"It Takes Two...Cranes to Haul Kirstie Alley Off to Fat Camp"
Started as an innocent convo, turned into Em's rant about the 80's and THE Fat Actress of all time. --Note that I am not making fun of fat people in general. I'm no string-bean myself. But GOD!--(read on)
Jackie says:
Haha Dead Pools!
Em says:
So who's gunna die this year?
Jackie says:
Ummm dibs on....oh what's her name.
Em says:
Kirstie Alley? ("I had a great time getting fat..." Actual-honest-to-God-quote-out-of-Alley's-mouth [in between bites of a Crunchie bar])
Jackie says:
she's, uh, really old.
Em says:
*points out from screen* YOU'RE CHUBBY TOO! FETUCCHINE! I actually hate that commercial.
Jackie says:
You saw it?!
Em says:
I've only seen it once…but OMFG!
Jackie says:
OH MY GOD I KNOW!
Em says:
FUCK OFF BIOTCH!
Jackie says:
I KNOW!
Jackie says:
I hope she dies under the knife. And someone on Extreme Makeover.
Em says:
Yeah. The Swan: Celebrity Edition --- This week Kirstie Alley LOSES and DIES in the same episode!
Jackie says:
Hee hee I know. Or I hope she looses weight, but then gains it all back
Em says:
Hee...She was all skinny in the movie with the Olsen twins. What was it called? She was the uppity social worker, rebel with a cause who got it on with Steve Guttenberg?
Jackie says:
Uhhhh..."It Takes Two"
Em says:
…All svelte and like "look at me I have a romantic yet comedic horseback ride with Steve Guttenberg!" (Audience: ew.) And then she ends up having this huge ass (no pun intended) food fight at the summer camp Steve owns because he’s a rich bitch. OMG now I get the irony of it all! She gets her head pushed into mac and cheese and has butter all over her face in that scene! *hunts for pictures* All I can find is this poster. Kirstie Alley in black on the right. Vaguely funny because A) because black is so slimming and B) because she's on top of the world's biggest wedding cake. EVER.
Jackie says:
Yesh
Em says:
Omfg...top of the list look!
Glad to know she's accepted herself the way is and evermore shall be. Oh wait...SHE'S CHUBBY TOO! Does the show feature her screaming "FETUCCHINE!"?
Jackie says:
No.
Em says:
OMG she plays HERSELF! What is it, reality tv show?
Jackie says:
Yeah.
Em says:
The only way I'd watch that was if it were a sitcom, because then it would be even sadder if she wasn’t playing herself per se, but, y’know, she totally WAS.
Fat Actress is called a 'comedy' but why do I get the feeling it'll have one on one interviews with KA while she cries and dabs at her puffy face with a Kleenex while sad piano music plays in the background and she talks about how all her friends left?
Jackie says:
Mmhm. …And her Olsen twins movie? Parent Trap ripofffffff!
Em says:
I know…"parent trap of the 90's" is what one person called it. Except they actually found lookalikes in the Olseons instead of giving us Lindsay Lohan/ Hayley Mills x 2 and with a body double’s back.
Jackie says:
Hee hee.
Em says:
Dammit I wish I could find pictures of Kirstie Alley with her face in the buffet in that movie. Just to, you know, put on my desktop or something. Frame it maybe. Just to remind myself that she has plotted her own ruin. Creepy foreshadowing in that one movie alone. Found a line from the movie spoken by KA that just about made me pee my pants:
[Kirstie Alley’s Caracter, whom we shall simply refer to as Kirstie, or KA, is speaking of Steve Guttenberg’s character, her love interest, the millionaire with a heart of gold (literally!):] "Guys like him like girls with food names like Cookie or Muffin or Candy, not girls like me. " My Thoughts: Well we all know Kirstie LOVES things with food names like Cookie, or Cupcake or Candy...or FETUCCHINI!
Jackie says:
Hee. Oh here: actresses trying to lose weight ---> gunned down.."Yes, ok, I understand that we should be promoting a "healthy image" but dude, you're just another lardy American!"
Em says:
Oh God it gets worse:
(spoken while KA is on a horse)
KA: I can't believe you talked me into this
Olsen 1 or Olsen 2: You're too tense. Relax
KA: Oh, I've got a thousand pounds of wild animal under my butt and she says relax!
Jackie says:
hee!
Em says:
*dies in spasms*
Jackie says:
Thousand pounds IN your butt!
Em says:
*coughs* *hack* *gag* She is predicting her own doom at the hands of the fettuchini! This entire MOVIE is a conspiracy theory of foreshadowing which proves that movie execs have been injecting collagen implants all over KA's body for the last 10 years, slowly...!
*******
Steve Guttenberg: I don't know what's more bruised. My butt or my ego (Me: considering KA is your love interest, it's probably your butt AND your ego.)
*******
KA: You go on in, and I'll wait right here.
Olsen 1 or 2: DIANE BURROWS! YOU GET YOUR BUTT UP HERE THIS INSTANT!
KA: Okay, Okay.
My Thoughts: *an hour later* Olsen 1 or 2: I MEAN NOW!
KA: *dragging her butt* ugh...can't...stairs...*collapses* (And we thought it was only Rita McNeil who had this problem. No joke, my sister's friend lives in Cape Breton and once saw her Royal McNeilness STUCK in a snow back while her friends fluttered about helplessly and her tiny little pooch yapped at her. I only wish they'd had a camera. But they did turn the car around and drive by a second time just to make sure it really was the Rita. And she gave them a dirty look. :D)
Jackie says:
Hee hee.
Em says:
Okay wtf is up with the ending of this movie?
KA: Sorry to ruin your wedding. I just didn't want the wrong girl going down the aisle. I mean the wrong flower girl.
Stevie G: I think you had it right the first time. (Acts all coy like he totally knew the score.)
Jackie says:
*gag*
Em says:
So Steve Guttenberg was all prepared to marry the bitch from hell for no apparent reason—(who existed in this movie for other than providing a vent for physical comedy to be unleashed upon the token *bad guy/girl* as well as being a human prop with which to give this film MORE romantic angst and to make this movie drag on and on forever amen)—KNOWING full well it would seem that he loves KA. So KA and Olsen 1 or 2 (mistaken identity provides a subplot for the KA/Stevie G love story,) have to show up and save the day?
Jackie says:
Dumbass.
Em says:
And suddenly, he's all cocky and suave about how he knew he loved her all along? I repeat WTF?
I Quote:
Steve Guttenberg: You know the feeling when it's the bottom of the ninth, the bases are loaded, and you know the next one's coming right down the middle... and then... you just connect... and for an instant, you know that it's going over the fence and out of the park... and further than you could ever imagine?
Butler: Yeah, that's a great feeling.
Stevie G: Yeah. [pauses, closes wedding ring box] Clarisse [wicked bitch plot-point] hates baseball. (This is code for, I met a really amazing woman but I’m going to marry this other one because she makes me feel the exact opposite of everything good and I feel obligated for some reason…) OMG! So many examples of wtf-ness here…Oh. Oh God.
Jackie says:
What now?
Em says:
Says here they offered KA's role to the chick who played Aunt Becky on Full House, with the Olsen’s as well.
Jackie says:
Oh GOD! Why are you doing this to yourself?!
Em says:
I need to know and dissect the truth here. It’s just so sick…they wanted her to play Diane, (KA), Bob Saget to play Stevie G's role, and John Stamos to make an appearance as the creepy kid-collector named Butkis who practically molests the Olsens. It's like slash fiction gone wrong on Full House. Where 'Aunt' Becky is suddenly the girl's new Mommy and Daddy is kicking Uncle Jesse’s ass because Uncle Jesse just groped Michelle and put her to work in his sweatshop. GOD, WHY!?!??
Jackie says:
Hee! I never watched Full House.
Em says:
It was like a hallmark of the 80s and early 90's. It was ‘Saved By the Bell’ for the under-10 crowd. My first kind of soap opera, with drama and teen angst and shit.
Jackie says:
I know Full House. I know what it was and saw a few eps, but just didn't really bother
Em says:
We (the kids who watched Square 1 TV --it's gone boohoo!) were fully into the shows like Full House. And my Mom used to let us watch Golden Girls with her and we'd all feel grown-up because on days we stayed home from pre-school or kindergarten we would get to watch an adult drama revolving around middle-aged housemates and their respective love lives (or the lack thereof.) But Bea Arthur...ew. I seriously think my five year old self thought she was a man most of the time. A man in a yellow-satin housecoat or puffy-sleeved velvet caftan.
Jackie says:
Haha.
Em says:
Full House ran from 87-95. I think they put out a series of books based on Full House. I read one, from Stephanie’s point of view, about her crush being stolen by her best friend on the tennis team for the doubles matches and she got all pissed, trained her little heart out and went out to whoop their asses on the court but then I forget how it ended. Reminded me of every Babysitter’s Club, Baby Sitter’s Little Sister and Sweet Valley Twins/Jr. High/High/University book I’d ever read. OMG WTF they now have a series based entirely on Elizabeth's solo trek to London? -_-' is nothing sacred to you, people? What next? Kristy gives up babysitting nad goes to NYC to sell herself in the cabarets?
Who else loved Todd and couldn't care less about Tia as a character? *waves hand* ME! Oh, oh! Me! The authors of my childhood, Judy Blume, Francine Pascal, and Anne M. Martin. Only problem was Martin's inability to think of good titles. I remember being less-than-impressed with BSC # 10: "Logan Likes Mary Anne!" and BSC # 13: "Good-bye Stacey, Good-bye." BSC # 99: "Stacey's Broken Heart," and many more in a similar fashion. Way to give away the plot, dipshit.
Ahh the 80's and early 90's...overdone in pastels, wearing cool acid wash jeans, side pony tails with neon scrunchies and high tops. And tying their jacket/sweaters/windbreakers around their waists. Flannel, lots of plaid and inexplicable flannel. This must’ve been the early 90’s fashion because I was born in 1987 and I remember all this when it was cool. 'Grunge' is the word…
So ‘It Takes Two’ came out in 1995, the year they stopped Full House. I guess if they'd gotten the cast to play all the roles in the movie they couldn't continue the TV show because people would get confused and wonder why Jesse and Becky were pretending nothing had happened between her and Danny and why weren’t the girls afraid of Uncle Jesse?
Jackie says:
I know. Hee
Em says:
Aww the chick who played DJ ended up marrying one of the Bure brothers. Not Pavel.
Pavel was the Dan Cloutier of his day. Everyone had the hots for Pavel. At least my sister did, I think, and all my older female cousins. I was too young to understand.
Jackie says:
Hee.
Em says:
Damn she’s married the one named Valeri. *snerk* Her hubby's name is Valeri...
Jackie says:
Oh dear God.
Em says:
Who was also a hockey player. For the Calgary flames though. (Note: Calgary as a city sucks ass.) Haha ‘divides her time between Calgary and LA’....suckeeeeer! She has 3 kids and they've all got preposterous Russian sounding names.
Jackie says:
Hee hee.
Em says:
Natasha Valerievna, Lev Valerievich , and Maksim Valerievich…oh no her child’s name is Maxim. Playground murder, here we come…
Jackie says:
Oh God hee
Em says:
Aww now Valeri plays for the Dallas Stars. Do they even have ice in Dallas?
Jackie says:
Yes, inside.
Em says:
Oh! GoD! CreePy!
"Candace was introduced to her husband Valeri Bure by former "Full House" co-star Dave Coulier(Uncle Joey). After their marriage, Valeri sent Coulier an autographed hockey stick with the message, "Dear Dave, thank you for Candace."
The guy who played Uncle Joey…How creepy is that? It's like "You belonged to Joey and then Joey gave you to me and you're mine now, so thank you Joey!" It’s like almost-incestuous swingers.
Jackie says:
Eep.
Em says:
Ewewew need to post this sometime all about KA and the fucked up cast of Full House and all things (mostly books) 80's *makes mental note*
I know I was all over the map on this one, but once I delved back into my childhood I just couldn't seem to stop! Square 1 TV taught me my first math problems (which turned out to make me barely pass math last year) and Sweet Valley and the BSC taught me how to read my first novels, which pretty much started me on my torrid love-affair with the written word.
posted by Em @ 8:51 PM
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Won't Somebody Think of the Children...again...?
Okay, I wasn't planning on gunning down anything in particular in this post, but then I stumbled across todays VG Cats and saw that Scott Ramsoomair has already done it for me. Long may he live and you all ought to kiss his comic-genius-ass for this tidbit of sheer joy in wordless comedy. It rendered me helpless to the volley of giggles that erupted forth as I consumed this marvel. Let's face it. It's something we've all seen/wanted to see: debauched behaviour in broad daylight, with children in attendance whose minds have just been sullied and irrepairably traumatized by what they've witnessed. Now there are some kids I like, and doubtless I'll end up having my own someday and I'll like them because I will HOUSETRAIN them and teach them how to behave in public. On the whole, I dislike the children of this last generation who think they're so bloody entitled to everything. Makes me feel ancient to say it, but in MY day, we weren't anywhere NEAR as spoiled as the brats I encounter most of the time. Granted some kids of my age group are spoiled rotten tweens who go shopping every friggin weekend and sometimes during the week and blow 150 on a single pair of designer jeans (which contain not enough fabric to make a half-decent tank top,) and then complain because everything they have is shitty in their eyes. Try wearing some bright neon snowpants, and a tie-dye t-shirt and you'd be a king in an African village for having such awesome quality clothes. Brats will always be brats, but there's a severe increase lately in the number of brats I see walking the streets. And this worries me. So parents, make your kids behave, and if your ungrateful spawn whines about child-abuse the next time you tell them "no" for anything, sit them down and have a talk about what REAL child abuse is. Don't DEMONSTRATE it to them necessarily, (I'm not averse to well-deserved spankings, but I don't want a lawsuit at my doorstep if one of you takes a two by four to your toddler, then give me credit for the suggestion,) but explain to them how some children get jack shit in their stockings and recieve beatings if they spill a glass of juice or slam a door by accident. Kids these days learn everything from TV and magazines, so show them pictures if you can find any. It's these little things, the time taken out of your day to talk to them, and the visual presentations, that can strengthen your bond with your child as well as re-enforcing the fact that YOU are the adult, the parent, who makes the decisions. (There ARE crap parents out there, but the majority of them are fairly smart people who know right from wrong a helluva lot more than YOU, kidlets.) This is NOT debatable. Once you're solvent and a legal, self-serving adult in the eyes of the law (read: moved out, with a job, over 19, and NOT mooching off your parents at every oppourtunity,) THEN you can bitch about the rules and have them changed. It's called voting. Laws exist for a reason, and your parent's household rules are form of sub-law. So long as the parents CARRY THROUGH with their promises of punishment (whatever it may be) as a consequence for a deliberate flouting of the rules of right and wrong, kids will learn to respect their elders and become productive, independant members of society.Then again, some kids fight the system any way they can.
Children (and this probably isn't the last time you've seen them here...no matter how many times we gun them down, a new generation keeps being born and coming back to life...) --------->GUNNED DOWN!
posted by Em @ 1:46 PM 0 comments
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Brought to You By the Low-Budget Production Co.
**NOTE: this post is going to be huge, so if you haven't got a lot of time on your hands, come back later, or return to GDATIG once we've got a shorter post to give you. Also full of swearing and bathroom/bodily-function humour. What can I say, it's what I do best. But if such things offend you or will change your otherwise good opinion of me, leave this site now and never come back.The Phantom of The Opera
(re-written for a cast of two ambiguously-gendered actors, an alien, and a tech-guy named Johnny) By Em and Onnada
Please note that the lines and directions marked with the number 2 will be the females roles, while the ones marked with a 1 are all the male roles. However, this was written by and for the amusement of two girls, so the roles really aren’t too gender-specific. This was written in snatches over a few months in early 2003 by yours truly (Em) and Onnada, beginning at a Camp Retreat and stretching over the next little while through e-mail correspondence. Written out first entirely by hand in my journal, the original copy may have some changes made to it for purposes of updates, clarification, or new jokes as I plan to post this online. Namely, I wrote three different endings in my journal and ultimately tooled up one of them and used it here. The other endings involved homoerotic slasher-type stuff, which I just couldn’t stomach, even though I wrote most of it, as well as death by various means for varous characters. The original ending just isn’t all that funny. It’s sad and depressing and beautifully artistic...all characteristics which we have since endeavored to throw out the window. As there are several characters in the Phantom of the Opera, both male and female, I suggest having name signs or different hats/wigs to identify who the speaker is. To get the full comedic effect of how bad this whole thing is, it helps to have some working knowledge of the Phantom of the Opera’s plot. See the musical or new movie, or even read Cleolinda’s version under Movies in 15 Minutes. This was actually written about two years ago, and Cleolinda’s genius in the Mi15M only served to inspired me to dig up my journal and type up the script I have here. And add a lot more swearing and low-brow humour.
Begin: Actors 1 & 2 on stage. Keep in mind that as there are no set changes or anything (horrendously no-budget here,) any and all plot expositions and scene changes will be verbally done by the actors.
Act One
1 and 2: (Overture-Hats) Duuuuuun! DUNDUNDUNDUNDUUUUUUUN! D-d-d-d-duuuuun!
2: (Carlotta-Hat) Dammit! Hate! Spew! ITALIAN! SHRIEK! Doggie! Bleh! (*exits*)
1: (Manager-Hat-A) Tha fuck? (Manager-Hat-F) Our diva bitch-in-residence, Carlotta, has walked out of rehearsals here after throwing an impressive yet highly incomprehensible fit! Who will play the lead in tonight’s opera? (Manager-Hat-A) We are SO screwed!
2: (Mme. Giry-Hat) This girl is undiscovered, and yet somehow I know that she is an amazing untapped talent. (Christine-Hat) *hits operatic note*
1: (Manger-Hat) You’re hired! (Exposition-Hat) THAT NIGHT.
2: (Christine-Hat) *hits operatic note*
1: (Raoul-Headpiece *You may actually prefer a wig, given that Patrick Wilson’s hair is now an integral part of the character*) I remember her (*points to Christine-hat-wearer*) when she was a little girl! Oh. My. God. I think I’m in love with her.
2: (Exposition-Hat) AFTER THE SHOW (Christine-Hat) I must be left alone in my dressing room!
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) I’ll just show up in her dressing room!
2: (Christine-Hat) (*ponders many things with ‘angelic’ composure while waiting for…something…to happen*)
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Knock. Knock.
2: (Christine-Hat) Who the fuck are you?
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) I’m your…childhood sweetheart!
2: (Christine-Hat) If by ‘childhood sweetheart’ you mean the long-haired brat Vicomte de Shag-me who threw rocks at me and threw my scarf into the ocean, then yes, I recognize you.
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) So what’s new, hot stuff? Your corset has done wonderful things for your otherwise pitiful rack, and thus I have deigned to shower you in my lust—erm—love.
2: (Christine-Hat) Oh. My. God. I think I’m in love with you. Experiencing…rekindlings…of a childhood romance…thought to be dead long ago.
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Actually it WAS dead. I was fully into guys back then. But now—HELLO! Corsets and plunging necklines! Boobies galore! Wanna go grab a bite to eat? Burger? Milkshake? (*winks*)
2: (Christine-Hat) I…
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Great! I’ll go get my hat! (*leaves*)
Audience: …isn’t he already wearing one?
Author: It’s optional. Like I said, it could be more beneficial to wear a wig. So they’d be wearing a hat on top of a bad wig on top of their own hair. Hm. Tricky.
1: (*re-appears*) (Phantom-Hat/Mask) Muhuhahaha! Come with me!
2: (Christine-Hat) Aight. (*leaves with Phantom*)
1: (*re-appears again*) (Raoul-Headpiece): Where the hell did she go? For although I appeared not to listen to her ramblings about some ghosty-thing-a-ma-joob, it strikes me like lightening, with all the clarity of a window-pane, that she has been spirited away by none other than the Angel of Music! And this I can surmise from muffled voices and a locked door! I am the MAN! I OWN Sherlock’s ass! Whoo-hah! (*does pelvic-thrust and exits*)
(*Both re-enter*)
2: (Christine-Hat) (*dazed*) Take me with you down into the darkness!
1: (Phantom-Hat) Well I don’t need to be asked twice! My mask of mystery will conceal my ugliness as I seduce you!
2: (Christine-Hat) I will follow you…my angel of music…
1: (Phantom-Hat) I command you to sing!
2: (Christine-Hat) (*sings*)
1: (Phantom-Hat) I command you to love me and marry me! (*gropes*)
2: (Christine-Hat) My Angel of Music is surprisingly earth-bound and seems to be occupied by things other than music at the moment…
1: (Phantom-Hat) Boobies! REAL ones! Not like those wax ones I made that just melt or go all squishy and shift to the left…(*glee*)
2: (Christine-Hat) Creepiness…overwhelming…(*faints*)
1: (Phantom-Hat) Score!
Both: (Expositions-Hats) THE NIGHT PASSES…
2: (Christine-Hat) (*waking up*) Who the HELL is *that* and what am I doing sleeping in it’s lavishly furnished S&M-style lair…and WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY SOCKS? Was I ravished? (*checks*) Ummmmm nope. Just had my stockings stolen. But STILL. Who the hell is that? (*creeps*) Gunna get it…gunna get it…gunna get it…MINE! (*grabs mask and then cowers fearfully*) Eeee!
1: (Phantom-Hat) DAMMIT WOMAN! I would have simply used you for my sadistic home videos then let you go. But now that you’ve seen my face, I can’t do that. You’d run to the feds like I was some kind of PSYCHO, and we can’t have that happen, now, can we? You’ll be my filly (*twitch*) I will have ugly children to follow me in kidnapping beautiful young girls! Our children would be like genetic Russian Roulette...what would win out…your heavenly beauty or my Satantic-spawn hell-flesh?
2: (Christine-Hat) Well, I’m just pretty, and your kinda ugly, well, that ain’t natural. I think you’d win. You face’d peel the paint off a Camaro. Not that I’m insulting you. If I’m going to be kept here I’d like to NOT sow some bad karma for myself.
1: (Phantom-Hat) No problem. I’ll just go kill your lover…I mean…buy some…cabbage.
2: (Christine-Hat) Cabbage?
1: (Phantom-Hat) I’ve heard it’s an aphrodisiac. And it IS your wedding night, and I mean, arrrr! (*does the kitty-growl and claw-the-air hand thing)
2: (Christine-Hat) Wedding night! I’ll never marry you!
1: (Phantom-Hat) Yes you will! Or if you REALLY don’t want to, I’m all for the pre-marital se—
2: (Christine-Hat) Just go buy your cabbage.
1: (Phantom-Hat) I will sweetpea! (*leaves*)
2: (Christine-Hat) (*yells after him*) Don’t forget your mask!
1: (Phantom-Hat) (*comes back in*) Oh yeah! (*puts it on*) Whoo…THAT could’ve been ugly.
2: (Christine-Hat) (*mumbles*) Not as ugly as you…
1: (Phantom-Hat) What was that, dearest?
2: (Christine-Hat) (*does the Bambi-eyes thing*) But I really, really, REALLY want to go back up! (*pouts*)
1: (Phantom-Hat) FINE! I’ll take you back to the surface! But you’ll come to me when I command it!
2: (Christine-Hat) But I…alright. (Exposition-Hat) BACK UP TOP
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) You’re back! Where have you been?
2: (Christine-Hat) Erm…I cannot say, Monsieur Vicomte de Shag-me.
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) We have a letter! You have to take Carlotta’s place.
2: (Christine-Hat) Well, shit! You KNOW the Phantom will come after me!
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) You’re one crazy little soprano! Get out there kiddo, and knock ‘em dead!
2: (Christine-Hat) And if I don’t, HE will! (Exposition-Hat) FORESHADOWING!
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Whatev.
2: (Carlotta-Hat) The HELL??? I leave for 3 days to get a little ‘me’ time and you REPLACE me with some chorus-girl who got it on with (*turns to Raoul*) Monsieur Shag-me?
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) No thanks.
2: (Carlotta-Hat) I cannot let that little show-stealer steal my…show!
1: (Manager-Hat-A&F) Fine you moron! Play your damn lead!
2: (Carlotta-Hat) I will! (*sings*) LalalalasomethinginItalianlalala (*Makes funny noise*) GACK! Supernatural…power…forcing…me…to…*funny noise*
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Christine! We need your help!
2: (Christine-Hat) He’ll kill me!
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) You’re nuts!
2: (Christine-Hat) (*looks helpless and lost*)
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) I love you!
2: (Christine-Hat) Me too! That is to say, I love you too, not I love ME too! Well I do love me, but I still love—
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Shut up and let me grope you! (*gropes and slobbers on her face*)
2: (Christine-Hat) Let’s get married!
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Right on! BOOBIES AHOY!
2: (Christine-Hat) But I still maintain that I’m in grave danger! Take me far far away!
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Okay, just do this one performance. I’m sure it, like all the other operas you perform in within this show, won’t end up deciding both of our ultimate fates at the hands of your crazed genius stalker-friend.
2: (Christine-Hat) Oh Monsieur le Vicomte de Shag-Me!
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) With pleasure! (*more groping and slobbering*)
2: (Christine-Hat) Wait! I’m due on stage!
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Okay! (*both leave*) (*1 comes back on*) (Phantom-Hat) Damn you! I will have my revenge!
2: (Exposition-Hat) FAST FORWARD TO THE BOWS! (Christine-Hat) (*bows*)
1: (Phantom-Hat) CURSE YOU! Hahahahaha! (*evil laugh*) (*wads up a sheet of paper into a ball and chucks it onstage at Christine’s feet.*) (*Awkward moment of confused silence*)
ACT ONE—FIN
Act Two
1: (Exposition Hat) SIX MONTHS LATER! AT A NEW YEAR’S PARTY. (Manager-Hat-A) What a party! (Manager-Hat-F) (*inhales deeply*) Yeah, this is some shindig. (Raoul-Headpiece) Hey, now that we’re engaged, let’s get up and dance!
2: (Christine-Hat) Woohoo! (*takes a swig from a bottle*)
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) (*grooves*) (Phantom-Hat) I’m HERE! …AGAIN!
2: (Christine-Hat) (*gasps*)
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) But you’ve been gone for months!
2: (Christine-Hat) (*gasps again*)
1: (Phantom-Hat) I have been writing my opera! Here you go! (*wings it at Manager’s head*)
Audience: Wouldn’t that be…his own head? Given that there are only two actors, and…
Author: SHUT UP!
1: (Phantom-Hat still) Christine must play the lead, however.
2: (Christine-Hat) (*gasps again*) Fuck. Great for my career, bad for my personal well-being.
1: (Phantom-Hat) Oh, and FYI, fuckers, she still belongs to me! (*snaps fingers*) Engagement ring, now!
2: (Christine-Hat) But…it’s real…(*gasps again*)
1: (Phantom-Hat) All the more to pawn, sweetling. Give it here, bitch.
2: (Christine-Hat) Well, okay…(*hands over the bling*)
1: (Phantom-Hat) (*disappears*) (*re-appears*) (Raoul-Headpiece) Why’d you give him the ring?
2: (Christine-Hat) He made a good point, He still has a claim over me, ever since I unmasked him…
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) That ‘unmasking’ better not be some slutty metaphor. I ain’t marrying no whore.
2: (Christine-Hat) No, I really just took his mask off. His face. Took the mask off his face.
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Just the mask?
2: (Christine-Hat) Just the mask.
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Ooookayyyy…(*still gives her a leery and suspicious look*) (Exposition-Hat) REHERSALS! (Conductor-Hat) He can’t sing it right…damn Italian that he is! Stupid Sicilian! I hope he DIES! (Exposition-Hat) FORESHADOWING! (Idiot-Italian-Hat) I yam now reech! I juiced arrive een Paris and ze Opera company geeve me a job juiced becoz I yam Italian. I can’t seeng right! But I weel learn! I never make the same mistake twice! Lalala—(*stops*) I never make the same mistake three times! Lalala—(*stops*) I never…weel, I HAVE to learn eet eventually! (*grins and humps Carlotta’s leg*) (Midget-Hat) (*humps Carlotta’s other leg*)
2: (Exposition-Hat) IN A GRAVEYARD (Christine-Hat) So…Swedish Dad o’ Mine…you’re dead, I miss you, ummm what am I forgetting? Oh, did I tell you that I’m kinda engaged to Raoul, Vicomte de Shag-me, except I totally got owned by this freak who—
1: (Phantom-Hat) (*aside*) *cough*fuckyoubitch*cough* (*To Christine*) ...Come to me, you poor orphaned girl! Your dead father sent me to you!
2: (Christine-Hat) But he’s…dead?
1: (Phantom-Hat) Look closer…but not too close—I don’t want you to recognize me as the freaky-faced creep.
2: (Christine-Hat) Daddy?
1: (Phantom-Hat) Sure, if that’s how you get your jollies. Then we’ll try some good old-fashioned incest.
2: (Christine-Hat) I’m sorry I ever doubted you.
1: (Phantom-Hat) Piffle! Think nothing of it! Now, come away with me, never to return!
2: (Christine-Hat) I’m wavering in a very vulnerable state between decisions here.
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Oh no! He’s luring her back! (Phantom-Hat) Come to me! (Raoul-Headpiece) Let her go, you bastard! (Phantom-Hat) Come on! Come to me! Decide for ME! (Raoul-Headpiece) He’s NOT your father, you loopy actress! No more crack for you!
2: (Christine-Hat) Oh! I choose (*eeny-meeny-miney-mo’s it*) You! Raoul de Shag-me!
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) FUCK YEAH! In your FACE, Mask-Man! (Phantom-Hat) Oh. Oh nuts. Well. Screw you both! (*disappears*) (*re-appears*) (Exposition-Hat) THE PERFORMANCE OF THE PHANTOM’S OPERA (Phantom-Hat) (*In Character as Don Juan*) I’ll hide behind the curtain, with a mask on, and seduce my unsuspecting prey-love!
2: (Christine-Hat) (*In Character as Aminta*) Hmmmmm, no one is here! (*eats an apple*)
1: (Phantom-Hat IC) (*skulks out onto the stage from behind the curtain*) HEY!
2: (Christine-Hat IC) (*gasps and drops the apple*)
1: (Phantom-Hat) (*supposedly in character but eerily NOT*) You have subconsciously come here to ‘become one with me’! Which is a nice way of saying...let's get it on! (*grooves a la Marvin Gaye*)
2: (Christine-Hat) (*same as Phantom, character-wise*) True. That IS why I came here. Because I am a slutty ho. If you ask me to explain it though, well, what an awkward situation THAT would be. I mean, I’m just sitting in your room eating apples. If I were you, I’d kick me out, or scream, or wonder if this was some weird fetish or something.
1: (Phantom-Hat) Well, I’m just horny.
2: (Christine-Hat) Well okay.
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Is there something going on onstage that is glaringly obvious to everyone but me? (Phantom-Hat) Stay with me forever.
2: (Christine-Hat) (*whispers*) I know you’re the Phantom.
1: (Phantom-Hat) I know that you know that I know I’m the Phantom.
2: (Christine-Hat) I don’t follow.
1: (Phantom-Hat) I am the Phantom!
2: (Christine-Hat) Oh. Right.
1: (Phantom-Hat) Take this ring and come with me!
2: (Christine-Hat) Yessssss! (*takes it*)
Alien: (*enters*) I’m an alien! (*exits*)
Author: I know this alien thing is pointless. It was written late at night and somehow has become an integral part of the show.
1: (Phantom-Hat) (*wraps his cloak around himself and coughs. Then takes Christine, wraps the cloak around them both, and throws both of them to the floor.*) Damnit, where is the fucking trapdoor? Johnny? Where the fuck is that fucktard Johnny?
Johnny: This is a low-budget production!
1: (Phantom-Hat) How low budget?
Johnny: 3 dollars. And 2.25 of that is paying for the hats, headpieces and Post-it notes for the set and the cast party.
1: (Phantom-Hat) Do we get paid?
Johnny: Um…only the alien.
Alien: (*offstage*) ROCK ON!
Johnny: And we have no trapdoor.
1: (Phantom-Hat) Oh. Oh right. (*slinks off side*) (*re-appears*) (Raoul-Headpiece) We have to find them! (Exposition-Hat) IN THE PHANTOM’S LAIR (Phantom-Hat) Damn you are such a bitch!
2: (Christine-Hat) Are you going to eat me?
1: (Phantom-Hat) Maybe. (*pause*) Maybe not.
2: (Christine-Hat) Are you happy?
1: (Phantom-Hat) (*smiles, claps, and capers gleefully*) VERY much so!
2: (Christine-Hat) Happy that you have killed so many?
1: (Phantom-Hat) Sure.
2: (Christine-Hat) How many?
1: (Phantom-Hat) None, actually.
2: (Christine-Hat) Oh. So you wouldn’t even kill for me?
1: (Phantom-Hat) No. Killing is wrong.
2: (Christine-Hat) That’s a bit rich coming from YOU.
1: (Phantom-Hat) Maybe so.
2: (Christine-Hat) Why won’t you kill anyone to get me?
1: (Phantom-Hat) BECAUSE YOUR LOVER HASN’T SHOWN UP YET!
2: (Christine-Hat) O_o …well I kinda walked into that one...
Anyway, you’ll never win my heart! I love the Vicomte de …(*impressively*) Shag-me!
1: (Phantom-Hat) Well sure. (*gropes and slobbers on her*)
2: (Christine-Hat) No! Fuckkity-fuck-shit! Get OFF me!
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Unhand her, you cad! …wow…somehow that doesn’t sound nearly as hot and heroic as it does in books and movies. (Phantom-Hat) Such is the magic of the theatre in rendering things flat and dull. (Raoul-Headpiece) Fine then. Get yo’ hands offa my bitch, mothafucka!
2: (Christine-Hat) I hate you both.
1: (Phantom-Hat) Make your choice!
2: (Christine-Hat) How ‘bout a compromise?
1: (Phantom-Hat) How ‘bout a threesome?
2: (Christine-Hat) (*shrugs*) I’m cool with that.
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) Erm...
2: (Christine-Hat) Right on. I’ll go poison your wine, Phantom…I mean…get some cabbage.
1: (Phantom-Hat) WOOHOO!
2: (Christine-Hat) (*leaves*)
1: (Phantom-Hat) So..yeah…I’m getting some choice bootay tonight. (Raoul-Headpiece) It ain’t gonna be mine! (Phantom-Hat) Oh no! By ‘threesome’ I meant ‘I get the girl and you die’. (Raoul-Headpiece) Fuck.
2: (Christine-Hat) (*enters with wine*) Here you go!
1: (Phantom-Hat) Where’s the wine?
2: (Christine-Hat) Um…it’s cabbage wine.
1: (Phantom-Hat) Nice. (*quaffs, then kinda falls over) (Raoul-Headpiece) Christine, I…I can’t…
2: (Christine-Hat) Shhhh I’m poisoning him!
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) (*grabs her by the neck*) WE SHARE A FUCKING BODY! Wot the bleedin’ ‘ell…
2: (Christine-Hat) When did you become British? This is the freakin- PARIS Opera, dumbass!
1: (Phantom-Hat) I’m dying!
2: (Christine-Hat) GOOD!
1: (Raoul-Headpiece) No, I’M dying!
2: (Christine-Hat) Shit! Fuck! Shit!
1: (Phantom-Hat/Raoul-Heapiece) (*dies*)
2: (Christine-Hat) (*after a pause*) …well…That’s ONE way of ending things tidily. Hey Johnny? What are you doing after the cast party?
Johnny: No plans.
2: (Christine-Hat) Wanna go grab some coffee?
Johnny: Uh…sure… (*They exit*)
1: (Phantom-Hat/Raoul-Headpiece) (*twitches*)
ACT TWO—FIN
Author’s Note: Ending is changed, so it’s more of a parody now than an actual two person version of tPotO. Actually, considering there’s really 4 characters I can’t even say it’s a to person version of it. Let’s just say it started out as a two person version of the PotO and evolved into…this. In the real show/movie, the Phantom is vanquished (but not killed) and Raoul and Christine run off together.
That's all for theatrical script efforts for now. Next: BOOBIES : The Musical!
posted by Em @ 5:17 PM 0 comments
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Call the Betty Ford, Honey--Oscar's Been Hitting the Crack Rock Again
Well the nominations are in and the reason the Oscars are gold and shiney is because pretty much everyone associated with them have popped one too many E tablets within the last year or so. Am I biased? Maybe. Prejudiced? Perhaps. Ignorant and Petty? Definitely. The only movies on the lists that I have seen are Shrek 2, The Passion of the Christ, and the Phantom of the Opera, my reasons being (respectively) it was out on rental (I'm cheap,) I was curious, and I was half-crazed with phandom. Wait! I also saw Spider-Man 2 on a bootleg DVD courtesy of my brother's friend Aaron. Phantom: Hell YES for Art Direction, Cinematography, and Song ('Learn to Be Lonely'.) The first two I can understand, but for the song, I can't help but wonder if the nomination would have been quite so accepted if the composer wasn't quite so well-known and respected. Yes ALW is a veteran of his craft and no doubt he's got the goods, and I love this song and he delivered splendidly on any and all promises made by his past works. But--if he had been a younger, not-so-well-known composer, with just as much genius and the same song, would it have been nominated? I can't answer my own question, which is why I'm posting it here. Most of the big-name movies nominated (Million Dollar Baby, Ray, The Aviator and so on) I haven't seen either because I'm broke or frankly I have no interest in them. I made the trip into town twice to see Phantom, payed too much money to sit in a cramped and weridly layed-out theatre and watch it. And I loved it. The movie was not at fault, I just happened to spend all my extra cash on Phantom and I don't feel like I missed out from the other movies out there, aside from a vague sense of inferiority because I don't know what I'm talking about when I talk about those serious-acting-drama artistic-type movies that people see then 'discuss' deeply in dimly lit coffeehouses where they also read poetry or talk about politics or philosophy or smoke cigarettes. And not to echo Cleolinda so much as go into more depth on the issue: Costumes Nominations. I haven't seen any of the movies specified under Best Costume Nominations, but I re-iterate: Why not POTO? Here's the rundown of what I think of the costumes in these movies based on the trailers I've seen on TV and not the actual movies:The Aviator: Oh. My. Gosh. They dressed everyone in costumes based on the majority of what I can find in my Grandmother's closet or the stock wardrobe for Evita. Pilot uniforms are nonetheless uniforms, and here I give you--the recipe for 1930's-40's starlet fancy dresses: 1)Take colourful silk and satin slips, add a dash of feather boas and metallic beaded fringes sewn on at strategic points. 2) Crimp hair and set to simmer for 30 minutes, or until everyone looks pale, pinchy-faced and repressed. 3) Glimpses of bony sternums should occur once Leo has taken one of any number of random starlets up for a romantic ride in his aeroplane, and only after he has nearly let you both plunge to you deaths by letting you take the wheel while he goes back to make some martinis. 4) Set Auto-Pilot for 3000 ft in the air and have hot/sweaty/romantic/artistic/significant-to-the-story-how? sex in the back while the wheel is left mysteriously unattended.
Ray: Give Jamie Foxx a pair of sunglasses and set him loose. How high can your costume budget be? I know that amount of money spent doesn't equal quality of costumes, but how many different pairs of Ray Bans can you buy? (Didn't realize the "Ray" thing (pun?) until I'd typed it. And I'm leaving it in. Just because I think it's funny. I hope no blind people are reading this and take offense.)
Lemony Snicket: Every time I hear this title I mistake it for some kind of British sweet, perhaps a sour lemon drop hard candy type thing. Good Lord, they gave Jim Carrey a beard and a half-bald head and a coat and tails suit. Then they dressed him up as a sea capitan. How...Hallowe'en of you.
Finding Neverland: I keep on confusing this one with the Peter Pan movie from earlier in the year. Both fail to impress me costume-wise, at least from the commercials. Peter Pan--the mermaids were mostly CGI, otherwise that would have been some cool costuming shit. In Finding Neverland, all I can see is that they put Johnny Depp in a pinstrip suit, (which I CAN appreciate and therefore would nominate, but not seriously expect to win.)
And last but not least Troy: Oh Holy Hell. How do you nominate this movie for costumes of any kind? Give me scissors, a dozen sweaty, unwashed, bare-chested Brad and Orlando look-alikes and a truck full of potato sacks and I can recreate your 'costumes' for this movie. You might argue that "a lot of research went into the clothing of the time..." yes and I'm sure any eagle-eyed movie-goer would notice a mistake such as "Oh my goodness they draped his loincloth the wrong way! That's at least a decade too early in the Massive Timeline of Trojan Haute Couture! What a fashion faux pas! The Trojans are spinning in their graves!" Considering they had a brand of condoms and a virulent strain of computer viruses named after them, I don't pity the Trojans, or what they wear. They obviously have bigger things to worry about, such as screwing up hard-drives & preventing proper computer processes and screwing people & preventing babies, (babies could be called 'proper human processes if you consider the course of nature,) than how their potato-sacks are cinched around their waists or draped across their shoulders.
I think Phantom deserves at least a nomination, given the deep symbolism in some of the costumes as well as the utter grandeur and period detail of it all. The Straps of Inconsistancy, are, of course, in a league of their own. As is Carlotta (Minnie Driver)'s wig for Il Muto. And maybe they deserve a makeup nomination too, just because they besmirched Gerard Butler's good looks so much ON PURPOSE. Or maybe they deserve demerits for that...can't be too sure. Definite demerits for Patrick Wilson (Raoul)'s hair. I know for a fact that the "flipped" look for the ends of your hair didn't come into vogue until the 60's, and even then, it was primarily restricted to women.
Oscar-nominated movies, Trojans, blind people, (inadvertantly, I swear!) and (yet-again) Raoul's Hair---Good Things---> GUNNED DOWN!
*just realized blind people WON'T be reading this, because they CAN'T*
Phew.
Looks like I get off scot-free. :)
('Hm? What scot? Like the paper-towels?')
posted by Em @ 9:05 PM 0 comments
Monday, January 17, 2005
Reasons I Don't Go to the Local Cinema
I live in a small town. I live 15 minutes OUTSIDE of a small town. A small town with ONE cinema, with 2 mediocre screens, exorbitant ticket prices, twitchy, underpaid staff and a really really sad turnout half the time. So. I go with my family to see a movie this past Christmas break, before my sister heads back East to go to school. We head out to see Meet the Fockers, which is a good enough movie in itself. But all the amazing/awful/creepy/memorable stuff happened before the movie even started. My parents insist on leaving 45 minutes before the show starts to make sure we get good seats. Thus we arrive half an hour before the movie even starts, and if they cleaned these theatres between shows (which they don't) then we might have surprised the groomers from the previous showing. It was the day after New Year's. I am the only one in my family not nursing some kind of hangover. So, we're all alone in the theatre, my brother, sister, mother and father-- but I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me list my reasons for why I hate the local cinema, yet also why I keep returning.Reason No. One: There's something you need to know about my Dad. He kind of gets a bang out of verbally belittling members of the entertainment services industry. Usually it's only a slightly
incompetent waitress who happens to have some bad karma coming her way who ends up bearing the brunt of my father's incomprehensible and undeniably slightly senile rage. But this time, it was the equally sharp-tongued-yet-patient ticket seller at the counter. My Dad was pissed because they couldn't take debit. The woman pointed out that 3 banks (all three banks in town, mind you,) were within easy walking distance if he wanted to withdraw the cash. Now since we have half an hour lying spare due to being unfashionably and neurotically early, the rest of my family is nodding fervently and nudging my dad to take a trip outside for ten minutes and go get some cash. Somehow, my dad found enough cash on him to buy all our tickets, but that wasn't enough. For some reason he hated using cash rather than debit. For some reason, after he had bought the tickets, and after their transaction was apparently at an end, he continued to berate the crap system while taking a reeeally long time to put his change back in his wallet. He actually physically lingered by the counter to prolong the confrontation. By now he's repeated his stance on the issue about 15 times, so he can't be trying to get his point across. No doubt it's firmly planted in the woman's mind and my entire family is now on their Wall of Shame or something. So my mom, sister, brother and myself are standing in the lobby, pretending we don't know our Dad, which is pretty harsh and impossible, given that we can't go into the theatre yet because Dad still has all our tickets in his fist and the lobby itself is probably roughly 10 x 10 feet (10 x 9 really, it's more oblong) and we're the ONLY OTHER PEOPLE THERE.
Reason No. Two: When other people eventually start filtering into the theatre, one of the first things I see is two couples. Both girls looked to be 15/16, and 18/19, and their male partners looked to be about 20-ish and 30, respectively. There was just something eerie about the whole setup. They weren't any girls I knew, and considering it's a fairly small town with one high school it was weird. Maybe they came through town in their trailer. Maybe they left the kids with the girl's mother who lives with them in the trailer so they could go out for a night of society and culture in the latest Ben Stiller flick. Maybe they're cousins. First cousins.
Reason No. Three: The woman who owns the cinema makes a speech at the beginning of every movie. I don't want to offend, but this woman could lay off the butter on her popcorn for the next few decades. She was wearing a violently green, thin silk blouse. And no bra. Heaving bosom. NIPPLES APPARENT!
Reason No. Four: The aforementioned 40/50-something Chunks Ahoy Harlot made us *clap* in appreciation of EACH and EVERY PREVIEW! I'll clap after I've SEEN the movie IN FULL and had a chance to make my own deductions of how good it is. 75% of the good parts in a movie are shown in the trailer, and yet the previews they showed sucked as a whole. Except for the POTO trailer (which they did NOT show but I have seen elsewhere.) That was like a crack-rock of pure joy. And the movie was like a 3-hour long orgasm. God, I get tingly thinking about it.
Reason No. Five: In response to my e-mail asking when they would be showing POTO, they gave me the world's vaguest response EVER. 'We don't know when...but sometime in the future we hope to...' Well, that's just fan-fuckin'-tastic. I might as well phone Miss Cleo and ask HER. At least I'd get to hear her accent and snicker. There's nothing funny about the woman at the cinema.
Reason No. Six: When I realized I was sitting in a dim theatre at the end of a row, neurotically scribbling into a notebook while glancing around me as if I feared arrest. I was simply observing. But I have not the gift of subtlty. My mother noticed and commented on it. God, I'm creepy. I'd hate to sit next to me at a bus stop. If I ever become a drug-addicted hobo I'll be absolutely insufferable.
Reason No. Seven: The following conversation before the movie started:
My Mother: *glancing at me rummaging through my purse* You brought a BOOK?
Me: *a little more lippy than I should have been* Correction. I brought TWO books.
My Sister: *laughs*
Me: I hate this family. *sulks*
My Brother: *something snide but forgettable.*
My Father: *sits at the other end, oblivious. Most likely still fixated on the ticket woman and wondering if he won or lost that battle.*
Reasons Why I continue to GO to the Cinema in spite of the above reasons.
Reason No. One: I am way too lazy to make the 1/2 hour journey into the main city ever time i want to see a movie on short notice.
Reason No. Two: However bad ticket prices may be here, they are 4 dollars more in the city.
Reason No. Three: Parking is hell in the city.
Reason No. Four: Amusing car games can be played on the way into the cinema. Namely: Hit The Senior Pedestrian Who Shouldn't Be Out On The Streets After Dark. We have a curfew for a reason people! So that the teens can come out after dark and frolic undisturbed!
Reason No. Five: half of my friends ARE the surly, underpaid employees.
Reason No. Six: for more money than is necessary, you can buy movie posters which help cover up a bad paint job on the walls in my room.
Reason No. Seven: they have a nicely laid out and not-too-confusing snack counter, where they don't try and foist the combos on you. I can buy my Fuzzy Peaches in peace and leave unscathed.
Seven for Seven.
So I'm no closer to closing my inner debate every time I go to see a movie.
But...
Random gripes:
The seniors in my town. They call the cops on you if you jump off the end of the pier to go swimming. They're constantly watching you from the windows of their stuffy condos, have hte cops on speed dial, and their fingers poised over the button. My Dad redeemed himself from the unfortunate ticket-episode by suggesting this: in his youth, when they wanted to piss off the waterfront senior residents, they'd build a driftwood raft, soak it in accelerant, set it alight, and shove it off into the middle of the water. This prompts the nosy seniors to report someone's boat is on fire and be made jackasses of.
I drove by someone's Christmas display the other day, and they had wooden home-made painted toy soldier lining their driveway, each about 4-5 feet high. This is fine. Except one of the soldiers was black. Charcoal black. Now before I get hatemail over this, I have no problems with black people. I love 'em. I'd only hate them if they were Swiss. No, my issue was this: it was an unnatural shade of black for skin. Also, there was only one of them. Why paint ONE black, among 11 other white ones? It shows you are trying to be racially fair, or you ran out of white paint or something. Either way you looks obnoxious. Race shouldn't matter to the point where we have to specifically single out any one race simply to say "look, we included them!" If you're going to have black soldiers as lawn decorations, make more than one. Have one side of the driveway black and the other side white. Or intersperse them so it doesn't look like they're having the Civil War. All it would take would be the white home owner standing in his driveway to upset the racial balance and convince people that the South had risen again.
Happy Thought: Do, Date or Dump (a variation of DINAO, albeit with more options and thus less torturous fun for the participants.) Pick a person, then decide among the three. Less mentally stimulating, but perhaps worth a try. I've only ever heard of this and never actually tried it.
The Local Cinema; Senior Citizens; and poorly-thought-out lawn decorations: in some people's opinions, they are Good Things-----> GUNNED DOWN!
posted by Em @ 6:28 PM 0 comments
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Gays and Dolls...
The website that started it all:http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/nyc/51526837.html
Jackie:
Look at this!
Em:
O_o
Jackie:
I was like "the hell?"
Em:
Heehe Nazi kitten
Jackie:
I know!
*Then*
Jackie:
Ow random chest pain
Em:
Haha wouldn't it be so gross if boobs grew all at once. Just "Ow--DAMN!" then *pop**shplunk!*thhhhbbptt* 'Wow...I have knockers..."...But then you wouldn't know the difference between puberty and a heart attack
Jackie:
Thhhhhhbbptt?
Em:
Like when you let go of a balloon and it flies around the room
*pause*
Em:
Oh God I just realized how little sense that made
Jackie:
Yeah...
Em: *face/palm*
Well...that was an EXCEPTIONALLY bad moment in the history of me.
Em: *changes the subject*
But still...NAZI dolls...and he has 5-6 GAY doll sets?
Jackie:
Haha I know
How do you TELL if a doll is gay? Is it just...EVIDENT, in the case of the Ken doll with their white briefs painted onto their exceptionally molded plastic butts? (Hey, I always liked Ken's butt ~Jackie) Or is it something you ASSIGN to them, like when you take your Skipper doll and say "Okay, Skipper is now named Raven, we will dye her clothing and hair black, and paint her with eyeliner until she looks suitably goth, and then she will write poetry about death and the dark side of the moon and others who live in celestial orbs just as dark as she is..." How would you do that to a Nazi doll? Name them Nigel and have him invite Jerome into his Nazi tent for tea and a game of skat? Or hot raunchy buttsex? Do we make Nigel speak with a German accent? 'Ja, Dahlink! Vee loves de colour few-jah (fushia)! Vee suggested it for de death camp uniforms, but der Fuhrer, he said NEIN!" Do they play Madonna, Barbara Streisand and Bette Midler records in German? Do they wear tight leather pants and go to European disco dance clubs to pick up hot Aryan men?
Since when do these gay Nazi dolls have a better social life than I do?
Okay, just to re-cap: Puberty, heart attacks, Nazi dolls, people who collect said dolls, the social lives and details of these dolls, basically everything German/European>>>GUNNED DOWN!
posted by Em @ 9:46 PM 0 comments
Saturday, January 01, 2005
My Apologies to the Swiss: You're Just So...Evil
My world is shattered. Or was, rather, last night, just before midnight, when I was offered an alcoholic drink, took a sip of someone else's, and then...refused. Politely of course, (I'm Canadian for crying out loud,) but the fact remains that I refused liquor. On what basis, you might ask? The fact that I will not be legally allowed to consume alcohol for just over a year? (A couple of months in Alberta.) No. I have no qualms about social drinking so long as I don't over do it. Perhaps I'd already drunk so much that my eyeballs were floating? No. The reason, dear people, is that I've decided, much against my better judgement, that I dislike the taste of alcohol. Yeah I screamed in horror too as I came the that realization. I have no idea what's wrong with me. I'd like to drink...I'd like to enjoy it at least, but it's beyond me at this point. My sister (older and therefore wiser?) said that once you reach a certain point in your 20's, you prefer beer aboveall other things. God I hope this is true. It's okay for me to not like alcohol now, but once I hit legal drinking age, socially, I'm doomed. Will I have to be resigned to a life of "No thank you, I'm driving," or "I'll just have a cranberry juice/ginger ale/water w/ a wedge of lemon."? I do not like being around drunk people unless I can be drunk as well. That's not to say I've ever been drunk, given my aforementioned taste preferences, I'd find it difficult to down enough liquor to get to that point. Simply, I don't like being around peopl who have things I want and can't have. Envy is a sin, I know, but I don't envy material goods, I envy abilities and skills. In this case, the ability to enjoy alcohol. It's like instant heartburn or indegestion for me. Apparently the burning, searing pain tearing it's way through your vitals and making a beeline for your bladder is a pleasant sensation to most people. I even went so far as to try mixing a tablespoon of Baja Rosa with about 2 cups of milk and ice cubes trying to make it bearable, and it almost was (lovely strawberries and cream flavour) but then I made the mistake of thinking about tequila and wondering if there was a worm of some kind in the bottle and then I nearly threw up. It must be said however that I drank 3/4 of that glassful and I'm proud of the fact. Even though it was probably only 25% actually Baja Rosa at that point. This whole drinking issue makes me so sad I could cry. I will not be able to enjoy the holiday season or any other social occasion where liquor flows like water, simply because I have this thing called a gag reflex. Alcohol is great. A lovely thing. In the words of Ben Franklin "beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy." My inablity to consume said beer or any other alcohol for that matter is what I like to call "proof that Satan hates me and wants me to be miserable." What I need is a smooth-drinking cool kind of liquor. Actually I'm okay with Dubonnet. It's not too bad, and it doesn't burn as much as everything else I've tried, (read: Communion wine, rye and Baja Rosa,) but sadly you pay 6 bucks or similar for something akin to a shot glass in size. Thus I need to find a cheaper way to get drunk.Or perhaps I should look into joining a convent. Ohhh there's an idea. Talk about dropping me behind enemy lines. I'm not Roman Catholic, in fact I'm Anglican, which is about the biggest slap in the face possible for Roman Catholicism. Basically a religious denomination formed on the basis of a randy British King declaring he wanted a legal harem, so he broke with the Roman Catholic Church and made his own Church, by which he was both King and Pope, yet it was (and is) still referred to as a part of "the Holy Catholic Church" (according to the Apostle's Creed.) So it's like this: say you have an Italian restaurant, Luigi's. Luigi, the owner, says to the cook, Mario: "you cannot-a make-a ze spaghetti sauce-a with-a ze fettuchini noodles! Only spaghetti noodles with-a ze spaghettie sauce-a!" Mario is a little bit disgruntled, because he really really really wants to try the same sauce on the fettuchini noodles. So, Mario quits his job, buys the property next to the same restaurant, and opens his own restaurant, with pretty much the same menu, only a different name, (Mario's,) and (here's the kicker) he serves spaghetti sauce on whatever kind of pasta he damn well pleases! Luigi is shocked and horrified when he sees his sacred spaghetti sauce served over first fettuchini, then bow-tie pasta, then *gasp* ravioli! So the two restaurant owners live side by side but never talk to each other, one thinking he has made a kick-ass upgrade from stodgy old Luigi's regime, the other thinking that Mario and all the patrons of his restaurant are damend to Hell for all eternity for mucking up the covenant of pasta/sauce combinations. This is basically what happened with Henry the 8th's split from the Roman Catholic Church. And here I stand today, wondering if I ought to join a Roman Catholic convent and wondering if they'd even let me in. The nuns would probably curbstomp me, given the chance. Not like the cool nuns from the Sound of Music who take apart the Nazi's car so they can't chase the Von Trapp brats across the border. I'd like to know how they learned to do that. Is there some kind of auto-shop class being taught in Austrian convents since at least the late 1930's that I'm unaware of? I'd also like to know why the Von Trapps went to Switzerland of all places. They'd return to Austria in 15 years and be unable to do more than eat chocolate, make watches and army knives and fiddle with allen keys while trying to put together furniture. And why, if they're all Austrian, do the Von Trapps and most of their friends have American/Canadian/British accents? Julie, this isn't Darling Lili. You're not a German pretending to be British. You're a Brit pretending to be Austrian and failing utterly. Funny enough, only the bad guys have accents (read: Germans.) And even so, Rolf, who turns out to be the spawn of Satan, has an American accent. You half expect the Aryan Rolf to show up, re-named Ralph, wearing 50's style swim shorts, hugging a surfboard and shouting "Radical, dude!" while sporting a longer, sunbleached Californian hairstyle along with a sun-kissed tan. Liesle (Americanized as Leslie) will end up a chain-smoking housewife, married to Rolf, with two perfect children, only a 50's version of Desperate Housewives. While Rolf is away at work (generic "businessman"--Mafia much?) she goes on a bender and beats the kids. June Cleaver...with a meat cleaver. And pearls. So then she wipes the blood off the pearls and meets her hubby at the door looking daisy-fresh. "Where are the kids?" "Taking a nap." The Eternal Nap, that is. Then Ralph gets it in the back of the skull with a frying pan. Leslie takes all the cash from beneath the mattress and runs away...to Switzerland.
Alcohol, religion, and the Sound of Music: Good Things-->GUNNED DOWN!
My point? Switzerland is the source of all evil. Everything the Swiss touch they turn to crap. Evil crap.
posted by Em @ 2:00 PM 0 comments
