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Unfit for General Consumption
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| Jim Carrey determined to shit on Christmas |
[Sep. 15th, 2009|12:03 pm] |
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Why the hell can't that lunatic leave baby Jesus alone? Wasn't the nihilist grotesquerie of The Grinch enough? What's next, some terrible synthesis of The Road and The Nativity, with the blessed couple and their donkey having to dodge CHUDs in a post-apocalyptic wasteland on their to Bethlehem, starring Jim Carrey as Lord "Fetus-Eater" Humungus? |
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| It's rated PG-13 for violence, adult situations, and corpse-riddled hellscapes |
[Sep. 11th, 2009|07:18 am] |
Oh my but was 9 awesome. There's nothing to brighten your day quite like a pack of little dolls dancing on the ruins of the stupid planet while a self-replicating doomsday device tries to harvest the remaining shreds of terrestrial life to fuel its quest to restore the dormant military-industrial complex. I don't know what the reviewer who complained about the lack of cheer was on about. What part of "The protagonist has to pry the answer to the riddle of his life from his creator's literal cold dead hands" doesn't sound like a Christmas musical? I'm actually tempted to go back during a weekend matinee that's practically guaranteed to be chock full of small children just to witness the delight 90% of this film is guaranteed to engrave on their cherubic little souls.
I do have to say, though, that The Fantastic Mr. Fox looks like both a complete disaster as a film and a 90-minute nightmare. I mean, seriously. This thing looks like if Jiri Barta or Jan Švankmajer got the rights to Uncle Wiggily. I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing a trailer combining Clooney's smarmy self-awareness with the visceral horror of choppily-animated dead animals. |
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| You South Africa sticks track star in drag, declares her lady |
[Sep. 9th, 2009|11:11 am] |
If only someone had through to slap some lady-paint on her before she won her gold medal, everybody involved could have saved themselves a lot of dick-wringing about whether or not she had a vagina and, if she did, whether or not the IOC could revoke it. Perhaps in the future we could have the lady-versions of the athletic monstrosities who make it to the fucking Olympics roll in pink glitter and put on Hooters outfits before competing, just so there's no confusion. |
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| In ur state, bombin ur universities/airports |
[Sep. 4th, 2009|10:09 pm] |
My concealed-carry permit showed up this week. I am vaguely concerned that my application actually made it through, because Deputy Dumbfuck not only completed the fingerprint card incorrectly, he also spelled my name wrong on it. How one sees fit to stamp right under the line that says "This box for FBI use only" when one is not FBI, I don't know. Presumably, however, it's in much the same way that one misspells a short, bland name with the driver's license right next to the "Name" line. Hopefully the man responsible is more diligent about information collection when it comes to crimes.
I had seen complaints earlier about the pictures that were showing up on these things. I didn't really understand the scope of the issue until I got mine. What you provide the state's Department of Agriculture and Cow-Tipping is a normal passport photo. What they give you back is a card with a poorly scanned replica of said photo wherein someone has fucked up the contrast and aspect ratio in order to make you look like a rogue member of the Manson family. For once, I'm not even being hyperbolic about that. I'm pretty sure they even went in and added Fred Phelps-level crazy-eyes to the gaunt, washed-out devil-hippy mugshot they turned my passport photo into. They might as well have included directions to the nearest belltower or book depository. |
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| Sciencefail. |
[Sep. 3rd, 2009|05:53 pm] |
I have finished reading a book that really should have been called that. I mean, really, it's like a catalog of the most hyperbolic archetypes of retardation on display in the realm of science in the past 60-odd years. "When Science Goes Wrong" really doesn't seem to be adequate when chapters would have been more accurately titled "And That's How I Got Censured by the CDC."
The hilarious thing is that the epilogue is all "And there but for the grace of God go I" like these are all normal things for scientists to do and it's just blind luck that a scientist can have a research career and not run into these problems. Which, really? Not so much.
I mean, there are a few cases detailed in the book where it was (actual, not instant) karmic vengeance. Like the guy who "discovered" that MDMA will fry all sorts of things that it doesn't actually fry, because the plant that supplies researchers with banned drugs accidentally swapped the labels on his shipment of MDMA and meth. If you take a vial of something labeled MDMA by a government facility not known for fucking shit up, and you inject it into a squirrel monkey, you really should not have to expect that you've just shot that monkey up with enough crank for it to achieve a stable orbit without the benefit of a space-going craft or booster rockets. It's also not his fault that the American government has just trundled on with his original "MDMA will give you Parkinson's" conclusion as if he didn't retract the study results within 18 months and tell everyone that doing more meth than Tweaker Jesus is what will actually fuck your ass up in the ways specified in his paper. It's also not the fault of the entire research team if the seemingly sane, competent guy in charge of the software decides that he's just going to fuck with the code and fake some results for a while.
I suppose if you just accept that Soviets will be Soviets, you can even excuse one of their bioweapons labs from leaving a filter off an air-vent and anthraxing almost a hundred people to death. Given the conditions it turned out they were operating under, it's something of a miracle that they didn't routinely accidentally anthrax and smallpox thousands of people to death.
Most of it, though, is stuff where pretending that there was not serious malfeasance going on would be like pretending that Exxon's done right by Alaska. For instance, if I told you that I wanted to round up a dozen people and fuck around on an active volcano with no swift or safe means of egress, I'm going to guess that you would think of that as a goal rather lacking in wisdom. Maybe not to the point where you'd suggest, say, face-punching pygmy rattlers as a possible alternative, but to the point where you'd remember that your dog desperately needed ironing and you had to leave immediately if I proposed that you should be one of those dozen. This is not what a bunch of volcanologists--many of who subsequently got cut in half by flying boulders or lavaed to death--thought when invited on precisely such a jaunt.
Also, I'm guessing that if you were a medical researcher who'd been monitoring patients doing more and more poorly on increasingly large doses of a new drug, you might begin to conclude that the trial was going poorly. You might, if you valued your career, report the findings as required by the FDC and make sure that you were extra-careful of the parameters you were supposed to be operating within in case somebody got seriously injured and you had to justify every single thing you'd done in the run-up. You probably would not go all Slim Pickens on the injector and shoot the last dude--a poor candidate to begin with--up with a megadose.
For fuck's sake, the book start out with one Dr. Quackenstein accidentally growing a new head in some dude's fucking brain. And not with the mysterious power of creationism, either. It's like that bit in Hot Fuzz about collisions vs. accidents, only with stem cells and neurosurgery. It was, yes, an accident, but it was an accident that took an awful fucking lot of doing, in retrospect no one at all was particularly surprised by the result, and it was very much somebody's fault. Scrambled fetus-heads don't just spontaneously appear in somebody's skull and run rampant.
Basically what I'm saying here is that if you ever decide to fuck around with Science!, you should probably be sure that you wouldn't sound like Dr. Venture explaining the Joycan if you were ever called onto the carpet and asked to account for your activities in front of a licensing board or jury. |
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