Attacks N.J., Democracy, and the Chinese way of life
Vitruvius Truth has made love to many women. At turns graceful and elegant, perverse and nasty, my truly international collection of lays, spanning four continents, has made me a cosmopolitan man of high standards and exquisite taste.
That’s why, when the New Jersey Nets fired Byron Scott, I was nauseated, as though someone had gifted me an edition of Boccaccio’s Decameron in the modern Italian.
That’s why, when the All-Star starters were announced, I felt uneasy, like after paging through Mad Magazine’s vaguely sexual cartoons before I had ever ejaculated, standing under the all-seeing CVS fluorescents on trembling legs. Yes, I got that “funny” feeling all over again, as my initial excitement gave way to confusion, bodily weakness, and an obscure feeling of injustice.
That’s why, when Jim O’Brien resigned from the Boston Celtics, I felt more than a twinge of melancholy. The fact that O’Brien was not only Irish, but looked the spitting image of the Celtics’ leprechaun logo, only made the saturnine humor let flow its bile more freely.
Some say the dual departure is a veritable serpent in the eagle’s left talon; that the East needs to purge itself in order to wake up, happy-fresh and clean from its enema, and compete with the West. Some say we should blow up the moon, because it can only be done once, and we can’t leave this glory to the degenerate future, a future which may never materialize; that we should, no—that we must concentrate all our energies on destroying the moon now! Before the iniquitous Iraqis, the traitorous North Koreans, the plentiful Chinese—or even the Great Sleeping Russian Bear—beat us to it. Though such advice seems divine, upon closer scrutiny it shows itself to be only deceitful folly in rags of wisdom. The true interpretation of the coaching moves follows:
Both moves were symptomatic of the East Coast’s greatest ill: organizations that kowtow to players. Jason Kidd Super Star (and wife beater) fired Byron Scott. Scott took the Nets to the NBA Finals each of the last two years, and the Nets were in first place when he got the axe. This after New Jersey had gone 5.2 lustrums without a Finals appearance. But a couple of pompous malcontents mutinied, and the yellow-bellied organization staved-in to their stars’ demands. Although, in the short term, I expect the Nets to thrive, that kind of craven surrender on the part of the organization is not going to win basketball games in the future.
The same kind of perfidy occurred in Boston. O’Brien wanted to play defensive ball, but the players apparently don’t get paid enough to play defense. GM Danny Ainge wanted to go the way of the world, acquiring athletic, imbecilic players (like Ricky Davis), who have vertical leaps and no idea how to play basketball. Idiots. At this pace, the East won’t compete with the West until the players are twelve-fingered.
As an NBA columnist, I am biologically compelled to discuss the All-Star Rosters this time of year. Yes, as the chrysanthemums blossom in the spring, and the cute, fluffy squirrels bury their little nuts in the autumn, so I complain about the choices of the “fans” and critique their butchered, Mengele-like assemblage, the All-Star starting lineups.
As usual, the same hollow men, who think they’re big shit because they shoot-up villains in video games, who think they’re on a foot with the greatest men in the land because they got V.I.P. special advanced screening tickets to Win a Date with Tad Hamilton, who think that “dress-down Friday” is akin to the privileges of kingship, so utterly fucked up the balloting that there’s little I, the Media, can do to rectify it. Here are the always-reliable masses’ choices, with my comments. Alas.
G Tracy McGrady: Should feel lucky to be a reserve. Learn to pass, McGrady!
G Allen Iverson: Love him, but too many tattoos to be on the team.
C Ben Wallace: The only center in the East. Congratulations, fans!
F Jermaine O’Neal: Deserving enough.
F Vince Carter (leading vote-getter for the 4th straight year): For the fourth straight year shouldn’t be on the team.
G Steve Francis: Shouldn’t be on the team.
G Kobe Bryant: Shouldn’t be on the team.
C Yao Ming: The Chinese are indeed an abundant people. Shouldn’t be on the team.
F Tim Duncan: The best player in basketball. Fans got confused or something, I don’t know.
F Kevin Garnett: Two of five does not justify democracy.
So now that the creative American fans (and Chinese armies) have maddeningly succeeded in voting for the exact same starting lineup as last year, I offer the remedy of sanity.
G Jason Kidd: Unfortunately, Kidd must content himself as a player, not a coach. Best point guard in basketball. Megalomaniac All-Star Supreme.
G Lebron James: Like that asshole, Kidd, he deserves to start.
C Dikembe Mutombo: Better than “The Lame,” Ilgauskas. Is playing really good D.
F Ron Artest: Maybe the East’s MVP.
F Paul Pierce: First he gets stabbed, now this.
X Michael Redd: Wasn’t even on the ballot.
X Baron Davis: Pretty good player.
G A Half-Gary Payton, Half-Bobby Jackson Hybrid: The greatest scoring point guard in history.
G Sam Cassell: Best non-hybrid scoring guard in the game.
C O’Neal: Just smile, wink, and hold out the product, Shaq.
F Peja Stojakovic: Best player who shouldn’t start on this team.
F Brad Miller: Putting him here instead of his listed center.
X Zach Randolf: Plays better stoned than almost anyone.
X Pau Gasol: Swears in Spanish when he dunks.
My apologies to Carmelo Anthony, Andrei Kirilenko, Jason Richardson, and five Dallas Mavericks, who should use their enormous wealth to mass-murder the fans for fucking up my lineups.
Ahh, at last, the seizures have ceased. O blessed sleep, tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep!
By Matt Taibbi
Man, has it been a tough season for Keyshawn Johnson. First he gets deactivated for the year by a team dying for help at wide receiver. Then he tries out as a TV commentator and sucks with unusual fervor, virtually guaranteeing he wouldn’t be invited on as a playoff commentator. Then he drops hints on TV that’s he’s interested in signing with New England, Baltimore or Dallas—and the news doesn’t even make the inside pages of the sports sections in any of those cities.
Then, this past month, things just went from bad to worse. Seems Keyshawn has had a little disagreement with his ex-wife, Shikiri. Specifically, he appears to be upset that she started dating another guy, one John Mahannah. Burgeoning bitterness turned to action on Jan. 9, when Keyshawn, at a family funeral, approached Mahannah and told him, “I’m going to catch you and beat you to a pulp.” Me-Shawn had to be restrained—get this—by other mourners.
After that, Keyshawn continued making phone threats against Mahannah. According to a lawsuit filed by Mahannah on Jan. 14, Johnson made repeated threats, including threats against his life. On one of the messages submitted in a recording offered in the lawsuit, Johnson again repeated, “I’m going to beat you to a pulp.”
As a result of Mahannah’s lawsuit, Johnson must now stay at least 100 yards away (the length of a football field? Coincidence?) from Mahannah and his children until the order can be reviewed by an Oakland judge on Feb. 6.
The lawsuit was filed on the same day that Keyshawn was robbed at gunpoint in Berkeley. Seems Keyshawn became the latest loudmouth wide receiver to have a bad incident with a cell phone. He was on the phone outside a Berkeley barbershop when he was held up. Key gave up his money and his jewelry, but got away unharmed. He might find free agency harder to get through unscathed. Can anyone say, “Arizona Cardinals third receiver Keyshawn Johnson”?
BAD NEWS IN BRONCO-LAND
Quietly, as though it had been pulled by cats, the bad-news bandwagon in Denver has rolled into the limelight. Never mind the team’s on-field struggles; never mind that high picks like Willie Middlebrooks, Ashley Lelie and Deltha O’Neal have turned into staggering busts, while high-caliber free-agent signings have similarly exploded. Never mind that an increasingly steady stream of high-profile players have begun bitching in public about Mike Shanahan (Eddie Kennison, Daryl Gardener). More important is the increasing number of off-field incidents surrounding the team. This year, the Broncs have suffered through “pancake-gate,” the notorious attack on unsuspecting civilians in the parking lot of an IHOP by Gardener, as well as the latest outburst by serial domestic-choker Dwayne Carswell.
Now it looks like the bad news has spread to the most consistent area of the team—the offensive line. The Broncos O-line has always had its share of problems in terms of being fined, with one of the most famous incidents being the $5,000 “slime fine” slapped on Mark “Stink” Schlereth, Gary Zimmerman and Brian Habib in 1997. Center Tom Nalen has been fined repeatedly for chop blocks, and linebacker Brian Cox even once threatened to break Nalen’s leg. But while the Orange O-line has always has a reputation for playing dirty, it has also always been at the top of the league in terms of effectiveness, producing four different 1,000-yard rushers (Terrell Davis, Olandis Gary, Mike Anderson and Clinton Portis) in the last eight years.
Now that may be in jeopardy, as the Broncos inexplicably let star O-line coach Alex Gibbs go to Atlanta. And right on the heels of that decision—widely blasted in Denver—the Broncos watched as one of their key linemen, tackle Matt Lepsis, got busted for a DUI. Lepsis will be going to court on February 23 to face drunken driving charges
LET MY 49ER PEOPLE GO
The San Jose police department released the police report for the Jeff Garcia DUI arrest, and it is one stupendously weird document. The scene described by one “Sgt. Celano” seems almost too surreal to have actually happened.
Synopsis of the scene: on Jan. 14, at 1:50 a.m., Garcia was spotted as he drove unsteadily down E. Fernando St. in San Jose. He was driving a white Lincoln Navigator and he had three passengers: two chicks (Meredith Freeman and Virginia Vilotti; maybe those rumors aren’t true) and a dude, one Eddie Garza. Eventually he was pulled over in a Jack in the Box parking lot. As he did, two male passengers from a car following Garcia jumped out and shouted: “Garcia wasn’t driving! It was the girl!” Meanwhile, police pulled Garcia out of the car and observed the following symptoms: “red watery eyes, dilated pupils, rebounding pupils when exposed to light, the smell of alcohol on his breath.” Said Garcia in response to questioning: “I have a buzz.”
Now here is where it gets weird. In the supplement report filed by Sgt. Celano, he describes arriving on the scene and finding Garcia struggling through the field sobriety test. “Garcia used his arms for balance and was unsteady.” Meanwhile, Celano said, a group of 15-20 people formed in the parking lot and began chanting Garcia’s name. By this time, Garcia had taken his breathalyzer test and scored a very impressive 0.237%, placing him in Ingrida Sabonis territory. He was shoved in a patrol car. Around then, Sgt. Celano began to be concerned about the integrity of the crime scene. We quote verbatim from his report:
The crowd that formed at the drive started to chant, “Let Garcia Go!” At 204 hours, I requested that SJPD to responded [sic] to our location due to the fact that there were only two officers and the crowd had the potential to turn into a riot and may try to lynch Garcia.
Garcia was subsequently taken away to the safety of the police station, where he began a new career as the internet whipping boy of soon-to-be ex-49er Terrell Owens. It was not clear from the report whether Garcia is a constant threat to be lynched in the Bay Area; one would have to assume so from Celano’s report.
I just read your “bad brew” article, which I found via totalfark…whoever wrote that needs to find a job writing for a major publication (Maxim, Stuff, etc.) — that was one of the funniest things I have read in a long time. The “Steel Reserve” portion caused me to spit a mouthful of Red Bull all over my desk because I started laughing with the “Holy Fucking Shitballs” intro…
Thanks for the laugh this morning….
Aaaahh, profanity. Where would we be without it? Hey, wasn’t Red Bull also crappy beer at one point? Whoah.
I was hoping for a bit more technical data in the substandard swill article. Specifically -taste aside- what is the highest alcohol percentage brew at the cheapest price? You may need to perform some kind of mathematical analysis: ounces of alcohol per dollar. Are malt liquors really the highest percentage? Why isn’t this information disclosed on the bottle?
Sober and confused -or- drunk and broke.
‘A bit more technical data?’ Please, we were reviewing the boo, which means we were drinking it, boner! Go get yourself some grain alcohol, you sad bastard.
have you ever been flushed on by local governing bodies in the shower? are you dancing between or washing dishes with less water than a morning dew collection of drops? do you feel the man is out of his friggin mind getting a 20% increase in pay while you sit in a cold basement after work with a bernsomatic torch? stop…take action…complain to someone who cares! ! !
call your water authority! ! !
Have you ever written a letter to someone that made sense? Wait, you’re running out of water? Bernsomatic torch? You’re losing us, man. To your credit, however, the man is definitely out of his frigging mind. Are you the man?
Accept God into your life while you still have time.
Contact a local church or prayerline today.
He is real do not be in Hell when you realize it!
We’re already in hell. The only contact we’ll be making with a local church will be with a bulldozer. Grrr!
MORE WEB FOLLIES
you suck not to have your new issue online, I live in Kentucky, and of course your paper isn’t distributed in my town. I rely on the internet. get your shit together assholes!
Dear Editor’s Girlfriend,
The next time you pretend to be from Kentucky, try taking your name off the e-mail, silly.
Go back to the old look on the website.
The old look was underground and put the emphasis on the writing. This new one is all over the place and distracting.
Dear Buffalo Beast,
I have to say that I do agree that Jessica is a pretty name and I do agree with most things that you have to say altogether. But i must say no there is nothing i can do for you for a subscription other then money, for the simple fact that i can already tell i am to good for you, you are the type of person that giggles at slight cleavage and is excited at a rated r movie you most likely spend you time trying to beat the system and see as much as you can on the fuzzy station (for gods sake just pay for the station)
We can’t afford the station! We just can’t. Maybe we should sell subscriptions or something. You sound hot, because you’re either really young or really dumb.
THE FATTIES DOTH PROTEST TOO MUCH
Hi – While I do agree that the bar patrons of Buffalo Wild Wings are a bit heavy/ugly, I do not agree that the staff is. Take a good look at the workers they are all very cute, if not gorgeous. The servers especially….
So i never heard of your paper. But I just read an article. I haven’t been in BW3′s in a long time… but after reading your review why would I want to go? I’m led to believe its full of ugly/heavy people. Actually, i’m expecting it to be full of them! A good journalist would never dream of making a comment like that unless it were true, right?, because then it would be bordering on slander.
I guess its not a big suprise I never heard of your paper. You publish tasteless garbage. What a joke, you couldnt find anything else wrong with the place so you had to start talking about the people!
Truth is, the trash you passed off as reporting hurt a friend of mine. And like any good friend would do… they would go right after your precious advertisers.
aaaaaaaaw……was it skiiibunniii? Seriously, there’s no way you could interpret our review as slander. The correct term is libel.
You should just stay out of Buffalo Wild Wings b/c we don’t need internet geeks
with no cajones to say something to someone’s face.
Just tell your boyfriend that New York is gay friendly but the Mighty Buffalo
can’t stand your stench.
Yo Momma’s Baby’s Daddy
You guys must be really fat and ugly to get so upset over this. Look, we can be friends, no problem, just take out an ad…fat-ass.
LEFT COAST MILQUETOAST
Glad we are living on a major fault line, what the fuck? I do not know about the rest of the state, but I live in the only island of normality in the whole west coast, the East Bay. Western New York State does not sound very different, what with the decaying infrastructure, the comically inept politicians and the white flight to the less terminally fucked suburbs. Matter of fact, here is a fun trivia question. What major California city lead the state in murder and violent crime, is also a major drug smuggling hub and has been without a police narcotics division for almost two years? Ding, ding, ding…. Oakland it is! For all its problems, the East Bay does have it charm and is infinitely superior to that glory hog of a city, San Francisco (motto: Birthplace of the Whiny Metrosexual). Ever see that Verizon commercial with that irritating and balding pervert in Drew Carrey glasses? Well, then you never have to go to SF because you pretty much know what everyone who lives there is like. I would love to have a friendly argument over which is superior, Western New York or the East Bay, but I really have never been to Buffalo so I would not know if you where feeding me a line of shit. Until then have some respect for the state that contains the city that is the birthplace of the Black Panthers and the home of the greatest football franchise ever.
Face it, Max, the only reason you live in Oakland is because you could never possibly afford to live in SF. We’re not the ones who elected Arnie, not to mention Reagan. We’ll start respecting you when Northern Cali finally secedes and forms its own state. Oakland is hardcore, sure, but you’d all shrivel up and die if you got one day’s worth of Buffalo snow. The Raiders do have way cooler uniforms, though, we’ll give you that.
Re Most Vile: A tough job to be certain, deciding who should and who should not be on the Most Vile List, but you’ll have to excuse me for bringing to your attention one GLARING absence. Ashton Kutcher??? This fuckwit was born for the list. True, the list maintains many individuals with high-ranking positions and the ability to fuck us over everyday by pusing this or that agenda -an ability that he dosn’t possess. But pound for pound nobody can annoy like Kutcher, and,worst of all, you can’t get away fromt he prick! He’s on every channel all the time! his resume speaks for itself.
That having been said, much respect for the Beast. Shine on.
We considered Ashton for the list, but then he never would have agreed to do the interview in our last issue. Plus, he’s got, like, the best stuff, dude.
“Desert Storm da video game!” (read like “Yogurt” from Spaceballs)
I don’t know if you’s know about this, but there’s a fucking Desert Storm video game. Can you believe that shit? Talk about irony. (Y’know, considering the weapons programs, news footage, etc) It’s called like “Desert Storm II: Back to Baghdad” or something like that. I don’t know what offends me more: the fact that some company has decided the events disgracing America in the internat’l community and the demise of civillians from Iraq and soldiers from the US is trivial enough to be made into a video game, or that they just didn’t put enough imagination into the game. I mean, hell-oooo?! No “Bionic Commando invades Baghdad”, or “Contra: The Baghdad Years”? Or remember that game “Jackal”, with the two jeeps for original NES? You could have those dudes blasting away insurgents and innocent citizens left and right! “Improvised Explosive Device” my ass! Send fuckin Double Dragon in there. Or, here’s my favorite: The dust from the Depleted Uranium munitions turns US and Iraqi’s over there into zombies, and you can have a Resident Evil: Baghdad. Whatever, the game makers over seas are sitting on a goldmine and they don’t even know it. I tried. And where is Jailbait Jenny? Everyone wants to know.
Jenny’s been here the whole time; she just doesn’t like to speak when her mouth is full.
MONSTER OF METAL
RE: DU Weapons
I find this article to be inaccurate and offensive. First of all, the pentagon does NOT spend “almost the entire federal budget.” It is certainly not more than 30%, and most likely a lot less. Secondly, we don’t use DP to poison people. (There are a lot more effective ways to poison people if we wanted to, which we don’t.) Rather, we use DP because it is highly effective in penetrating armor. It is INTENDED to kill whatever it is aimed at. Without it, we need to use a lot more explosive, which has implications of lesser payload, lesser effectiveness, and therefore our soldiers more at risk. We have not irradiated cities (as alleged elsewhere), but have used these weapons on armored vehicles (mostly in the desert) or bunkers. The bunker buster cited does NOT contain “an explosive uranium charge that weighs 1.7 tons” as alleged in this article. Uranium doesn’t explode unless detonated in a (very) controlled manner in a nuclear explosion. What the GBU-28 has is 630 lbs of high explosive. (0.3 tons.) The depleted uranium itself does not explode, it is there to add mass and density allowing it to penetrate 20 feet of concrete or 100 feet of dirt. Without it, we have no way of penetrating hardened bunkers other than using actual NUCLEAR weapons, which would have a catastrophic effect for everyone, not just those in the bunker itself. I suppose we could just leave the bunkers alone and allow the people hiding there to continue to command and control enemies who would hurt our troops or kill our civilians in our homeland. I prefer to kill those in the bunkers myself. As for the dangers of dirty bombs, they are primarily psychological weapons. The only people seriously at risk are those close enough to be injured by the blast itself. As for the high levels of radiation at four sites in Baghdad, there is no causality demonstrated in this article. There are a number of possibilities. Leftover material from Sadam’s weapons research, material looted from hospitals, etc. If the author were to say that there is high level of radiation next to this bunker that we destroyed, then that is causality, but merely linking radiation to DU in an effort to say we are deliberately trying to irradiate cities is ridiculous. (“Did you know bananas are dangerous for your health? My grandfather ate bananas and he’s dead! His father ate bananas too and HE’s dead. Bananas are dangerous!”) So, are DP munitions inherently dangerous? Yes. They are intended to be, just as other weapons and many other useful things such as gasoline and automobiles. The benefits in this case of being able to destroy enemy armor and bunkers outweigh the collateral risks posed by DP residue. Tell locals not to let their kids play on destroyed tanks. The collateral damage of using DU is a lot less than the up-front damage would be if we didn’t use it. Personally, I’d rather take a chance at getting cancer down the road to being killed outright today. Finally, the Pentagon does not go to war so they can test their new toys. They test their weapons first. The needs of war (killing enemy soldiers at the least risk to ourselves or civilians) drives weapons development. Weapons development does not drive war. This is an insult to our troops and a callous disregard of the lives and welfare of our people. If people are unhappy with the effects of war, they should focus their energy on preventing war, not on harming our troops by limiting their abilities on the battlefield.
Okay, “almost the entire federal budget” is a bit of an exaggeration, but not much. I never said we were deliberately irradiating cities, just that we are irradiating cities. Your moral relativism is revolting, Cox. “Tell locals not to let their kids play on destroyed tanks?” I can just hear your sinister snigger as you type a callously hateful line like that. “Weapons development does not drive war?” Puh-leese. “I’d rather take a chance at getting cancer down the road to being killed outright today?” Frankly, I’m not so sure, in your case.
OOOOOOOOOOOOH…………[on the phone:]
Hey Beast Guys this is the Alt Press. Uh, reference your pot uh ad, just wanted you to know that everyone that’s been calling we’ve been telling them they’re calling a police sting sponsored by the Buffalo Beast and gave them your number. Bye.
Wow. That’s gotta be the lamest retort ever. Why would a police sting tell the callers what it is? You guys need to work on this ‘funny’ thing you’ve been trying out. Whatever; we were just expressing our affection for you guys. You never call anymore, Alt Press. Is there another publication in your life? It’s OK; we can handle it. Just tell us it’s not. Artefakt, please.
Name: Janet Jackson’s Right Breast
Turn-ons: Saline bags, fresh air, media circuses, football, JJ from “Good Times” (he’s still got it!)
Turn-offs: Confining military-style outfits, nature, Paula Abdul, hungry babies, Moveon.org
How I became The BEAST Page 3 Surgically Enhanced Right Breast: Well, it’s kind of silly, really. Janet was rehearsing her big halftime number with Justin Timberlake, and he kept talking about how they should do something to top Britney’s smooch with Madonna. Janet has a basic resentment of “white bitches who sell more records than [her] cause they’re white,” so she went for it. MTV loved it, too. I guess we didn’t plan on everyone freaking out, though—it’s a different crowd than the Video Music Awards, I guess. Now they’re all denying that it was planned, which is about as believable as the Warren commission. C’mon, why was I adorned with that crazy pasty? How come it happened just at the line “bet I’ll have you naked by the end of this song?” Why would Janet be wearing a tear-away bra? What other “shocking moments” could MTV have been referring to in its statement prior to the show? Why did Justin say, “Hey man, we love giving you all something to talk about,” right afterwards? We wanted the hype, and we got it. Why not fess up? Either way, Janet’s next album is gonna sell like heroin, no matter how crappy it is.
Future Plans: I imagine that I and my counterpart will be wrapped up tight for a while, while the backlash dies down, but our popularity will no doubt rise in the wake of this global peepshow. We’re also thinking of having hydraulics installed.
How I want to be remembered: As the most important thing in the world; way more engaging than all of that political election war stuff; even more important than football and high-priced commercials. Also as proof that any girl can be a sex symbol, as long as she doesn’t mind undergoing a Frankenstein-like surgical transformation, and having a clownish smile carved into her face.
by Michael Gildea
The Butterfly Effect
Fucking Ashton Kutcher. He’s got a big part on a reasonably funny show, he’s dated/fucked a famous skank, and then dated the Queen Skank. Hell, he’s even got an unfunny MTV show that the most brain-dead of dingleberries find, for some indefinable reason, amusing. But now the little pretty-boy prick’s got to take over the world, and diversify his talents by actually acting. If the little shitweasel’s secret weapon is his acting ability, our beloved mud-ball can sleep well. You can grasp the concept of The Butterfly Effect by watching the old “Simpson’s Treehouse of Horror,” in which Homer steps on a bug after creating a time machine out of a toaster. Grandpa even warns him not to step on a bug, because the future would forever be altered. If America’s favorite oaf is dumb enough to not heed some old-time advice, what makes you think that Demi Moore’s old ego boost is going to figure it out? This gives us a psychological thriller that relies entirely too much on special effects, and leaves little to the easily baited viewer’s imagination. You won’t have to think too much. So, to ruin this piece of shit for every teenybopper in the theater who thinks Ashton is so dreamy, I stood up and howled “YYYESSSSSSS!” in that true Kelso style whenever the audience seemed especially unnerved by the child molestation themes, or whenever Ethan Suplee (Willem from Mallrats) showed up as the girthy goth kid. The ushers tried to kick me out, and I faked spasms and overacted when I sobbed, “W-w-what-t-t-t-t’s hhhhhhappppppennnning to m-m-m-m-me?” They shut me up with free nacho bites and extra liquid cheese. I definitely gave the best acting performance in the theater that day…
Win a Date with Tad Hamilton
A big-time movie star (Josh Duhamel) has a contest to (you guessed it) win a date as a publicity stunt after he winds up on the front page of a tabloid. What Mr. Hot Shit doesn’t count on is that he falls in love with the so-sweet-her-smile-could-send-you-into-sugar-shock hometown girl (Kate Bosworth), while one of her best friends (Topher Grace) secretly pines for her. Will Miss Sweetcakes pick the safe bet or be whisked away to Hollywood for a life of red carpets and regular pictorials in US magazine? How the fuck should I know? Do you actually think I pissed away an hour and a half of my life to sit through this shit? Do you think I’m that much of a movie fanatic that I’d go and see every little piece of fluff that finds its way to a gigantic screen? You want the truth? YOU WANT THE DAMN TRUTH? I cried, all right? I cried myself to sleep, and I woke up to an usher jabbing me in the ribs with a broom, thinking me a homeless person. He called me crazy, I called him cold, and he called the cops. Then I called BEAST publisher Paul Fallon to come and bail me out of jail. Guerrilla journalism brought to you as only THE BEAST can…
The Big Bounce
The best thing about nabbing one of those free sneak passes from any given shop on Elmwood is that you can’t lose, or so I always thought. I haven’t been to one of these previews in a while, and when I stepped into the flourescently-lit theater, I forgot that the lowest common denominator of the movie-going public always shows up to these things. And they always smell like Hickory Farms gift-boxes of meat. Plus, they always run into some other Cosby sweater-clad shitgoose they know and yell across the theater about what movies they’ve recently seen (“BIG FISH WAS GOOD! DIFFERENT, BUT GOOD!”). To spite the masses, I took it upon myself to win every promotional item that 97 Rock was offering that night, much to the dismay of the fat bastard a few rows back who pointed this out to the rest of the theater’s occupants, who wanted my blood when there wasn’t one more Big Bounce t-shirt up for grabs. As for the movie, it just kind of plopped. I normally get excited as a fruit fly at Marcella’s whenever an Elmore Leonard novel finds its way onto the big screen, but The Big Bounce was not Out of Sight, Jackie Brown, or Get Shorty. It had a few fun moments, and Owen Wilson did a great job of playing the same character he usually plays. The twists were even more anticlimactic than the third Matrix movie. Aside from my usual screw-over on the film-going public, there was a great scene with Willie Nelson and Harry Dean Stanton, and the preview for Starsky and Hutch was hilarious.
The Perfect Score
A bunch of high-schoolers, worried about their futures, decide to steal the answers to the SAT tests. Which is pretty damn convenient, seeing how they all live in the town that serves as home base to the SATs. The Perfect Score comes off like a cross between The Breakfast Club and the remake of Ocean’s 11, except it’s nowhere near as good as either of them. It’s directed by Brian Robbins, who you may remember as the Fonzie wannabe on that shitty ‘80s show “Head of the Class.” He also directed such classics as Hardball, Good Burger, and Varsity Blues; movies that are the equivalent to throwing a fight, as far as career moves are concerned. Rumor has it that Scarlett Johansson (this month’s up and coming It girl, star of Lost in Translation and Girl with a Pearl Earring) skipped the wrap party, and cried herself to sleep after finishing the filming on this one. And to anyone who may be sweating the SATs: I never took my SATs in high school and look where I ended up! The world is your oyster…
You Got Served
This movie epitomizes one of the many reasons why I hate this time of year. All the good movies have come out, and now there’s nothing left. It’s like working retail as your only source of income. Right up through New Year’s, you’re getting around forty hours a week, but a week after Christmas you’re getting eight hours, and syphilis, because you have to suck dick for gas money. It’s a nasty, nasty cycle, and I thank God every day for DVD players. As for You Got Served, it’s about respect and money, crews breakdancing and dancing otherwise, competition and territoriality, not backing down from a motherfucker and keeping your rep, backstabbing and getting shit done. But Jesus thought about them, because he thought about all things. If all he said and did was written, there would be no volume large enough to contain the detail. So they ponder in dialect. And the dawn creeps up on them, reminding them to go to sleep for a few hours. Hopefully, the feeling they had upon shutting their eyes is the feeling that will persist until nine. For it is then that their youthful ideals will be put to the test. When they come up against the commercial world and the awakening activity of everyday life. That’s the kind of shit that happens when you watch this movie. Your mind wanders under every stone and into every crevasse. You know all and mystery no longer exists to you. And word has it that the sequel, Electric Boogaloo, will hit theaters early next year.
Back in the beginning of 1998, I went to see a movie called Mighty Joe Young, at what was at the time the $1.50 movies. I went to see it for three reasons. 1) It was 7:30 and the bars didn’t get hopping until around 11, 2) I love giant computer animated gorillas, 3) Charlize Theron was in it. I went to see Monster for one of those reasons, being the third. With her role in Mighty Joe Young, Theron just had to look good, and be nice to an imaginary character. But in Monster, she’s required to do the opposite, and I think she did great on both counts. If you’re looking for the typical Charlize Theron role where, if nothing else, she’ll be hot, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Theron gained thirty pounds, and sported buckteeth, creepy black contact lenses, and a hideous she-mullet to play Aileen Wournos, America’s first female serial killer. Wournos killed seven men before she was convicted and executed in 2002. While Monster is not Charlize’s most glamorous role, it is definitely her best, and also her best performance. Every single thing she does in this movie proves her capabilities given the right role. The downside is that performances this great usually come from movies that are depressing as all hell. Watching the abuse and pain that Wournos went through just makes you feel profoundly sad and sorry for the woman. Normally, I’d be all over a lesbian scene between Charlize Theron and Christina Ricci, but in this case, I was too depressed and disgusted to appreciate it. While Monster is not exactly the feel good movie of the year, it’s definitely the most heartbreaking, and definitely one of the best.
Aries(March 21-April 19)
Poor Aries, you’ve had a bad run of luck in the dating department lately and it has you a bit depressed. Well, at least it’s not as depressed as the poor bastard sitting across from you at the restaurant. Christ, even the waiter wanted to kill himself and him interaction with you was minimal. Having a conversation with you is like trying to escape a black hole, no matter how hard you try it just keeps sucking. I’ve seen coma patients with more charisma than you. Do us all a favor Aries and become a shut in.
Taurus (April 20-May 20)
Taurus, you’re the kind of person than makes the earth a shitty place to live. The amount of bullshit produced by you in one day could fill the Grand Canyon twice. The only positive thing about your existence is that you will in fact die some day (preferably whilst on fire). If you look up “scum” in the dictionary it says; “Scum n. impurities which rise to the surface of liquid and collect on it,” what it should say is “Taurus.”
Gemini (May 21 –June 20)
A small word of advice Gemini, the next time you decide that you need to move over four lanes of traffic quickly try using a fucking turn signal. Doing that may help to avoid the seven car pile up that you were apparently oblivious of. I’m glad you got to Happy Hour on time. In fact I would join you but it seems a good portion of my lower torso became part of the steering column in my car shortly after some asshole cut me off. Gemini, you’re a self-centered asshole.
Cancer (June 21-July 22)
Sensitive little cancer, I know you are upset at the way that girl at last Saturday’s party rudely shunned your advances, but you did have vomit on your shirt as well as the hand you were using to touch her hair. She may have hurt your feelings but you didn’t have much going on in the self-esteem department to begin with. Look to Venus for consul and try not to drink a quart of grain alcohol before courting a lady. Unless of course that lady happens to be Elizabeth Taylor.
Leo (July 23-Aug. 22)
I told you six weeks ago to have that thing looked at and now look at it. For gods sake you left a wet spot on the couch when you sat down. Picking at it did no good either considering can see it through clothing. Leo, look to Saturn for some antibiotics and several months of skin grafts. Now please leave and don’t worry about the couch, I’m going have it burned.
Virgo (Aug 23-Sept 22)
Virgo, just because you think riding a bike instead of driving a gas guzzling car is the right thing to do doesn’t mean that I want to drive six miles an hour down a main road. That shit might have gotten you laid back in 1963 but today it’s going to get your hippie ass run over. Look to Jupiter for your answers and take the goddamned bus.
Libra (Sept 23 –Oct 22)
Libra, still having trouble figuring out what could have gone wrong at your recent job interview? Well, for starters the majority of job candidates do not wear sweatpants (let alone ripped ones) to their interview and there is the mater of excusing yourself to take a “dump” halfway through the meeting. Think about that before slapping your wife around for “holding you back.” Losers aren’t made, they’re born, and you Libra are a thoroughbred.
Scorpio (Oct 23-Nov 21)
So you got caught masturbating at work and your boss has it on the security tape, worse things have happened. The fact that he made you watch the tape before saying, “I guess I don’t have to tell you that you’re fired,” was a bit painful. Actually the worst part was that you were using the children’s section of the Sears catalog for jerk off material. Yes, I’d have to say that your days in the Big Brother organization are over. Now do us all a favor and jump off a bridge.
Sagittarius (Nov 22 – Dec 21)
Please stop calling her Sagittarius; if she wanted to talk to you she would have called back after the thirty-fifth call you made. The fact that you have been driving down her street slowly several times a night is not one of your shining points. Mars called to you Sagittarius and is telling you to leave that poor woman be. There are plenty of lonely women down at the Tim Horton’s for you to pick up.
Capricorn (Dec 22 – Jan 19)
Capricorn, look to Neptune this month because I don’t have to much for you this time around and you’re just going to have to accept it. Basically, life has diarrhea and is going to use you for toilet paper. I’m sorry but that’s the way the cookie crumbles. Now stop that crying and go drink some bourbon, because bourbon is your friend and we all need friends. Just deal with it Capricorn and have a shot for me.
Aquarius (Jan 20-Feb 18)
Little Aquarius, you desperately want to know the key to happiness and I just want to tell you and I am here to tell you that so does everyone else. If happiness and truth could be found in a damned horoscope then we would have a ticker-tape parade down Main Street USA and I’d be in charge of confetti. Either quit your bitching and accept that life is not perfect or just start main lining heroin into your veins. The choice as always is up to you Aquarius.
Pisces (Feb 19-March 20)
If you want the attention of the girl across the street there are better ways than to press your genitals up against your living room window every time she is waiting to pick up her little brother from the school bus. The truth is that most people buy cards or some flowers rather than leave disgusting smears on the window glass. Please Pisces, stop that before someone calls the police again and you have to lie about the smell coming from the basement. Look to Saturn Pisces and put some pants on.
This issue’s BEAST Real Evil Interoffice Document comes to us from Ken Lay, former Chairman and CEO of the Enron Corporation. Lay, who George Bush calls “Kenny-boy,” has been buds with the Commander-in-Chief for some time now, as is shown by this thank you letter he sent Bush back when he was Governor of Texas. A polite message of gratitude is warranted, after all, when someone perverts the nature, and subverts the mission, of government for your personal ends. Also, a few hefty campaign contributions can’t hurt.