Movie Review: Farce of the Penguins: Worst Comedy in World History.

Farce of the Penguins, in a nutshell.

I was going to make another beautiful image to put at the start of this page. It would be a screenshot from the movie’s cover with Bob Saget‘s image posted on one of the penguins’ faces. I was going to, except that I decided I didn’t feel like making people want to vomit on their keyboard, and besides, putting Bob Saget anywhere near an endangered creature is probably animal abuse. (Note: Yes, I know I succumbed to the urge. I am so very, very sorry. PETA, please send somebody like this to get me. Poor penguins.)

Farce of the Penguins, which I consider to be the worst movie ever made, is what could have been a fun movie, except that it was made by Bob Saget. Bob Saget should not be allowed to direct movies. This is the same man, I should remind you, who for years made the “family-friendly” America’s Funniest Home Videos suck. Yes, I know, you hate that stupid show, but I think we can all agree that of all the hosts one could come up with to host a television show night after night, one that is pretty stupid to begin with, the worst one you could take would be a man who basically made it even dumber. I remember watching him go up on stage in a clown car; I think the decline of civilization peaked at the exact moment that image hit my retinas.

Now, he’s made Farce of the Penguins. Guess what? It’s stupid. Also guess what? Bob Saget is even worse (and infinitely dumber) when he’s trying to be edgy by making stupid shit jokes every ten seconds, none of which is even remotely inspired, than he is narrating home videos that routinely involve men being hit in the testicles with baseball bats. As one reviewer put it, “It has its very funny moments, but how many jokes about gassy penguins and balls does one have to endure before finally hearing something that deserves a chuckle? And why do the penguins have to complain about the cold weather throughout the entire film?” (Source: http://thecinemasource.com) In other words: Nothing but fart jokes, balls falling off, and penguins complaining about cold weather. That’s the entire damned 90-minute film! Think about that for a few seconds to let it sink in. That’s retarded. I mean, that isn’t even Anchorman retarded. That’s the kind of retarded that gets you on the special bus, for God’s sake.

In hindsight, what pissed me off about this movie is that I could get the same basic message, in an easier-to-watch package of only an hour to thirty minutes of time I could be using playing video games, by simply watching America’s Funniest Home Videos reruns. That’s what this movie is: America’s Funniest Home Videos, with adult-grade, almost-pornographic humor, and Bob Saget and other famous comedians hacking away at animals’ dignity by voicing awful sexual humor over penguin noises, for ninety minutes. If you want to watch a good movie, watch Spirited Away. If you want a funny movie, I can think of several–hell, even friggen’ Happy Feet is better than this garbage. Ditch this movie. Seriously.

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It’s Time: Let’s Feed Ranchers to Wolves!

Hey ranchers! Nobody will eat your cattle… but wolves will eat you.

For a long time now, it’s been tradition for my family not to eat beef except if we buy it from a good grocery store, not McDonald’s or such, because McDonald’s beef sucks, and if I’m going to die of Mad Cow Disease, I want it to be because of something good, that I liked eating. Like, today I ate a great steak. If it wants to give me BSE at the end of the day, that’s OK. I don’t like the idea, but you know.

But that still leaves me with one problem: What about the ranchers who used to make me my crappy hamburgers? Are they going to keep bitching about wolves eating all their cattle just because I won’t eat their food? It seems like that’s exactly what they’d do, to blame something else, like a scapegoat, whenever the real problem is that meatpacking plants slaughter cattle at a rate of about 150 or so per minute, meaning that no real care is taken to make sure cow shit and brain matter doesn’t enter into American beef, so nobody wants to eat it. What are we going to do with those ranchers?

I was almost thinking that maybe I should start eating at Lotaburger again every once in a while just to help them out, but then I figured out a far better alternative: Feed ranchers to wolves! Oh, sure, their families wouldn’t be so happy about losing their loved ones, and part of the reason they complain about “wolves” is also as a scapegoat because of soulless meatpacking plants taking their jobs, but it would give wolves a much stronger presence in areas such as New Mexico, and that would have all sorts of good things going for it. Think about it: Mexicans coming over the border? Just put some wolves there. They’ll eat them! The “Minutemen” can go back home and be “normal” members of society again, assuming that they don’t start going after Canadians! And, wolves can attack crazy survivalists living out in the desert and plotting to blow up the Pentagon!

And let us not stop there, folks, because there are a whole lot more problems than these. As a few examples:

  • Shut up MADD. Yes, I know that they have done many good things, and drunk driving leads to horrible things, such as shouting matches between opposed douchebags like these. I have no problem with their wanting to stop drunk driving so that I can someday drive to school in peace without thinking that some moron with an open wine bottle in his hand is going to plow head-on into me, but I think that this whole “no children under 21 can drink” is stupid. And I don’t even want to drink! But, if I ever did, I’d be pissed off that I couldn’t. I can vote for douchebags like this guy, but I can’t drink to get the horrific image of his chicken-lipped face out of my mind? Screw that. Seriously. And it would be different if drunk driving didn’t occur so much as it is; but whenever you’re likely to get killed by some 50-year-old shmuck who thinks he can drive drunk, it just makes it worse to know that people –mothers, I might add–who are supposedly trying to save your life won’t let you drink, while some other jackass who probably gets drunk all the time plows into your sorry ass and survives because of all the alcohol in his system.
  • Shut up Bill O’Reilly, already. I’m sick of his stupid. Everybody’s sick of his stupid, unless they’re over sixty years of age (which, as the above example suggests, means that they’re probably drunk drivers and should be put in prison as it is). Look, when Don Imus gets fired for using the words “nappy” and “ho” in a sentence, O’Reilly should get fired for using terms like “wetback” and turning tragedies into political statements. In fact, I say we feed him to the wolves along with the ranchers, especially since he says he’s in favor of “the working man” so much.
  • Finally, we need to lay some ground rules for the unions, who have, like all the people on this list, exhausted their moral support. Once you have medical benefits, a living wage, retirement benefits, a 401(K), and enough money to afford cable TV, broadband Internet access, a good house, and several cars, you have gotten what you need. Please stop telling people that you’d rather bankrupt the company you work for than give in to management’s demands; it makes you look as bitchy as they are.

And there you have it. I hope I’ve given you some ideas for that college-level documentary you’re doing for Film 101.

It’s Time: Let’s Feed Ranchers to Wolves!

Hey ranchers! Nobody will eat your cattle… but wolves will eat you.

For a long time now, it’s been tradition for my family not to eat beef except if we buy it from a good grocery store, not McDonald’s or such, because McDonald’s beef sucks, and if I’m going to die of Mad Cow Disease, I want it to be because of something good, that I liked eating. Like, today I ate a great steak. If it wants to give me BSE at the end of the day, that’s OK. I don’t like the idea, but you know.

But that still leaves me with one problem: What about the ranchers who used to make me my crappy hamburgers? Are they going to keep bitching about wolves eating all their cattle just because I won’t eat their food? It seems like that’s exactly what they’d do, to blame something else, like a scapegoat, whenever the real problem is that meatpacking plants slaughter cattle at a rate of about 150 or so per minute, meaning that no real care is taken to make sure cow shit and brain matter doesn’t enter into American beef, so nobody wants to eat it. What are we going to do with those ranchers?

I was almost thinking that maybe I should start eating at Lotaburger again every once in a while just to help them out, but then I figured out a far better alternative: Feed ranchers to wolves! Oh, sure, their families wouldn’t be so happy about losing their loved ones, and part of the reason they complain about “wolves” is also as a scapegoat because of soulless meatpacking plants taking their jobs, but it would give wolves a much stronger presence in areas such as New Mexico, and that would have all sorts of good things going for it. Think about it: Mexicans coming over the border? Just put some wolves there. They’ll eat them! The “Minutemen” can go back home and be “normal” members of society again, assuming that they don’t start going after Canadians! And, wolves can attack crazy survivalists living out in the desert and plotting to blow up the Pentagon!

And let us not stop there, folks, because there are a whole lot more problems than these. As a few examples:

  • Shut up MADD. Yes, I know that they have done many good things, and drunk driving leads to horrible things, such as shouting matches between opposed douchebags like these. I have no problem with their wanting to stop drunk driving so that I can someday drive to school in peace without thinking that some moron with an open wine bottle in his hand is going to plow head-on into me, but I think that this whole “no children under 21 can drink” is stupid. And I don’t even want to drink! But, if I ever did, I’d be pissed off that I couldn’t. I can vote for douchebags like this guy, but I can’t drink to get the horrific image of his chicken-lipped face out of my mind? Screw that. Seriously. And it would be different if drunk driving didn’t occur so much as it is; but whenever you’re likely to get killed by some 50-year-old shmuck who thinks he can drive drunk, it just makes it worse to know that people –mothers, I might add–who are supposedly trying to save your life won’t let you drink, while some other jackass who probably gets drunk all the time plows into your sorry ass and survives because of all the alcohol in his system.
  • Shut up Bill O’Reilly, already. I’m sick of his stupid. Everybody’s sick of his stupid, unless they’re over sixty years of age (which, as the above example suggests, means that they’re probably drunk drivers and should be put in prison as it is). Look, when Don Imus gets fired for using the words “nappy” and “ho” in a sentence, O’Reilly should get fired for using terms like “wetback” and turning tragedies into political statements. In fact, I say we feed him to the wolves along with the ranchers, especially since he says he’s in favor of “the working man” so much.
  • Finally, we need to lay some ground rules for the unions, who have, like all the people on this list, exhausted their moral support. Once you have medical benefits, a living wage, retirement benefits, a 401(K), and enough money to afford cable TV, broadband Internet access, a good house, and several cars, you have gotten what you need. Please stop telling people that you’d rather bankrupt the company you work for than give in to management’s demands; it makes you look as bitchy as they are.

And there you have it. I hope I’ve given you some ideas for that college-level documentary you’re doing for Film 101.

A Hero’s Burial

He steps up to his computer. He just wants to escape it all. After all, it’s better to escape the confusion and smoke of the war than to stay in the fire and the fray and lose everything–one’s life, one’s mind. He doesn’t know what to do, how to quell the unalterable pain of rejection.

She just left him.

His best friend, his only connection to his own sanity in this gruesome battlefield, where one can be forever altered through the bullet and shrapnel, is on his computer, too, at the same time, a gift to them both, perhaps of a higher power. As it turns out, his friend is in no better condition than he himself is: Rejected. Pained.

Shot, right in his bloody chest.

He tells his friend: It will be OK. It will always be OK. I’ll get that truck I’ve always dreamt of, and I’ll leave this smoke and confusion in a blinding daze of dust, leave this battlefield, and ease my wounds with alcohol on cloth, the best remedy for wounds as I’ve faced them.

Of course, he is no soldier: His father wasn’t either, though. Felled through a weak heart and bad doctors. She called him a workaholic, said he shouldn’t work so hard all the time. He just made fun of her in turn, called her a “diaholic”, and moved on. ‘Course, she was right. He had a bad tendency, smoking on the battlefield, drinking too much, for old friends and old pains. One day, a sniper saw the smoke, shot him right in the heart. There was nothing they could do.

And he begins to think about the war. The girls back home, they melted in their fighting men’s arms years ago. They loved, cherished their men for the sacrifices they went to at their girls’ sakes. They were the defenders of freedom, of who could choose whom to love, freedom from want, from need; from the desperate searching of a tired heart. They were heroes.

We were supposed to be heroes. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. We were hoping for a hero’s welcome, or a hero’s burial, not rejection and pain. We were hoping to be seen as the defenders of liberty, not the oppressors of an alien people, pursuing them in the quest of an unseen enemy; lovers, not fighters. It was supposed to be a wonderful thing. But, how has this Virginian conflict so suddenly become Vietnamese?

He couldn’t understand. He could only keep searching, pursuing the longing of his heart, for a hero’s burial.

The Prom, All Five Retarded Cylinders Of It

Today is a bad sort of day to be writing, because I have a cold. You may know what I am referring to if you have ever had a cold, because you don’t want to write, or get up, or do anything, inasmuch as your entire body aches and you are thrust hard into the fact that life is brutal and little microscopic organisms hate you. Nevertheless, I am about to do something that is downright dangerous in this condition: Attempt to write something funny. If I die, please leave my possessions to my mother, which she can burn as she sees fit. Thank you.

All right, so today’s (FUNNY) topic is: The Prom. The prom is a rite of passage, one which signals the passing of a person from his days in high school, wherein girls treat him as if he is slime, to college, wherein girls treat him as if he were slime but also have sex with him. That is why it is so important to go to the prom. If you don’t, you can never get laid, ever, throughout your entire life. I believe that that is stated explicitly in many sorority constitutions, or whatever sororities use to decide when they can have pillow fights.

Unfortunately, I did not go to the prom, which was yesterday, Saturday for those of you paying attention. I was just lazy and wanted to go to Bennigan’s with my mother instead. Also, I wasn’t in school on Friday, “Senior Ditch Day II”, because it had snowed, it was Friday the 13th, and my mother was afraid for me. The day before, I could have signed up, but was lazy and felt depressed because a very cute girl, who I will henceforth refer to as The Girl With The Foxy Name, acted surly to me as I was trying to ask her to the Prom. Also I hadn’t planned on it and was only aware of it three days beforehand. Also I didn’t want to wear a tuxedo.

The Prom’s theme was that of a Japanese tea garden. Bennigan’s has a semi-Irish theme, which means that every item on the menu contains beer in one way or another. After eating, my mother and I went to a Japanese-themed car dealership (it sold both Isuzus and Subarus) to look at pickup trucks with my mother, because I want one badly, since I drive a little Mercury Mystique LS car which runs fine but is very short, which means that whenever I drive up next to one of those gigantic trucks people use to tow pontoon boats with, I have to drive five feet into the intersection to be able to look around him, and he retaliates by driving up five more feet, and we both keep up this little fight until we are safely across the intersection. The truck I looked at had five retarded cylinders in it (that’s what the brochure said, I think) and was very small, as far as trucks go, but I thought it was great. I could tow a dinghy with that truck, at least.Truck Towing Something

(Look, the above image above is basically an Isuzu i370. It has a boat behind it. I’m lazy.)

I think that yesterday’s events, plus the fact that I watched Snakes on a Plane last night and screamed in my dog’s ear whenever a snake came onscreen, make up for the fact that I missed out on one of the most important events in a person’s life, at least until he graduates and starts paying income taxes and drinking legally. My only problem now is how I’m going to make up for not asking the Girl with the Foxy Name to the Prom, especially since she went with somebody else. I’ve already come up with a solution: I’ll tell her how much I love her and want to be with her, and she will become overwhelmed by emotion and begin crying, and we will embrace, while the rest of my class is watching, including the boy she went with. I don’t know how that will go, but I know one thing: There will be no sex involved. After all, I’ve violated her future sorority’s Pillow Fight Constitution already.

Car-Slapped: The Worst, Ugliest, Most Unreliable Cars on the Road

Long ago, back before the times of George W. Bush, Bob Dole said something that I found very intriguing. Upon having seen former Presidents Carter, Ford, and Nixon, he referred to them as “See No Evil, Hear No Evil and Evil.” Anybody who knows about the Iranian Hostage Crisis, pardoning Nixon, and, well, Nixon, will immediately appreciate the quote. I thought it was funny, anyway.

Now, of course, looking back, I can see many different things that this applies to. Like for example, cars. Carmakers throughout history have been some of the dumbest, most frustrating businesses on Earth. When given the 1970s fuel crisis, they built their cars smaller rather than more efficiently (and there’s a difference–you can get a lot of space into a small area if you know how). In the compact truck arena, instead of using the newfound efficiency of today’s four-cylinder engines, they just make the truck bigger (because people who buy compact trucks want full-size trucks). And, if Americans want a car built in America, they build it in America, and style it in Japan, by people who have no concept of American ideas of attractiveness and thus ruin otherwise fine vehicles.

This post is a tribute to three regional carmaking areas–North America, Asia, and Europe–and which region has what moniker–in this case, See no Evil, Think No Evil, and, of course, Evil.

See no Evil–Asia

When Americans ask for “distinctive” cars, what they really mean is “pretty, in a way that people will notice.” But they don’t say that. And that’s why we have the Scion series and Honda Element, some of the ugliest vehicles on the planet.

Sadly enough, the trend toward ugly, overwrought plastic cars is getting extensive. The new Toyota Tacoma, which has a look that can best be described as a cross between an AMC Pacer and a Chevy Avalanche, is one of the ugliest vehicles in pickup history, especially considering that most trucks aren’t really ugly assuming that the creators aren’t blind. Unfortunately, Japanese companies apparently hire blind exterior designers, and even worse, American companies seem to be hiring their lead. If only it weren’t so damned ugly, I wouldn’t mind being caught dead in a Toyota. If only.

Employing Blind Designers Since 1933

Think no Evil–Europe

Europe used to make good cars. I think. I’m assuming, considering that the Benzes used to make a good one, I think. And (again, I think), they have good designers who seem to have good eyesight, considering European vehicles’ attractively conservative styling.

It’s just too bad that their engineers are mentally retarded. That’s my opinion, anyway, considering European vehicles’ atrocious reliability record and high prices. Of course, I can only imagine what the workers on the field must be going through, because the engineers probably use crayons to dimension everything, and I’ll bet that it becomes a bitch to try to read all those backward numbers. Currently, the Volkswagen New Beetle ranks at -136% in reliability according to Consumer Reports. It costs $18,000. Apparently, designers spent more time in making it “retro” than in making it work.

To make things even worse, Mercedes-Benz vehicles, some of which cost upwards of $80,000, are some of the most unreliable vehicles on the planet. An E-Class wagon ranked at -101% on Consumer Reports reliability reports; an Mercedes SL, costing upwards of $95,000, ranked -122%! Think about that for a second: A $100,000 car that is less reliable than a Chevy Cobalt, adjusted for its class. OK, so they’re ranked according to class. But that’s no excuse. I’d rather have a Corvette (which is in the same class as the Mercedes, and ranks higher in reliability) than that crap, especially if I’m spending $100,000 to do it versus $45,000 for a good ‘Vette.“Consumer Reports” Black-Dot Club

What’s really sad is that the Europeans take the role of “Hear no Evil” too, as do Americans, because they still haven’t figured out the Japanese means of success: Make cars with a high initial outlay of money, and then reward the buyer with reliability, performance, and decent quality. Americans and European designers and managers, apparently because they are as deaf as they are dumb and blind, build cheap cars and expect people to take the low initial price in exchange for years of reliable service they could be getting (excepting, of course, the Mercedes I was talking about). Unfortunately, that’s something not many people are willing to do in the Richest Country in the World, and because people in other countries demand reliability too (including in Third-World nations, since the people, if they’re going to shell out that much of their money on a car, want to pay a little extra for a much longer service period), American and European carmakers eat it every time for their haste and penny-pinching.

Evil–North America

I myself would like to buy American. Sometimes, they actually manage some good-looking, half-decent vehicles, but there’s always some sort of catch. If it has a good engine, its reliability is terrible. If it performs well and has a roomy interior, it’s ugly. If its reliability is good and its interior is decent, then the engine is underpowered. There’s always a catch, and it almost always has to do with the constant, bitter struggle between workers who want more, more, more, and managers who want to crush unions and grab more of the pot for themselves. The result is cars practically made of cardboard and only half as strong, and it gets obnoxious to watch the car companies practically stomp all over each other to jump on the next car-design fad bandwagon in a desperate attempt to make a quick buck.

It’s no wonder Ford, GM and Chrysler are all in danger of going bankrupt this year. If only they could be less interested in their petty conflicts of interest, they could get back to making some decent cars. As it is, though, there just isn’t any hope in a Pontiac Aztec (Asstec?).

Proof that America is evil.

“The Luigiian” Site News: Sissy the Dog Comic? Your thoughts please.

I was about to just keep the post below, about Don Imus, but then I realized I had something else I had to do. Take a look at the picture below:

sissy_the_dog.jpg

And tell me: What do you think about this picture? It’s a cartoon of my dog, Sissy, and I’ve been considering doing a “Sissy’s Life” comic for years now. The only thing is, I’m lazy, and don’t want to wind up doing even more work on the Internet if people won’t look at it. I’m asking you several things:

  1. What do you think of the picture? Is it cute? Funny? Strange?
  2. Do you think the character could pass well as the star of a comic strip? A bit player?
  3. How would you feel about me dialing back “The Luigiian” to weekly so I could devote some time to really making this work?
  4. Would you read a comic strip based on this character?

I ask this because there are many sites on the Internet with a cute main character, and I was thinking Sissy might work. But I don’t have enough time to write both this blog and a comic at the same time. I’d have to put much less into the blog.

What are your general thoughts? Please comment below on what you think.