Release the Kraken! Or, The Curious Case of Liam and Pierce.

Liam Neeson can't catch a fucking break.

The man had the biggest hit of his career last year with TAKEN (As is tradition here at SIMPLY PASSING THROUGH HISTORY, I'm not gonna bother checking that "fact" [Even though STAR WARS: EPISODE 1: I CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER THE SUBTITLE was obviously bigger.].) but right as he was basking in his well deserved glory, his wife kicked the bucket somehow (I don't remember how, what her name was, or if said event happened close to the release of TAKEN or not [You get what you pay for, you cheap fuck. Go buy a book. Or Nook. But make sure my managers I know I sold you on that shit, cause I get a cookie.].).

As everyone in Hollywood knows, following the death of a loved one, every actor has two choices. You either withdraw from the public spotlight, moving to Europe for a self induced drug coma that only an acting salary can support, OR you stick your dick in as many projects ("Movies" in regular folk speak) about town as possible, trying to forget about the dick hole you lost when your wife died (Oh my God, I am never tricking a woman into marrying me after that comment). You know, assuming you are a Hollywood actor. Everyone else has to either suck it up or throw down on enough rope (or extension cord) for a noose. Cause drug induced comas in Europe tend to be a wee bit pricey.

Liam Neeson chose the dick sticking route (No one expected any less), as following the death of old whats-her-name, he suddenly became attached (that's movie speak for "He's planning to act in that movie... maybe.") to a shit ton of movies (For the record, I doubt very much that Liam's actual Penis is visible in any of his recent films. Though if it makes an appearance in any, my bet's on CLASH OF THE TITANS [That's shit's in 3D!]. Release "the Kraken" indeed, Mr. Neeson. Well played, old man.). Movie sites instantly began to speculate that Liam (me and him are actually very buddy-buddy. Never cared much for his wife, though. Kinda a bitch.) was intentionally taking any project he could get his hands on, just to keep his mind off the loss of his dick hole (I swear I'm not really this horrible a person).

The facts (yes, now I turn to facts... to make a point) would seem to support such a theory. Since TAKEN, Liam has been in 9 other released projects, if you count being a voice in PONYO, PRINCE CASPIAN, and the video game FALLOUT 3. Which I do. He has 5 films currently in post production including THE A-TEAM (of which he appears to be the most bad ass part). And he has five projects "In Development" (but that doesn't really mean shit. LINCOLN has been in development for years and may never happen. But hopefully it does, cause it's to be directed by Steven Spielberg!). So, all together that's 19 projects following TAKEN! I realize some of these were likely complete before his wife's passing and others may never actually happen ("In Development" really means jack shit.), but that's still a really fucking full plate for one man. A lot of holes in which to stick his dick, so to say.

So that is the sad, sad tale of Liam Neeson. The man appears to be in every film at the multiplex because, well, he is.

But what explains this other British Invasion (Ok, Liam Neeson may not be British. In fact, I think he's Irish...? Isn't that all the same shit anyway?)?

Pierce Brosnan aka Mr. 3rd Place (cause his portrayal of James Bond is only the third best out of six) is in every fucking movie at the multiplex that Liam Neeson is NOT in.

Hell, they even tried to be in the same movie, but there was a bit of a miscommunication. Liam told Pierce (Also a good friend of mine. His wife is far less bitchy than Liam's was.) he was going to play Zeus, so Pierce signed up for PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS: BLAH BLAH BLAH, thinking this was the movie Liam was talking about, because as everyone in Hollywood knows (including Liam and Pierce), Liam and Pierce have been looking for another project to collaborate on for ages. And ages. And ages. Unfortunately, Liam was referring to CLASH OF THE TITANS. So, he went on to make far more money than Pierce. But, Pierce had the last laugh, because he went on to look like far less of a fool than Liam, who will never live "Release the Kraken" down.

Okay, so Pierce has stuck his dick in far less places than Liam. He's only had four released projects since MAMMA MIA!, two projects currently in Pre-Production, and four In Development. But, take a look at this tasty little factoid... Liam has three movies currently in theaters, while Pierce has four (if you were to find PERCY JACKSON GODS STEAL LIGHTENING BLAH at a dollar theater)! Pierce currently has THE GREATEST, GHOST WRITER, and REMEMBER ME (and OLYMPIANS) out while Liam has CHLOE, CLASH OF THE OLYMPIANS OR SOME SUCH SHIT, AFTER.LIFE, and possibly a movie he's narrated. But I'm not gonna count that one here (even though I counted it earlier).

So, for all intensive purposes (my purposes), Pierce has out-dicked Liam, with 4 movies currently in theaters to Liam's 3.

What's up Pierce (I'll be sure to ask him when we meet for drinks tonight)? What tragedy hath befallen you? And why didn't you choose the Europe/drug coma route?

Is it possible the loss of one's identity is far more horrid and painful than the loss of one's dick hole? What I mean to say is, has losing the role of a lifetime (James Bond, duh!) finally made Pierce crack? Was it one of those denial dealies where Pierce was in denial since DIE ANOTHER DAY, not believing he really lost the only thing that gave him value, until there were, not one, but TWO James Bond movies starring "that other guy" (who happens to make a far better 007 than Pierce.)?

 Finally accepting the loss allowed Pierce to move on to grieving, which he dealt with quite similarly to our mutual acquaintance, Liam.  At least, that's the only conceivable reason that Pierce "Bond 4Ever" Brosnan has more movies out at the ole' multiplex than Liam "My Wife Is Dead... Whah!" Neeson.

Because it sucks to lose your spouse, but it must suck to lose all that James Bond money more.

And so Pierce Brosnan has not finished teaching me lessons in my "adulthood." From a young age, Pierce taught me that women were nothing more than sexy sidekicks who will have partially clothed sex with you if you are about to save the world. Or if you had just saved the world. But only if they didn't turn out to be evil. Though, even if they are (evil, I mean.), Pierce taught that you can still let them them "sex" you, as long as you reveal to them after that you knew they were evil all along. And kill them.

But today, Pierce has taught me the most valuable lesson of all. That money and fame are more important than any sort of human relationship, no matter how much sexing is involved (Trust me, I knew Liam and whats-her-face very well. There was a lot of sexing!).

Thanks, Pierce! You're my number 3 guy!

Drawing a Blank

I don't have anything to write about today. Literally nothing.

(The only light-bulb lighting up above my head is this one)

It was bound to happen sooner or later. I've basically written a blog a day for nearly two months now. And I've given you gold this week! Gold! (Maybe if I repeat words enough for emphasis and then give them a picture of gold for reinforcement, they will forget I have written nothing...) So, you know, if you want to give me a free pass tonight, go for it. We should all be so generous.

My mind is empty. No thoughts in there. Which is nothing new. But somehow I normally manage to squeeze a pointless musing or opinion out of my mind grapes. But not tonight. I'm too tired, me thinks. No thought wine floweths.

I had two 7am days this week. As in show up at B&N at 7. As in wake up at 5:45. Andrew is going to say, "Cry me a fucking River" or something. Probably not that, because I'm pretty sure he realizes that crying a river is impossible. The body literally can't produce enough tears to create anything even remotely resembling a river. Not even a stream is achievable with the amount of tears in the human body. Not even with a tear extracting machine (i.e. Up).

But he is gonna say something about me whining about having to wake up at 5:45 two days this week. And 7:45 another day. And then 8:30 tomorrow. But he's not on a human's sleep schedule. His is freakish. So his high-and-mighty opinion doesn't matter.

So, yeah... the brain cells aren't awake enough to write anything other than a blog about having nothing to write a blog about.

I did drink a coffee for the first time ever today. That I bought. I never drink coffee. But by 9:30 I needed it. So I bought one. Some white-mocha-expresso-something-or-another. I still don't know what that means. But I drank it. And it was alright. I felt less tired for a while. And I drummed my hands on the counter and railing for some reason. I think it was a side effect of the coffee. I may experiment tomorrow. Take the coffee again and then see if I turn into Ringo Starr.

(Say what you will about Ringo Starr, but the man could grow sideburns and a mustache.  [Who was saying anything bad about Ringo Starr?])

That's all she wrote. Ima eat and pass out.

Good night.

Now, That's a Fortune (A Fortune Cookie Fortune)!

I had Panda Express for lunch today.

(More like taste the stomach acids! Am I right? 

More like Chinese for upset stomach! Am I right?)

I know, right? I don't even enjoy that shit.

Still, I felt the compelling urge to eat some Panda. So, I did. And a funny thing happened... I enjoyed it. Every last bite. In fact, instead of the Panda boredom setting it, as each bite brought me closer and closer to the end of my Panda meal, I actually became fearful. Fearful that I would soon be out of delicious Panda.

I believe they are drugging me. How else could I have gone from one who only enjoyed 3 bites of Panda Express to someone who nearly cried over the lack of Panda by the end of my meal? Also, how else can my recurring trips to Panda Express be explained? Why else would I be having these Panda cravings? They must be drugging me! I'm addicted to the Panda drug!

But, this wasn't the only surprising revelation I had on my thirty minute Barnes and Noble lunch break (I accomplish a lot in thirty minutes [you have no idea]). I also got a fortune cookie fortune that -- waaaaait for it -- was actually a goddamn fortune! Imagine that!

"YOUR TALENTS WILL CAPTURE YOU THE HIGHEST STATUS AND PRESTIGE
PANDA EXPRESS * PANDA INN"

I'm not sure why the fortune cookie shouted at me. Nor do I think the part about the hotel just for Pandas was meant for me. But, the other part was pretty damned closed to being a legitimate fortune. Mazletov, Fortune Cookie Fortune Writers! You have certainly earned your FCFWGA card today!

I wonder what talents it speaks of? I'm inclined to think writing talents, because, let's face it, my writing talent is fucking limitless. You're reading what I'm writing, aren't you? And you're a very discerning person dealy.

But who knows? It could be some yet undiscovered unbridled talent. Maybe I'll be the next Peyton Manning. You know, be the best quarterback during the regular NFL season but preform questionably in the post season. Or, maybe it's some yet undiscovered talent in cunnilingus (is that were the worst word imaginable comes from? [You know... the C-Word...]). Watch out ladies (and men with Vaginas)! Or, maybe, it's my talent as a DVD/Bluray organizer. Not sure how that one (or the cunnilingus one) will earn me the highest status and prestige, but hey, the world often works in mysterious ways. 

 

(If you think I wrote about Peyton just so I could image search him again then... well... fuck you!)

Whatever-the-case, good work, my fortune cookie fortune writing friends. You're on the right track.

Just imagine how cool it would have been if you had written this instead...

"YOUR TALENTS IN SCREENWRITING WILL CAPTURE YOU MANY PROFITABLE STUDIO WRITING GIGS AND ACADEMY AWARDS

PANDA EXPRESS * PANDA INN"

You would have surely flipped my fucking lid. It would have been so oddly specific to me, that I would have totally bought that lie. You could have changed my life!

No matter how poor I got, no matter how miserable, no matter how many years I tried and failed, I never would have left LA if I had gotten the fortune. I could have been 80, and my (still living) friends would have been like, "Give it up man. You're 80! If you didn't make it as a writer 30 years ago, it's never going to happen! Quit your Barnes and Noble job and move back to Colorado you old fuck!"

And I would have sipped my wine and been like "Fuck you, sonny, for not believing in me. That fortune cookie fortune, 59 years ago said I was going to be somebody! I was going to be a contender! And I'm not giving up until I am!" (At age 80, I still drift in and out of semi-movie quotes.) 

You could have ruined a person's life with your writing skills! My life! How bitchin' would that have been?

All writers aspire to destroying a human being with naught but words. Where do you think the old "Pen is mightier than the sword" adage came from?

It's complete bullshit, but writers have been trying to prove the opposite for years. 

So, nice improvement fortune cookie fortune writers. But don't stop there. This is only the beginning! The beginning of a wonderful, life destroying future. 

God's speed.

Gotta Keep Chasin' That Rainbow

I have lots to talk about today. Lots of opinions to express. So, fasten your seat-belts kids. You don't want to get thrown through the windshield of the boring mobile. Cause if you do, I'll leave your mangled corpse on the road. Won't even scrape your brains off the street. Don't say I didn't warn you...

 

(Don't know why Safety is misspelled here.)

RAINBOWS

Apparently you don't see Rainbows often in LA. I pointed one out at work several weeks ago, and everyone just about flipped their lids. I wish someone actually had flipped their lid, as then I would know what it meant.

I come from Colorado. Which apparently is the land of Rainbows compared to LA. Which is odd, because there are far more queens in LA. And I don't mean the Helen Mirren type of Queen. I mean homosexuals. (Queen isn't a derogatory term, is it? I wasn't meaning to be homophobic. I love my gay brothers [But not in a gay way. {Not that there's anything wrong with that.}).

I pointed out that Rainbow several weeks ago. I was like "Hey look. A Rainbow." I wasn't like "What the fuck! It's a mother fucking rainbow! Everyone look! Quick! It's a goddamn Rainbow! I can't believe this! Ahhhhh!" Because I'm from Colorado, not LA. But everyone else acted like they had never seen a Rainbow before. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked. It was crazy!

Today I saw another Rainbow. A double Rainbow. As is often the case with double Rainbows (See. Colorado=Rainbow Expert) one was much weaker than the other. But the other was fucking strong as shit. The clearest rainbow I had ever seen. And it was strongest at the base of the Rainbow shaft. By the ground.

For the first time since I was a wee lad, I really wanted to drive to the base of the Rainbow. Because it was so strong at the base of that shaft (I make Rainbows much gayer) it actually looked like it was shooting out of the ground. Like a laser or something. Like that sun laser in Die Another Day. I believe the satelitte was called Icarus, because the writer was trying be to be clever with the whole "flying to close to the sun thing" and by referencing Greek mythology. Only this was the opposite. Because the Rainbow laser was eminating from the ground, not a lamely named satelitte.

Point is, I considered driving to the base of this shaft. Not because I expected to find a pot o' gold. But because I wanted to see the base of a Rainbow up close. Which I believe is actually impossible. So I am equally retarded for humoring such a notion, even for a moment, as I would have been for expecting to find gold.

Still, gotta keep chasin' that Rainbow.

"Always Chase That Rainbow!" - Nick Doll

THE SUPERBOWL

That could have been a blog in itself. But it's not. Cause I'm about to shoot a whole week's wad in one sitting. Seat belt still on tight? 

 

(This blog aims to hit the kitty and puppy lover demographics.)

I wanna talk about the Superbowl.

I gotta say, the most important event that can happen to your city is to have your team win the Superbowl. All you readers may not realize this, but all you readers didn't grow up in a city that won the Superbowl, not once, but twice... during your childhood. So I don't expect you to understand this.

It's true though. Never will you hear more commotion outside than after your team wins the Superbowl. I grew up in Aurora, which is a suburb of Denver, but not Denver proper. Miles from Denver, in fact. On any other day, any other occasion, you can go outside and hear nothing. I don't care if your hockey team won the Stanley Cup, I don't care if it's New Years Eve (you'll go outside and hear fireworks, but not much else), or if your country just fought off invading Ruskies (Soviet Bastards!).  There's no commotion quite like Superbowl commotion. I still remember fondly, after the Broncos won their second Superbowl in a row, playing football outside in the street at 9pm or so to the sound of never ending honking horns all over the city.

Because, we all know the most appropriate way to celebrate victory is to honk your horn repeatably. And riot. And of course there was rioting after both Superbowl victories. But there was rioting after both Colorado Avalanche Stanley Cup Victories so that could happen any time.

You honestly will never experience a city unifying event quite like a Superbowl victory. Because in America, like it or not, football is the undisputed king. I hope you all get to experience it in your lifetime (Live in a city that wins the Superbowl, I mean. Cause not being in the city when it happens is chump change.).

So I get what those peeps in New Orleans are feeling.

But, I still hate the argument that a team like New Orleans deserves to win because of what happened to their city.

I have always hated that argument. I have hated it since I was in 5th grade.

Because that is when the shootings at Columbine High School happened.  Because if two events define every Coloradoan's life growing up when I did in a suburb of Denver, it's the Broncos winning the Superbowl... twice (that's how important Football is in America. It's a life defining event. Us kids who got that Superbowl vic turned out better than the rest of you.) and the shootings at Columbine.

Following the shootings at Columbine, the Columbine High School football team was doing very well, if I remember correctly. And I don't remember if it was state or just a random game, but some radio commentator said that they really deserved to win that game after all their school had to endure that tragedy.

Even in 5th grade, at age I-Dont't-Even-Know, I thought, "That is a fucking stupid reason to deserve to win."

I endured tragedy to please give me an award? Please.

And this thought developed in the mind of a 5th grader, still in elementary school, who had no allegiance to any high school team that he thought should win. It was a truly unbiased thought. Fuck, even in high school I had no allegiance to my high school football team. Even in college there was no football team pride! Because only professional sports have any value (but that is a different opinion for a different blog, perhaps. This one already has far too many.).

I get that such a victory unifies a community that has undergone tragedy. Like Columbine in 1999 or New Orleans this year. But is it reason enough for them to "deserve it?"

Answer: No.

Not to sound cold or insensitive (which I surely do), but technically, wouldn't the Columbine team deserve it less? Because the tragedy messed up their practice schedule for weeks so they actually worked for it less? I mean, isn't the most deserving team one who trains really hard for it? Food for thought.
The point is, good for New Orleans, but when you say, "I'm glad they won because of Katrina" you're comments don't move my cold, three sized too small heart. I will simply look you in the eye and say, "My Heart Aches for Peyton." Then, while your trying to decide if I feel for the guy or if I'm gay for the guy, my heart aching for him and all, I will turn, and make my exit. And leave you pondering.

(Wow. Check out that bod.)

ON BEING ASKED OUT AT WORK

No, I was not asked out at Barnes and Noble today. But, you weren't assuming that anyway.

My female coworker was. She approached the male customer (this ain't no same sex story [not that there's anything wrong with that]) like the would any other, the ole' "Is there a certain title I can help you find?" sort of dealy. And I don't think there was a title she could help him find (I honestly don't know, I wasn't paying that much attention.).

But, they struck up convo. I was running around, between the 2nd floor and 3rd (aka DVD/Bluray Land) so I didn't hear the whole evolution of conversation, but suddenly they were talking about where they went to college, why they were in LA, etc. At this point, I was like, wow, this dude must be interested in her, because who talks about that with an employee at Barnes and Noble when they come in for a book?

I mean, my best days are ones where I have an in depth conversation with a customer about film, but this was more personal than that. And, sure enough, at the end this guy asked my co-worker out and they exchanged numbers.

Who the fuck saw that happening? Who expects to go to work and get asked out, by a customer they have never seen, none-the-less. That's fucking crazy?

Is that how it's done in the Big Apple Core? (If NY is the Big Apple, than LA is surely the Big Apple Core.) Is that how you meet someone?

Should I ask my cashier at Target out to Yogurt? Should I ask the Yogurt Girl at Yogurtland (If they don't call their employees Yogurt Girls at Yogurt Land, they should start. [Even dudes.]) out to coffee? I'm guessing not if I'm getting Yogurt with the girl from Target.

I can't comprehend asking out someone I'm meeting for the first time. Then again, I can't comprehend asking out anybody. It's not that I don't want a girlfriend or fling or what-have-you, it's just that the whole concept of asking someone out, of making any sort of move, is so fucking alien to me.

I really feel like Dexter sometimes. It's not that I "don't feel" anything like him. I feel emotions. Happy... sad... angry...longing... hungry. And I have some very legitimate, strong relationships with very close friends and family. But everything else can often seem superficial. Annoyingly so. Interactions at work or with less than close friends. I sometimes do a decent job with playing along, acting convincing, but how real is that? Meanwhile, this relationship game is completely  lost on me. I can't even fake it. So I have so of this alien feeling towards relationships in common with Dexter (though I actually want one, unlike him.) Plus that urge to serial kill.

Be still my dark passenger, tonight is the night...

Maybe asking out someone you buy a DVD from isn't that weird (then again, he didn't even buy a DVD...). Maybe that's normal. I wouldn't know, because all of it seems weird to me. Apparently you just gotta take what you want. Only not really, because that is rape. You gotta take what you want by not being afraid to ask for it.

A man I greatly admire once quoted a man he greatly admires. Kevin Smith quoted Wayne Gretzky as saying "You miss 100% of the shots you never take." And I took this shit to heart, well, pretended to, writing it down and putting it on my wall. But it's something I just can't live by. But, it is something you should live by. So, as I tear apart that piece of paper where I wrote this quote, go ahead and make yourself one.

Equilibrium, bitch.

EPILOGUE
 
There. I think I covered everything I wanted to cover. Sorry if I got a wee bit personal there and whiny at the end. I'm not trying to pull a Conan here, giving a "Don't cry for me" speech after spending two weeks asking everyone  in America to do just that.

Besides, if anyone read past the Superbowl rant, I'll be pretty fucking surprised. Because it was a dumb move to dump all these thoughts (surely 3 blogs worth!) into one blog. If I was smart I would have written all of this and split the publishing over 3 nights. But, I'm not smart.

Then again, I've always thought the wisest people were those who knew they were morons.

Keeping It Short

Here's the deal. I can type pretty damn fast, but I sure as fuck do not type correctly.

I hunt-and-peck, but not in the traditional sense. While traditional hunt-and-pecking involves one finger on each hand, my own, customized variety involves approximately two fingers and a thumb from each hand.  The two fingers closest to the thumb (I don't know what they're called. Fuck!).

It's really a "proper way" and "hunt-and-peck" love child. That I have a patent on. So don't you fucking try that shit! Or I'll sue the pants off you.

 

(Why the above is Google Image Search's definiton of "suing the pants off," I have no idea. But all my image's are a direct result of what Google Image search thinks, so... er... so be it.)

The point is, this process involves the use of mainly four fingers and the occasion thumb. And yesterday, I got a nasty paper cut under the finger nail while at Barnes and Noble. Because I work myself too hard. What can I say, I'm just driven to excellence. But you already know that.

Yesterday, by the time I got home, the wound was not bothering me. I had no problem with the blog or the screenwriting pages I completed today. But today, somehow, I aggravated one of me typing fingers ("me" was used for effect. I did not misspell my [though I would have misspelled "mispell" {like that} if spell check hadn't corrected me. Thanks homeslice! {I know homeslice isn't a word, homeslice!}]). I don't know if it was the three hours of Modern Warfare I played or what, but here we are.

So, I put a band-aid on said finger. Two band-aids to be precise. And I can't type with a double band-aided finger. Because it is fat and occasionally types two keys. And because it hurts! I'm not made of stone! It's an under the nail paper cut! Ouchies!

So, I'm like an airplane flying on only 3 of it's 4 engines right now. So I have written you this blog about how I cannot write a longer blog. Though this blog is already far longer than I inteneded.

And, for that I apologize, middle finger who has had to pick up hurt fingers slack (the pointer finger maybe? Between the thumb and middle?).

Lord knows my middle finger doesn't need the extra strain. I drive in Los Angeles for Christsake! I'll need that thing again tomorrow!

My Heart Aches for Peyton

Poor, poor Peyton.

The man just can't catch a break. He's without a doubt the best player in the NFL, yet his Superbowl stats don't reflect it. He's only won one (to two too) right? And he's only been twice? Yet his talent is such that he should have won at least fives years in a row by now.

The man's a god. Which must be why God hates him so much as to fuck him out of Superbowls that are rightfully his. Honestly, every time Peyton Manning doesn't win the Superbowl it is a monumental outrage. A crime against nature. A fate raping.

Now, I didn't watch the Superbowl (for the 3rd year in a row). Because I was at work at B&N. So I don't know any of the deets (details for you non "hip" peeps [people for you non "hip" peeps]). But I can only assume that Peyton was robbed. Because, come on, he's Peyton Manning for fucks sake!

Now, here's what I'm thinking. Everyone knows that Peyton Manning was gifted with two unbelievable skills. He is not only the best player in the entire NFL, he is also the best commercial actor on TV. They'll be no reason for Peyton to pull a Farve ("Pulling a Farve" is also synonymous with "Pulling a Leno") because when it is time for him to retire (If that time ever comes. Peyton may just be ageless.) he can just settle into his acting career.

I can see it now, a franchise starring Peyton Manning. I'm thinking Peyton should either play some sort of super-spy or superhero. His character could be a quarterback by day, a crime fighter by night. Then, Peyton could move onto a series of comedic films, about dudes who just enjoy having sex and being Bad-Ass. Dan and I already have plans to write the first Peyton Manning comedy (So, don't steal it, okay? Because I will fucking kill you [in a very poetic way]). Then, Peyton could be a starship captain in a new Star Trek series that will follow this current Kirk/Spock/Bones reboot series. It would totally be a TV show with the occasional motion picture. He'd be the most bad-ass and hilarious captain in all of Starfleet.

I've got it all mapped out. So, when you're done with football, call me, Peyton my main man. Let's talk biznatch (business for you non "hip" peeps?).

But, honestly, here's what I'm thinking.  Peyton may have been robbed of his award in February, but March doesn't have to be the same tragedy repeated.

Members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, please give Peyton Manning the Oscar for Best Actor at the 82nd Annual Academy Awards. He may have not starred in any movies yet, but it's only a matter of time now until he does. It would really go a long way in cheering ole' Peyton up.

Besides, it's not like any of this years nominees for Best Actor were that great anyway.

How Did Man Ignore Other Man Before Cell Phones?

The Cell Phone really is one of the greatest inventions in the history of mankind.

 

Even smaller, able to contact with even more people, and with even less dead zones than predicted by Star Trek in the 1960s (seriously every landing party seems lose contact with the Enterprise. If the thing didn't lose a signal on every planet the lives of sooo many Redshirts* could have been spared.), the cell phone allows us to never escape contact from our parents, disrupt movies, text while driving at high speeds, and never find a moment of piece and quiet. It's more of a game changer than Avatard could ever hope to be.  

  

*I think this pic adequately defines the term "Redshirt."

Its' really crazy what a cell phone can do. At Barnes and Noble, customers pull up their coupons on their "smart" phones. You can even scan a coupon's bar code right off the screen! Gadzooks! 

Really, though, I believe the Cell Phone's greatest application is it's extreme handiness in evading interaction with my fellow man. 

You heard me... er... read me... er... read what I wrote right. I did indeed say "evade interaction," as opposed to it's more obvious utilization in making communication easier. 

Allow me to explain. 

Last night I finally saw the film Wall Street. Like many franchises before it (Die Hard, Kevin Smith movies, Star Trek) it took the impending release of a sequel to attract me to the original (I just saw the trailer for Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps this weekend). Say what you will about reboots and delayed sequels, but they certainly increase interest in the original film.

In Wall Street, during the opening credits, Charlie Sheen gets into a packed elevator with a bunch of other New York schmoes. Everyone in the elevator spends the ride to their floor ignoring one another by simply staring at the floor counter. I was like, "Awkward....."

I much prefer my way. 

Get caught in an elevator with another person from your building? Easy. Whip out your... let me finish... cell phone (You thought I was going to say Penis! [My words may have said call phone, but my eyes did indeed say Penis.]) and pretend to engage yourself by checking an imaginary text message (If you jumped the gun and accidentally did whip out your penis, there are still ways to pretend to engage yourself, don't you worry.).

Or, if you're no good at pretending because your parents didn't let you watch Barney as a child, then go ahead and send a text message. See how your bro is doing, ask how many beers deep your buddy who's still in college is, or say hi to your mother (She'd love to hear from you, trust me.). Or, even better, go ahead and read this blog in the elevator. Cell phones are capable of many wondrous feats like that.

(The main reason I have the creative smarts and aspirations to work in a creative field while you're studying something boring and fact based? I watched more Barney as a child. So I have an imagination. Remember... "Barney was a dinosaur from our imag-i-na-tion!").

Cell phones have gotten me out of many tight jams (aka human interactions) in my years as an anti-social serial killer.  In college, rarely a day went by when I didn't whip out my... cell phone... to avoid contact with another individual. Walking across campus and see that kid I always hate talking to? Ah, shit. Just got a text message, so I'll be looking at my screen and not even see him. Oops. 

On very rare occasions, I'd put the phone to my ear, even though there was no one on the other end, just so I could avoid the painful human interaction that burns my sensitive alien parts. But how did man ever survive the ride in an elevator or trek across a college campus before there was something as distracting as a cell phone?

Maybe man did whip out his penis more regularly? Or, maybe he just had to grin and bear it, having polite conversations with complete strangers and acquaintances he'd rather not have. Either way, the world must have been a terrifying place.

So, next time a someone whips out his...cell phone... ruining the movie you just paid $13 to see, don't immediately jump out of your seat and force feed him popcorn until his stomach explodes and he dies from internal bleeding. First, consider how much better life is now that you have a cellphone to keep you from interacting with your peers... then force feed that fucker popcorn until his stomach explodes and he dies from internal bleeding. Or beat him to death with his own cell phone. Whichever you prefer (the second option IS more poetic.).

And don't forget to be generous with your old cell phone. If you donate your cell phone to a homeless person, it will not only serve to make them appear less crazy, they can also use it to ignore their peers. 

Their filthy, sub-human, homeless peers.

Cheers.

Nothing's Tastier than Hamm

Jon Hamm.

Men want to be him. Women want him to be inside them. And I want both. Because he's Jon Hamm.

Though I am not gay, nor a woman, and I have been told I am wrong by women many times, but I do think Jon Hamm must be the most attractive man in the world. He is the ideal man. And it doesn't make me gay to say that. Because I'm saying it about Jon Hamm (who, like Brad Pitt and Mel Gibson before him, it is entirely appropriate to have a man crush on).

And I know I really shouldn't write about Jon Hamm during what is officially Mel Gibson's week (go see Edge of Darkness, by the way. Riggs needs you!), but I just can't help myself. Because he's Jon Hamm!

Now, for those of you who don't know who Jon Hamm is (because you're an idiot), he's most famous for being the star of the fantastic show, Mad Men (which you have never seen because you are an idiot). He plays Don Draper, a real man's man... because he's not afraid to cheat on his wife in the 1960s.

And he can sell anything. Including cheating on his wife.

The world really needs more Jon Hamm. Sure, Mad Men is perhaps the second greatest drama show of all time in this blogger's not-so-humble opinion (right behind Dexter). But Jon Hamm deserves even more. He deserves starring roles in movies, not bit parts in shitty Keanu Reeves vechiles like The Day the Earth Stood Still (which, to be fair, I have never seen. So I'm saying it's shitty based on second hand opinions.). He deserves to be a real star! Not simply one of the most respected actors working in television today.

Jon Hamm has gotten a little love outside of Mad Men (and the copious amount of awards he was won for his work on Mad Men). His stint on 30 Rock in Season 3 places him alongside the 30 Rock guest star greats, a very exclusive and impressive club that includes Will Arnett (the funniest man to ever walk the face of planet Earth) and James Franco.

Also, his portrayal of Lex Luthor in THIS Funny Or Die sketch is not to be missed. 

Because of how much he looks like Clark Kent and how well he plays Mr. Luthor, I have long maintained the belief that the ultimate Jon Hamm project would be a Superman Movie starring Jon Hamm as both Superman and Lex Luthor. And no, I am not joking. There would be no better way to make a Superman Movie, or no other version of Superman I would be more interested in.

Because, let's face it, Superman is the shittiest superhero ever. He's invincible except for one thing! Kryptonite. So, guess what the villain is going to pull out every damn movie to defeat him...

Plus, he doesn't wear a mask, yet no one know's he's Superman?  He just removes his glasses and curls a strand of hair? Superman is shit. Not, "the shit." Just shit.

But I'm being distracted from obsessing over Hamm. Hamm's non-Mad Men highlights have been his hosting gigs on SNL (I really hope everyone reading this blog knows what that stands for). He's done it twice now in two years, and I really hope SNL makes it an annual thing. Because that guarantees they will have at least one person who watches several sketches on Hulu one day a year (what an enticing offer. I don't see how they can't have Jon Hamm back again next year). Assuming Hulu remains free. Cause I ain't paying for that shit.

 

Allow me to allow Jon Hamm to entertain you this blog. Because he is far better at entertaining than I am. And he is far better looking. Damn. How can God bless one man with such good looks (I swear I'm not gay) and such comedic chops? It's not fair. Really proves there isn't a God...

I have embedded the Jon Hamm SNL highlights (hope this works!). From both his hosting gigs. Because, being SNL, watching every skit is painful. Because many are painfully bad. But I have endured such pain for you. Because I love you. And, as I have stated before, I am the son of God. Even though there is no God.

Good luck surviving the easily ignorable Haiti ads, though.

Jon Hamm's 2010 Monologue

 

Jon Hamm informs us that he is simply an actor. And not all his roles were as suave and commanding as Don Draper.

Jon Hamm's John Ham

Quite possibly my favorite Jon Hamm sketch of all time. Brilliant.

Hamm & Buble

The incredible "sequel" to Jon Hamm's John Ham. Possibly better than the original as the mean side of Hamm is hilarious. I stock and sell Michael Buble's album almost daily at Barnes and Noble, but who knew he wasn't just another pretty faced singing hack? He's got a sense of humor!

Don Draper's Guide to Picking Up Women

Highlights why Don Draper is so awesome. 

 New Senator

Jon Hamm is a good dancer.

Digital Short: The Curse

Only Hamm can out cool the Kool Aid man.

Barnes and Noble

 

Finally, Jon Hamm presents the history of my employer. Too true. We DO have a homeless problem.

Well, that's it. But at least I'm proven my point. Jon Hamm is hilarious. And the best looking man on planet Earth. 

And, yes, I did learn how to embed videos halfway through the blog. So, hopefully, in the future, links shall be a thing of the past for me. And my blogs will take longer to load. Because I love you.

You're quite welcome.