No more of this ridiculous shit about what a comic genius Will Ferrell is. Like everyone else, I loved him on SNL. He was Phil Hartman reincarnate: was in every sketch and had a brilliant deadpan face. Each of his movie choices, however, have been more and more dubious as the years have gone on - we get it, you're the doofus everyman with a heart of gold. Wonderful. Oh gee, here's Will Ferrell with the rest of the Frat Pack - the Wilson brothers, Ben Stiller, Vince Vaughn blah blah blah. Christ. But the last straw came tonight. I'm flipping around and land on "Kicking and Screaming" the flick about him as a soccer coach for kids. I'm like fuck it, I'll give it a shot. The first thing I see is him giving a bit of a pep talk to the kids, then turning around to run onto the field and......he trips. Gets overrun by the kids. Wow. "Comedy." I roll my eyes and decide I'd better change the channel before the inevitable "gets hit in the nuts" moment comes. So I settle back into a nice episode of...something. Whatever. Anyways later on I flip back to it, and there he is about to play tetherball with his overly-competitive prick father. I guess the producers told Robert Duvall they were making a sequel to "The Great Santini" so he'd agree to do the movie without reading the "script." Anyways, WHAT DO YOU KNOW!!!!!!! Within seconds Will Farrell gets hit in the nuts by the ball. Wow!! Then BOOYAH!! Hit in the head!!! Yowsa!!!! Been there, brother!! And to wrap things up he hits HIMSELF in the head, but not before we get the patented "Will Farrell takes off his shirt to show that he's flabby and hairy" moment. That's as far as I got in the flick as I was on the ground convulsing with laughter and trying to fight off the myocardial infarction.
Jesus fucking christ. This is the best we can fucking do? Here's a film that was given tens of millions of dollars to produce, had it's choice of any "genius" comedy writers in the biz, and were handed the POTENTIALLY funny Will Ferrell. Was handed the ingredients to do something great, yet at some writer's meeting someone said "hey...let's have Will get hit in the nuts, then he'll take off his shirt!!" and he was probably given first choice of that night's hookers and blow. Unbelievable. I didn't pay a dime and I feel ripped off; I can't believe the poor bastards that paid $10 to sit through this steaming pile.
I have a theory. About a decade ago, I started reading all these articles about all these Harvard graduates that were heading out to Hollywood to write movies and sitcoms. The first of the bunch being, I guess, Conan O'Brien. Who actually IS funny. All of a sudden, these guys decided to eschew law, politics, public service and business and instead took their smarts to Tinseltown. I remember at the time thinking how cool that was; after all, the smartest people I knew personally were also the funniest. I thought it was cool that these young, smart dudes were saying "no" to running the world, being a part of corporate America and were gonna do somehting cool with tv and the movies.
Well. Here we are 10 years later - the country is in absolute ruins with no leadership in sight while we are pummeled by sitcoms that alternate between "goofball, idiot husband who keeps forgetting his beautiful, successful wife's birthday but darn it, she loves the big lug anyway!!" and "group of great looking, neurotic friends who sit around and despair about all the sex they're having" while movie studios refuse to release a movie unless it's a sequel, a prequel, a re-make, or an update of a cartoon, comic strip or tv show. And DON'T even get me started on the OFFENSIVELY unfunny Saturday Night Live. I think it's time that the best and brightest of these Ivy League schools get back to running the country and let the old Jewish guys from Flatbush get back to doing the comedy from now on. I do give credit where due, however - the Harvard dudes weren't smart enough to write laugh-out-loud, smart, topical sitcoms/movies, but they were smart enough to realize that as long as we fucking idiots thoughout the country would keep pumping our money into their coffers, the powers that be would be fine with them retreading the same old, tired, fucking embarassing NON-funny bullshit over and over. Enough's enough. You tried, and you fucking suck at it, now get back to becoming lawyers. I can't believe I'm saying this, but yes, this country needs another lawyer more than it needs "Cheaper by the Dozen 3."
19 comments:
pip pip ol' boy.
(that's paris talk for "i agree")
if you and i wrote sitcoms, do you think jokes about "fisting" would become the new "hit in the nutz" scene?
call that a double entendre in the biz, fellas. would teach it to you if I could.
1) SSW, it's Xmastime, not xmastime. Capital X. a little respect, please.
2)Harvard's athletic teams are called "The Crimson." That, plus these awful shows/movies making me wanna shit blood as if I was on my 8th container at the Nest made for a nice title I thought.
3) You seem to have been with me a lot...have I done you? Never mind, my magic 8 ball just came up with "twice...in the shitbox." wow.
Totally agree. The other person who I kind of want to whack in the head re: bad movie choices is Adam Sandler. It's not that he's never done anything funny...it's just that he's done so much that is either unfunny or heinous. The only reason I ended up being able to tolerate Spanglish (which, in all fairness, was probably never destined to be good) was because I drank almost an entire bottle of wine in the theater while watching it. Yet still left wanting to kick Adam Sandler in the nuts, Will Ferrell movie-style.
Xmas f***ing time! Some (wo)men create bad comedy and others complain about it. You, sir, are a rip. Why not you draw from your well of talent and start writing fresh and funny scripts for these poor pathetic wash ups?
That's it. Xmastime, just once, let's all have a good laugh while sitcom wife kick her big lummox to the f**kin curb. Bring back Alice Cramden. " Now that you've filled up your gasbag, BUZZ OFF!"
"Disgusted Housewives"
'Disgusting Husbands', a huge hit in Afganistan, and certainly contoversial as it renders a swift kick to the cheesy groin of a male dominsted society. Or did I just make that up?
Oh, the fetid slats.
Bring back Bob Newhart.
What the fuck are you doing? You gonna wait a month to post? Make me laugh. Please.
Yeah, we're putrifying in this murky swamp of stagnation here.
hey...was that really Xmastime begging himself for another one of his posts?
Where are you? Riding the fetid wave?
Shall we share forwarded emails to sustain us through the draught? I'll go first:
My mother was a fanatic about public restrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, show me how to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat. Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting
any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat.
That was a long time ago. Now, in my "mature" years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain.
When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. A Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter.
The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there were one, but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."
In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake.
You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance."
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT…
It is wet of course.
You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew,
because, you're certain, her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so
confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a firehose that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At that point, you give up.
You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You are exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women, still waiting. You are no longer able to smile politely them.
A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet
paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it?)
You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
.. . .This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public
restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs.
It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door
Xmastime, have you tried perfectmatch.com?
At least take the free personality test. Find out who's really lurking under that smooth Carlos Remerez facade. The ladies wanna know.
is this open mic night?
Don't cr-y out loud....just keep it inside, learn how to hide your feelings....fl-y high and proud, and if you should fall....remember you almost had it all!!!!!!
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