Witz DOESN'T Pick: Paul Ryan's Playlist

Paul Ryan, seen here listening to "Smug Hits of the '80's"

 While much can (and will) be said about Paul Ryan’s speech at the RNC last night, one seemingly innocent statement struck me as not only odd and contrived, but incredibly revealing: 

 

There are the songs on his [Mitt Romney's] iPod, which I’ve heard on the campaign bus and on many hotel elevators. He actually urged me to play some of these songs at campaign rallies. I said, “I hope it’s not a deal-breaker Mitt, but my playlist starts with AC/DC, and ends with Zeppelin.”

WHY DOES PAUL RYAN’S PLAYLIST END AT “L”?! I mean, if he’s a fan of AC/DC and Led Zeppelin, he’s surely got some Mötley Crüe or Whitesnake in there, right? What about Twisted Sister? Are we to believe that Paul Ryan went through his entire life willing to “take it”? As my friend pointed out, "What kind of monster doesn’t have at least some ABBA mixed in?"

Even if we are to believe that Paul Ryan listens exclusively to metal and hasn’t been tempted into potentially calling Carly Rae Jepsen, party rocking, or celebrating within the bounds of America alongside Miley Cyrus, that would make Paul Ryan a guy who listens exclusively to metal and is completely out of touch with mainstream America!

"Paul Ryan hates black music..."

I don’t want that kind of guy anywhere near the Presidency. AC/DC and Zeppelin Guy can DJ my house party, plan a rafting trip, or sell me weed, but I’m not putting him in the White House. Doing that sounds like the plot to an unreleased Pauly Shore movie from the ‘90’s. You know what doesn’t scream “Starting a war for no legitimate reason?” Bon Iver. The Head and the Heart. Taylor Swift. Mix it up, is all I’m sayin’. We get that you want to sound like a youthful badass, but you already look like the brother of the T-1000. Stop trying so hard; you’re freaking us all out. Besides, if I’m going to vote based on someone’s appreciation of Black Sabbath, then Chuck Klosterman is a much more appealing candidate.

But enough about Paul Ryan, right? He’s only the Vice-Presidential nominee. What was it he said about Mitt, again? Oh yeah, that he’s heard Mitt’s music on hotel elevators. I understand this probably means he listens to a lot of James Taylor and thoroughly enjoys “The Girl from Ipanema,” but what if Mitt Romney’s iPod is stocked solely with muzak? Isn’t that something we should know? I’m pretty sure only sociopaths and the deaf listen to muzak for enjoyment, and it seems entirely possible that Mitt Romney is so out of touch that he sees muzak as some kind of higher art form.

So while Paul Ryan’s comment was made in jest, he has inadvertently given us a window into the musical hellscape that is Romney/Ryan 2012. We may never see all of those tax documents, but for the sake of the American people, please, show us the iPods.

 Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto,

Witz

Witz Pickz: The XXX Olympic Games

Well, the Games of the XXX Olympiad are behind us, and while Vin Diesel never made an appearance (a glaring mistake by NBC during Olympic coverage which was characterized by glaring mistakes), the games did live up to their sexually explicit connotations.

Women's water polo became a veritable "Where's Waldo" of nip-slips and oops-boobs, while simultaneously proving itself as one of the most bad-ass, intense sports I've ever seen. They don't touch the bottom of the pool the entire time, and then wrestle, smack, and battle during every possession. No wonder various body parts are all, "I'm gettin' outta here!"

Meanwhile, I watched so much of the men's swimming and diving that I can now sketch each competitor's package by memory if one of them goes missing. Did we really need that many torso and crotch shots every race? I get it: swimmers have ripped up abs and their crotches look like a hamster got caught in a water balloon. But it became so prevalent that NBC started inadvertently censoring a small portion of the junk-age:

Synchronized divers kept, "entering at the same time," while basketball announcers talked incessantly about, "double penetration," and even, "triple penetration," which, frankly, I don't understand in either--oh, nevermind, yes I do--gross. (How do you even get into synchronized diving? Are you just like, "Man, I like diving, but I'd feel a lot more comfortable if someone else was next to me doing the exact same thing at the exact same time."?) Not to be outdone, the swimming announcers were praising the athletes for their, "long, smooth strokes," how well they were, "working their hips," and how they knew, "not to go for it too soon."  

Tennis had all the moaning and grunting covered, and if my future child ever inquires what those noises coming from Mommy and Daddy's room last night were, I'm going to tell them we were throwing a shot put. I will then reiterate that there's no throwing a ball in the house and that they shouldn't throw shot put until they are in love or if it will advance their career.

(Oh man, when one makes a bigger splash than the other, don't you just want to throw up on something beautiful?)

This all makes sense. If you think about it, the Olympics are really just sports porn: the best amateur athletes in the world, competing against each other for two weeks while the rest of us voyeurs watch, occasionally commenting, "I had no idea I'd be into that," or, "I think I'd like to try that sometime." I mean, they used to compete completely naked back when these things started, which had to be both awkward and somewhat exhilarating for the archers and marksmen. I'll tell ya one thing though, they didn't have any "was it/wasn't it" erection controversies back then*:

("Bronze medal! I just went from 6 to 10:30...")

So, overall, I deem the XXX Summer Olympics a success. The US brought home the most gold and overall medals with 49 (104 overall), while China finished in second with 38 (88 overall). Ordinarily, I would say that the medal count doesn't matter, but this time it's huge because we need that gold to pay back some of our debt to China. We finished first, they finished second, but China's going home with 87 gold medals. So until the winter of 2014, we bid the Olympics adieu and can now return to our American bubble, where Vin Diesel keeps doing things in a quick and angry manner and our best athletic nudity comes when Katy Perry goes on a water slide. "...and the hoooooooome of thaaaa braaaaaaaaaaave!"

There Are People Better At Badminton Than I Will Ever Be At Anything In My Entire Life,
Witz

*How horrible for Henrik Rummel. The guy wins a bronze medal in the goddamn Olympics, which he has worked years to achieve, and the entire media goes, "Okay, okay--but IS YOUR PENIS ERECT??" And the weird thing is, instead of being like, "Yeah it is. I have a lot of training in that department, too," he replied, "No. I swear it's not erect!" I mean, if that's true, then congrats sir, but your canoe should have been disqualified for having an extra oar.

Witz Pickz: "Girls"

I like Girls. That's not some unsolicited, overcompensating statement of heterosexuality--I'm not a conservative running for political office. I mean the HBO show Girls, which has had plenty of its own controversy since the season began a couple of months ago. But despite all the criticism and my predisposition towards hating it, it turns out I really like the show. Remember when I actually used to PICK things on this blog? Before I just started rattling off my tales of shame and embarrassment? Well, here we go:

(Lena always kinda looks like she washed her hair with soap)

 

When you first hear about Girls, your automatic rage-jealousy-hatred response should kick in; that's to alert you that you still have unfulfilled hopes and dreams of your own. If it doesn't, you have no business reading this blog and should probably go spend your time on Etsy, admiring how creative and unique all we human snowflakes can be. Girls is written, and directed, and acted in by Lena Dunham, the 26 year old daughter of a wealthy NYC family whose incredibly uneventful film Tiny Furniture launched the incredibly similar HBO series thanks to Judd Apatow & co.

Both projects are unabashedly upper-class Caucasian accounts of being very well off and not knowing what to do with your life after college. Almost all of the actors/actresses are the children of famous rich people like Brian Williams who Lena knows. Each episode is satirical and self-effacing, vaguely (if not directly) annoying, and generally unnecessary. Even things that I would ordinarily be in favor of, like nudity and promoting/showing off body types that AREN'T the cultural ideal are so prevalent and overwrought that they come off as redundant and forced. Not to mention, all of the girls are non-charismatic anti-heroes who we've all seen before. And yet, somehow, going against every fiber of my being, I really like watching it.

(If I were dating Allison Williams, I'd call her boobs "The Nightly News")

I think a large part of my interest and enjoyment is that despite the trappings mentioned above, Lena Dunham seems to be a genuinely amusing girl. She comes off as being quick-witted, intelligent, and fun to hang out with in real life. She's making fun of herself and those like her, alongside the people who come from the background she's mocking, and yet it works. The dialogue is snappy and well written. The jokes are funny. And hey, eventually, one of the actually attractive girls has got to get naked, right? But the best part of Girls, as far as I'm concerned, is the guy.

Lena's character's booty callin' boyfriend, Adam, is an ego-maniacal, bipolar maelstrom of douchebaggery and emotional support intertwined with overtly demeaning sexuality and casual emotional abuse. I feel the same way about him as I do about my friends' dog, Fred. I don't like his actions, but I do like him.

Because, despite his actions, Adam is the best character on the show. When he talks, he's hilarious and often insightful. Unlike the girls, he's not a stereotype, and it's impossible to quite pin down who the hell he is and what the hell it is he does. Beyond that, he acts as a mirror for the girls, revealing their own selfishness and ignorance/naivety. My way too expensive, incredibly unnecessary English degree wants me to compare him to a Shakespearean jester, but I won't, because what difference does that make? So, fuck that noise. I'll simply say that each episode I've liked his character more and more, especially after the most recent episode (5/27).

Every time I hear someone say Lena Dunham is "the voice of her generation,"* I want to have a trained Vengeance Monkey rip their face off and remind them that the people she represents is a very, very small portion of people having what the twittiot twipsters have tagged #whitepeopleproblems; I imagine Zach Braff strung out in some cabin in New Jersey, crying softly, holding a dead rat dressed up as Natalie Portman, and mumbling, "What about me?" over and over; I want to say that Girls is a terrible show about rich, self-involved, lazy white girls. But I just can't do it, and I know that come Monday, I'll be sitting down to enjoy the next episode (Girls is on Sunday nights, but I'm no rich white girl--I watch that shit on my parents' xfinity.tv account online...attached to my projector with an HDMI cable...which I watch on the huge bare wall of my Brooklyn apartment....because I'm keepin' it real.)

Deep, Slightly Nasal Voice of My Generation,
Witz

*Like in this excruciating, premature gush-piece, where-in the author believes that after one movie and a TV series replicating the themes, style, and characters of that movie, Lena should and will join the household name pantheon of Spike Lee, Woody Allen, and Martin FUCKING Scorsese. I hope this writer Troy Pattersen grew up near a power plant or prenatally consumed water from a stream near some fracking project, because I'm going to need him to have more than two eyes for me to stab.

Witz DOESN'T Pick: The Great Brain Deuce of 2012

Infrequently, but more and more often as I've gotten older, my brain will decide to take a break and just tell the other guy he's in charge. The problem is that there is no other guy, so when this happens, I'm essentially brain-dead for the duration.

This has happened in little ways like never noticing I've written "you're" instead of "your" no matter how many times I re-read something, or opening the refrigerator door and then standing there helpless while trying to figure out what the hell it was I wanted to get. You know what I'm talking about; these are the little mental blips which people usually refer to as, "brain farts." Well, if that's true, then what I'm about to tell you is the equivalent of my brain pounding a carton of spicy Indian curry, topping it off with a burrito and then going for a run.

A few weeks ago, I was flying down to Austin for my buddy's wedding. I had booked the flight myself, had my ticket in hand, and had checked it numerous times the day before. I had looked up the flight status online, and when I couldn't retrieve the flight by date/time/airports, I blamed it on the site and searched by flight number. The flight was on-time.

I was packed, prepared and ready to go to JFK. I left early, caught the train right as I got to the station, and got to JFK with a little under 90 minutes to take-off. "Man, I'm really good at this whole flying thing," I thought, walking over to the baggage kiosk. I looked at the flight board and didn't see my flight. "Uhh, I don't see my flight on the big board there," I told the guys standing nearby. "Am I missing something or what?" They told me to go use the kiosk and see what it said. I typed in my confirmation number and got an error message, "No reservation found." I swiped the credit card I used for the purchase and got the same message.

"Can I help you with something?" an American Airlines woman asked me. She had a slight southern twang and the usual perky customer service voice which goes up cheerily even when it's delivering bad news.
"Yeah, I can't find my reservation, but I have my ticket right here."
"Okay, well, lemme just see that for a minute...hmmmm...ohhh. Well. You see, the thing here is that you're at JFK right now, okay? Aaand your flight is leaving out of LaGuardia."

The nice thing about JFK is that the airport code is JFK, so it's very easy to know when that's your departure airport. Which is why I was skeptical when I grabbed my ticket back, looked down at it and saw--"LGA." I could feel my brain landing back in my head, finally relieved of all the coffee and straight Olestra it had consumed. I had somehow convinced myself that I was flying out of JFK and no matter how many times I'd looked at my reservation and ticket, the "LGA" hadn't changed my mind.

"FUCK."
"Well, sir, you can--"
"FUCK ME. Holy shit. I'm an idiot."
"We do have flights to Dallas we can take a look at."
"How far is LaGuardia from here?"
"15 minutes--"
"50 minutes!?"
"1-5. Fifteen."
"Oh okay, thanks."
"But you see, the problem here is that you need to check a bag and they close the baggage gate 45 minutes prior to the flight." I looked at my watch. 65 minutes to take-off. I took a dramatic pause, looked at the woman and told her:
"I think I can make it."

I sprinted out the doors with my bags to the lone waiting cab at the departure gate. I jumped in the cab (illegally, you're supposed to wait in line down at arrivals), shouted, "I'm a moron and need to go to LGA!" and with a sidelong glance at the cop cars parked nearby, the guy drove off towards LGA.

It was clear about 30 seconds into the drive that I'd gotten the only cab driver in NY who cares about speed limits and has an almost admirable loyalty to the lane in which he is driving. And yet, somehow, we managed to get there with 5 minutes to spare for my bags. I sprinted to the baggage kiosk and started rambling to whoever would listen, "I need to check my bags! Wrong airport! What do I do?" I was then told that they close the baggage gates 30 minutes before a domestic flight, so I had plenty of time to wait in line.

 When I got to the front of the line, I was sweaty and my hair was crazy from running. I had adrenaline still pumping through me, and I was shaking a little. On top of that, I was nervous because I wasn't sure my checked bag was under the weight limit AND it contained 3 bottles of expensive alcohol which I wasn't 100% positive I could bring. If I was a movie credit, I'd be, "Guy Who Tried to Bring a Bomb On the Plane." So, naturally, I decided I should come clean:

"I went to the wrong airport," I blurted out.
"Oh my," the woman replied, not caring at all.
"But I made it!" I said, without any of the correct inflection or meaning.
"You sure did," she said in such a way that for a split second I thought I might be able to get some kind of priority seating for the NEAR-mentally disabled. "You're all set, have a good flight," she concluded and, in shock, I turned and walked away, through security, and onto my flight.

I'd made it.

Unfortunately, that's not where this story ends. I found that my seat was directly next to one of the engines toward the back of the plane. It turns out that a plane's engine is JUST AS LOUD as you think it should be--so, I had that to look forward to over the next 4 hours as I leaned against the window trying to sleep.



I saw a family of four walking toward my row, talking to each other about seating. The parents were very large and the two children--a boy around 6 and a girl about 8--were very small. The boy said he wanted to sit next to his sister, but the dad said he had to sit in the middle seat with an adult. The dad sat down in my row and I thought my luck was finally changing. But the boy didn't want to sit in the middle, he wanted to sit next to his sister. The mother told him the same thing, but as it turns out, given the choice between your children's safety and just having them shut the fuck up for four hours, the latter is more appealing.

The very large dad pushed over into the middle seat (and a little of mine) and the very large mom sat next to him. While reaching for his seat-belt, we made eye-contact, which is why a few seconds later, as he got settled, I decided a smart thing to say was:

"I was hoping your child was going to sit there."
"Excuse me?" he replied. I immediately realized what I'd said. I hadn't even used "kid," which might have been marginally better. I'd said, "child." They're not called kid molesters.
"You know, because they're smaller," I explained, just digging a deeper hole in the shit my brain was producing.
"Uh-huh," the guy replied, and I turned to the window, cutting my losses.

I sat there, being squished by human poundage on one side, hearing the excruciating roar of the engine on the other, and, just as I thought I might be able to space out to pass the time, my brain suddenly perked up, back in charge, ready for action; like a tiny voice in my head, innocently asking me, "So. What do you want to do now?"

I Just Hope I Can Always Refer to This As "The Dumbest Thing I've Ever Done,"
Witz

Witz Pickz: Same Old Blog

I've had a few readers express their concern recently that my new job writing ad copy would somehow alter my blog posts. I understand where they're coming from, but I want to assure everyone that my writing will continue to be the same style and quality that you've come to expect over the years from a Witz Pickz post or even a good pair of Levi's jeans. Now, I know I haven't always been as dependable as the new 2012 Ford F-150, but I'm hoping to post more in the coming months to keep everyone as entertained as M-Dash and I were when we saw 21 Jump Street the other day. So sit back, relax, take a sip of that Smirnoff Vodka Cocktail, and enjoy:


(Uhhhhm, either that chick's so drunk she's gonna get boned by her poodle or Smirnoff's new campaign is that you'll get so drunk off their vodka that you'll be bangin' like rabbits. Both seem like a weird direction to take...)

I was at the grocery store a while back, probably shopping for some Nabisco snack products like Wheat Thins or Triscuits because they're big on flavor but low on fat, when something weird happened. Now, this was Key Food, not some Stop & Shop with every day low prices, so the only reason I was there in the first place was so I could buy something small and get some cash back. I went to pay and was swiping my debit card when the kid behind the counter said, "No cash back."

I liked the 1969 Striped Oxford shirt from Gap that he was wearing--it was 100% cotton and available in big and tall sizes--but I still needed my money. "Oh, shit," I said, dismayed. And that's when something unexpected happened. Upon hearing what I said, the woman behind me suddenly declared, "Ohhhhhh, he said a baaad wooooord!"


(the look)

Astounded, I turned to look at the woman. It was an old lady with a sheepish, child-like smile on her face like when someone does something wrong and gets in trouble with their parents. I gave her a look which could only have meant, "Just how molested were you as a child??" and turned back to the guy at the counter. He smiled at me in a way that said, "Yeah, that lady's batshit crazy, but Miller 64 STILL only has 64 calories*." I nodded, took my bags, and left.

A thousand thoughts were running through my head as I left the store: "Why weren't they giving cash back?" "Where should I go to get money now?" "Who was that woman and how does she make it in NY on a daily basis if hearing 'Shit' is enough to get her worked up in a grocery store?" My head felt like it was crowded with graymail--you know, all those newsletters, daily deals, and social updates you choose to receive? I wished Hotmail was able to organize and manage my thoughts the way its new features handle graymail.


(Nope, that's not what you meant your ad to be.)

Overwhelmed, I decided to go back to my apartment. I returned disappointed and without cash, but I felt better when I remembered that Dove Men+Care had me smelling great and feeling clean just like it always did. And that's the same kind of consistency you can continue to expect on Witz Pickz.

The New iPad,
Witz


*I have to credit Roy Shivers for this reference.

Witz Pickz: "Back-Cuts"

(Lamest. Book. Ever. Who knew Patty Mayonnaise would grow up to be such a narc?)

I was thinking recently about the insane shit we got away with when we were kids that wouldn't fly at all in the real world. Back in elementary school, "cuts" were where it was at. If you knew one person in line, you could roll into the cafeteria, walk up to them in the hot lunch line and say, "Cuts?" and they were all, "Sure." You'd snag the last grilled cheese (along with the three grilled cheeses before that if you were me--kid's gotta eat) and cruise outta there guilt-free, because you weren't the one who let you cut.

Occasionally, you'd run into someone who would give you the, "No cuts!" attitude. Then, the conversation went like this:

KID 1: Cuts? (We're friends right?)
KID 2: No cuts! (No freakin' way! We're not THAT good of friends.)
KID 1: ...
KID 2: ...
KID 1: Back-cuts? (Look, we're 9 1/2 years old, let's be reasonable about this.)
KID 2: Yeah, sure. (I don't give a shit about these eraser-eating marker-sniffers behind me, do what you want.)
KID 1: Cool.

And then you'd just slide behind your buddy, while the rest of the line had to suck it up. If they called you out, all you had to say was, "I got back-cuts!" (I could never have predicted that twenty years later, I would be saying this to explain the physical repercussions of shaving my own back) and they'd shut up. The only recourse was telling a teacher and then you were a tattle-tale and social outcast. Even I knew better than to try that and I was the kid wearing turtlenecks and corduroys to school. So yeah, I was cuttin' like a motherf**ker.



Can you imagine trying to use "back-cuts" as a grown-up, though?? That would be totally unacceptable! People kiiiind of do it when they save a place in line for their buddies who are running late, but that's just generally accepted as how lines work for entertainment or bars. You can't just walk up to someone in line and be all, "Back cuts?" and get away with it--especially in New York. You'd have everyone behind you screaming, "Get to the back of the fucking line, asshole!" because you're a goddamn adult.


(The exception to the rule)

And I'm glad that's how it is--I'd be one of the people silently fuming at whoever cut or I'd be chiming in with the group if people decided to put them in their place. Every time I'm waiting in traffic to take an exit and watch cars zip up and cut in ahead of me, I wonder about the legality of paintball gun attacks from a moving vehicle and make a mental note to get a baseball bat for my trunk. People who drive like that are worse than Hitler, because at the end of the day, nobody they care about knows they're that douchebag, but when Hitler met people for dinner, everybody still knew he was HITLER.*

But I'd be lying if I said that every time there's a long line for a concert, movie, or comedy show, I'm not scanning the hell out of it for any person I've ever hungout with, met, or seen at the gym. And while it might just be in my head, at that moment, I can swear I smell grilled cheese.

I'm Not Cutting, I'm Networking!,
Witz


*Ok, this is an exaggeration. Selfish drivers are not worse than Hitler, but they do believe that they are more important than every single person they pass on the way to getting where they need to go. Can we settle on "Worse than, I dunno, Slobodan Milosevic?"

Witz Flickz: The 84th Annual Academy Awards

I hate the Oscars. I do--and you probably do, too. It's not a unique perspective. And every year I say I'm not gonna watch, but every year I inevitably find myself bored out of my mind in front of a television for four straight hours, listening to the painfully awkward award introductions and hoping something crazy happens. Would it be so tough to "accidentally" mic Mel Gibson? Is it so much to ask to have ONE of losing nominees mouth, "You've gotta be fucking kidding me!"

Every Super Bowl half-time show seems to have some sort of scandal, but you put hundreds of ego-maniacs in a room vying for prizes and NOTHING?? The best we ever get is the mandatory shot of Jack Nicholson smiling drunkenly from behind his shades--a reminder that some wild guys are out there, and eventually Something's Gotta Give--but that's As Good As It Gets...

SO, instead of pretending I'm not going to watch this year, I decided to lean into it and keep a running commentary of the 84th Annual Academy Awards. I'm warning you right now, this is going to be as much a reflection of me watching the awards as it is a commentary on what happens, so if you need a verbatim summary, this isn't the place for you and also you're probably wasting your life.

On to the Awards!

6:15 - This is the only pre-show comment I'm gonna make. The NYC affiliate has Oscar coverage by Sandy Kenyon, which sounds ridiculously like a porn name.

7:00pm – I thought the show started at 7pm, but it turns out there’s 90 minutes of OFFICIAL Red Carpet Coverage! In an unexpected move which I won't even bother explaining, M-Dash and I spend this time watching season one, episodes two and three of The O.C. instead. The standard has been set for the night.

8:30pm - Morgan Freeman kicks off the show. Just to be clear...we're all cool with him banging and marrying his step-granddaughter? Really? We're just gonna let that be a thing that’s ok? Alright...



8:35pm - I immediately regret my decision. Billy Crystal hasn’t had his gchat status set to “busy” in ten years, so, yeah, he was available to host the Oscars. I’ve read that, thanks to The Artist, this year’s Oscars are featuring the history of film (so it’s basically Hollywood celebrating Hollywood while celebrating Hollywood), so I guess having a host who hasn’t been funny or relevant in a decade makes sense. Remind me again why they got rid of Eddie Murphy…

8:37pm – Crystal goes through his usual routine: video montage, song and dance, talking to the front row and having them awkwardly reply or shrug. It’s alright, but feels more like an impersonation of what he used to do than something new and well-done. He makes fun of Jonah Hill for losing weight, which is weird coming from a dude who looks just like Wooly Willy:



8:40 - Tom Hanks gives out the first award, and with his haircut and new beard, he looks like one of those Nazis who hid out in South America. Achievement in Cinematography goes to Hugo and this guy who looks like Kenny Rogers immediately sets the bar for quotes of the night by telling some dude in the crowd to, "Stick it in there all the way." (???)

8:50pm - There's a McDonald's commercial where this teenage girl is lookin' at some teenage guy and eating fries while saying, "He loves me, he loves me not," after each bite. I'll tell ya what, girl, it doesn't matter what you end up with--high school's rough and if you keep eating all those fries, he's gonna love you not.

8:53pm - And now, scenes from movies!

8:54pm - Costume Design goes to The Artist. I didn't know the guy from Guess Who got into film!



9:00pm - I looked away for a minute and was like 95% sure that J-Lo's boob popped out, because she and Cameron Diaz were suddenly laughing and saying, "Well, ya take a chance people--hello--ya take a chance!" but after reviewing the footage three times, it turns out that they just thought it would be hi-laaarious if they TURNED AROUND while announcing the winner and--get this--it was NOT. Comedy. Wizards.

9:07pm - A Separation wins Best Foreign Language Film. Soooo, are we cool now, Iran?

9:10pm - Goddamn it! Billy Crystal practically begged Christian Bale to make a scene, but instead he just sticks it to us by talking and reminding everyone that he's British.

9:12pm - Octavia Spencer wins Best Supporting Actress for The Help even though her role didn't include handling a herd of puppies or pretending to have food poisoning. I guess I just don't know what the Academy wants, anymore...

9:17pm - Well, "Miracle Whip: Keep an Open Mouth" is a thing.

9:22pm - Bradley Cooper looks just like Jean Dujardin. They have the same expressions. It bothered me the whole time I was watching The Artist. I thought, "He's like a poor man's Bradley Cooper!" and then I thought, "Wait, that can't be right..."

9:23pm - And the Award for Best Editing goes to: me, for skipping over these awards that no one cares about.

9:35pm - Cirque du Soleil performs and it's easily better than any of the Best Picture nominees. One guy misses a move and gets a foot up his ass, but it's still pretty amazing. Though, if the Academy really wanted to impress me, they should have gotten The Book of Mormon tickets.

9:42pm - Best Documentary - YYYYEEEEAAAAHHHH!!!! UNDEFEATED! Sure, it might have been the only documentary I saw of the nominees, but it's also GREAT. Aaaaand, they forgot to thank the kids who they documented. C'mon guys. That's the type of stuff that loses games.


(The closest thing to Friday Night Lights that reality has to offer...except for the actual kids who Friday Night Lights was based on...)

9:45pm - Chris Rock kills it with his intro for Best Animated Film. He also reminds me that I really want to get into voice-acting and get paid bank to talk every now and then. Anyway, I'm rootin' for Rango for my buddy, Turbo, at ILM.

9:47pm - BOOM. RANGO. Take THAT people who thought it was awkward that three dudes went and saw Rango in a theater full of little kids, especially when the movie was over and one of us had to go to the bathroom so the other two had to stand by the bathroom while lots of children walked by and their parents gave us suspicious looks! Best Animated Film.



9:54pm - Is Ben Stiller like...3 feet tall? Best Visual Effects should go to whomever makes Ben Stiller not look like a tiny little ape-man in all his movies.



9:56pm - Hugo wins for Visual Effects. It's gonna be awkward when everyone who worked on Hugo has an Oscar except for Martin Scorcese.

9:58pm - Best Supporting Actor. Holy shit--Nick Nolte looks like a boulder with a drinking problem. Christopher Plummer's favored like a billion to one on every gambling site, which are actually the same odds that Jonah Hill has a career now that he's skinny. Plummer wins.

10:19pm - So, the entire theme of the Oscars tonight seems to be, "The Artist is going to win Best Picture." It's almost awkward.

10:23pm - Speaking of which, now's as good a time as any to rant about Best Picture. I saw six of the nine nominees (yeah, ask me if I saw War Horse), and it's insane that Drive wasn't nominated for most of the major categories. I'm not saying that Ryan Gosling should win best actor--I mean, the guy barely talks the entire movie, so how could that win, right?? BUT, Drive should easily have been nominated and potentially even have won for Best Cinematography, Sound Design, Score, Screenplay, Director, and Best Picture.



10:30pm - Best Adapted Screenplay goes to The Descendants and Best Screenplay goes to Woody Allen who isn't there because Midnight in Paris wasn't the best screenplay.

10:44pm - Every Animated Short they ever show looks like they were made by a blind person and a squirrel who dropped acid together.

10:51pm - Best Director goes to The Artist. That's all--i just thought you should know.

10:58pm - I know it wasn't a joke, but when Alec Baldwin says, "James Earl Jones is one of the greatest actors in American history," sounding like Jack Donaghy, I can't help but laugh.

11:09pm - I can't believe Kraft Macaroni & Cheese is still advertising. If I ever get "the blue-box blues," I'm gonna fucking kill myself.

11:13pm - Best Actor. If Jean Dujardins wins, I'm gonna stab a fat baby. All that guy did was run around with exagerrated expressions of happy, sad, angry, and confused. I know there's that whole, "He did it without talking," aspect, but...HE DID IT WITHOUT TALKING. Everyone else had to act and talk.

11:18pm - One less fat baby. Jean Dujardins wins--oh! Oh! Now you can talk, huh? He's smiling and you'll never guess what--it looks exactly like when he was "smile-acting." Tap-dancing doesn't make friends.

11:24pm - Best Actress. Meryl Streep wins and starts throwing out sound bytes for her Lifetime Achievement Award montage. They cut to Sandra Bullock because apparently, she's the go-to "Heartfelt Reaction Shot" these days.


(Because she always looks like this, i.e. sad.)

11:27pm - Uhhh, is Jack Nicholson dead? He wasn't in the memorial video, but I don't ever remember him missing the Oscars. Who's the next "Old Drunk Icon" gonna be when he's gone? I'd say Nick Nolte, again, but Jack made everyone happy when they saw him and Nolte makes everyone, well, make the Sandra Bullock face.

11:33pm - Best G.D. Picture goes to The Artist. A film about a movie star who has a big ego and is too proud to accept help when he becomes obsolete. BUT none of them talk! And the score sounds like a DVD menu on repeat! And there's a dog! Meh. I'll take a scorpion track jacket over that any day. Seriously, though, where do I get a scorpion track jacket?

When Will They Have a Best Outtakes Award?,
Witz

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Cat Breading

Sometimes, I forget why America's going to Hell and then I find out about something like this. I mean, sure, it COULD be because of our greed and selfishness and basic human and civil rights violations, but I'm pretty sure it's because of cat breading. While millions of people are starving around the world, we're stuffing bread on cat heads. Not "in" their "faces," like, "Eat some damn carbs," but literally "on" their "heads" like, "How can I confuse my pet the most without involving my genitals?"



I guess I just don't understand how something like this became so big. One person had to have stuck a slice of bread on some cat's face and then told someone about it or posted a picture. Then, someone else did the same thing, and someone else, and someone else, until it reached its tipping point, at which time Malcolm Gladwell shot himself in the face and cat breading became a trend. I can understand "Tebow-ing" and I can sort of understand "planking," but how is it possible that we live in a world where cat breading is a thing AND marijuana is still illegal? It doesn't add up.


(Yes, lady...you're cat looks like he LOVES cat breading)

Maybe I'm just mad because I realized that if cat breading is popular, I'm screwed, because nothing I ever do creatively is going to succeed. How is someone supposed to stay motivated when cramming a slice of Wonder Bread on an animal's furry mug is widespread entertainment? And this might just be the beginning.


(Really? Your cat ate part of the bread before you started filming and you want me to watch your minute-long video, but you couldn't get another piece of bread? So much for artistic integrity...)

Already, people are making slight adaptations to keep the breading fresh (nailed it): using tortillas, toast, and pita bread. Where does it end? Waffle dogging? Rabbit crepe-ing? Puttin' figs on guinea pigs? How long before PETA becomes involved, and if they do, how long before that gets thrown back in their face and people start PETA breading in retaliation (double nailed it)? The race to the bottom is littered with crusts, but at least we're winning something.*

Korea's Like, "Stupid Americans-- They're Breading That Cat All Wrong,"
Witz

*And we won the SPACE RACE! THE SPACE RACE! We put a man on the moon AND bread on a cat's face. "(I am large, I contain multitudes)" -Walt Whitman

Witz Pickz: Sunday Night Insights

I learned something new about myself last night while watching the Broncos/Steelers game. I learned that given the choice, I would rather root for a rapist than someone who's super into Jesus. I watched Roethlisberger lumber out there, looking like a douchebag, and still thought, "Yeah...but I really don't want Tebow to win."

Maybe it's just thousands of years of genetic paranoia, but I feel like with the rapist, at least I know what I'm getting. I understand what his goals and motivations are, and there's never an awkward moment when he's gonna be like, "Hey, can I talk to you for a minute about becoming a Rapist, too?" It's not that I'm pro-rapist and anti-christian, it's just that whenever God enters the equation, I get a little nervous.

Maybe it's because of all the prayer, I mean, why you gotta pray so silently, Tim Tebow? What's he saying that we can't hear? For all we know, Tebow's getting down on one knee after a game and saying, "Thank you for giving me the strength to throw one good pass at the end of the game, especially since defenses have figured out how to protect against the option, and thank you, as always, for not letting them find the body or see into my soul to discover that I'm planning to kill again." I'm not saying that's TRUE, but it's kind of like how we don't think Glenn Beck raped and murdered a girl in 1990-- it's still POSSIBLE.



Here's the other thing: everytime Tebow wins, it's kiiiind of a point for Christianity being right, know what I mean? Jews, Muslims-- they don't have that. It's not like everytime Arizona Cardinals safety Hamza Muhammad Abdullah deflects a pass, people get pumped up about Allah. I had to google "Muslim NFL Players" just to find that guy's name. And anytime the Jews are good at anything people say that they "control" it and turn it into a bad thing. Christians have Tim Tebow and us Jews are still holding onto oil lasting longer than we thought that it would that one time a couple thousand years ago. I mean, Jesus Christ, you see what I'm talking about:



So yeah, I guess it's true that I would rather root for The Rapist Ben Roethlisberger to win over The Super Religious Tim Tebow, but if you think about it, Ben Roethlisberger may not have defeated the Broncos last night, but he did beat three rape charges, and that's gotta be way more difficult than anything Tebow's done this year. In the end, who's to say they didn't both have a little help from above...

Rooting Against Denver is the New "Tebowing",
Witz

Witz Pickz: It's 2012, Bitches! Get Some.

It's 2012. We're finally here. The year I will turn 30, the year in which Obama can go all Season 4 of The West Wing on some Republican Candidate, and the year the Mayans decided to call it a day on calendar making. With all these potentially catastrophic events looming, it's more important than ever to make New Year's Resolutions and stick to them.

Is this the year I decide I'm too old to use toilet paper as kleenex? Is this really the year I'm going to catch up on How I Met Your Mother or was that just a fluke post-holiday Netflix binge? Is this the year I stop wasting time playing useless video games like NCAA Football 2010, even though I've led UConn to two bowl games and a National Championship in the year 2015? "These are the things you can't tell me if we're going to keep dating," M-Dash tells me and I understand why: it's because she doesn't know that UConn is a mediocre football program at best and that I'm very impressive. I explain this to her, but she shakes her head, and I realize it's something deeper.


(This guy gets it.)

The last post I wrote in 2010 was about Wall Street 2 and the first of 2011 was about passing out while giving blood. Everyone's written about the trials and tribulations of 2011, but I think those two posts sum up the year just as well. I never wrote about my resolutions like I had in previous years, so this is a great place to start for this year's resolutions:

1) Write About My Resolutions - CHHHEEEECK! Man, I love lists!

2) Write More Posts for You All - I wrote 15 posts in 2011, an all-time low. Now, if you take into account that the number of posts I write is an inverse proportion to my happiness with life, then you might look at this as a good thing. However, nobody ever paid someone to write about their happiness, so I'll see what I can do moving forward.

3) Stop Talking About Ideas, Start Doing Them - That's right, no more talk about great ideas like "Cleetus the Penis with Hats On" without some kind of follow through.



4) Making this a thing we call the last decade:

SISTER: What did they call the 00's, anyway? The zeroes?
FRIEND: The oughts.
SISTER: What?
ME: The oughts; the twenty-oughts; the "twoughts." OH MY GOD, THE TWOUGHTS!

5) Get a job that lasts 12 straight months....hahaha, no, I'm kidding, that's stupid. But seriously, somebody hire me to write this shit for money. One of you has to have that power. Don't get me wrong, doing freelance work pays the rent, but utilities and Netflix I pay for with a little job I call, "I Guess I'll Watch You Do That For $100, but I Don't See What the Stuffed Animal Has to Do with Anything or Why I Have to Be Wearing Roller Blades." But, a guy needs his streaming video. And that kids, is How I Met Your Mother.

I'm Like Congress, I Have All These Resolutions, But They End Up Stuck in the House,
Witz

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Facial Recognition Malware

"So, how'd your life turn out, man; everything you wanted it to be and more?" he asked while pouring more water into M-Dash's glass.

"Absolutely!" I replied, because I assumed he had asked us how our food was and it took my brain a minute to move past the taste of my breakfast sandwich and actually register the question. When I realized what he had asked, I looked up more directly at him and hastily added, "How about yours?" but it was too late and he had walked away.


("What an asssshoooole!")

M-Dash and I looked at each other. "You know that guy?" she asked and I looked over at him walking away. He was wearing a santa hat and waiter uniform, was slightly unshaven, and was moving almost manically around the room, checking on people and and fixing any problems. "I'm good with faces, and I've never seen that guy before in my life," I told her. "If I know him at all, it would have to be from elementary school before we were people." We were eating breakfast at a cafe in my hometown, so this was entirely possible slash my biggest fear about being home. "Well, he sure seems to know YOU!" she said. Indeed.

Either way, I was glad I had accidentally lied to the guy and answered, "Absolutely!" First off, it's not like I was gonna tell him, "Strikes and gutters," and really get into the highs and lows of the last decade or so and my current place in life. More importantly, there was a good chance I didn't know him at all, and while he might have been casually inquiring, he looked like the kind of guy who might have found me in the parking lot after the meal, stolen my license, and put a gun to my head; insisting I change my life or he would come back and kill me. Which sounds like a hassle.



On the other hand, if he DID know me and had legitimately asked if my life turned out how I wanted, I had just sounded like a massive douche by shouting, "Absolutely!" while not looking at him, and then taking a bite out of my sandwich while allegedly implying, "But I'm not gonna ask you, because you're the guy refilling my water!" Which could also end in a tragic parking lot situation.* Isn't life full of mystery and wonder.

We decided to ignore it and keep eating-- he was probably just a chatty cafe water refill guy. And a really good refill guy because he was back around a few minutes later to fill up my glass:

"The holidays are great," he began, looking at M-Dash, but clearly talking about me, "you get to see all these people you haven't seen in years," and before I could get out a single confused syllable, he turned and pranced away (if prancing can imply murder-- it was a murder prance). M-Dash and I stared wide-eyed at each other, each as baffled as the other.


(Murderous Prancer)

"Oh, he definitely knows you."
"That was aggressive, right?"
"Yeah, that was weird."
"Like, he sounded as though he not only thinks he knows me, but also that we banged..."
"...and you never called him back."
"Exactly! What the hell is going on??"
"Are you sure you don't know him?"
"I mean...NO, but I'm sure I didn't BANG HIM!"
"Hmmm. Well, ask him!"
"I'm gonna!"
"Do it!"
"I will!"

I absolutely didn't ask him. He was zipping around the room, rushing into the back, and the place was packed. He didn't come back to the table and I thought it would be even more awkward to track him down around customers or other employees to ask who he was. I did, however, have this little exchange with M-Dash:

"What's the less shitty way of asking this: 'Do I know you? Do you know me? Who are you?"
"Just ask, 'Do we know each other?'"
"But I know I don't know him."
"But you might have known him once he says his name."
"But that's not really KNOWING someone."
"Babe."
"I'm just saying!"
"Babe."

It's times like that I wish I could throw up on command. "Do I-- do you-- do we-- BLAT!!" Just, splowsh, right on the table. No more questions. Just some kid telling everyone that some guy he knows (who I probably just looked like) youk'd on the table and he had to clean it up. Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. How'd your life turn out? Next time, just find me in the parking lot.

Thanks To Facebook and Google I Just Tracked Him Down and Have Never Seen Him Before in My Life; He Was 6 Years Ahead of Me in School, Went to a Different College, and I Don't Recognize His First Name or His Family's Last Name, But That Doesn't Mean He's Not Going to Track Me Down and Murder Me By Accident, Does It???,

Witz

*"What, like in the back of a Volkswagon?" Anyone?

Witz Flix: Gnomeo and Juliet

(Somebody threw out their back forcing that pun in there)

I decided to watch Gnomeo & Juliet because I think I have a responsibility to the parents of America to keep them informed about the films our children are watching, and also because it's only 84 minutes long and I have STD-- uh, "Shit to Do," (so much for that abbreviation). Using my advanced powers of deduction, I've gleaned that the movie is like Romeo & Juliet, only it's about garden gnomes...I just... ::sadly shaking head:: ...alright, let's do this thing...

2 min: The Montagues and the Capulets live next door to each other in modern day suburbia. They hate each other, but the elderly man and woman apparently haven't figured out a way to not leave for work at the exact same second every day. I've avoided roommates for months while living under the same roof, which makes me think these two old people are one viewing of "Up" away from making out while crying.

4 min: Each yard has a bunch of gnomes and other figures which come to life once the people leave the house. The Montagues are the "Blues," the Capulets are the "Reds," and the children of America are apparently idiots.

5 min: Isn't it weird that they named this kid, "Gnomeo," just because he's a gnome? "We named you after a famous Shakespeare character and then made it a pun!" Isn't that basically the same thing as naming your kid "Blacula?" Almost as baffling is the fact that Gnomeo is voiced by James McAvoy.


(Not even straightforward racism is this offensive...)

6 min: The Blues have a toilet in their yard-- it's unclear if this is important to the plot, but in the neverending argument over which yard is more beautiful, I'd say the one WITHOUT A TOILET IN IT is the clear winner.

7 min: Who's gonna break Michael Caine the news that he's in GNOMEO & Juliet? Pretty sure the guy coming off The Dark Knight, Sleuth, Harry Browne, and Inception didn't mean to sign onto this project.

8 min: I still don't know who Emily Blunt is, but she's the voice for Juliet. Michael Caine voices her dad.

9 min: Gnomeo and the Blues are lawnmower racing Tybalt and the Reds. And just to let us know that not all garden gnomes are lofty British folk, some dumpy southern chick dressed like a porn star farm girl is the one who starts the race.

9:30 min: And by "dumpy southern porn star farm girl," I apparently mean, "Dolly Parton"...because she's the voice...

10 min: Gnomeo is the Rick Perry of lawnmower racing: at first he looks like he knows what he's doing, but then he's completely out of control and has zero chance of finishing first. Tybalt wins and we reach a major turning point in the film: I realize that Jason Statham is the voice of Tybalt. "Yeah, 'cause like, I want me fans to know I'm, you know, an intellectual, or whateva. It's not all kickin' an' punchin' wif me, init?"

Tybalt kicks one of the Blues and retreats to the Red Garden. The Blues freak out and say that something must be done.

11 min: "The Red Garden?? No one's ever been in there!" Hee hee hee hee hee...

12 min: This movie made 100 million dollars at the box office??? It's gonna be way easier than I thought to get "Mothello," the tale of Othello told in the hilarious world of moths, made. "King Deer?" "Catbeth?" "ANTony and BEEopatra??"



13 min: Juliet is super jazzed to go steal some flower for the Red Garden (is Shakespeare actually MORE sexual when set in the world of garden gnomes??), so she dresses up like a ninja and heads off. Gnomeo and Benvolio sneak into the Red Garden. "Great, I love going Commando," Benvolio says....I think it's important to note that this movie is going to be somebody's childhood memory.

15 min: Things go awry, but they escape from the garden. Gnomeo ends up in the other neighboring garden where Juliet is going to steal the flower. Also in the garden is...A NEW ELTON JOHN SONG?? I guess what they say about finding things in the absolutely last place you'd ever think to look is true...I'm starting to think all Elton John is doing these days is getting drunk, dressing up like Janet Reno, and pumping out shit songs for children:



17 min: The two fall into some water at which point they realize that they are a Red and a Blue and Juliet runs away.

19 min: There's a little mushroom character running around, and all I can think is, "If Gnomeo eats that, he's either gonna get a 1-Up or hiiiigh as a motherfucker!"


("Candy bars!")

23 min: Ah, shit-- am I the last person to realize this has Democrat/Republican subtext? Is it bad that the first thing I think of when people talk about "red vs. blue" is M&M's??

30 min: Extended maniacal laugh joke: still in play after all these years. Tybalt's planning revenge.

32 min: Holy shit! Hulk Hogan does the voice-over for a lawnmower commercial-- the Terrafirminator-- in the style of Powerthirst. It's a "weapon of grass destruction." It's ironic that the high point of this movie is probably the low point in Hulk Hogan's career.

35 min: Gnomeo and Juliet-- HEY! I JUST GOT IT! THAT'S THE TITLE! Anyway-- they go on a date in the abandoned neighbor's garden and stumble upon a shed.

38 min: Oh no. No no no no no no no-- this will not do. A pink lawn flamingo just popped out of the shed and is going all Robin Williams on the two gnomes. He sounds like if Scarface was forced to entertain people on a cruise ship.

40 min:

GNOMEO: This is crazy, you know that, right? All my life, I was raised to hate the Reds.
JULIET: And I was raised to hate the Blues! It will never work.
GNOMEO: Well...how do you feel about minorities?
JULIET: Hate them!
GNOMEO: ME TOO!

Some of that was real, some was just pointing out that all garden gnomes are white...

42 min: Gnomeo returns to find his mother's prized tree destroyed. She's devestated. It's like, lady, look-- at least you still have your lawn toilet! The Blues demand revenge.

43 min: I don't really wanna get into it, but there's a frog who's probably gonna bone Stephen Merchant.

44 min: Ya know what I just remembered? EVERYONE'S GONNA DIE AT THE THE END! So, that pepped me up a little.

45 min: Gnomeo goes to get revenge, but Juliet sees him and gives him that, "I'm disappointed in you," look. Or, as I've come to call it, "how M-Dash looks at me on weekdays."

46 min: Top Five People Who Should Be Made As Gnome Characters:
-Gnome Chomsky
-Gnomar Garciaparra
-Manuel Gnoriega
-Gnomer Simpson
-Hideo Gnomo

48 min: Gnomeo and Juliet meet in the abandoned garden to sort their shit out. They fight for a while and then that horrific Flamingo steps in and explains how he came to be alone in the garden via a montage of his owners getting a divorce and moving away. The truly bizarre part, though, is that they play a song over the montage which I can only describe as Elton John making up a fake Meatloaf song while wasted at a party.


("Elton did whaaaaaat!?")

49 min: "You know...other people's hate destroyed my love, and I couldn't do nothing about it. But you, you can," the Flamingo says, which, to be fair, is about as funny as any joke Robin Williams has written in the last ten years, so this other guy they got to do the voice is worth the savings.

50 min: The two decide to get married and live in the abandoned garden. They don't get the chance, though, because Benvolio sees them and freaks out, probably because he knows that if they breed, they'll give birth to a moderate.


(Speaking of which, you're telling me that Gargamel will stop at nothing to capture the Smurfs, but he has absolutely no problem with garden gnomes running around? I call bullshit.)

51 min: Benvolio runs away. Tybalt sees him and breaks off his hat, which is as much like watching a metaphorical circumcision as you think. Gnomeo fights Tybalt, but gives him mercy when he could break him. Tybalt takes the opportunity to try and break Gnomeo, but ends up launching himself in the air against a wall (classic mistake) and shatters into a bunch of pieces. It's unclear why this releases his life essence into the world when GLUE EXISTS, but that's just how it works.

54 min: Gnomeo gets knocked into the street by a human and it appears that a passing truck shatters him. Everyone cries and freaks out and heads back to the garden. BUT AS IT TURNS OUT, Gnomeo wasn't smashed, the pieces of clay they saw fell off a passing TEAPOT TRUCK, which is DEFINITELY a REAL THING!

57 min: Gnomeo's not out of the shitter yet though, because a dog grabs him and drags him away and then he has to escape and fuck my life, he ends up at a big park where, I think my eyes are bleeding, he gets scooped up by a couple kids and all I can think is:

58 min: When the fuck is David gonna ride in on his fox!?

59 min: Gnomes are a lot like the Shakers; they have strong beliefs, don't reproduce, and care a whole lot about fragile furniture. (Those of you who have been waiting to fill in "The Shakers Joke" on your Witz Pickz Bingo Boards, you're welcome).


(Ummm, did the Shakers invent the Thriller dance??)

65 min: Benvolio sneaks into the house and orders a Terrafirminator lawnmower and goes to exact revenge on the Reds for Gnomeo's death. Meanwhile, Gnomeo is in the park still, talking to the statue of William Shakespeare about his predicament. Shakespeare says that it reminds him of a story HE wrote, but fails to point out that Gnomeo was clearly named after his main character. How can Gnomeo find out about Romeo & Juliet in a movie parody of that play? I'm pretty sure Stephen Hawking wrote about this shit.

67 min: That weird Mushroom I was talking about and the Flamingo find Gnomeo and rush him back to try and stop Benvolio from hurting anyone.

72 min: The pinnacle of journalism right here: the lawnmower goes crazy and destroys both of the gardens. Gnomeo reaches Juliet right as the lawnmower attacks. Juliet was glued down so she couldn't run away anymore, so they can't flee. The lawnmower destroys the tower and they are buried. We, like the rest of the gnomes and lawn ornaments, can only watch...wait...and hope that somewhere...in that pile...they are alive. (Take THAT Tom Brokaw!)

74 min: Well. It is a dark day indeed. I thought this project had integrity, but as it turns out, Gnomeo & Juliet is nothing more than an unnecessarily satirical kid's movie. They're both alive and everyone else makes up. Given that the only real plot reference to Romeo & Juliet is the forbidden love aspect, I'm pretty convinced that the only reason this movie got made was because someone made a gnome pun.

75 min: Somewhere, this conversation happened:

WRITER: How do you feel about ending the movie with a big dance sequence?
PRODUCER: Will it be set to Elton John's Crocodile Rock?
WRITER: Of course it will.
PRODUCER: Then, I'm 100% on board.
WRITER: Excellent.
PRODUCER: How do you feel about making the movie longer so it's not 75 minutes?
WRITER: I don't see that happening...
PRODUCER: Meh, whatever. We'll get their money again with our next movie.
WRITER: Next movie?
PRODUCER: Brothel-lo. It's Othello set in a brothel with the main character played by Cee-Lo Green.
WRITER: Wow, that's gonna be really offensive.
PRODUCER: The man looks like if one of the California Raisins ate all the backup singers.
WRITER: Yikes.
PRODUCER: That guy looks like if a meatball grew up to be a pedophile.
WRITER: Eesh.
PRODUCER: Yep.




Longest. Travelocity commercial. Ever.
Witz