He's Back, Baby!

Yes, this is a real movie--directed by Jodie Foster, no less (discuss).

Yes, it was shot before (some of) that shit went down.

Yes, the notecard says something else on the real poster.

Yes, much like the man himself this project was a bad idea from the instant it was conceived.

Yes, you will probably see it with your family this holiday season and/or receive it on BluRay from a friend as a Valentine's Day gag gift.

Yes, you all should be ashamed of yourselves.

Aside from the movie crew's community-saving bribes to dozens of unemployed+underwater homeowners near the shooting location pretending to mow their lawn every day, probably the only good to come of this debacle is all of the anti-fan art out there on the web.

Viz:

Probably a direct quote as he walked to craft service for a handful of Peanut M&Ms.

I would much rather see THIS movie.

Probably an accurate assessment of what Gibson's golden years would have been like

if he didn't have $400 million in the bank and a team of parasites that live off him.

For even more anti-fan art, check out the endless comments on the post that inspired mine at Videogum.

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Just the Facts, Ma'am

Fact: The Colored Bartender in The Palm Beach Story was played by a man who called himself Snowflake.

For this and many other reasons, I find it hard to imagine what it would have been like to be alive in 1942. Others reasons include having to wear a wool suit all the time, hats, hair oil, the everpresent cloud of cigarette smoke, propriety, World War II, racism, and the absence of rock'n'roll.

Only in a truly fucked-up world would a black man rise the ranks of the entertainment industry as a performer named Snowflake, parlay that modest success into the dream role of "bug-eyed black man in a white tuxedo getting shot at by wasted wealthy white hunters on a private train car from New York City to Palm Beach" in one of the biggest comedies of the year, and then have this article written about him in the paper:

Racists on Youtube Do the Darnedest Things

The Youtubes makes people famous--there's no way around that, it is one of the few truths in this world, so deal with it the same way that you deal with the fact that there will always be racist assholes waving Confederate flags, laughing at Larry the Cable Guy, and preaching religion and family values as they secretly give non-gay handjobs to random men in the bathroom of the gas station by the highway and their teenage daughters give birth because they were told condoms were wrong.

On Youtubes, as everywhere else, all fame is justified for one reason or another, although most would never admit the reason everybody knows who they are is because they are the biggest asshole on the planet, the worst dancer in history, or a complete moron totally unaware of anything beyond the stomping grounds of their youth.

Enter "Babe 27", who no doubt longs for the fate of her idol, Justin "I was discovered on Youtube" Bieber and will no doubt never receive it. Instead of cruising the world in a pimped-out Rascal scooter with cupholders, parting seas of swooning teenagers in towns whose names she can't even pronounce, Babe 27's flavor of fame will not result in any financial reward, respect, or sex appeal.

Instead, millions will laugh at her, share her humiliation with all of their friends, and move on, leaving Babe 27 to wither in their dust, cruel laughter eternally echoing in her ears no matter how many earmuffs she dons, a three-legged cat her only friend.

Enjoy:



"...and THAT is why you don't post videos of yourself singing in your bedroom on Youtube!"

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Fairy Soap is Easily the Best--Which is Why the Whites Keep It for Themselves

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U.S. Government Boldly Decides to Tax Jobs White People Don't Do Anymore

This just in:

In the scramble to find something, anything, to generate more revenue, states are considering new taxes on virtually everything: garbage pickup, dating services, bowling night, haircuts, even clowns.

“It’s hard enough doing what we do,” grumbled John Luke, a plumber in the Philadelphia suburbs. His services would, for the first time, come with an added tax if the governor has his way.

“Look, I’m not a crazy tax guy,” Mr. Rendell said, reflecting on recent trims to the budget. “I know what we’ve cut the last two years, and I know how deep and painful the cuts have been. So I know that in the future there’s going to have to be a revenue increase, and this is the best of the alternatives, obviously none of which we’re happy about.”

Michigan’s revenues, adjusted for inflation, have sunk to a level last seen in the 1960s. And that may be exactly what at long last pushes through wide acceptance for taxes on more services, according to supporters of the idea, who say it makes sense in an economy that has long been service-based. In the past, such taxes have never quite been able to survive the political tussle.

(courtesy NYTimes.com)

To what is the world coming?

Of course politicians would rather tax the working stiffs than the corporate stiffs. I didn't hear any suggestion that Michigan should repeal the excessively generous entertainment-industry tax credit, for example, because it creates jobs! But they will tax the people who take those jobs, as well as the barbers and line cooks that service those workers.

Ah, trickle right down my ass, I say.

Working stiffs may seem to have strength in numbers, but too many of us would switch allegiance for a few shekels--hence the imbalanced power of the uber-rich.


We all know The Rich are little more than the pride-and-joy descendants of Roman Senator types--rich enough to have private armies, smart enough to cloak them in corporate legitimacy, inbred enough to be ugly.

They are constantly pacing their sun-drenched downtown offices, plotting the future, playing puppeteer in Warshington, London, Tokyo, Beijing--when they aren't snorting coke off the ass of a $5000/hr call girl in a suite they keep at the St. Regis to help alleviate such cravings.

But what are we doing about it?

We are presenting the rump and pretending we're okay with it.

Are we?

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There Truly IS a Museum for Everything!

Behold--The Jim Crow Museum of Racist Memorabilia.

If it isn't worth the drive to Big Rapids, Michigan, perhaps an audience with the Ferris State University Homecoming King and Queen is more your speed?

Too much

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