. A lot. I will watch it again, except really high and with tights on. I'm expecting to have a video up for an angry discussion with the people I actually saw this film with before next week, so stay posted and go see it for yourself or fuck you.