Keith Olbermann's Special Comment on Organized racism(Tea Parties)

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Some Sobering Truths

Its been a few months since alcohol and I have been on speaking terms, hell, the cold turkey approach feels more like I went to have that evil seductress wiped from my memory on some "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" shit. The benefits have turned out to be everything that I expected. I've lost more pounds than a Nate Newton drug bust. I no longer perspire while eating, or get winded while riding on the elevators. The money I've saved from no longer buying booze, criminally overtipping bartenders, and taking cab rides could fully keep a garden variety baby mama content and away from Johnny Law if I indeed had one. Its also unfortunately done a number on my temperament, turning me into a rather reasonable individual - now I give someone an extra warning or two before kicking their bicuspids down their respective throats. I embrace all of it, even the unexpected civility that no longer getting shitfaced has brought on. But there is an evil side to sobriety that no one tells you about. Let me explain:

No more excuses for forgetting names: I'm not a Kanye West hater, I'm actually a fan, but one thing that friend and foe alike can agree with is that homeboy is a dick. It's just who he is. So I'm sure the people who love him the most, his family and friends, know this fact better than anyone and love him despite of it. Once your alcoholic street cred has been established people tend to let you get away with things that are usually hell-worthy trespasses, like forgetting someone's name. I cant tell you how many times this conversation has occurred at a bar:

Man: HumanityCritic!!! What's up man?
Me:(handshake) Hey man! Nothing much, same shit different toilet bowl.
Man: You forgot my name didn't you?
Me: That's ridiculous, of course I remember your name.
Man: What's my name then?
Me: (looking in the air for answers) Um, give me a second, its right on the tip of my tongue.. Yeah I forgot it.

But all is always forgiven because of my liver ruining tendencies. I mean, I've even had brief dalliances, that's an artful way of calling them "cuddle buddies", who have easily accepted the fact that I forgot their name only a couple of days after my loving cunnilingus made their nether regions smell like a brewery. But now that I'm sober, alcohol can no longer be the fall guy for what I'm sure is my repentant insensitivity.

"Moments of asshole" flashbacks: I have never served my country. When I went into my senior year of High School I had fully intended to graduate and then immediately enlist into the service. Then the 1st Iraq war broke out, so guess what I wasn't doing after graduation. I say all of that because I sincerely respect the brave men and women who fought and continue to fight for this country, and I don't want to offend them by equating a product of my sobriety to post traumatic war flashbacks - I know that doing so is a proverbial minefield.(See, I even felt uneasy about typing "minefield") But seriously, its the only thing I can relate it to that will make sense for anyone reading this. Now that I'm sober there some rather unseemly things, despicable acts that alcohol buried deep in my subconscious, that randomly come back to me with HD levels of clarity. Headbutting a guy because his girlfriend called Obama a "Muslim". What did he do? His only crime was having a bitch as a girlfriend. Beating up an old bully for general principle purposes when I saw him at a bar last year. Really? His bullying of me happened more than 20 years ago, and said bullying stopped because of me putting him on the business end of beating back then. We were all squared up Karma-wise. Getting a blowjob from an ex-girlfriend's sister just because my delicate feeling were hurt. Trust me, there isn't a format big enough to contain all the uncalled for things that I've seen in flashback form these past months.

"Sobriety goggles": If John Meyer's dick is like David Duke, then my unimpressive chubby penis was like the Statue of Liberty on some "give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses" shit during the tenure of my alcoholism. Yes, I'm a germaphobe who usually wears three condoms and hazmat gear to have sex, but occasionally alcohol would make me lower my defenses and have sex with a woman I had no earthly business fucking. But I always laughed off penetrating goblins and treasure trolls and blamed it on the booze, but at the same time clumsily trying to find some redeemable trait about said beastly conquest: "Sure, she wasn't cute, but did you see the knees on that one!" Even though its really done a number on my social calender, sobriety no longer allows me to be so pedestrian about choosing my sex partners - now it takes more than low self esteem and amusement park height requirements to count my ceiling tiles. Women who looked as if they stared at the arc of the covenant too long would usually be embraced when I was drinking, not now, now I tightly close my mouth and furiously shake my head back and forth like a toddler who doesn't want to eat something.

Finding out how horrible people are: Lastly, and most unfortunately, sobriety has opened my eyes to the steaming piles of monkey shit some people happen to be. I mean, I used to think I was a pretty good judge of character but apparently I was wrong. There have been 5 situations so far where I was talking to somebody that I previously held in pretty high regard and the realization of how horrible they actually were covered me like a torrential downpour. It was that same feeling you get as soon as you figure out that the person you're in love with is breaking up with you, its exactly like that. Its okay though, I'm sure friends and family alike will think the exact same thing about me as soon as they stop drinking.

Inside the "Birth of a Nation" Convention

Bigots, the whole lot of them. Every time I hear some political analyst that I respect say that these folks legitimately have concerns or that they "don't belong to either political party", I want to go on a fucking killing spree. Sure, I'm certain that there is a sliver who really care about taxes and spending - about the same minuscule sliver of folks who read Playboy for the articles, about as measly as the percentage of men who actually care about their woman achieving climax. Remember what Janeane Garofalo said about the Tea Party folks: "It's about hating a black man in the White House. That is racism straight up. This is nothing but a bunch of tea bagging rednecks." Now I know why the reaction to her saying that was so visceral, because the ones feigning outrage knew that she was speaking the absolute truth. I mean, how many more videos of people gleefully sharing their racism and lack of knowledge do we need at this point? The Tea Party Movement, and by a larger extent the popularity of Sarah Palin in said fringe, is the direct result of having an intelligent Black man as Commander in Chief. Smart black guys threaten bigots in general, but a smart black President? Enter the Tea Party people and the popularity of a functioning illiterate half term Governor who runs her entire political operation from a facebook page.

Kudos to Chase Whiteside for doing such a bang up job.

Bipartisan Health Care Summit: Checkmate

I still stand by my position that having "Question Time" happen on a regular basis would be an extremely bad idea - it would quickly snowball into a coordinated talking point fest where republicans would treat the entire exercise like one giant cross examination of the President. That said, the Bipartisan Health Care Summit proposed by the President is one hell of an unanswerable chess move. If the Republicans accepted, Frank Luntz authored talking points and garden variety lies that the mainstream media ushered into the public's consciousness like a horny prom date would be mercilessly dispatched in real time. If they declined, you'd have a televised Health Care discussion on C-SPAN with only the President and Democrats in attendance, with the President possibly uttering “I invited the Republicans to work in a bi-partisan effort to reform our Health Care system for the American people, but they refused.” every few minutes. Its a win-win situation that reminds me of the 2008 Presidential Race when Barack Obama refused to blink when John McCain floated the clumsy idea of suspending his campaign and rescheduling the debate. Obama basically told the war hero to go fuck himself and that he was attending the debate with or without him. John McCain's only option was to attend, just like the only option for the GOP is to attend the Health Care Summit the President proposed. GOP insiders have conceded as much. Checkmate Motherfucker.

No, my Dreadlocks literally drive women crazy..

It seems like a year doesn't go by without me chronicling people's unrepentant ignorance about my dreadlocks, either in the form of hamfistedly clumsy questions or extremely rude actions that would get most people flattened like Dixie Chicks CD's circa 2003. You'd think that after having my hair loc'd for 14 years that I'd be used to all the inartful statements and overall belligerence, but you'd be wrong about that my friend. Instead of my naive belief that the world would one day evolve and finally rid itself of the misconceptions surrounding dreadlocks, things have gotten progressively worse, like that undisciplined kid whose desperate need of a foot in the ass has turned him into an uncontrollable little shit. Not only do the offensive questions about my hair run rampant, women more times than not take it upon themselves to invade my personal space with reckless abandon in the name of curiosity. I mean, I like a woman to run her fingers though my hair like any other red blooded American male with a functioning penis and certifiable hetero street cred - but is it asking too much to seek my consent? "No means no" ladies! Also, before you think the blatant disrespect is coming from one particular ethic group, again you'd be wrong. It has been my experience that dumb shit either said or done to me because of my hair spans the racial spectrum like one of those Benetton commercials. Or people who unfortunately like Nicki Minaj. Or skinny jeans. You get the point.

Because I don't have a girlfriend who would take pleasure in easily dispatching the aforementioned offenders, I'm left to do what most artsy-fartsy writer types find themselves doing - venting a litany of frustrations through my potty-mouthed prose. Enjoy.

Tug of War: I laugh when I hear other folks who have dreadlocks complain about people asking to touch their hair as if that's some sort of hellworthy trespass - those complaints usually prompt me to inquire, "They actually ask you?" Ladies, I can never imagine what its like to have your personal space invaded just because some man lacked the necessary vocabulary to respectively compliment your breathtaking curvature. But after having my hair pulled as many times as I have, I can't say that I know what it feels like to be groped but I can at least emphasize with you. Whether its women who weren't accustomed to seeing hair of my texture, so their curiosity took over and they pulled my hair on some "look, shiny object!" toddler shit. Or the women I like to call "Dreadlock Birthers", a gang of ladies who explain their penchant for rude hair pulling as them failing to believe that all of my hair originated at my scalp - I always make sure to tell both sets of ladies that they would be on a strict jello and apple sauce diet if they were born a different gender.

I adore cancer kids, I swear: I can't tell you how many times some person looked at my flowing dreadlocked mane and asked, "Why don't you donate your hair to cancer kids?" Sure, if I ever decided to chop off all of my hair for a more aerodynamic look, "Locks of Love" would be the first place I decided to stop as soon as I left the barber shop. But the aforementioned question always tends to be seasoned with irritation, as if I'm a selfish bastard who is unaware that the sole reason for existence is to routinely be sheared like sheep for hair donation. Even though I always have utter contempt for the person who asks that question, I still give every dollar I can to cancer charities in case I turn out to be wrong on this issue.

Hey lady, I got something you can play with: This is a pretty new phenomenon, one that started about a year ago, but I've had women randomly come up to me and play with my hair. Check the wording. Not "play in my hair", a phrase that suggests an intimacy that leads to the exchange of bodily fluids and early morning snacking. I'm talking about "playing with my hair", like draping it over their head, making it an impromptu wig - or cavalierly whirling it around, the same way you'd do handle a jumprope. As amazing as someone doing that to a complete stranger may sound to you, the truly amazing part is how these women never seem to understand how incredibly fucked up they are being. I remember this one women seeing the grimace on my face after she twirled my hair around and asked, "Am I out of bounds here?" In which I responded, "Put it this way, I'm about to beat six shades of shit off of your boyfriend as punishment."

The Human Scratch and Sniff: A couple of days ago, as me and my homeboy watched a local band play, a woman decided to grab two great big handfuls of my hair and take one gigantic whiff. It was weird man. I didn't know if she was doing so because she had a thing for smelling dreadlocks, or if she wanted to reaffirm some misguided belief she had that all dreadlocks were dirty. I quickly got my answer when her head emerged from my dreadlocks with a look of astonishment, saying "Wow, your hair really, really smells good!!!" Its times like those where I'd usually have some crass but timely quip, some rhetorical take-down that I'd deliver with assassin like accuracy. But before the wheels in my head started turning, a woman that I know damn near gave her an atomic wedgie, pretended to smell her panties and then proceeded to say "Wow, your drawls really, really, smell like roadkill." My hero.

Thank you, Internet Porn. Sincerely.

A few weeks ago I watched a CurrentTV segment about the porn industry, and how those particular purveyors of triple penetration love making and romantic sentiments like a chick fellating a stranger through a wall were losing their proverbial shirts because of all the online outlets that provide their hard work free of charge. I wanted to feel their pain, I really did, the combination of a piss poor economy and ever improving technology must be a poisonous cocktail for your garden variety porn distributor. It truly is hard out here for a smut peddler. That said, I'd be lying if I claimed that I wasn't a proud participant in their untimely demise. Its not so much because I'm a cheapskate, even though I'm sure I've saved shitloads of dough lovingly stroking my unimpressive penis in front of a computer screen screaming "Oh baby, give the drummer some!" - its really because cavalierly stealing filmed penetration online has saved me awkward situations of the soul crushing variety. Let me explain:

The Ninja Exit: When you go to a store that strictly sells videos with the same exact ending, a young woman's face resembling a glazed donut, there's no particular need for "The Ninja Exit". See, there is absolutely no confusion why you're there - sure, its shameful not to have an actual real live woman to provide the only respectable outlet for a sexual release, but at least you're amongst friends. But whenever you go to a video store, a proper one that sells regular films where only the viewer gets fucked, self respecting gentlemen who routinely masturbate have to exhibit the elusiveness of your garden variety Ninja. Most times the aforementioned video store will have a back room where they store all of their X-rated titles - usually the only thing that momentarily impedes your path into that masturbatory promise-land are a set of rather unseemly looking doorway beads. Anyways, even though the sole purpose of me getting out of bed that day was to rent films of women being consensually degraded and folded up like origami - I always felt the need to show a disingenuous interest in the regular movies before making my entry into the porn room as stealthy as humanly possible. Looking back I suspect that the employees knew what I was up to, with me sporadically looking up while clutching a copy of "Gigli", with that "I'm going to masturbate in every room in my house" look in my eyes - before disappearing out of sight as soon as said employees looked away or answered the phone. Thank god that emotionally taxing exercise is over.


Don't stand so close!: Personal space has always been important to me. Call it rude if you want to, but I've been known from time to time to even give my closest friends rather pedestrian, space clearing forearms to the chest whenever their conversation finds itself inside of my coveted personal space. So if your personal space is valuable in normal situations, just imagine how precious it is when you are trying to figure out which delectable seductress you're going to spill your homemade man-sauce to. Most dudes know to follow this unwritten rule to a tee, sometimes you find yourself having an entire row of filth all to yourself because of how much that protocol is respected. But sometimes there is someone, usually a miserable sad sack of a human being who mistakenly thinks supermarket decorum is the same as porn decorum, who takes it upon himself to stand right beside you as if he was your fucking hypeman. Even though I was always tempted to threaten brutal violence for such a hellworthy trespass, more times than not I just screamed "Will you get the fuck away from me!" at the top of my lungs like a mentally disturbed person taking up residence in a padded room. Something about another dude in close proximity while making masturbation plans that completely ruins the pornographic renting experience.

Intrusive cashier: As if renting pornography wasn't embarrassing enough. Nothing batters your self esteem like traveling through three cities to peruse smut in a video store so seedy that it would light up like Yankee's Stadium under a black light, the last thing I needed was awkward encounters from the fucking cashiers of all people. Whenever I walked up to pay for my rentals, and I knew damn well that there were some rather questionable choices in there, my shame had me transfixed on her face for the slightest sign of emotion. I obsessively tried to read into the manner in which she grabbed my card, how she grabbed the designated DVD's out of the drawer, the tiniest of vocal inflection to let me know that she was trying to either hide her disgust or pity. But even if all went well on those neurotic fronts, the cashier always felt the need to inform me that I had already rented one of those movies: "Sir, do you know that you've already checked out "There is no such thing as a wrong hole" two times already?". I always gave her a quick nod and a dismissive "I know, hurry the fuck up!" waive of the hand - but I always wanted to run out of the store screaming. I mean, I'm sure people re-rent things all the time - don't shame me just because what I'm re-renting what happens to be a woman getting all of her orifices filled up like a bowling throw.

No more hazmat suits: But the real benefit of getting your pornography online is that you no longer have to wear a fucking hazmat suit to handle your DVD rentals. Ok, maybe I wasn't wearing a hazmat suit. But I'm a germaphobe, so when I thought about all the other grubby masturbators who handled said DVD's before me I made sure to use industrial strength gloves when getting the DVD out of the case and into designated DVD player. I accidentally touched a case with my bare hand one time and spent the better part of an hour fighting back vomit as I scrubbed my body with Laundry Detergent using S.O.S pads. Yeah, I'm sorry that the porn industry is losing money, but its much better this way. For me anyways.

"To My Exes- Sorry About The VD" - Part 1

Sometimes inspiration comes from random places. Even though my chubby fingers have been working overtime, this time with writing projects and not masturbation(I'm lying, I'm quite the multi-tasker) - unfortunately I have neglected the one thing that has let people in on my pre-ejaculatory exploits and random acts of violence. This blog. It wasn't on purpose, it just became a rather taxing exercise to bare my soul without simply regurgitating old blog posts. But since I have stopped drinking, become obsessed with spreading my demon-seed now that I'm on the bullet train to 40, and destined to stop my fists from speaking before I do - its literally opened up a new world creatively. But before I reengaged the blog I needed a well deserved kick in the ass. Enter Mela Machinko, said inspiration. My long time internet buddy, sultry songstress with the voice of an angel, had a post on her blog entitled "To My Exes- Sorry About The VD". She got the idea from a Tucker Max message board, it basically chronicles what you would say today to all your ex's if you had the chance. Well, here goes, this is "Part 1" because the list of my relationship mea culpas are far too long for one post. PS. I don't have any venereal diseases, I'd fuck a virgin with three condoms while wearing riot gear if you left me up to my own devices.

CT: You were my very first girlfriend, real girlfriend that is, and you had my nose open like 80's era cocaine binges. Because I put everything in that relationship and it didn't work out, over the years I privately blamed you for my laissez faire stance on commitment. That was wrong and I was a coward to do so. Matter of fact, you were unfortunately a template for a lot of my hangups. But at the end of the day you weren't at fault at all, I was, you were just a convenient fall guy for my asshole behavior. My scumbag tendencies. What I remember about our relationship is that you were extremely sweet, and I always promised myself that I would put how you broke up with me in a book because of how caring and thoughtful it was. Despite my misplaced anger I always appreciated that. I'm glad that you are now married with beautiful children. By the way, you aren't the only ex that got married after dating me - I'm beginning to think the movie "Good luck Chuck" is based on me. "Based" I said, that flick was quite the shit sandwich.

DT: You always thought that I was being respectful of your wishes by not rushing you into sex. That wasn't it at all. I was just self aware enough to know that an insufferable asshole taking someones virginity could leave an emotional scare that lasts a lifetime. But I took your virginity anyway and indeed proceeded to treat you like the 50th thing on my priority list. That is still one of my greatest regrets, along with that rodent I took to Prom and the petri dish of a stripper I had no business fucking in Las Vegas. I digress. You were everything a guy could want: Smart, funny, beautiful, and you loved my clumsy ass to death - but I pissed it all away only because a relationship to me at that time was nothing more than a figurative straight jacket on a free spirit such as myself. Man was I on some bullshit. After we lost touch for the better part of a decade, I was deathly afraid that I had soured you on relationships, turned you into a unrepentant cynic, or a lesbian.(Don't laugh. 5 ex's are now lesbians) But I was happy to find out after we connected via facebook that my concerns were unfounded. I just hope that some decent guy sees you for the treasure that you are.


SR: What can I say, you turned my feeble world upside down like any 29 year old should to a 17 year old. You taught me things that I didn't know existed, discovering new sexual worlds even though I wasn't planting any flags anywhere. To me, at that time, I may as well been fucking that blue Avatar broad. Sure, you weren't a girlfriend, you were just some lady my parents gave a room to for a year - but if I've ever pleased a woman in the slightest in my sexually underachieving lifetime its all because of you. Every bit of it. While my friends were struggling with less than generous girlfriends, I got to tell "..and then I took her from behind as she coked eggs" story. Sidebar: You are the reason why I still love the back of a woman's knee. I'm not trying to overstate this but you continue to have an effect on me. Sometimes I'll have flashbacks like a war veteran of our sexual escapades that happened over 20 years ago. Brief whiffs of your perfume worn by some random woman always tend to stop me in my tracks. You always hear men who played under Vince Lombardi say that even today, years after the Hall of Fame Coach's death, they'll sometimes hear his voice of that he'll frequently appear in their dreams. Yes, you are my Vince Lombardi.

That Genie won't get back in the Bottle..

I was watching "Hardball" yesterday where Chris Matthews, the man who lets exemplary oratory cause him racial amnesia, had on David Corn and some republican blogger who I couldn't identify in a fucking lineup. They were talking about what most people have been talking about since Friday: Obama's thrashing of the GOP at the Republican retreat in Baltimore, and the possibility of having something like that on a regular basis. A "Question Time" west of sorts. There is actually an online petition for the idea that has wide ranging support from across the ideological spectrum.

Right after I witnessed the President effortlessly lay waste to the republican party, their clumsy talking points bouncing right off of him, I was all for turning such an affair into a regular occurrence. Instead of the usual political shows where Democrats and Republicans just scream at each other the entire time, here you'd have a respectful discourse where real ideas get aired out and people actually got a chance to learn something. Just imagine the possibilities, the President debunking right wing smears in real time and forcing our inept media to go from ineffective referee to serviceable arbiter of the truth. Because of the new ground that could possibly be broken in terms of transparency and the political upside to liberals in a world where right wing talking points serve as the motor to our traditional media - I was all ready to sign that online petition with a quickness. Then I actually thought about it.

This is still America. If anyone can royally fuck up a free lunch, its us. If you think for one minute that "Question Time" would even remotely resemble what we witnessed last Friday, you are sadly mistaken my friend. I'm sure the rules would change, with each side having time restraints or some shit. Because we are allergic to anything new I'm sure we'd feel the need to add a debate moderator, I envision them hiring George Stephanopoulos to fill that respective slot. The "Demand question time" petition calls for it to go uninterrupted, without commercial sponsorship. That's cute. You can bet that right after Obama waxes poetic about sanctions on Iran or his unwavering focus on education, a bewildered caveman or those four douchey Free Credit Report guys will be shamelessly peddling their wares just as if this form of televised Democracy was "Two and a Half Men". But most of all, republicans would carefully coordinate their questions as if they were playing the role of District Attorney and Obama was a criminal defendant. With the current political climate what it is, its not that difficult to imagine the Republicans getting increasingly unruly: Constantly interrupting him, sneering, etc. It would be a fucking mess, no better than the mindless cable pap that we currently decry. The only UK imports that us yanks haven't totally turned to shit are Andrew Sullivan and "The Office", that's about it, what makes you think we wouldn't fuck up "Question Time" as well? You always hear drug addicts talking about how their turbulent tenure of drug abuse was all about trying to recapture that first high. That reminds me of everyone who co-signs that petition. What we had Friday ain't coming back, that genie is out of the bottle unfortunately. Lets hope the White House sticks to its guns and continues to gives the "Question Time" idea the proverbial gas face.

This is Chess, not Checkers

Look, I know I'm a few days late on this, but I just had to comment on how the President made 140 republicans proverbially bite a curb right before he stomped on the back of their collective heads. It was truly a thing of beauty. Garden variety republicans found themselves being mercilessly beaten with their own talking points, the same ones that inept cable news hosts would usually allow them to peddle with reckless abandon. Politicians whose agenda for the past year has been solely obstruction, found their attempts to score political points sent in the other direction - facts have a way of cavalierly swatting bullshit into the cheap seats. It was like watching a Bruce Lee fight scene: The taking on of all-comers, the graceful debate pivots, roundhouse kicks to false premises, leg sweeping politically disingenuous arguments - best best of all, holding obstruction up by the neck for the whole world to see. I'm sure that performance would have made the creator of Jeet Kune Do would be proud.

But on a larger level this was an elaborate trap set by Barack Obama, and we saw him starting to construct said device during his State of The Union speech. Even though you couldn't throw a rock without hitting some pissed off liberal who thought his proposed "spending freeze" was a disastrous idea during a recession, and I can't say that I particularly disagreed with them, I got the feeling that that was the beginning stages of a plan to counter GOP obstruction. Understandably, I'm sure the President was rather perplexed that the republicans were reaping political benefits by sitting on their hands while the political clock ran out. By proposing republican ideas and making them vote against their core beliefs in the name of obstruction is a great way to prove to a nation that isn't well served by their news media where the gridlock in Washington is really coming from. His appearance at the Republican retreat in Baltimore was only a way to build on said narrative. How many times did the President cite republican ideas that he adopted, only to get the business end of a republican stiff-arm later?

Who knows if this plan will work, but successfully tying the "obstructionist" label around the necks of republicans could be so politically toxic that there may be some votes to be had by reasonable members of that party. That's if there is such a thing as a reasonable republican.

Massachusetts voters, fooled by "Le Tigra"

Last night, as soon as the race was called for Scott Brown, I said on Twitter: "Congratulations Massachusetts, Derek Zoolander is your new state senator." Sure, Scott Brown was a male model with what appears to be the same thimble sized intellectual depth as the Zoolander character. But just like the Ben Stiller character who believed that he had a wealth of signature looks when in reality he basically gave the same facial expression each time, Scott Brown too believed that the voters of the great state of Massachusetts wouldn't figure out that the centrist stance that he was running on was still the same old Scott Brown. Well he was right, Massachusetts was fooled by "Le Tigra". Or "Blue Steel?" Or "Ferrari?" Pick a Zoolander facial expression.

Listen, I know that your garden variety republican pundit will wax poetic on some cable news show where he is never challenged that the vote in Massachusetts was a referendum on Health Care. Some progressives(see Anthony Weiner, Jane Hamsher, and Arianna Huffington) will disingenuously agree and adopt those same right wing frames because they don't think the bill goes far enough. Many have already claimed that the Scott Brown victory was a clear repudiation of the Obama agenda. Well, I personally don't see how anyone can comfortably come to any of those conclusions when you had a crappy candidate who ran a lazily abysmal campaign in the first place. I'm saying, save that "repudiation" shit for the time when the candidate doesn't put her campaign on cruise control for most of December. When the Democratic leadership doesn't allow said candidate to put their campaign on cruise control and gives her/him an encouraging kick in the ass. The "referendum" rhetoric would make sense only if that same Democratic Leadership had learned something from the Virgina Gubernatorial loss and stopped getting "Eddie Haskell-ed", allowing foaming mouthed right wingers to paint themselves as lovable centrists that you'd trust with your sister.



If anything, the message I get from this election is that Progressives have to abandon the hyperbolic hyperventilating, the histrionic hand-wringing, and the petulant Nihilism. We should constantly hold President Obama accountable, but like Bob Cesca always says, there is a smart way to do it that without severely depressing the base and giving both comfort and artillery to your fiercest enemies. I'm certain that one of the reasons the Democratic base in Massachusetts wasn't particularly excited was probably from hearing one too many Progressives call Obama a crypto-republican, corporate sell out, sodomizer of grandmothers. Whatever the fuck the clumsy charge was that week.

If anything, the message I get from this election is that Obama should stop extending his hand out to republicans and start landing some preemptively well placed throatchops. The thing about republicans, even if their claims happen to be hysterical and nonsensical, is that they are firm believers in repetition. Its like my hideous looking neighbor who is married to a woman who is out of his league, fuck that, she isn't even in the same sport. After I befriended the woman and asked in the most polite way my limited vocabulary would allow how she ended up her wet Gremlin of a husband, she said "Well, he was the most persistent. Shit, he really just wore me down". The President can't be the lonely, chubby neighbor pining for a woman of that magnitude as he engages in a daily ritual that has made his right arm extremely stronger than the left. (Yes, I'm the masturbating fat guy in that analogy)

Parks and Recreation is the Wu-Tang of Comedy

Parks and Recreation is the Wu-Tang of Comedy - watch more funny videos

As much as NBC has been an object of my ridicule for years now, ranging from their historically premature penchant for dismantling quality shows to the clusterfuck they've created by giving Conan O'Brien the proverbial stiff arm - I have to say that their Thursday night comedy line-up is second to none. "Community", "Parks and Recreation", "The Office", "30 Rock" - its essentially a murderers row of basic programming. As for one of the aforementioned shows, "Parks and Recreation", here is a funny or die clip that I believe was born out of one of questlove's tweets.

Trailer for "Repo Men"

There are certain actors that I'll go see in pretty much anything, damn near sight unseen. Even though I've made a concerted effort to avoid a handful of Matt Damon flicks, he's had a pretty good track record of picking good projects. Same thing thing with Ed Norton. Phillip Seymour Hoffman as well. Jude Law also falls into that category. Shit, ever since "Gattaca" I've seen a lions share of homeboy's movies - and this trailer only ensures me seeing another one.

4 Things I learned during a Power Outage

If the events of a couple of weeks ago proved anything to me its that you never stop learning things about yourself. After dictating my innermost feelings on this blog for the last 5 years: The nonexistent relationship with my father that I'll be regretting well into the winter of my life. My penchant for gratuitous violence that's only rivaled by my ravenous appetite for putting low self esteem having women on the business end of my catalog of perversions. My randomly reluctant admissions that the career asshole who once sodomized a woman in a church does indeed have a heart at times. The catharsis that this blog has provoked had me thinking that I've pretty much figured myself out, the same way one masters a rubix cube or the game pattern to Pac-Man. But the Nor'easter that hit Virginia recently where I was one of the 100,000 that went powerless(for two days), taught me some truly revealing things about yours truly.

I'm an authority on old sitcoms: Besides the binge drinking. Forget about my sordid history of unflinching womanizing. Take away the fact that a handful of women that I've dated would probably characterize me as an "emotional cripple" based on the glory hole in my house that I pressured them to pleasure me through. One of the main reasons why I firmly believe that I'm single is because I'm extraordinarily quirky. I'm a 36 year old black guy who likes skateboarding, Kevin Smith movies, shooting high powered weapons at gun ranges, collecting comic books, has an eternal crush on Janeane Garofalo, and more times than not has purposely made love while Public Enemy's "Welcome to the Terrordome" was playing. But as I found myself in the dark, bored, staring up at a ceiling that was barely visible thanks to the cheap candles that I had just lit after the power cut off - another nerdy trait of mine was thrown into the mix as I spent the next 2 hours singing/humming theme-songs to sitcoms that stopped airing years before I was born. See I was a latchkey kid, so most of my afternoons were spent watching "Hazel", "The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis", "Bewitched", "My Three Sons", 'Leave it to Beaver", "The Andy Griffith Show", "The Flying Nun", "Green Acres" "Hogan's Heroes" "The Munsters", "McHale's Navy" "The Courtship Of Eddie's Father", and a shitload of others that I'm purposely excluding for the sole purpose of saving what shred of street credibility that I have left. Shit, no wonder I've been reduced to craigslist companionship.

I admit, talking to myself is pretty creepy: I'm not a bloody savage for Christs sakes, I always make sure that any dialogue that escapes my hairy mandible directed at myself is always done in complete privacy. Its actually a habit that started when I was a kid, talking to yourself is nothing but self preservation when spending inordinate amounts of time alone in your formative years. My mother believes that my penchant for turning an internal dialog into an external one is what has turned me into a somewhat serviceable writer. That said, I never thought it was that much of a problem until I actually heard myself babble on when complete silence served as the backdrop. What turned into a harmless habit that I simply felt was me actively organizing my thoughts became a rather sad display of loneliness from a childless 30-something.

I'm not the human hard-on that I thought I was: Ladies, I may not leave you walking funny come morning time, I may not reach your personal top 5 as far as sexual endurance goes - but rain, sleet, or snow I will be there whenever you need me on some postal carrier shit. I've been deathly ill with the flu, sporting a fever on the verge of putting me into a coma, and I've always found a way to desperately attempt to share my unimpressive black penis with my significant other. One time I had a nasty case of food poisoning where I was throwing up every five minutes and had the audacity to tell my girlfriend, "I just threw up so we have plenty of time to fuck, I'll brush my teeth if you want me to!" A few years ago I got jumped, mercilessly pounded into hamburger meat because I had previously beaten up one of their friends. Later that night with my eyes swollen shut, looking completely unrecognizable, I told my then girlfriend, "You'd better ride me because I'll bleed on you otherwise." I said all of that because during the power outage a young lady that is an acquaintance of mine(local stripper) wanted to come over and get to know me in the biblical sense.(I guess she likes her pre-ejaculation to dollar store candlelight) When I informed her via text message that my street was severely flooded, she quickly responded that she could drive her brother's jacked up truck to thwart said problem - also mentioning that she had some fly fishing boots to help her brave the rest of the way. I was flattered, but too dejected and irritable to even think about sex. I know, me refusing to get my unadulterated fuck on must be a sign of the apocalypse.

I'd commit suicide if I worked in radio: I always knew that listening to the radio was a particularly soul crushing experience, especially if you are a Hip Hop fan - even pedestrian aficionados of two turntables and a microphone can unfortunately hear artists desecrate the artform in Real time. New millennium minstrel acts, monosyllabic wordsmiths satisfied with their unimpressive station in life, sub par artistry of that magnitude had successfully kept me far away from the radio for the better part of a decade. But as I was forced to wade through the proverbial muck and mire of urban radio as I searched for weather updates due to the power outage, I was shocked to find out that it was actually much worse than I imagined. I felt myself losing I.Q points by the moment, so much in fact that I sincerely thought that my motor skills would be lost forever if I listened to the radio for one solitary hour. But I didn't know what was sadder, the state of affairs that music is in nowadays or the radio personalities who I know love real Hip Hop who are being forced to play such monstrosities? Suicide should never be an option, but if I worked at a radio station I'd make sure that they collected my shoe strings and kept me away from sharp items at all times.

Glenn Nye: Not exactly a profile in courage

(This was written early last week, but a power outage due to the Nor'easter is why I'm posting it now)

Remember that scene in "Goodfellas" when Jimmy(Robert DeNiro) excitedly called to hear how Tommy's(Joe Pesci) ceremony where he was being "made" went, only to get the unexpected news that his childhood friend had met an untimely demise? The dismissively casual nature of the person on the other end of that phone call has always stuck with me, I can't tell you how many times I've uttered the words "He's gone, and we couldn't do nothing about it" in a rather deadpan manner to the girlfriend of some insufferable douchebag that I had just put on the business end of a merciless beating. I was reminded of that scene in "Goodfellas" two weeks ago when I called Glenn Nye's office to find out how he intended to vote for the health care Bill in the House. Immediately I was told, without the receptionist at Glenn Nye's office even doing what I feel would be the bare minimum and explaining the rhyme or reason behind his decision, that my state representative was voting against Health Care reform. I guess the news of my state representative blatantly betraying his constituents would have been easier to take if it wasn't delivered with such arrogant indifference, I'm still convinced that she was literally shrugging while informing me of his "no" vote. I'm willing to bet good money, dough that would have otherwise gone to my weed dealer and various handjob professionals, that my sound political advice that a "no" vote would guarantee Mr. Nye a primary challenger was purposely being ignored while cuticles were being taken care of and polish was being applied. I've historically been an insensitive lover who desperately loathes post coital conversation, so I know what condescending silence sounds like.

What's really troubling about Glenn Nye's vote is that he ran as an anti-war candidate against a horrible right winger(Thelma Drake) who voted with Bush 98% of the time - I can concede that voting for Health Care reform may be tough politically, but the pitchforks wouldn't exactly be out for Glenn Nye if he voted for it. Also, we all know from our childhood experiences that acquiescing to bullies still gives you fist marks in your chest and prostate puncturing wedgies - the right wing will still paint you as a tax and spend liberal who adores the Kenyan in the White House. But a "No" vote doesn't make sense, the republicans still attack you while your base sits on their hands because of your abject cowardice.

I should have seen this coming though. Right after Glenn Nye was elected he claimed that the President being at the top of the ticket didn't help him get elected because Obama didn't win his particular district. Its tortured logic like that that should have let me in on who Glenn Nye really is, my most regrettable vote to date.

Current Music Presents: Embedded with Common

Why the White House is Smart to Take on FOX

I don't know if this is prevalent in other cultures, I've mostly seen black folks do it as of late - but the one thing that I hate more than black republicans or extremely toothy blowjobs is a person who passionately defends an artist that they like by simply noting the size of their bank account. Let me give you an example. I'm of the firm belief that Tyler Perry's movies are cinematic poison. Even though I don't wish any physical harm on the director, for all I know he has a heart that should qualify him for Sainthood, but the gruesome things that I want to do to people who incessantly gush over his extremely shitty movies would scare the shit out of Stephen King. Stereotypical characters. Phoned in storylines. Cringeworthy dialogue. A black man in a goddamn dress. I'd really have to dedicate a blog series to accurately cite every reason I loathe the creative vision of Tyler Perry. Whenever I've expressed said disdain whether online or in every day conversions, the winning retort that I usually find myself on the business end of goes like this: "Yeah, but he's making money!!" You also get the same clumsy response when you criticize some monosyllabic rapper with a limited world view that they happen to be a fan of. Forget about the substantive gripes that you may have, from sub par lyricism to the fact that said artist happens to be a new millennium minstrel act, the fact that he/she never has to look at a price tag again is supposed to easily thwart all of your artsy fartsy critiques.

I'm only highlighting my least favorite defense of substandard artistry because Rupert Murdock reminded me of it recently when he pointed to FOX's increased ratings after he was asked about the White House taking on his News channel. Tyler Perry's vast fortune doesn't address the piss poor craftsmanship of his movies, a rapper who can pawn his platinum chain collection and singlehandedly pay for sufficient Health Care reform doesn't negate his mindnumbingly wack lyrics - and Rupert Murdoch pointing to an increase in ratings due to FOX's back and forth with the White House doesn't fundamentally answer their claim that they aren't a legitimate news channel. Besides, the White House could care less if they help FOX News get 10 Million more viewers, because their attack on FOX really isn't about FOX.

The White House doesn't have to look any further than that last Democratic Presidential Debate that ABC's George Stephanopoulos and Charles Gibson hosted to know how quickly right wing smears can infiltrate the mainstream media. People forget that it took both moderators 52 minutes to ask anything resembling a substantive question, most of the time was allotted to silly shit like Flagpins, Reverend Wright, and William Ayers. Stephanopoulos was basically a puppet for the right wing in that debate with Sean Hannity and Steve Malzberg pulling the proverbial strings - being that both men personally urged him to ask about William Ayers when he was on their respective shows. We also can't forget that Reverend Wright was a personal fetish of Sean Hannity's months before the mainstream media finally bowed to right wing finger wagging and started covering it, yet another example of the national discourse being sullied by the mainstream media taking its cues from FOX. Remember the Democratic Presidential Debate between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama that Tim Russert moderated? I'm sure the White House does. That was a debate where the sorely missed Russert not only asked Obama about Reverend Wright, but didn't seem to accept a clear word like "Denounce" when grilling him on Minister Louis Farrakhan. Undoubtedly more right wing influence.

Listen, that was only a small example of how right wing meems seeped into all facets of the press during the campaign season, if you are an ardent watcher of the news like I am then you know that that sort thing happens all the time. (See Czars, "Enemies lists", "Death Panels") The White House knows this all too well. Their attack on FOX isn't about them "whining", something that many intellectually lazy writers have accused them of. Their attack on FOX isn't about garden variety pushback, they know that the bottom feeders over there will continuously call him everything from a Communist to a puppy torturer no matter how much they fight back. The White House tapping FOX News on the proverbial shoulder and asking them to "step outside" is more about shaming all the other news outlets who from this point forward proceed to regurgitate their horseshit smears as if it were legitimate news. It's an extremely smart tactic. I can totally imagine, after 6 more months of saying that FOX "isn't really a news network", some White House official sarcastically prefacing their answer to someone at CNN with, "Wow, that's a FOX News question.." Its a great way of marginalizing FOX while rhetorically wrapping legitimate news organizations on the wrists for clumsily reporting smears. This is a brilliant strategy, please keep it up.

How an unrepentant Asshole would improve VH1 Hip Hop Honors

When it comes my history of relationships, being an asshole hasn't exactly served me well - I'm single, 36, childless, and the only chicks who want to fuck me are either nuttier than squirrel shit or have vaginas so weathered that they resemble your grandfather's extremely weathered catchers mitt. When you are an insufferable prick, meeting new people often turns disastrous. Just last week I was chatting up a woman at a bar, a rather standard conversation where a solitary sexual advance was nowhere to be found - so you can imagine my disgust when the young lady said, "I hope you're not hitting on me, I'd never date a black guy!" In which I responded, "You are a chubby white woman, without black men you have no viable options!" I've lost a lot of friends because of my tactless nature: Literally hogtying a friend who refused to go to rehab - punching a wedding DJ who had the audacity to play "The Electric Slide" - telling a gay guy that my friend wanted to blow him, only to underline the fact that my boy was already sucking dick every time he tongue kissed his cheating wife - bringing a bottle of Jack Daniels to the "1 year Sobriety Party" that my friend threw for his father - getting a drunken blowjob by a friend's mom at her birthday party and justifying it by saying "You're adopted, I would never had done that if it was your blood mother! I'm not an animal, Geez!" Real asshole shit that I regret.

But when it comes to Hip Hop I have no regrets concerning behavior that I'm sure most sane people would probably find utterly reprehensible. Just look at me as a portly, alcoholic superhero who uses his powers for good and not evil - belligerently calling out all the bullshit in Hip Hop for the betterment of the Culture as a whole. For the sake of the culture that I hold dear, I've nonchalantly thrown CD's out of my car for distance no matter how much my passenger paid for or loved said banality. I've eagerly wanted to meet MC's with third grade vocabulary levels just so I could tell them how much they sucked to their faces. I couldn't tell you how many times I've left monosyllabic rappers with platinum encrusted smiles hanging as I turned my back on them while posing in my toughest B-Boy stance. Friends of mine stopped asking me to critique their music because more times that not I barraged them with armchair micromanagement: "Why did you say that there?" - "That simile didn't make any fucking sense!" - "Who's singing that chorus? It sounds like a chicken getting strangled, or two goats fucking" - "You should really go solo, the other guys in your group can't rap for shit". Yes, I can be a steaming pile of shit when I want to be, but its for the good of Hip Hop. Sincerely.

That said, even though I thought that the good folks over at VH1 did a serviceable enough job with this years Hip Hop Honors - they'd agree that there is always room for improvement. Even though my advice for improving Hip Hop Honors programs will be in the form of sarcasm and overall assholery, just know that its coming from an extremely good place.

No More Tracy Morgan: I loved Tracy Morgan when he was "Hustleman" on "Martin". Even though my pride as a black man wants me to resist any character that perpetuates the "Crazy black man" stereotype, he is great on "30 Rock". But left up to his own devices, when a team of writers aren't carefully crafting every syllables that exits his mandible, Mr. Morgan is painfully unfunny. You would have thought that VH1 learned their lesson when Tracy Morgan hosted Hip Hop Honors last year: Cringeworthy skits that seemed to go on forever and even irritate the extras that were in them, a standup routine that reminded me that I found my father's wake more chuckleworthy. The mere fact that VH1 had him back this year either means that VH1 is tone-deaf comically, or they always get Tracy Morgan on the cheap. For Christs sakes VH1, if you can't find someone who loves Hip Hop and has the comedy chops to host an award show - at least get a quality actor who loves Hip Hop to simply play the damn thing straight. (See: Mekhi Phifer, Michael Rapaport, etc)

Have the Roots Play the entire show: The Roots are the hardest working men in show business. Between their nightly gig on "Late Night with Jimmy Fallon", playing their own gigs, and constantly creating new music - I'm sure those gentlemen barely get a moment to themselves. That's why its important for VH1 to lock them down a year in advance. I mean, I like "Onyx" well enough, not their biggest fan - but to hear Gym Class Heroes damn near make "Slam" unrecognizable was blasphemous at best. Again, book the Roots for the whole goddamn show.

No more washed up Rockers: Regardless of what race you are, you always knew that it suddenly became uncool to like a Hip Hop song the moment your local white Top 40 radio station got a hold of it. The opposite seems to be true when it comes to the Hip Hop aficionados who put on these shows, because they apparently are the last ones to know when a rock artist needs to be sent to the proverbial glue factory. Kid Rock? Really? Gym Class Heroes are so 2006, and I didn't like their ass then.(Disclaimer: Outside of Zack de la Rocha, I never gave 2 shits for the Rap/Rock genre) The mere fact that they would recruit such milquetoast "rockers" to pay tribute to Hip Hop stars of years past is rather condescending to the many of us who love that real rock shit. Its sort of like being racially profiled by your own people. I grew up on Bad Brains, don't fuck with me.

Its Pre-taped for a reason: Maybe I'm too much of a snob, but I always find it highly offensive when some artist paying tribute to an honoree horrible flubs lines during their performance. I hate to armchair MC here, but out of respect for the musical act being honored and just for ooverall professionalism sake - as soon as VH1 called me I'd be feverishly studying the lyrics I was set to perform like it was a fucking SAT exam. I know mistakes happen, but there really is no excuse for butchering classic Hip Hop lyrics like I've seen done at pretty much every Hip Hop Honor program. (KRS, you are a legend, but you should be ashamed. You couldn't get "No Sleep Till Brooklyn" right? Really?) Anyway, to combat that, all VH1 has to do whenever someone mangles a verse that most of us can recite backwards is simply have everyone start over. Its not like its live, the crowd can act like its the first time they've heard it. Its not hard.

Current Music Presents: Embedded with Mos Def in Japan

Helping America become post racial, one brutal beating at a time: Episode Three

Even though my dating history is a sordid one, mostly a dismal collection of brief sexual encounters where being an emotional cripple with a bed that becomes a proverbial ejector seat as soon as I ejaculate halts any possible prospective relationships - it would make perfect sense that my favorite "girlfriend" just happened to be a therapist. The level of catharsis you feel when dating a mental health professional is unparalleled. I mean, outside of admitting that you have dismembered bodies of miscellaneous strippers buried in your backyard, you can pretty much unload some of your deepest and darkest secrets without them so much as batting an eye - something I usually did post coitus by the way. My penchant for penetrating low self esteem having women in church buildings almost provoked shrugs from her. Pushing a wheelchair bound man into traffic? Her beautiful stare was unchanged. Headbutting a clergy member, getting a handjob from a girlfriend's mother at a wedding, tossing a rather lippy midget on to a bar roof, pushing an entire book shelf on someone at a public library, threatening to publicly waterboard an old man who snaked my parking spot. Incidents that would usually repulse most people were met with indifference from a head shrinker who was desensitized from all the certifiable shit smearing psychopaths she had previously treated. Sure, I knew that she was probably using me as her personal take home assignment, but I fully embraced it. Shit, it wasn't the first time I fucked my therapist.

Between all the deviant sex and my unsuccessful attempts to score some prescription medication from her, she did uncover something about me that had never crossed my mind before. She concluded, because of my father's verbal bullying that I was constantly on the business end of, that many of my physical altercations that I had been a part of over the years were a direct result of me trying to right that particular wrong. I never thought about it before, but a large percentage of the throatchops that I have mercilessly administered to some asshole's larynx were indeed born out of me sticking up for someone. I'm sure if I was still with her she'd come to the same conclusion about my violent defenses of President Obama as well.

I mean, this may anger all the pseudo-militants out there that I'm constantly coming in contact with: Armchair revolutionaries who spend their time viewing President Obama as an "Uncle Tom" simply because of his job title or because he isn't spreading the teachings of Marcus Garvey. Ridiculous child-like giggle provokers who naively view him serving Americans as a whole as an affront to the Black Community. The same intellectual knuckle-draggers who incessantly try to push "The Obama Deception" on me as it was a motherfucking "Watchtower", fake ass "Michael" from "Good Times" wannabees, feverishly masturbate to Dead Prez records on your own goddamn time. With the racism directed at the President in the form of blatant disrespect. Racism in the form of citizenship questions. Racism in the form of assassination dogwhistles. Racism in the form of daily manufactured outrage. Please get this through your kufi's, I'll have the President's back way before I'll ever have yours. Shit, even if I wasn't a supporter of his policies I still may have his back based on all the bigots that are out to get him.

"Don't spray me bro!": When you live around as many knuckle dragging savages as I do, drooling lunatics with racial attitudes so backwards that you are certain that they were recently thawed out from their cryogenically frozen state that they've been in since 1944 - a common occurrence is getting extremely dirty looks from fellow motorists simply because an Obama sticker is on your bumper. Seriously, you would have thought I had a ringing endorsement of necrophilia on my car, or puppy torture. Usually I respond to such hostile grimaces with utter civility: The one finger salute, screaming "What the fuck are you looking at you goddamn Hillbilly?!", or threatening to beat them within an inch of an amnesiac state. So when a young couple in their early 20's decided to flash me the icegrill from stoplight to stoplight, I didn't find anything strange in what I felt was pretty much par for the course. But the constant pulling up beside me? Tailgating? - I'm constantly amazed how threatened some white people are by possibly the least threatening black man that has ever existed. Anyway, when I ran into rush hour traffic, the young couple found themselves behind yours truly. You know that feeling you get when something is about to happen, like a fight is about to break out at a club or Mary J Blige is about to give an interview where she doesn't depress the shit out of you. Well something was in the air, and my instincts proved to be right as I glanced in my rear view mirror and saw the young couple carefully exiting their car and approaching mine.

Because the only beating I do on a female involves premature ejaculatory pelvic thrusts, I grabbed the pepper spray that I purchased for my mother and proceeded to the back of my car where I found the both them attempting to take my Obama sticker off of my car. To sell the altercation to curious onlookers, I screamed with an Academy Award winning panic "What in the world are you doing to my car?" - before mercilessly spraying the shit out of what I perceived to be raging rednecks. As they both writhed around in anguish, invoking the name of our heavenly father, pleading for help - I realized that I'd be a perfect Abu Ghraib guard because I simply didn't give two shits about the excruciating pain that they were in. Immediately a cop showed up and I, along with some of the onlookers that I performed for, told the cop exactly what happened. I even topped off my acting tour de force by nervously exclaiming, "Sir, I was scared for my life! I saw those two approaching my car and I didn't know what to do. I just want to go home and hug my children!" Everything turned out fine and the cop let me go, but I had the sneaking feeling that he didn't believe me - and I'm sure the wink that I gave him before I entered my car didn't ease his suspicions any either.

My Thoughts on "Zombieland"

When you're are a latchkey kid you have an inordinate amount of time on your hands. Either my countless hours home alone were spent rifling through my father's closet looking for some dated pornography where the actresses had bushy Afros in two locations, dancing to my old man's blues albums with the grace of two drunk monkeys fucking, or watching every Zombie themed movie that I could get my chubby little hands on. Something about the forced camaraderie brought on by the scores of meandering undead wanting to chow down on your entrails has always intrigued me. The sheer paranoia that sets in every time one of the uninfected gets one solitary moment of peace. For the sake of not becoming a walking cadaver that sporadically lets out inaudible moans, complete strangers from all walks of life are forced to trust one another. But most of all, I've always been drawn to the shitloads of creatively brutal ways one could dispatch nasty apocalyptic feeders. As a kid with an imagination rivaling the amount of alone time that I had after school, Zombie movies were right up my alley - and ever since then I've been crafting the perfect Zombie movie in my head. Sure, I've been mentally editing said flick for at least 30 years, but these particular components have remained the same: Non stop gratuitous violence, the right amount of campy-ness, and an inordinate amount of obscure Hip Hop references thrown in for good measure(If I was a film maker I always assumed that that would be my trademark)

So you can just imagine my excitement when "Zombieland" came out. I mean, I knew there wouldn't be a Hip Hop reference to be found, but it definitely seemed to be a movie that winked at you while mercilessly bashing Zombie skulls in. Was this indeed the movie that I've been making in my head since the Reagan administration? Well, Yes and No. There is indeed a good amount of comedy mixed in with a tale about lone survivors of a post apocalyptic world banning together. Tongue is securely planted in cheek as our heroes put holes through ornery flesh eaters while searching for other uninfected people. Woody Harrelson once again proved that he's a master at, well, playing himself. Jessie Eisenberg's "quirky guy" shtick worked masterfully for a character who meticulously created a list of steps on staying alive.(Lets just hope that he's never in a movie with Michael Cera, because audiences everywhere would overdose in nervousness) Emma Stone and Abigail Breslin didn't exactly blow my skirt up, but they did a serviceable enough job playing sisters killing and conning their way to safety. Overall I liked the movie. The camp was there and the violence was there, my only beef with the movie is that there wasn't enough of either one. At a brisk 80 minutes, they should have cut some dialogue and concentrated on satisfying my blood lust while being a complete dick about it - or simply making the thing at least a half hour longer. Maybe "Shawn of the Dead" spoiled me? Or maybe its just impossible to compete with a movie that I've been making in my head for the better part of three decades.