suckball

I just glanced over someone’s (who I will not name, but will know who they are) website, that gave Michael Mann’s HEAT 6/10!! SIX OUT OF TEN!! What the hell?? Probably the greatest crime thriller in the last twenty fucking years and it’s a 6/10 and the only comment is that Natalie Portman is cute in it!! I don’t really have anything to say about that, it’s just that I’ve now figured no one who reads this (if there is anyone left) watches ONE TREE HILL, and so the last rant I wrote up basically constitutes a colossal fucking waste of time save for the minor therapeutic value. I don’t want to talk about HEAT, but I will say for you to enjoy one of the greatest scenes of all time:

But I don’t want to talk about HEAT. But nor do I want to talk about the shit that I’m thinking about right now or any of that gay bullshit that reminds me what I’m doing right now is essentially blogging. And I despise blogging. I hate blogging the way that I hate holocaust-deniers, or Usher videos. Still, because Louis is too lazy doing whatever the fuck he is doing I feel impelled to every now and then come on here and write something so that it doesn’t go stale. What I don’t want to do right now though, is talk about how HEAT offers an insight into the seemingly diametric personality types found in criminals and those in their pursuit. I don’t want to talk about HEAT at all. Let’s just look at Pacino being awesome:

Here’s something else I hate: that more people aren’t watching LOST. What the fuck are you people watching or doing that is honestly better than LOST? That thing is one of the best things to ever be on television. That thing would be the best things on television right now even if they started broadcasting some kind of Playboy Mansion Blowjob Olympics. The show has everything - hot chicks (Evangeline Lilly, the Korean chick, not that sweaty blonde other chick), mantastic dudes (Matthew Fox, the dude who plays Sawyer, whose name I forget), and oh yeah, some of the best fucking writing ever. Can you tell me why you aren’t watching this thing? Or would you rather see Pacino be badass again?

Good lord PRISON BREAK got real shit, real fast, am I right? That chunky spec ops chick literally commands like a hundred men, you’re telling me they couldn’t break one guy out of that shitty prison in back water South America? How that show jumped the shark so bad is beyond me, although Brett Ratner is a producer so I’d like to think he played a part in it. Him knocking the artistic shit out of the X-MEN franchise lends some fairly weighty credence to this. I love the whole moving an entire bridge thing - that was dynamite. Speaking of which, you know who would have been the shit in an X-MEN film? Robert DeNiro. Watch him be awesome in HEAT:

Given my occupation I know that lots of people have lots of different opinions on films, and I respect those opinions, but sometimes I am just amazed! Not that I’m talking about any particular movie here, just in general.

UPDATE! Article is now finished

I have been digesting episodes of ONE TREE HILL like fucking biscuits for as long as I can remember now. Over the past seven months or so I saw all five god damn seasons. I just watched the latest one today (S05E09) and am now ready to regale you with my thoughts on the douche-baggery that seems to be endemic in this fucking town. Also, I don’t know how the strike affected this show and I can’t be bothered to find out the answer to this, but I don’t know how many episodes this season is running. Either way it doesn’t matter, since this entire arc could be done in like five episodes. I swear over the nine we’ve seen thus far about ten things have happened. About half of each episode has been god damn montages.

LUCAS SCOTT

I’ve given this careful consideration because I don’t want to issue undue hyperbole, but I’m pretty sure this guy is the biggest asshole on television. And if not on television (maybe Dennis Hopper was worse in the first season of 24), then definitely without doubt on the show. He is almost entirely morally and ethically bankrupt. Dan Scott was a dick but at least he made the decision to atone for his behaviour. It might have taken four seasons and a fucked up family to do it but he manned up in the end. Which is more than I can say for Lucas who is routinely pissing all over any girl who shows a god damn interest in him, which hey, guess what? Is everyone. By my count he has now cheated on his girlfriend five times, each different girls, and with different others. That is a track record, people. And with no remorse whatsoever. There is a difference between saying sorry because you feel bad and feel you made a mistake, and saying sorry because someone is pissed at you. Fortunately Lucas doesn’t have to make the distinction since I don’t think he ever said sorry once, except to his mother, but for what reason I forget. And it certainly wasn’t one of the instances where he slapped some broad with his dick. Oh yeah, that’s right, it was when he - at seventeen - got his girlfriend - who had since been cheated on and dumped - pregnant.

Still, past fuck ups aside, nothing can compare to the monumental crusade of asshole behaviour he is currently working on. This thing is like a fucking work of art. Ten episodes it has taken, which basically spans god knows how long but it is at least two years. Let’s face it, we know how this season is gonna end. We don’t know how and we don’t know what bullshit metaphor is finally gonna make him realise, but it is gonna end with some gay emo song of the week and him kissing the shit out of Peyton telling her it was always her, she was the one, etc, while stuff falls around them in slow motion. It will probably be confetti. Brooke will do her stupid upside down smile. Hayley will put her hands on her hips and shake her head, bite her lip (”You guys…!”). And her kid whose dialogue is stupidly adult will give a fucking thumbs up or something.

You know how when you pull a prank on someone and you work at it for like an hour and it is awesome because you put good solid time into it? Well imagine you put a DAY’s work into it. You would mess someone up bad, right? Now imagine TWO GOD DAMN YEARS. This Lindsay chick is gonna get all kinds of fucked up when she finally gets dumped. The worst thing about it though, is he knows himself he’s gonna do it. We all fucking know. IT IS OBVIOUS. EVEN HIS FUCKING FIANCE KNOWS IT. And that’s what makes it the worst thing - she knows it and she calls him on it, but he keeps on telling her it’s gonna be fine. It is gonna be fine. Trust me, it ain’t gonna be fine.

I have to believe the writers of this show hate Chad Murray. I have no idea how the lead in a hugely successful TV show can be written to be such a cluster fuck of a person.

PEYTON SAWYER

This chick is the only character on the show I can stomach and I pretty much only watch the show because of her. I used to watch it because I thought Brooke was hot, but that was only until Peyton fixed her hair so she didn’t look like Justin Timberlake back when N’SYNC existed, and Brooke’s voice got annoying to the point of suicide. I’m pretty sure once I saw Peyton bend over and a rainbow shot out of her ass. True story.

Anyway, now I’m pretty sure that this chick is the cutest girl on the planet. She is brilliant. I’d slap my dick on a railway track like I was fucking chopping a chicken’s head off with it, for a run at her. I’m a little scared that her hair is starting to curl up and shit again, but being constantly cockteased into thinking she and Lucas are gonna get back together, and then being subsequently rickrolled with all manner of douche bag moves on Lucas’ part, the whole thing is so thrilling I am almost not noticing. Also a major scare: that she might have hooked up with Kevin Federline. I don’t know what my soul would have done.

MARVIN “MOUTH” MCFADDEN

I can’t stand this kid. There has never been a character on television, nor will there ever be again, that gets so much pussy that is just stupidly out of his league. In my book, this kid is outscoring Nathan Scott (who was the most popular kid in school, college basketball star, a couple days away from playing for the Sonics), since that Clean Teens chick he fucked is way hotter looks-wise than Hayley. And Mouth barely even looks human. If there was a real life occurrence of what happens in Stephen King’s THE MIST, and this kid slammed up against the shop front, I wouldn’t know whether he was looking for sanctuary or trying to eat me. I would definitely kill him just to be on the safe-side. Also, just to be clear, he has now managed to lose his moral and ethical standards, which were basically the only things that made him identifiable as a character through Seasons 1 - 3. Now the only thing that is identifiable about him is that he looks stupid in a suit and that if there’s a geeky, underrated hottie character in the story arc, you can bet your ass he is gonna fuck her.

Seriously, this dude is the reason there are so many unhappy, mediocre looking chicks in the world. Because of how flat out fucking ridiculous Mouth is written, every half way human looking boy with two eyes a nose and a mouth thinks that they can score top shelf tail. Not so, my friends. Not everyone can hook up with busty blonde girls who run TV networks or are closet nymphs, unfortunately, some of us have to settle. I can only hope more people read this than watch the show.

BROOKE DAVIS

This chick was hot for about two seasons until she got seduced by the Asian dude (another royal douche bag) and then I suddenly realised that talking to her would be like when your grandma tries to tell you something but you can’t hear her because she has been smoking a pack of cigarettes a day for eighty years and barely has a voicebox. She has a dynamite rack and she is definitely easy on the eyes - certainly one of the hottest chicks on the fucking planet, but every time she opens her mouth I have to turn the volume up. Fuck that. Surprisingly, Brooke is actually the only person on the show who ISN’T a great big fuck up right now. However, she can never, ever be forgiven for pulling the mother of all dirty bitch tricks - the fake pregnancy. That shit is just not on. That is right up there with the holocaust and the Hiroshima bombing in my book.

I wrote up what I thought were the seven best films of 2007 but I had some catching up to do. I still haven’t seen THERE WILL BE BLOOD, which irks me no end, since PT Anderson is one of my all-time favourite directors. Still, I did see two more that came out last year, which have gotten a ton of markedly poor press and I am here to set you straight. I would hate for people to miss out on either of these films just because the reviews have been poor.

I can’t vouch for the writing that follows because I am literally falling asleep as I write this…

THE ASSASSINATION OF JESSE JAMES BY THE COWARD ROBERT FORD

This film is awesome. It’s slightly long but you can take it because the acting is strong as hell and the cinematography is flat out fucking beautiful. This film gave me a massive cinema boner. I absolutely loath Westerns and I haven’t enjoyed one since TOMBSTONE rocked my world as a teenager. This thing literally changed my life. This film also made me realise I know absolutely nothing about music, because the score floored me and it wasn’t even nominated for an Oscar. THERE WILL BE BLOOD and INTO THE WILD were disqualified from selection and this film’s score still didn’t even make it. That’s like losing an egg-and-spoon race with 5 regular kids and 2 retards. If you don’t like the track ‘A Song For Jesse’, which plays as the film opens, I fucking hate you and you suck. I literally have no idea how Brad Pitt didn’t get a nod for Best Actor, especially in such a weak field this year. George Clooney? Fuck off… We all know DDL is gonna win it, throw the man a fucking nomination. Plus, Casey Affleck should in my opinion be taking that Best Supporting Oscar home but as we know Bardem already practically owns the thing. An undeserved Oscar AND he gets to go home and fuck Penelope Cruz that dude has an awesome life. What was I talking about?

LARS AND THE REAL GIRL

Aside from THE NOTEBOOK (which I can man-up and admit I like) Ryan Gosling hasn’t made a single good movie. He’s probably the most talented actor of his generation but either he can’t pick films for shit or he’s picking them on a dare. This film is almost another characteristic turd, but turns out Gosling is so good he can make shit into sugar. I don’t know why I enjoyed it so much but I did. It might be because I keep thinking about how NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN is going to win Best Picture and I fucking hate that thing. That ending is just horrific. Nonsensical. Anyway this film is downright weird, but I loved it. You will love it too. Or else you suck.

There exists now, a FACEBOOK page for my book, ‘THE RUDE MECHANICAL’ which should be available through Amazon any day now.

I don’t know if I’m retarded, or what but I can’t seem to find it when I search for it. So, here is the direct link: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=9645485066

Please join the group. Leave a message on the wall about how awesome a writer I am and how you can’t wait to get your hands on the book, or something. And also, make sure to check back so that you can buy this sucker as soon as it’s available. There’s also a brand new excerpt, that I put up there. Thanks a lot, guys. Peace.

Okay guys, so here’s the skinny: The book has at this point, gone through 3 publishers, who were involved at different stages of development. About 2 weeks ago, after a lengthy argument with my publisher, I was forced to choose between either:

a) Having my publisher put out a neutered version of the book, missing about 15% of my writing and without my lengthy and inspired ‘Addenda’ section which appears at the end.

b) Put it out myself, make a pathetic amount of royalties, and lose all of the marketing that the publisher would have done for me.

Now, choosing which of these two options to go with is, to me, like choosing which foot I want someone to kick me in the balls with. Ultimately though, because I’m both an idealist and an idiot, I’m going to go with the latter and so I need everyone’s help. I will appreciate every single person that buys a copy of the book and everyone who recommends it to somebody. If there is anything I can do to repay anybody’s help, please, drop me an email and tell me how. Short of dating your sister or sucking your dick I’ll probably get right on it. And I might be flexible on that last one.

So what is the positive that comes of my horrible choice? Well, there are none for me, except that I might possibly take on the institution of marketing and win. The good news for you guys though, is that because I have to price the book at a figure that is affordable to people all over the world, people in Malaysia (and places like the Amazon Basin) will find the book affordable, and everyone else? Well you motherfuckers are in for a fucking bargain.

The book will be priced between $9.99 - $11.99
This works out at just under 5 Pounds Sterling and RM35

As I’m sure you know (if you live in the UK), 5 Pounds for a book is ridiculous.

As we speak, the book is with a journalist, who is reviewing the final draft. After this, I well set up the publication of the proof and I anticipate the book will be available from 24th November, the end of next week. I will have a Facebook group go live when the book does, where you guys can talk about how awesome the book is, how desperate you are for a sequel, and who you think should star in the movie adaptation.

In all seriousness though, I really meant what I said about appreciating ANY help. I know a couple of people that can help me out with contacts in the media in Malaysia, but if anyone has any contacts, anywhere that might help me, I will be forever indebted and will not forget it. Email me at thooj@coventry.ac.uk. People with your own blogs/websites, please, mention the book, or better yet review it. But only if you liked it, if you thought it was a piece of shit and use the pages to roll joints now, then just the mention will do.

I’ll probably put up another excerpt from the book between now and the release.

Thanks,

J

CHAPTER ONE

I have no reason to jump, so for the time being I don’t; I tiptoe along the edge of the pebbled stone rooftop with slightly more comfort than you would expect or probably even want from a young girl of twenty one, seven storeys up. Around me the sky is beautiful, a rich blue, complete with round, whispery clouds that float by with a glacial ease. For the moment at least, I’m content to step along the edges of the building. The reason for this, of course, is that I had long decided that suicide was probably the avenue I was most interested in exploring. The possibility of ending it all was just a half step to my left at this point. The whole ordeal wasn’t a look-at-my-shitty-life type thing, nor was it a feeble cry for attention. This whole endeavour had a purpose. And I wouldn’t do it until I had the perfect, most artistic method of doing so. I needed something that would really resonate with people. It would be the bell toll for an entire generation of misunderstood youth, something that encapsulated our angst or our passion, like oversized belts or jeans ripped at the knee. That was the problem with the world nowadays, there used to only be two or three directions the teenaged and early adult demographics could go but now there are millions and we’re all lost and lonely but with no real way to connect with each other because to find someone who feels the same way you do and can articulate it to you in a way that you understand is almost impossible.

I had this idea that involved piano strings. Don’t ask me why they were specifically the strings from a piano, that’s just how I thought it up. Though, I’m sure I could kill myself with equal success with guitar strings or possibly even those really strong shoelaces that mountaineers or those Goth kids wear in their boots. I would tie one end of them to the handle on the fire exit up on a roof (not unlike the one I was on at the moment), and I would tie the other end to myself – all around my neck and my body – in such a way that when I dove off of the building, they would pull perfectly taut and sever my head from my body. Except, my body would still be suspended by the strings and I would end up headless and hanging just outside the window of some poor guy’s office. Or maybe a classroom. I’d obviously have a profound message written on the t-shirt I was wearing. It would be vague, because people love to search for the ‘real’ meaning in something and I wanted to give them food for thought that would last for hundreds or thousands of years. I could possibly would write it in black felt tip pen across my naked chest. I hadn’t decided about this part yet. I was also thinking that if I did it properly, I could probably work it so that my head didn’t hurtle to the ground in the aftermath, where it could hit some poor passer-by, that it somehow would be suspended there with me. I still needed to work on the logistics. The whole thing was still a work in progress. But it would definitely be artistic. People would talk about it for years, probably most of them, to a paid psychiatrist or mental health physician. But at least they would be talking.

I don’t know how I got into the whole art thing. I definitely got into it hard, but there was no epiphany or anything that took me there. I didn’t get taken to the Paris one day by my parents and then met a really cute French guy who I followed into the Louvre, wherein I saw the Mona Lisa and decided that art was only thing for me. Although that would be a great story to be able to tell, probably more interesting than this one, in fact. It would also be a lie though, because saying that up close, the Mona Lisa is a little disappointing is like saying that up close, Wesley Snipes is a little black. I guess that my parents probably started the whole thing. I believe in that stuff about you growing up to like Lionel Richie or Wet, Wet, Wet (both, unfortunately true of me), just because your parents listened to them. I’m sure that my distaste for the French stems from a story my father once told me about a French man mistreating him at some point during his youth. It was something about passports; I don’t really remember the details. All I know is that whenever something bad happened to the French people, usually in the arena of sport my Dad would celebrate like he had scored some major victory over them as a people. He was the kind of person who felt like he was – by proxy of the English rugby team – teaching them a lesson.

“That’ll teach ‘em!” He’d shout.

And alas, the lesson would have been taught.

When I look back on it now, my art as a child had been truly mediocre; I did the exact same stuff that every other child did. Square houses with four more squares for windows, a squiggly line for smoke, that kind of thing. But my parents were the overly indulgent type (you know, the ones who bring flasks of coffee and snacks to their Little League games and spend the entire time shouting support) and they actually succeeded in making me believe that I was an artistic prodigy. I was to art, what Mozart was to music, or Britney Spears is to not thinking shit through. Of course, we shrug a certain amount of this off as we grow up; we aren’t so naïve as to believe everything our parents have ever told us. But a little bit of it remained, I guess. When I was six or so years old, my father had taken me for a picnic. He often did this as a way for us to bond, and as far as I can remember, I enjoyed it. I think it stemmed secretly from his desire to have a male child that he could teach to play football or karate. When instead, he’d had me. We’d kick a ball around, but it would never be the same; I still ran with that distinctly female grace, couldn’t properly coordinate my feet and my brain and was simply never going to slide-tackle anything, not in my nice pink dress. On this particular day though, after eating, while we lay in the grass, I had been drawing a picture of a man and a woman holding hands. The woman had a squiggly yellow line above her head.

My father had asked me, “Who are they, Alice?”

“That’s my husband and me.”

“Your husband! I see, and what’s this on your head?”

“It’s a crown.”

“Oh, you’re a princess?”

“Mm-hmm.” I had beamed.

And then, suddenly my face had dropped, I remembered something a little girl in my class had told me: “Suzie Merican told me that I’ll never be a princess and I’ll never find a prince and we’ll never get married because my Daddy just pumps petrol and its stupid.”

My father – without missing a beat – had swept me up into his husky arms and said “Yes, well a lie can run all the way around the world before the truth even gets its shoes on. And you, are beautiful and intelligent and a wonderful artist. You’re my favourite person in the world and it’s not because you’re my daughter. Any prince would be lucky to have you.”

The thing is though, any other person would probably think about what he said and smile. Like it’s sweet. In fact I’m sure that if more people had more of these sorts of stories Marilyn Manson and musicians of his ilk could very possibly have gone out of business years ago. But I look back on that memory with nothing but distaste. Talk about sugarcoating. My father should have told me that I was never going to be a princess, that no-one in this day and age meets and falls in love with princes, not unless they look like Adriana Lima and either put out on the first date (or not at all, provided they can do that thing where they make sex seem both elusive and attainable for years). And also that no one slays dragons for love anymore, or even wears tights. And if these guys are incredibly dashing and wearing tights, well then they’re probably just looking for other men in tights.
Unfortunately, I would never get the chance to tell him this, because several years later, before I had really had the chance to look back critically on my youth, both of my parents had died in a horrific car-crash. It had happened early one morning when they had gone out to the supermarket together to get some ham and bread for lunch that day.

I was at the funeral and I had hated it. I know that goes without saying to some people, but I – when I attended the thing – was of the school of thought that believed funerals were about celebrating the lives of the people who had passed away. Not true either. It was an impossibly macabre affair. Everyone wore black and had black umbrellas. You don’t help matters by bathing a situation in darkness. Nobody spoke to me. They said words, but they didn’t really talk to me. Strangers felt the pathological need to walk over and tell me they were sorry and that my parents were great people. What were they sorry for? And I knew that they were great people, I didn’t need someone to tell me that. It was as if they had brought me up but I knew nothing about them. The whole thing was too routine, and all of these people were being too routinely nice. I would have loved it if one of them had walked up to me and told me a story about my father sneaking into the girl’s locker room at college or my mother getting drunk and waking up on a park bench in Brazil or something. All they did was read the script, though:

Person: Hi Alice
Me: Hi.
Person: I’m sorry for you loss.
Me: Thanks.
Person: You know, your parents were wonderful people.
Me: Great. (Optional sarcastic thumbs up or finger/thumb gun motion)

All around me, the rain had poured down. God either had no sense of humour or he had a shitty one. While everyone paid their respects and cried their eyes out, I wondered if all adults owned a black umbrella just in case of a funeral, or if they had gone out and bought them especially.

Every child at some point or another wishes that his/her parents were dead. Whenever something like that would happen in a movie or in a trashy sit-com, all I would think was how lucky that character was! Sure you’re gonna feel like shit for like a day, but after that it’s going to be spectacular. You’re gonna be on easy-street! And it’s not out of hatred for them – although that can, at some extremely tense moment be true – but just because – emotional anguish aside – it would be awesome to be suddenly orphaned. We, as children, don’t really consider the repercussions of being thrown into foster care, or the problem of suddenly having no primary caregivers, we focus on the positives: everyone would feel sorry for us. Everybody wants to be that part in the movie where there’s a musical montage and our hero is sat all melancholy on the beach, while everyone goes out of their mind worrying about how to make it up to them. The hero returns to civilisation and there’s a party waiting. We don’t want the party per se, but we do want all the people who desperately want to help us. In our juvenile minds, we believe that there would be absolutely no problem getting over the hurt, and pretty much immediately, people would be stumbling all over themselves to help us. Can I get that door for you? You’ve been through so much — Here, let me help you with your homework. It must be hard for you to concentrate at the moment, huh? — Hey, let me buy you that new Hawaiian Hula Dancer Barbie, I know your father would if he was around. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have brought that up.

It’s not so hot when it actually happens.

I had for a while figured that the best way to get over such incredible tragedy was to look on what people generally refer to as ‘the bright side’. I couldn’t picture this so-called ‘bright side’, but I nevertheless tried to get there. I had figured the best way to identify it was to make a list of the things that were worse than both of my parents dying. It didn’t go very well or last very long, though. I came up with the following:

1. The holocaust.
2. JFK’s assassination.
3. The AIDS virus.
4. Nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
5. MC Hammer’s “Can’t Touch This”.
6. George Clooney in ‘Batman and Robin’.

Losing your parents changes you. There’s nothing you can do about that. It certainly can make you want to listen to My Chemical Romance and feel like killing yourself (often because you’re listening to My Chemical Romance), but it didn’t do that to me. I could take it. Somehow, or for some reason I had some immense inner strength that I never knew existed. It made me bitter and cynical, but for the most part I could deal with the pain, just as I had fantasised. Maybe it was some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. What did affect me though, was the loss of those overly indulgent kind words that had caressed me as a child. People deal with the death of their parents in a billion different ways. Some people lock themselves in a room and cry for days on end, others go home for the funeral and then inexplicably hook up with Natalie Portman, or at least that’s what Hollywood would have me believe. I chose to paint. I don’t know why, but once my parents were gone, the only thing that I had a burning desire to do was to paint.

Copyright (C) 2007 by J Thoo

Wow I totally threw up that last article basically because I had a sudden urge to write about stuff that I’m not paid to write about at my other job. Okay, actually I AM paid to write about hot chicks, but I don’t have a cool column where I can rate them and say mean things about Fergie (as if her wrinkled ass she calls a face doesn’t warrant them). The fact that two comments immediately appeared, and weren’t trying to sell viagra or penis enlargers (where did you guys go?), got me all warm inside and so now, after working a 7 hour shift at a law firm, before coming home and working a 6 hour shift at my writing job, instead of sleeping or whacking off I’m gonna write about fucking P Diddy. Not actually fucking P Diddy, you understand. It’s sad that it’s absolutely plausible you could wake up tomorrow morning and P Diddy may have officially changed his name to ‘Fucking P Diddy’.

Anyway, I was watching television yesterday and I heard what I thought sounded like a song that is very special to me; Mario Winans - I Don’t Wanna Know. Now we all know for a fact that this song is a big piece of shit. Don’t agree? Well:

a) Diddy stole a slowed down sample of Enya’s ‘BOADICEA’
b) This slowed down sample of had already been stolen by The Fugees back in 1996 (Diddy didn’t know about this because back then he was still trying to get a degree or some shit. He would later dedicate the degree to Biggie)
c) After all that flagrant intellectual property theft, the song still sucks

RIP. NOTORIOUS BIG, thanks for the memories

Anyway, my point was that I thought I heard the song. And I was thinking fuck I cannot hear this song (the first time I heard it I met my ex-girlfriend and it makes me die inside), let me change the channel. Suddenly I realised it was in fact a ‘new’ song from Winans. Obviously Diddy was in tow, standing in the background, saying ‘touch me’, ‘can you feel me’ and generally taking a shit on creative lyricism. He would dedicate the shit to Biggie.

So somehow this kid has released two songs over a three year period and the mother fucker has about a billion times more money than me. I JUST WORKED TWO JOBS IN A ROW ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I’d say fuck Diddy, but he’d dedicate the fuck to Biggie and use it to sell records.

Do we agree that this songs sounds pretty much like I Don’t Wanna Know?. Sure the weird background beat is basically identical, but what really binds the two songs is that they both feel like a hemorrhage. I seriously have no idea how Diddy has basically an enormous pile of money. He probably has three dicks made of gold, silver and frankinscense at this point. He only dedicates the gold one to Biggie. Fuck dedicating silver to the big man.

A SHORT ANALYSIS OF HOW TOUCHING DIDDY’S MAJOR ARTISTIC TRIBUTE TO BIGGIE IS

How this is a tribute to Biggie is fucking beyond me. There was only one reason this thing was made: love. Hah, right. No, the correct answer is MONEY. Diddy does nothing but wear a t-shirt with the guy’s face on it. Fuck, Missy Elliot wears matching Aaliyah t-shirt/jeans/jacket/trucker hat combos in like every video. I’d wear a Hitler beret if it meant Neo-Nazis would dump cash in my lap. Here’s a short list of things that feature in this video that have an incredible significance to the life and musical career of The Notorious B.I.G., since after all this is a tribute to the man:

1. Lots of Sean John sushi
2. Nelly topless in a bath tub with two chicks.
3. Pharrell dressed like a cowboy/skater hybrid
4. A chick massaging Diddy while wearing diamond encrusted brass knuckles
5. Diddy pointing at his t-shirt
6. Jagged Edge say ‘Biggie’ twice and ‘BIG’ once
7. The random guy who says ‘uh, uh’
8. Fat Joe in a blue room
9. Everyone pretty much acting like they just won the fucking lottery. Inside they’re sad about his passing, though. That’s acting people.

RIP. NOTORIOUS BIG, thanks for ALL THE MONEY

Somehow, there’s a chance that WONG KAR WAI might actually be my favourite director. Usually when people ask me, I always go with FINCHER or ARONOFSKY, and sometimes, depending on when the last time I saw MAGNOLIA was, PT ANDERSON. The reason being that I really dislike and maybe even hate all of WONG KAR WAI’s films. Thing is though, his direction is absolutely incredible and the visuals are wonderfully seductive. I couldn’t sit through the whole of 2046, but I got through three quarters on it just because I was so drawn in by how beautiful the film was. Anyway, click HERE to check out the trailer for WONG KAR WAI’s first English langauge film, the upcoming MY BLUEBERRY NIGHTS (which will open this year’s Cannes Film Festival). The film stars Norah Jones, Jude Law and Rachel Weisz.

I haven’t seen the first movie - in fact I would actively avoid anything that looks remotely like it, but recently I have been owned by the power of music and trailers, or more specifically, music IN trailers. I CANNOT get this trailer out of my head. There is no snappy dialogue, no cool action and no smokin broads, but the song “INSECT EYES” by Devendra Banhart that comes in about two third of the way through is AMAZING. Whoever put this trailer together and decided to use that song is a genius.

I fucking hate horror films but this trailer owns me.

Is it just me or is Jennifer Lopez the most hated figure in popular culture. Sure there are people who are dumber, say Paris Hilton and sure there are people who are more irritating, for example Lindsay Lohan but does any quite have the package that J-Lo has, rounded off beautifully with a little extra sass and extra topping of ‘bitch’? I don’t think so.

I know Scientology is trying to harvest our entire world’s celebrity population, but I’d think that snaring J-Lo would be a step back even for Scientology. And they have Jenna Elfman.

Have you ever read a Jennifer Lopez biography? Have you ever typed her name into Wikipedia? Have you ever watched the Jennifer Lopez THS on E? I doubt it, but still, I bet you every single one of you knows where she’s from. Here’s a quick multiple choice question:

Where did Jennifer Lopez grow up?

a) Seattle
b) Puerto Rico
c) The ‘block’
d) The Bronx
e) A crack den

Isn’t it amazing that even though all you really know about her is that she’s a hispanic actress/singer/megalomaniac, you’re still absolutely sure of your knowledge that she’s from either the ‘block’ or the Bronx? It’s because she won’t shut the fuck up about it. If you plummed for (e) I won’t hold that against you.

J-Lo is like the new Gloria Estefan. Gloria Estefan is pretty bad, but she has a couple of things on J-Lo, in that she can actually sing and that she was genuinely famous for that ability. J-Lo is famous getting boned by P. Diddy and for having an ass that defies logic and general biology:

JENNIFER LOPEZ’ ASS

This is a fairly magical phenomenon: you always see the ass first. Unless it’s a super mid close up, you’re seeing the ass first, let’s be honest. Whenever she walks towards the screen it’s like that scene in Independence Day when Vivica Fox comes running out and asks Will Smith what he’s looking at.

What is magical about the whole thing, is that you see the ass and think DAMN and then as your eyes rove slowly upwards trying to see who that continental plate belongs to, you somehow convince yourself that her face just HAS to be attractive. Then you get there and there’s a Shallow Hal situation going on.

JENNIFER LOPEZ’ MUSIC (WHICH COULD ALSO BE SIMILARLY TITLED ‘JENNIFER LOPEZ’ ASS)

Now it has to be said that I am not P. Diddy’s biggest fan. I’m still not certain as to how exactly he got famous, mulching off of the now all to familiar Kanye West style of musical advancement which in his case consisted of ripping off a bunch of songs by The Police and Queen and putting a rap verse where the singing was but whatever I can let that slide. I like Touch The Sky.

But what I find difficult to stomach is how after seeing J-Lo and popping massive bonage, he couldn’t just jerk her around, fuck her and then dump her. Why oh why did he have to give her a musical career?

I’ll always remember when “If You Had My Love” came out. She was new and hip and had a banging ass. At this point it was acceptable to like her because she hadn’t yet been reamed by half the east coast rap scene, but we got enough of a glimpse into her future when she decided to have the video break down half way into a piece of shit salsa dance routine which was to become a staple in her videos.

This was followed by “No Me Ames”, a duet with future husband Skeletor, lord of Castle Grey Skull which absolutely no one heard unless your girlfriend put the CD in the stereo and then you guys left the room or were in the middle of sex and therefore couldn’t get up to change the stereo back to… well… something in English.

“Waiting for Tonight” followed and predictably sucked, rounding out 1999 at number 8 on the US charts, with the only positive being that if you were epilectic there was a good chance that the flashing strobe lights in the video (which were not mentioned at the beginning) would probably thrust you into a coma before you were confronted with the tragedy of J-Lo’s face and/or dancing ability.

2000 went beautifully as the only single she released was “Feelin’ so Good” with Big Pun and Fat Joe tanked at 51 on the charts. I don’t even remember this song. I can only imagine that it’s because this is the only video ever when J-Lo didn’t stand out because her ass finally looked small.

Her next ‘hit’ was the fantasy video for ‘Love Don’t Cost A Thing’ or ‘……….what?’ This is really a landmark video not just for Jennifer Lopez but for human anatomical biology. Somehow, J-Lo managed to make an ass look bigger than ever before which is probably worthy of a Nobel Prize nomination at least. She also confirms my suscpicions at the end of the video that she’s probably a fucking cock tease.

Not content with Ashanti for reasons unknown, Ja Rule decided to throw his huge gnarled dick of suck at J-Lo and the result was her original version of “I’m Real” except with the word ‘Murder’ thrown in at twenty second intervals. J-Lo continues her streak of being the least desirable person in the video.

I’m gonna give credit where it’s due, here: J-Lo actually doesn’t look repulsive in the video for “Ain’t it Funny”. Let’s not kid ourselves though, the song is a piece of shit and so is her dancing which basically consists of basically tilting her head to one side and then the other.

Worth it? I’m not so sure…

And then came what I can only imagine is the crowning achievement in her portfolio, ‘Jenny from the Block’. Maintaining her break-taking consistancy of suck, she also manages to make a song which features the most self-centered lyrics AND video content ever. I know when she wrote this song (and by wrote I mean contributed the title) she probably got up and double pump high fived whoever was there with her, thinking that people were gonna hear this song and think yeah, she’s just from the block and somehow erase the memory of her being a bitch for the past three years from our minds.

The next hit was ‘All I Have’ with LL Cool J who by this point was well on his downward slide from one of the greatest rappers of his time to mediocre actor and part time rap verse in pop song. I don’t know what I can say the song blows and J-Lo tries to make like she could walk around in the snow with nothing but a waist length jacket on. I have to hope that the only reason LL did this was a vague hope he might get a chance to bone her after wraps.

The final nail in the coffin of an illustrious career was ‘Get Right’. Having realised that she had been the ugliest girl in each of her videos thus far, she tried to remedy this by having herself play all the characters in the video. She was finally the best looking in a video. I just watched this video on youtube and I don’t know what the hell she’s getting all the kudos for her dancing for I’m pretty sure I could do that. That said I am a dynamite dancer.

JENNIFER LOPEZ’ FILMS

J-Lo’s first achievement in her foray into film was ‘Money Train’ where she played the girl whose naked tit Wesley Snipes squeezes fifteen minutes in.

Following this, she earned critical acclaim for her performance as a hispanic actress/singer in Selena, earning rightful praise for this considerable deperated and clear pushing of her creative boundaries. I didn’t see the film and could give a shit what it’s about.

‘U-Turn’ followed in 1997 where she continued the work she had begun in ‘Money Train’, playing the role of girl who gets fucked by Nick Nolte. I guarantee nobody saw this movie in it’s entirity, cracking one out during the sex scene and then either turning it off or falling asleep. If you want a razz at this just google it I’m fairly certain you can find good pictures of the scene no problem. She’d want it that way.

J-Lo was in ‘Out Of Sight’ next, and was as a result of for the first time being in a good movie, was catapulted into the Hollywood A-list of leading ladies. The thing people seemed unable to notice was that the movie was important because Steven Soderbergh was directing, and was beginning to show why he’d be a staple in top five directors working today lists and because ultimate horn dog George Clooney was leading. Her only real achievement in this movie is that she managed to not fuck it up. They could have had a coyote as his love interest and it would have had the same effect.

2001’s ‘Wedding Planner’ followed and began what was a streak of movies I can fairly easily sum up as ‘J-Lo rom-coms’ or ‘Pieces of Shit’. After this was ‘Maid in Manhattan’, ‘Shall We Dance’ and ‘Monster in Law’. I happened to have the privelige of seeing each of them opening weekend since my then girlfriend fucking loved J-Lo and rest assured, they fucking suck.

I would end this section right there on a really really bad note, but that would be to waste an opportunity to pour more shit on to this heap that is already beginning to look like Everest. Yes, 2003 brought the wrath of ‘Gigli‘. Now I can only imagine that if this film had made more than the 30 cents it did that would have been a sure sign of the coming Apocalypse, but fortunately it rang true and tanked horribly, mainly down to J-Lo’s performance as the worst lesbian hit-man ever. The Time actually made this the first movie in history to receive a negative score from them.

JENNIFER LOPEZ’ ACHIEVEMENTS IN THE FIELD OF MARRIAGE

1. Ojani Noa

Lopez met Noa while he worked as a waiter at a Miami restaurant. Trying to keep the relationship in a good light she hired him as manager of her Pasadena restaurant but then when the alien of good will was finally castigated from her body she turned back to bitch over drive and fired him. Noa has since been trying to publish a book which she feels ‘portrays her as a cheater’. We can only hope this happens.

2. Cris Judd

After some relatively serious boning by the Bad Boy Record Label’s principle members and back room staff, she opted for one of her back-up dancers in a move straight from the Britney Spears school of stupid. This gave Judd his fifteen minutes of fame and he has since disappeared into the mediocrity from which he came, acting in such high profile roles as Judge #2 on the Wade whatever his name is dancing competition.

3. (almost) Ben Affleck

When the fog of crazy lifted, Ben Affleck quickly bailed and scored some tail at a local strip joint. Lopez found out from her sister and despite attempts by her no doubt to fix the relationship it crumbled and Affleck happily married a woman with a regular sized posterior and lived happily ever after.

4. Marc Anthony of Castle Greyskull

Talk about step back. Anthony is certainly punching above his weight, with his only previous love interests being former Miss Universe Dayanara Torres and Princess of Power: She-Ra.

And thus concludes the summary of the life of Jennifer Lopez. I know it seems like there’s an unhealthy amount of unwarranted hate there, but I promise if you look online or whatever you can find more than enough instances of Jennifer Lopez being a huge bitch.