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Wednesday, January 5, 2011

What The Fuck Is Watching Horace?

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WHEW!

I'm fucking tapped out, finally. It's five o'clock in the fucking morning and I am so fucking SICK AND TIRED of watching LOST! How in the fuck is this the number one show on CBS? Who watched this shit? I can't care for anyone on this show. The love affair between the doc and the criminal chick went nowhere. The black guy is still trying to raise his son. The cripple guy is still walking. The Asians can't speak English (well, we find out that that's a lie), and the SMOKE MONSTER has left on vacation. I love that fucking smoke monster.

That's what the whole show should be about. It shouldn't be called LOST, it should be called SMOKE MONSTER, and the hard time it has killing all of these useless people that have crashed on it's island. The cool thing is that it would be a better plot. It would be about Smoke Monster trying to raise his two teen children MIST and FOG Monsters, along with his wife BLOW Monster (Oh you saw that one coming...I know you did).

I'm just tapped out. I've emptied my sick brain of everything that I've ever wanted to say. I mean, I've been writing this blog for what, six years? Six years, and I think I've said it all. I think I have nothing more to say to my readers. I'm sitting here in the early morning hours, waiting for the sun to rise so that I can look outside my window and see how much snow has accumulated on top of my fucking air conditioner, which had broke down on me earlier. I swear to god, I didn't know just how hot it can get in this room without that mother fucker on. I gave up on it and started to sweat in this room until it suddenly popped back on and cooled down the joint. Then I screwed in the second curly light in my room, and DAMN it lit the gawddamn room up like Heaven.

What the fuck? Who needs that much light? People afraid of vampires or something. I turn off my light again. When that shit cools down, I'm screwing the light back out. That's just too much artificial light. I sweep my floor, and carry my garbage out to the elevator wearing my long tee and no shoes. Walking back I see a door open at the end of the hall of one of Paula's friends. Emerging from the room is a monster from Jamaica. He looked like a Rastafarian Frankenstein. You know, with the tall Cat in the Hat...hat. He had to duck to get through the threshold of the door, and he walked towards me to the bathroom. I fucking froze.

What fucking mutant shop did this monstrosity come from? He strolls towards me, now somewhat angry at my stare, and then enters the bathroom. A force of nature turning aside from such a petty creature as myself. I dart into my room and close the door. What the fuck was that?! That shit was scarier than the fucking smoke monster. I think I'll stay in for the rest of the night. I go out at four and five in the morning to do shit just so that I lower the chance of running into anyone. That works for me.

So what was I saying? Oh, I'm tapped out because I've said it all. I have nothing in my head... well, that's not altogether true. I can't see how a show like LOST can make it into television. What the fuck is going on with that shit? How in the fuck? Who the fuck? I can write better shit than this swill. Well, some of the episodes are not that bad. But it's no BURN NOTICE.

They have all of these chicks on a deserted beach, so how is there NO ONE out there in a bikini every episode? I mean every fourth or fifth episode, but that's it. I mean, if you have a weak plot, it's only customary for you to have tits and ass to compensate. Everybody in the Holy-woods know that some partially clothed woman or women will boost ratings sky high! Sorry ladies, it's not the same for partially clothed men. Women are too complicated as to what catches their attention (ie: shoes, hats, lipstick, hair style, and coloring, or even beach sand).

The problem with LOST is that the writers take themselves too seriously. I want to smack them around a little and let them know that they have to leave the formulaic plots behind. Unless you're like my favorite show, BURN NOTICE. Fiona is a cute woman. Not a hottie, but cute in a tiny way. I would like to see more racier shit like her on television and cable. But hey, you get what you get. Fiona knows she's a ratings device, but she has a real purpose in the show too. MEN LOVE WOMEN WITH GUNS! End of story. If I have to explain it to you, you're not a man. And I'm talking to you Bitch Dudes out there, not the ladies.

That's why I want to push my screenplay. Do you remember that little Bitch Dude, My Little Dumb Fuck,  that wrote to that woman writer in my previous post of December 10th 2010, The Gaping Asshole Has Spoken? Well, I bought his dumb assed book. First, I borrowed it from the library and I liked it as I read it. He didn't sound much like the asshole that he did in the article, so I caved in and bought the book. But to save money, I bought it at Amazon's cheap barrel sales for $7.00 used. That works for me. I don't want to support assholes anyway. I'm sick of em.

He makes a sickening point to me. Studio financing of television shows. Television licenses show to the Networks for distribution AT A LOSS. It costs a television studio about 2.5 Million per episode, but they sell them to the Networks at 1.8 million per episode. So those of you that can count, Studios LOSE  .7 million an episode. Can you imagine that shit? So every time they run LOST, the studio who pays to make it loses money. How do they make money then? If the show is a hit. Since studios keep the rights to their shows by licensing them out instead of selling them, they can turn around and resell them to other network distributors as reruns. They can keep selling it over and over again to the tune of over 1 billion dollars just on re-runs alone.

Can you dance to that tune? Even with so many shows dropping like fruit flies, not even making it past three or four shows before being canceled, studios don't give a shit. They still make so much money from successful shows that they can crank out shit shows damn near forever and make money. Crazy right? Then you can imagine the amount of money the studio (Bad Robot) stands to make from that fucking show LOST! More money than god. Which pisses me off, which I say I'm not talking about it any more.

So, like I said, my ass is tapped out talking about television and screen- plays. Skinny assed women giving fellatio, and sex with more than one person. I'm tired of writing about Skeks and Paula, and the Crows outside my door. I'm sick of talking about mental illness and OCD. Now I want to write about important things. Things that are relevant to us all in a very short period of time. We have the world democracy crumbling under the weight of the world economic climate. Word is that we're going to have one monetary currency all over the world soon. That should help in International trade and kick some ass in the world stock markets. When the American Dollar and the Euro meet, there will be a clash of the nations.

Is this relevant to us though? I mean how many of us deal in the financial markets? Not many. So what is of ultimate relevance to us all? What makes everything pale as the center of world atten- tion? My screenplay of course. Yeah. I've got to get my relevant screenplay to the masses so that I can get the fuck out of homelessness and PAY FOR PSYCHOTHERAPY for a change. Some of the best psychotherapists. I mean, the ones that come to your house so that you can be a recluse and shut out the world.

Then I can watch and critique shows, and movies, and write others for the rest of my life...oh and learn water skiing. I have to tell you about the first time I tried that shit one day. I almost killed myself. But going on, so let me go into some shows I saw last night and you'll see how I critique shows now...which is also of major relevance to all of us. The movie was called VALHALLA RISING, and I have to say, as a guy flick, it was probably the best shot film I've ever seen. Unfortunately for the ladies, you'll really, really, really hate this movie. You don't have silly assed beefcake like you did in 300, you have skinny, scrawny men in mud up to their eyeballs before the dawn of much civilization. And women are only seen ONCE in the entire movie, about a dozen of them, naked, beaten and cowering in the mud. Very realistic of history at that time sorry to tell you.

But you have some of the most grittiest fight scenes you will ever see in your life. I mean, this mud fighting slave called One Eye (I betcha can't guess why) cleans up the floor with mother fuckers. He is covered with so many scars and tatoos that he looks like he should have died years ago, and he doesn't say one fucking word in the entire movie. Another plus. He speaks through a ten year old boy that has NO FUCKING CLUE what this guy is thinking or wants. He guesses his way and One Eye seems to follow it. Their relationship is so fucked up that you can't help but be mesmerized by this killing machine. Will he kill this little punk kid for saying the wrong thing this go round? You can see the utter fear on this child's face every time someone asks him what is One Eye saying or thinking.

Secondly, One Eye kills people so fast and brutally that you need a stopwatch and a surgical mask to deal with it. I mean, he kills three guys in what looked to me like one efficient economy of motion. And these poor guys DIE. I'm not talking about getting wounded, I'm talking about either dying immediately, or seconds later. One Eye is such the murdering son of a bitch that they call him the spawn of Satan, and that's the crux of the film. Is One Eye REALLY from HELL? Sometimes you begin to think that shit too.

With all of this ultra-violence going for it, you'd think I'd love this movie, right? WRONG! I couldn't stand it after awhile. Because, unfortunately, One Eye wins his freedom by killing his masters, and freeing himself and the little boy. Then he runs into an army of Christians heading to Jerusalem to free it from the hands of the heathens. After gaining their respect, they beg One Eye to join them, but the boy warns that One Eye comes from straight out of Hell, meaning a slave to brutal war masters who used him in slave fights for money. Of course the Christians take him literally.

After really not knowing where the fuck they are going, the Priest, the head soldier, gets the entire army lost and they end up in...guess. AMERICA. Yeah, with the fucking Indians who don't like their asses. Now, you stop the movie, go get your popcorn and beer, because it's going to get good now right? WRONG! It gets all trippy and drug addled as there is montage after slow motion montage of some of the most stupidest shit that goes on for hours and hours and then the conclusion. That's it. The Christians and One Eye go on an acid trip trying to understand God, and end up at the end of the movie. I won't tell you the climax, but you won't like it.

What the fuck happened? Did the director NOT want this movie to be conventional? Then why make such a unique storyline and characters. You do that shit when you make up a plot-line like, let's say....LOST. Then you throw in all kinds of monkey wrenches because people are EXPECTING the obvious conclusions that they normally would see. You don't have a fighting machine like One Eye go all Jimmi Hendrix on you! It just doesn't make any fucking sense. I wanted to slap the director around for this shit.

Don't go see this movie. I warned you. You'll get so caught up in it, that it'll literally take you the fuck away, and then drop you as far and as flat as a shit out of a giraffe's ass. What the fuck? I don't want to talk about it any more, because I have nothing to say. That's what I'm trying to tell everyone. I have nothing more to say about anything. I'm through. This fucking blog is through. Hobobob is through!

Except for just one more thing. I saw the movie PRECIOUS right after VALHALLA RISING, and this IS a chick movie, but guys, you'll like it too. I promise you. It is the most emotionally draining movie you'll ever watch. I mean if I tell you about HALF this shit you'll start crying, throwing knuckle sandwiches around and cursing your asses off better than sailors in Hell. I swear to god, I was on hands and knees begging the main character to get anything, even a child's pacifier as a weapon, and deal out some One Eye vengeance on mother fuckers. Then I wanted the mother fuckers to deal out vengeance on mother fuckers. Finally I couldn't figure out who was the fucking enemy so I went into the kitchen and got a heavy meat tenderizer and tried to take out vengeance on MY OWN mother fucking ass.

And I have to tell you, Mariah Carey may be a singer, but she deifinately has a career as an actress. AND Mo'nique DESERVED the academy award for best supporting actress in that movie from scene ONE. I was floored at that bitch. She may be funny as Hell in Queen's of Comedy, but she is OUTRAGEOUS in Precious. She was so real that I got scared of that bitch! What a great movie. I don't know about the end of the movie because it just ended. But honestly, I don't know how you would end a movie like this. I think that's the only way that you can, because in a movie like this, you can't resolve SHIT. Violence won't do it. Forgiveness won't do it. Justice won't even do it. The only thing you can do is stop it and tell everyone to go the fuck on home.

But damn it was a good movie. I wished VALHALLA RISING even ended like that, it would have been an awesome flick. But no. Sorry. Suffer. So that's my movie reviews for this day. You know, for someone with nothing to say, I sure said a lot didn't I? Well I told you that I try my best not to talk so much on this fucking blog. But I can't help it. Now I'm going to blog to you again about my day yesterday. You won't believe it. Hobobob versus the largest snowstorm to hit New York City in a decade.

And then after that, I'll have no more to say...ever again.

Hobobob

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