On being horny when I’m hung over and Canadian Films:

I am frequently exposed to more Canadian films than is healthy for any young man.  Now anyone who considers themselves a proper cinephile would exclaim the opposite, that I am not sufficiently supporting the Canadian film industry. As if the Canadian film industry is so impacted by my refusal to sit through The Love Guru in theaters as I’d prefer to set my hair on fire and eat glass; that it caused the Canadian share of the box office to plummet. Well good, because we make maple syrup and hockey for the mentally challenged in this fucking country, not quality films.

We’re not Hollywood, I mean they don’t make quality films either, but they have the assets to paint up a ten dollar whore of a script until it’s a high class call girl of a blockbuster. We do not, and that should be okay, because we aren't suited for that particular brand of affluence and eccentricity. Roman Polanski feeling up a fourteen year old in Jack Nicholson’s apartment while his wife is getting fucking murdered, that’s Hollywood. The Canadian equivalent is like, Justin Trudeau giving an elk an HJ in Christopher Plummer’s herb garden. Even that scenario sounds too interesting for the Canadian Film industry. Though I’ll bet they could make a movie using that premise, Canadians can make a film about any piece of shit event that ever happened; call it like, “Christopher Plummer’s: Elk Moan Garden”.

"I could have sworn I heard a francophone liberal jerking off local fauna back here..."

Look, I enjoyed Hardcore Logo, I know who Don McKellar is and I’m sure I've pulled my mush-cap to Laura Vandervoort at least twice. 

Or 1,436 times, whatever... ... ... ...1,437.

Plus, I am Canadian, but These theatrical atrocities have to stop. I've seen over thirteen Canadian Films, which is likely twelve more than you have, so I’m basically an expert. I’m a doctor in Canuck moving pictures. How you ask? Because when I get black out drunk, the next morning when I’m hung over to the point of heart palpitation and leg cramps, I’m horny as hell

Like, this drunk.... ... Holy shit is that Christopher Plummer?

I’m “lock your doors and hide any small mammals you keep for comfort ” horny. I will sex you and your gerbil or hedgehog or whatever directly the fuck into submission. No joke. So how can I ensure I won’t go all Carlton Gary on good people just out for a Sunday stroll? Well I handcuff my left leg to my bed post, but also, I slap on a Canadian made movie because Canadian cinematography kills an insatiable morning bone faster than pressing a lit cigar to you nipple.

Guess which country actually made this film... GUESS!!

I think it’s the shame. I am shamed as a Canadian to watch the unjustifiably shoddy cinema just ooze through my fifty-five inch television screen, bounce of my ten inch erection and strike me direction in my one quarter inch pupils.  Okay, I exaggerated, the television is only a fifty-one inch but the beveled edges make it look wider. Let that sink in. I wake up in a state of mind that exists right before a person becomes a raging sex offender, and Canadian movies are so bad that they prevent various molestations that could have occurred throughout the city just because of the sheer embarrassment they cause me as a Canadian citizen. They stop me dead in my tracks. No matter how horny I am, feeling ashamed about my national identity gives me Bob Dole penis.

Because I haven't since 1964

Why do I get so horny when I’m hung over anyway? I wonder about that every time I wake up after binge drinking the night before and get that “Christmas Morning” feeling in the pit of my stomach. Instead of gifts under the tree, it’s just my unwrapped ding-dong but it’s the same anticipation. I’m a grown ass man, why am I so excited about spanking it,  I pretty much perfected the technique when I was fifteen. It’s old news. 

Universities even have established protocols for this sort of thing.

Not when I’m hung over though. When I’m hung over, my dick becomes a mystical divining rod, something Indiana Jones would gruffly say belongs in a museum and something so precious Nicolas Cage would tell me to put back in the box with a hilariously bad southern drawl.

Sweet, Face-Off  is on... or the... The other one....Whatever.

Notice how none of those movie references included Ginger snaps 3. I’m going to repeat that Ginger snaps…Its Wiccan vampire lesbians who bake… I guess… How many of these installments do we need in the franchise? Canadians say at least three. Speaking of franchises, do you know what big box office movie was filmed in Canada; Twilight. It’s not a Canadian film per se, but it was filmed here. We can now add sparkle-tards that implausibly pull themselves along what appears to be the magnetic bark of a magic tamarack to local British-Columbian fauna.

Yes, Of course you are. Shine on you crazy piece of shit.

I Googled “Why do hangovers make me horny?” and I found nothing. Am I seriously the only guy that gets aroused the morning after drinking and needs the sub-par directing skills of Grant Harvey to not cause second degree friction burns to my todger? 

"I guess that's okay, but now let's try and make it less like a film and more like a vasectomy for your eyeballs."

I found “why am I hungry when I’m hung over” which I tend to be as well, but only after I've given myself a flogging of epic proportions. I found a myriad of advice on how to avoid a hang over. Unsurprisingly, none of them suggested you not get shitfaced in the first place, because alcohol is the ambrosian lube that keeps the societal gears blissfully turning.

I wish Bruce McDonald hadn't made Hardcore Logo 2. The original film was one of those ignorance shattering experiences that forever changes the way you look at the medium. Like the first time you make a gay friend, excitement and social tolerance building at it’s best. It was black and white, it was about punk rock and it introduced me to the Headstones. That film was so far from being the usual thin donkey spunk Canadians churn out that I was floored.

"Did your scrotum just fucking explode from how punk rock you are?!?"

"Yes it did, did yours?"

"No, you should get that looked at, mine stopped at an erection."

"You're right this is extremely painful. This movie fucking rules!"

Then it became a boner killing Canadian film when its sequel came out and it was about Bruce himself. Not even actual Bruce McDonald, like an imaginary Bruce McDonald who cashed in and went to the states and made cable television shows and shit. That should highlight my point about Canadian films generally being script and cameras put to boring events no one cares about. A Fat director’s attempt at non-fiction does not a movie make. Bruce McDonald, to you and the entire Canadian film industry: stop killing my top ‘o the morning white birch love logs with your confusing Canadian crap. That’s unless you make a Canadian film about why people get fucking horny the morning of a hangover. For that film, you have my blessing for the straight to DVD release any day of the week.

Yes, this looks exactly like the sequel to Hardcore Logo I had in my head. Fuck you Bruce.