Honestly I’m surprised with myself a bit here. Surprised and pissed. Why the h e double hockey stix did it take me this long to put Lake up in the underrated hottie category?? I dare you to crack open a dictionary and not find those magnificent tots under the definition of underrated. Flying under the radar like that Army drone that got shot down in Iran. Only instead of getting shot down flying through Iran, Lake’s photo shoot is actually sending a lot of loads flying in Iran. Where can I get more of this babe, you ask? Well she’s been in a bunch of movies I haven’t seen (What Happens In Vegas, Pride and Glory, A Good Old Fashioned Orgy, Burning Palms, etc.) and a couple TV shows I have seen (How To Make It In America, Children’s Hospital).
Not necessarily the best resume, but let’s face it, who gives a shit. I became a Lake Bell fan during her short run on How To Make It In America. Show on HBO about some dudes who want to make it in the fashion world so they design lame jeans and their lives suck ass. Meanwhile Kid Cudi is in it and I think he owns some kind of dog and Lake Bell is struggling at “making it in America too”. Not exactly premium entertainment but Sonion Rings watched it so I did too. Then out of nowhere boom, Lake goes topless in one scene. My instantaneous roper could’ve single handedly drowned a family of mice. Check the NFSW link if you wish (DO IT). Pretty much made me believe in Santa again. Too bad the show got cancelled before we were blessed with another nudie scene. BUT, what’s that ancient saying? “Once you whip tit out on camera chances are you do it again”. I bet we’ll see more of Lake’s bells before it’s all said and done.
Here’s Ms. Bell telling a joke or something:
Didn’t hear one word.
Anyways, I get that she’s “underrated” because there’s a bit of a toad face thing going on. But if I’m keeping it 100% I kinda dig her face and who am I kidding her face could look like Raymundo from Rocket Power and it wouldn’t change the battle of the bulge happening in my Fruit of the Looms right now.
Two weeks later, I’m back. T’was not in vain, America. I was busy blowing money on IMAX tickets. WORK-RELATED IMAX tickets, so I hope that’s a tax write-off kind of thing. With The Dark Knight Rises,equal measures of proper research and weighted contextualization were required for such a highly anticipated film, so your utmost recognition of the thoroughness in my work ethic is sincerely appreciated. *farts*
It”s been eight years since Batman took the blame for the actions of Harvey Dent. Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) has been reduced to a pathetic recluse, refusing to move past the death of Rachel Dawes and probably taking full advantage of the newly-rebuilt Wayne Manor and its bitchin porn library. Of course Alfred (Michael Caine) and Wayne Enterprises Chair Lucius Fox have been plenty busy trying to get Bruce to whip out the ‘ole tumbler again, so it’s little surprise when the alluring Selina Kyle (Anne Hathaway) causes Wayne to finally come out of seclusion. Unfortunately, the masked criminal mastermind Bane (Tom Hardy) has some pretty nasty plans to turn Gotham into the next Oakland, which is way inconvenient since Bruce was just getting his groove back. Enlisting the help of beat cop John Blake (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), Commissioner Gordon (Gary Oldman), and business executive Miranda Tate (Marion Cotillard), Bruce dons the Batsuit once again to stop Darth Vader Lucha Libre from terrorizing his goddamn city.
Heath Ledger is dead as shit. Let’s face it: there was no way The Joker was coming back. So it’s little surprise that he’s not even given lip service. It’s just as well too, as any reference would’ve felt cheap short of a still-living Heath Ledger in full Joker regalia flipping the Bat-fans the bird in one final shot. That would have been the BEST of things. That also was the only way to top The Dark Knight in the villain department,no matter how much shit is flung at the wall. And there’s plenty of shit. But if poop metaphors aren’t your thing — and honestly, why wouldn’t they be? — think of The Dark Knight Risesas an overstuffed burrito. First, you get the rice and beans, but then you realize that your carnitas would taste so much better with pico and two salsas. Cheese, lettuce, and the guac. OH, THE GUAC. Let’s add chips and a drink to that, too, if only because this might be the last burrito you’ll be getting for a while. The Brothers Nolan’s script plays out like a thorough piece of fan-fiction, cramming dozens of plot points into a surprisingly brisk 2 hours and 45 minutes. Then again, David S. Goyer shares a story credit, so let’s preserve the Nolan personality cult and just blame this on the gallant chode-stroke behind Blade: Trinity instead. Yes, this storystumbles out of the gate, then trips, and limps for a few more yards before sprinting across the finish line; it’s strangely reminiscent of my days in high school track.
Now that the very few negatives are out of the way, let’s get down to brass tax, or in Anne Hathaway’s case, ASS TAX! Nailed it! Whatever this story may lose from its abruptness, it gains back from its not having Katie Holmes. There is a lot to love in Rises, and that includes Anne Fapaway in tight leather. I’ll risk having Mime status temporarily revoked and admit I’m a fan of The Devil Wears Prada,so I wasn’t at all surprised she brought credibility to the role of Selina Kyle. Bale is also quite excellent as Bruce Wayne, even more so than usual, and likely due to Nolan’s decision not to focus on showing how Jack Nicholson is a dark-mirror for Michael Keaton if you think hard enough and really butcher the mythology. I’ll say it again. Tom Hardy’s Bane is no Joker, but that’s more than a good thing; it’s a great thing. He’s built like a bus but sounds like Goldmember on helium, and that makes for such an unconventional combination it’s hard to hate on his peculiarities. Bane has plan, part of which involves Batman pissing blood, but to reveal any details would be taking away from the fun. And really, if you can’t review a film without writing out the plot ad nauseum, do quit your day job and start working for TV Guide.
While we’re on the topic of taking away fun, I get that the insurmountable shit storm of hype for this film just didn’t feel possible to top. Even so, a great many critics have framed their positive reviews around heaping amounts of criticisms and overanalyses. Why is the plan to destroy Gotham so elaborate? Why don’t we see how Bruce gets from point A to point B? And seriously, how does Bane eat? I bet you’re a real joy at parties. Why have any of Batman’s villains made elabroate plans to destroy Gotham since… always? And how did Val Kilmer take a leak in Batman Forever? Give the film a D if you want. Just don’t rate it an 8/10 and then follow up a few positives with a string of nitpicking paragraphs, because that sounds like a D to me and I’m allergic to nuance. Personally, I don’t care about every specific of how Bruce Wayne gets from place to place, you weiner wink. HE’S BATMAN, THAT’S HOW.
Let’s return to that overused food metaphor. Along with the crippling three-day marathon of diarrhea and your best Ringimpression toactually eat it, an overstuffed burrito guarantees you one thing: flavor. Risesis easily the most thematically rich in the trilogy. So whether you think Nolan shrewdly capitalized off the Occupy Movement (before it even began) or if hey man, you’re just in it for a scholarly dissection of the boundaries between individuals and symbols, this is a dense, dense film. Dense in a good way, in that it rewards multiple viewings. Overrated hacks like Christopher Nolan tend to make those kinds of films. I’ve also got a sneaking suspicion comics shops will see a spike in customers asking if Darwyn Cooke ever illustrated a graphic adaptation of A Tale of Two Cities.
With its absence of any self-indulgent camera pans, The Dark Knight Risesmakes it perfectly clear it has little in common with The Avengers. Its ending alone bellows a gruff “Fuck You” to the superhero genre as a whole. This is the least well-crafted of the three, but it’s also the most satisfying in offering a true conclusion to a three-part story. FX has been playing Batman Beginstwice every day for the past week, so maybe brush up on that shit beforehand. As crisp and taut as The Dark Knightis, Risesis distinguished by its slight clumsiness, but it’s also an ingenious tome of the comics mythos, a Lawrence of Arabia Meets Batman,and a sweeping epic of the highest order.
As internet fervor slowly begins to wane, the important takeaway here is that we immediately start obsessing over the next movie. Will Christopher Nolan break his word and return for a fourth? What about a Morgan Freeman/Michael Caine buddy comedy spin-off? While I can only speculate on any of those answers, Nolan’s successfully dark interpretation of a superhero most definitely has made one man happy; and if you pipe down and listen carefully, you can make out the faint cries of Tim Burton’s “I told ya so” as it echoes forth from his palatial gothic estate. Touche, Mr. Burton. Touche.
I know, I know, I hear ya. This week’s OW is a day late. That lands squarely on my shouldaz. But let’s be real, it’s the summer time, pretty much everyone is busy out tanning and grilling and playing frisbee and watching nature and eating ice cream and what not. Only people that still read the mime in July are cubicle monkeys and probably a few Arabic dudes overseas. Shout out to all the middle eastern Mime Compadres. Ain’t no thang though. JD Mcsandwich is going to keep pumpin out posts, no matter what.
Let’s dive right in.
As you can see above, I decided to write this week’s O-dub about Comedy Central’s upcoming roast of Roseanne Barr. Since about mid May I’ve seen more and more promos for this roast. The most recent one has America’s favorite lady hoss holding a shotgun shouting, “bring it on bitches!” Ok. We will!
Seriously though, is Comedy Central struggling to find roastees that bad that they wound up giving Roseanne a buzz? Bitch has done one successful show ever. ONE. Fuggin Roseanne. Killer show about a bitchy fat mom and her sucky family, basically. If you literally have seven minutes to waste, check out some season two highlights:
Hilarious.
Ok, maybe I’m not the demographic they’re aiming for, but still. The 90s was pretty much jam fuckin packed with awesome sitcoms. I can think of ten off the top of my head I’d rather watch than Roseanne (In no particular order – Seinfeld, Home Improvement, The Fresh Prince, Full House, Family Matters, Boy Meets World, Everybody Love’s Raymond, fuck even Sister, Sister AND Sebrina The Teenage Bitch Witch). I mean you couldn’t flip on the tube in 95 without having a handful of baller shows to choose from. I might even go as far as saying it was the golden age of television. I just googled ‘Top 90s Sitcoms’ and IMDb has Roseanne listed at number five!? Am I missing something here? I guess word on the street is Roseanne tackled a bunch of controversial issues all while doing it with great production value, family values and comedic values. More like John Goodman tackled the cold cuts buffet on set every single day they were filming. No, in all seriousness he was the funniest part of the show. Always cooking chili and being fat and stuff.
So why choose Roseanne? I mean the most obvious reason is she’s an incredibly easy target and her price tag can’t be all that high. Her last run on television was Roseanne’s Nuts on Lifetime for christsake. Apparently it was about her macadamia nut farm in Hawaii. Sounds compelling. Lasted all of a month and a half. Not necessarily in hot demand these days. Comedy Central probably paid her two honey baked hams and she said fuck yes. Probably offered her a shed filled with Chinese food. Probably drove a wheelbarrow full of slapjacks up to her front porch and the deal was sealed. Alright I’ll ease off the fat jokes. But seriously, what an easy target. Tom Arnold’s dick this, flabby vagina that. Boom roasted. Sure wish the greatest roaster ever was around for this one (RIP).
Here’s what I’m basically saying. Comedy C, you can do better bros. Maaaybe, just maaaaybe you’ll prove me wrong and this roast will be the greatest ever, but I highly doubt it. Recent news that Jane Lynch will host already has things looking more promising. With title 9 and other feminists all up in your grill, I’m sure this had something to do with fulfilling a male-female roasting ratio. Not that there’s anything wrong with that (there is..). Either way, you can bet your ass I’ll tune in on August 12th to see the carnage, but you can also bet you’re ass I also have a few suggestions for who should be roasted next. Do me a solid and pick at least one from this list at some point. Or don’t.
For this weeks showdown we’ve got two of Hollywood’s most lusted after GILFs going head to head.
Mary Steenburgen
vs.
Jane Seymour
If you ask me, too much hubbub often surrounds so-called ‘MILFs’ or Mothers I‘d Like-to FingerblastFuck, for those who’ve been living under a rock for the last 400 decades. “Oh, Sofia Vergara’s titties this… oh, Kate Beckinsale’s ass that.” As a nation, it seems we’ve become enamored with hot looking moms and somehow we’ve completely overlooked hot grandmothers, or GILFs/GMILFs. Sure the number of actually hot grandmothers is extremely low, but that just makes them more rare and thus, more HOT.
Woah there granny, hear me out.
This showdown might be the toughest one we’ve seen yet. Two legendary actresses. Both have very impressive bodies of work and, might I add, 60 year old bodies that DO IMPRESSIVE WORK. See what I did there? It’s because they both have fantastic titties. For most of us, Mary jumped in on the scene, rather late, in 2003’s Elf and 2008’s Step Brothers, while Jane had been on our radar for years with her constant Gerber Baby and Zales commercials, as the legendary, Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, and above all else, as ‘Kitty cat’ in 2005’s Wedding Crashers. Both blazingly hot for their ages, but who will emerge victorious? Let’s fuckin find out!
Name: Often overlooked, having an attractive name can add numerous ‘hottie points’ (note: every pornstar ever).
Mary Steenburgen. Wowza. Nothing to write home to Uncle Billy about, that’s for sure. Steenburgen sounds like something a German dude might scream in a Carl’s Jr drive-thru. It is her real name though, so I guess she gets a few bonus points for that. Jane Seymour. Hot. Super hot. Nah, it’s actually not that hot of a name, but compared to her real name (Joyce Penelope Wilhelmina Frankenberg) it might as well be Savannah Steele. Edge: Jane Seymour
Accent: Key ingredient in any hot lady souffle (cooking reference do anything in the way of laughs for anyone? No? Alright)
Mary was born and raised in Arkansas or some southern place. Jane is British. Both usually thought of as pretty hawt accents. I consider myself more of a British accent kind of feller, but what the fuck do I know? Edge: Jane Seymour
Personality: Shouldn’t matter all that much, am I right guys? Just kidding ladies, it totally does and stuff.
Mary seems like a pretty nice lady, she’s got that southern hospitality you know translates to being a generous GILF lover, plus being associated with Step Brothers means she’s gotta have a decent sense of humor. In real life, Jane is all about self help books and baby food and jewelry and donating your time and money to worthy causes. Boooring. Buuuut, she did let Owen Wilson feel her jugs. Edge: Mary Steenburgen
Memorable Hot Characters: Let’s be real, when it comes down to actresses, all us normal people only remember them for the characters they played. So yeah, this is a big one.
In the 70s and 80s Mary did a bunch of serious stuff that nobody remembers. I think she played the desperate housewife in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape but I’m not 100% on that. Fast forward a bunch of years, she played Will Ferrell’s hot, yet neglected, step-mom in Elf. Then she played Will Ferrell’s hot real mom in Step Brothers. Jane got her cherry popped by James Bond as Solitaire in Live and Let Die. Then she did some other boring stuff for a while. Then she gave countless pioneers mad Oregon Trail chubbies as Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman. Then as we already covered, she reached the pinnacle of GILF status as Kitty cat in Wedding Crashers. Edge: Jane Seymour
Cup Size: Because, c’mon, we’re all wondering it.
Mary rolls with a respectable pair of 33Bs. Jane rocks a somewhat surprising 36B. Edge: Jane Seymour.
Grandmother Status: Of course, being around the age of a grandmother doesn’t necessarily mean you actually are a grandmother. Gotta be able to back up the G in GILF.
According to everyone’s favorite source, Wikipedia, Mary has one granddaughter as of January 2012. Jane has, get this, no grandchildren. Could it be? I thought with all those Gerber baby commercials she’d have a whole gaggle of grandkids. Guess not.
In a wild turn of events, front runner, Jane Seymour is disqualified. Mary Steenburgen wins!
I think I speak for us all when I say what a shock. Ted Danson you lucky son of a bee-sting. Goddamn, I hate how much I love Becker, but goddamn if I don’t respect it. Congrats Mary, you won a limited edition TODM stuffed fox. Hold on the line, we’ll grab your info.
Maybe it’s the sweltering heat that has my mind feeling like the blocking sled on the set of The Blind Side, I’m not sure. I’ll I can say is writer’s block out the ass. Must be how Paul Wall feels when he writes any song ever. Shiiiiit, can’t think of anything. Guess I’ll just spit some bars about my mouth and its various diamonds and jewels. No disrespec to Paul, true story – I actually met him at an autograph signing in a Best Buy in Richfield, MN. Dude gave me some real deep advice to live by AND funny enough, his mouth was illuminatin like a lamp. But that’s beside the point. I gave the ol WB a tombstone piledriver, visited everyone’s favorite news source, TMZ, and immediately began pumping out an OW for the people.
What’s today’s OW about you ask? If the above picture and tombstone piledriver reference didn’t already give it away, you’re in for a real treat. It’s about the WWE. More specifically, the WWE’s most celebrated icon aka the chain gang soldier aka John Cena.
It’s no mystery yah dude JD’s been a John Cena fan since day one. Guy can do it all and by it all i mean IT ALL. So whilst getting my weekly fill of celebrity buzz, I came across a story about John making peace with his ex-wife amidst a nasty divorce. What a gentleman and a scholar, huh? Add that to the ever-growing list of reasons why John Cena is America’s last true G. Then take a peek at his soon to be ex, Elizabeth Huberdeau:
Total nutjob. A. She has a koala B. She kinda looks like said koala. Boom. Bat shit crazy town.
Here’s the thing though, it takes a mountain of a man to “make peace” out of court with that biatch. I can just imagine how it went down. Bitch probably stormed up to his palatial manor throwing cats and tampons, hollerin about how she found out he’s porking babes around the globe and he never spends time with his in-laws and what have you. Newsflash honey, you’re married to John Triton/Danny Fisher –
Unless you’re kidnapped by international criminals, John Triton ain’t gonna do shit. Come to think of it, Johnny probably dropped the divorce bomb on Elizabeth because after three long years of marriage she hadn’t been kidnapped. Started getting kind of bored not being able to swan dive out of exploding buildings and save buses full of innocent bystanders while on a quest to save his true love from death. Married life started getting boring. Quick. Sure, playing Scategories with her girlfriends and then getting a good night blowjob is fun, but a relationship with John Cena needs more danger. He’d rather drive a stolen cop car off a cliff, murder a couple criminals and end the day titty fucking on their corpses before the coroner shows up.
Then I read a little further on the divorce details. Sounded a little fishy. Apparently things were getting “nasty quickly” with pre-nups and cheating and attorneys and courtrooms and the whole she-bang. Then boom. “All matters in the divorce have been settled and resolved amicably.”
How do you go from ready to bury a duffel bag of hatchets in each others skulls to literally burying the hatchet in the back yard and (obviously) ending things with a goodbye jackhammering? I’m no divorce attorney, but I’ve got some theories.
1. Bitch finally realized she’s about to lose bi-weekly dickings from the Doctor of Thuganomics and begged for forgiveness.
2. John Cena played this song:
And they put the beef and the gats to the side, hugged and made up.
Whatever the reason may be, I’m glad things came to a friendly resolution. Now Johnny C can hop back in the ring and continue taggin broads all across the nation without some koala loving weirdo waiting back home.
First and foremost, let me say The Big Hurt himself seems to be looking great these days. Almost got a scratched retina from glancing at that shiny dome. Due to the suit I can’t accurately gage how his behemoth gunz are looking but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. Chances are they’re still larger than my waist.
Any-who, for those that don’t keep up to speed on America’s malt liquor scene, Frank Thomas recently (sometime last year I think) came out with his own malt-ish liquor-beer, ‘Big Hurt Beer‘. And yes, it is everything you thought it would be and more. I’m talking 24 ounces of delicious golden foam-y-ness at a price even Mort Goldman can’t deny rules – $1.99 a can. If you haven’t already stopped reading and left your house for the liquor store, wait, there’s more. Each can is 7% alcohol. Boom. Tastes good great, gets you drunk AND it doesn’t big hurt your wallet! I’m going to tip-toe out on a limb here and say America’s in for Frankie Thomas’ best product since 1995’s Big Hurt Baseball. I think I played that once at my boi Patrick’s house and immediately switched back to Ken Griffey Jr.’s Winning Run but whatever. It was kind of a fun game, Frank. Nothing to hang your head about.
In reality, I’ve yet to try Big Hurt Beer. Rest assured loyal Mime amigos, I’m going to try it and by try it I of course mean get shit-housed off of it. Seems like a fun way to support an already rich man while simultaneously marketing a product that will be largely consumed by alcoholic hobos and drifters. Plus, it looks like Frankie kind of stole Big Black’s basic logo idea and just jammed an H in the middle. Probably a classic case of a big ol’ coincidence, I guess.
All bashing aside, we wish Franklin Tho-mas all the best luck in his current business endeavors. In fact, we wish so much good upon Frank that we actually came up with some even better product endorsement ideas for the big fella.
Here’s what we got Frank. See something you like – give me a shout. See something you don’t – aint no thang.
The Big Hurt Shirt Collection –
Fat guys need big shirts at a price that won’t big hurt your walle….ah damn I already used that one. Oh well. Idea one – a fashion line of trendy shirts for huge people.
The Big Squirt Dildo Collection
I think the name pretty much says it all. And hey, if that’s too racy of an idea, how about:
The Big Squirt Super Soaker
Maybe it shoots water ballon baseballs or something? Eh? Because of the he played baseball thing?
The Little Hurt – Children’s First Aid Kits
Screw that cute little monkey. Picture your mug on that kit. That’s what kids need. The Big Hurt encouraging first aid.
Big Hurt Forearm Camp
A summer camp focused soley on getting campers HUGE forearms. Activities include swinging 12 bats at once and monkey bars.
Cialis
Maybe wait a couple years, but this one seems like a no-brainer. Slogan could be, “Cialis helps me hit a home run with my penis any time of the day” or something along those lines.
The Big Hurt Home Alert (System)
Pretty simple idea here. If you’re old and you fall, why not dial 911 through six different pre-recorded Big Hurt catchphrases. Including, “Going, going, gone!”, “Caaaah-blawie!” and my favorite, “Hey 911, some old bitch took a spill!”
About now we’re at the point where things have gotten slightly out of hand. Can’t knock the hustle though. Looks to me like Frankie T. has some preeetty decent business ventures to choose from.
In a brand nip-spankin new segment to the Mime, creatively titled ‘TODM Showdown’, we’ll pit two pseudo-arch nemeses against each other in a winner takes all scenario. Why you ask? Because I thought it up about twelve seconds ago, that’s why. For our inaugural showdown we’ll take a look at two of American television’s most decorated and glorified news anchors. It’s a battle of two golden warrior titan legend heros if I’ve ever seen one. In the right corner we’ve got Springfield’s mighty news gladiator, Kent Brockman. In the left, Quahog’s mustachioed playboy, Tom Tucker. Who will win? I have no fuckin clue. Guess we’ll figure it out along the way. Enjoy!
Looks: Everyone and their cat knows to be a successful news anchor you need to have good looks on lock down. Can’t give people the news looking like the underside of Anthony Davis’ pube sac. Not quite B-rad Pitt – even straight dudes would consider finger blasting you for a few seconds – good looks. Nay. More like chiseled, grisled, for-shizzeled, manly-man looks that make people instantly drop their babies and listen the fuck up when you’re talking.
Tommy Tucks reps the mustache to the fullest while Kent consistently reminds America that silver flat tops aren’t just for gorillas. We later find out that Tom Tucker’s mustache is fake, but I’ll look the other way on that one. Edge: Tom Tucker.
Ladies: Can’t crush it big time on major news networks without having a flaming hot sidepiece to back it up. Peter Jennings did it I think. So did Ron Burgandy.
Kent Brockman’s love life was largely kept under wraps with only rumors a’swirlin about him possibly dating the Channel 6 weather girl. Deep down I know Kent was crushing veeg all day erry day. Meanwhile, Tom Tucker’s twice divorced and dated a shitload of busted faces. Well maybe just one. Unfortunately for Tom, Peter’s mom was strike one, two and three. Edge: Kent Brockman.
Skills: To pay the bills and also tell the news. The more baritone the vocals, the better. Gotta be able to one take the 10 oclock news in a similar ease as 2012 Jessica Simpson blasting through a Taco 12 Pack.
Both take their work so seriously even everyday interactions must be treated like the news. Tom Tucker is a two sided animal regarding his skills. Dudes on point every night, despite having to deal with a co-anchor, something Kent Brockman’s never seen. But his reproductive skills suck ass, case and point his upside down faced son. Kent has been holding the news down in Springfield for like 24 years. Definition of a seasoned vet. Add to extensive tenure his ability to paint a beautiful verbal picture to his audience night in and night out, boom total package. Plus he does all his own on-scene reporting. Edge: Kent Brockman.
Theme Music: Seems like a must have for anyone who calls themself a news anchor.
Tom Tucker has no theme music as far as I can remember. Kent Brockman has this:
Edge: Kent Brockman.
News Team: Even more important than a hot babe on your side is having a trusty news team. Even the strongest of anchors can crumble like a dry fig newton in my pocket yesterday when they have no crew to back them up.
Tom Tucker has assembled one of the finest and might I add, most diverse news teams this country’s ever seen. Ollie Williams crushes the weather, Tricia Takanawa is all Asian and stuff, and Joyce Kinney is a major upgrade from Diane Simmons who is now dead or something. Aside from his helicopter pilot I believe Kent Brockman has no news team. Edge: Tom Tucker.
Partying: Being a news anchor and partying hard go hand-in-hand like rabies and hand grenades. However that saying goes dammit, the point is they go together.
Tom Tucker apparently gets down. As evidence in that Eye on Springfield video, so does Kent. By the looks of it, a little harder than Tucks. Edge: Kent Brockman.
Winner: Kent Brockman.
Way to go Kent! You just won a limited edish TODM baseball cap. Hold on the line, we’ll get your information.
With Barry O. and Mitch Romney arguing over tax returns for the next few months, I don’t think this economic recession is gonna take care of itself anytime soon. Call me a cynic. The real downside is that anyone trying to keep up with the summer’s biggest hits and misses has to sacrifice a significant chunk of their change.
Fortunately, there’s a cheap solution:
The Asylum is a low-budget production studio and distributor of movies whose DVD covers are cleverly marketed to be pretty much the same as the originals if you were to squint really hard while wearing sunglasses. Well known for its massive production output, The Asylum has achieved internet infamy for its uncanny knack for turning YouTube “like” bars into red lightsabers.
Yeah, they tricked me, too. Well, a friend of mine actually, who believed Paramount would honestly release a movie TWO FUCKING WEEKS AFTER IT PLAYED IN THEATERS. We don’t talk much anymore.
Sadly, there’s no Megan Fox — or likely “Meghan Phox,” the cheaper, sluttier, probably deformed equivalent — but the robots with Tekken 2 graphics are pretty sweet.
H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds
A sterling example of how little of a fuck The Asylum gives about copyright infringement. H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds was not one, not two, but one of three movies released in 2005 based on the same novel. It gives no fucks.
No word yet on whether the alien assault gets thwarted by Jake Busey’s overbite, though.
American Warships
Bigger. Better. Blacker. No seriously. If you want a chocolate take on Taylor Kitsch’s soy milk ass, Carl Weathers has a triumphant turn here as “General McKracken” which, yeah.
Perhaps the epitome of budget alternatives this summer, this thing is up and running on YouTube as I live and breathe. In full. Fo’ free.
2012: A Bunch of Stuff
Thus, with 2012: Doomsday, 2012: Supernova,and 2012: Ice Age, The Asylum simultaneously gave the finger to Hollywood and its own style by birthing three separate movies from that one time John Cusack flew a plane off a cliff.
The 9/11 Commission Report
A “chilling dramatization of the findings laid out in the best-selling 9/11 Commission Report.”
So as I understand it, this is a movie about a couple of fucking file folders. Never forget.
The Day the Earth Stopped
It’s certainly direct. I’d recommend this on the simple fact that The Asylum was smart enough to swap out a Keanu Reeves clone for the alien “Skye,” played by C-lister smokeshow Sinead McCafferty. Now I don’t know if wife beaters are of any cultural significance on Planet Libido, but obvious-name-metaphor aside, I’m in.
Allan Quartermain and the Temple of Skulls
What you’d get if only George Lucas made that last one.
Pirates of Treasure Island
Fun Fact: The actor playing “Long John Silver” is the same guy who voices those Droid commercials. Well, probably not anymore now.
Here’s hoping this is actually about his epic quest to start a fast food chain that exclusively serves cold fish sticks.
Sherlock Holmes
This might take the cake. Exact same title, COMPLETELY BAT-SHIT PLOT.
The bulk of YouTube ridicule seems to stem from the inexplicable presence of dinosaurs in a 19th century period piece, but I’m assuming that’s the whole mystery. Why in THE FUCK is that T-Rex there?! Sounds like a case for Sherlock Holmes! Pass the meth!
Titanic II
The only idea worse than attempting a sequel to a movie about a boat that’s already sank would be actually christening a cruise ship the “Titanic II.”
They do that, too.
Almighty Thor
In the land of the Gods… and low-rent special effects… Kevin Nash is the homeless man’s Anthony Hopkins. Apparently.
If you wanted to see some One Tree Hill-looking butt steak flail around crappy Halloween swords on a TV movie, then this is probably for you.
As is this cyanide capsule.
Sunday School Musical
What could be worse than a Disney-produced musical aimed at tweens? ADDING JEEZUS.
Don’t take it from me, though. Listen to the iMDb Message Boards:
“This should be plenty reason not to believe in a God.”
Amen, rmaxson1104. Amen.
M.I.L.F.
S.H.I.T.
* * *
It’s been pretty slow for notable releases… Fortunately, I’ll be back to reviewing next week when that other comic book movie comes to town and Alfred probably dies
Attempting to tackle a list this extensive provides a tackling difficulty somewhere between Devin Hester and greased-up deaf guy, but having logged many hours on both sides of the bartop there’s are certain types you see more than others. Feel free to add the many, many douchebreeds I missed down there in the comments, if you wanna do a lil overreactin yourself. But in no particular order, here are the 10 that make it difficult to decide whether to suddenly start chugging a bottle or smash it on my own head:
1) Overly stubborn underage douche
OSUD’s heart is pumping rapidly as he strolls up to the door with bros on bros, trying desperately to play it cool in a tight spot like Mime hero Cowboy Wayne. He’ll hand over the ID and then stand perfectly still, because everyone knows a bouncer’s vision is based on movement. As soon as he sees the bouncer’s head shake and is handed back his paper mache Texas library card dripping in palm sweat, it’s hissy-fit time. Typically he leads off with an “Are you serious?” and the info-gleaning “How is it fake?”, all the while hindering entry and exit for people who may or may not also be pieces of shit. In the interest of fairness an OSUD may also be of the female variety, using either the puppy dog face or mega-bitch negotiating strategy to no avail. In either case, with one last ditch effort, OSUD will either attempt to whip out a cool $7 spot (see #4) or roll with the equally pathetic “But all my friends are in there!” Which brings us to…
2) The “I know THAT Employee” so treat me THAT special douche
I’ll go on the record and say I like a vast majority of the people I work with, and have no problem reciprocating a little favored employee treatment now and again. Furthermore, some of their friends are legit. I will respond to demonstrated legitimacy accordingly. The problem lies with the stumbling, entitled ones who learn a few names and suddenly decide they’re cooler than Morgan Freeman in a dry ice factory- and the only way to get that smoky haze billowing around their freckled ankles comes in the form of doing dumb shit just to see if they can get away with it. You may spot these douches dancing on tables, stealing glassware, or attempting to cut a line.
3) The douche who refuses to leave
We’ve all been here before: The lights come on and you’ve still got half a pitcher to finish. Reasonable people either nut up or shut up, get it down or set it down. Unfortunately, this leaves Sir-sips-a-lot who neither nuts up or shuts up, but pretty much just continues to stand and yell his too far gone nonsense to whoever will listen (see #2). This douche must either be shepherded from the bar manually if not coerced by questioning his pussified drink-slamming abilities or bringing up the idea of food.
4) Money flailing douche
Real blatant douche with flawed internal logic that reads: the more I act like an assclown toward the person who can serve me drinks, the faster I can obtain these drinks to spill all over my Ed Hardy shirt! SEE THIS MOTHAFUGGIN 10 SPOT YO!?!? Nope, don’t think he saw it. Maybe if I wave it around some more, or LIGHT IT ON FIRE!!!…MFD may also be seen attempting to bribe bouncers, taking rail shots, and puking later on the sidewalk.
5) Lil’ Roidrage
Mr. 5’7 Nick Jr.’s idea of a good time is rolling up to the bar with his two biggest bros and proceeding to nip at people’s heels simply daring them to bite. I was unfortunate enough to encounter Lil’ Roidrage on what else but my birthday. All it took was the attempt to get a drink in his vicinity and one smartass remark about not buying a round of shots for his posse because fuck that and BAM! My drunk ass was on its…ass. Avoid LR at all costs, he can be spotted his diminutive stature, constant mean mug, and the absence of females within a 10 foot radius.
6) Ballin on no budget douche
BONBD will roll up to the bar and ask for 14 shots, and typically not just any shots: we’re talking either patron or some randomly procured shot from the depths of a cracked iPhone. Something like a Tanzanian titty-twister or Nicaraguan bloodbath, and wait you’ve never heard of it? What kind of bar is this? He will hand over his Visa aluminum card and probably stare wide-eyed at the reciept when he gets it, like it was supposed to be 19.95 plus shipping and strangling, and then leave a $2.00 tip, if that. Uh yeah, you’re welcome for those Croatian cumstains, you…Croatian cumstain.
7) Clueless douche, Clouche for short
This category is reserved for all those people who suddenly decide to stand right in the one tiny gap for people trying to get through. The clouche typically must receive a number of nudges and spills before realizing the cost, and unlike most other bar douches may potentially reform their ways if only for a few minutes. Better yet, they often congregate in the one opening between the back of the bar and the warzone. Clouches may also be groups of drunk girls insistent on taking 5 different pictures at the same bar just like they did last week. Hold up, Cindi where’s the flash button on your Blackberry again? Fack, my eyes were closed in that one. Take 18 more.
8) Anyone who pumps the jukebox with hours of country music
Ah, to be just barely 21 again. If you must, please refrain from acting like you just won the state lacrosse title after your cup successfully lands upside down, and have fun spilling beer directly on your crotch!
10) Bartenders who make weak-ass drinks
This overreaction just wouldn’t be fair without a little bit of the flipside. Rum and coke does not mean coke with a splash of rum. I know time is of the essence, but if not 50-50 at least make 1/3 of it that tasty bottom shelf mouth orgasm. I mean come on, how the hell else do you expect me to deal with all these other douchebags?
Stay classy bargoers. Or don’t. Just don’t be one of these guys.
Chris Berman. The man, the myth, the legend. As Frankie Fast Hands would say he was born to be hated yet dying to be loved.
Guys been on ESPN since Linda Cohn’s mug used to give dudes semi-chubs. Since Stuart Scott’s eye didn’t suck. Since Erin Andrews was an embryo. Sunday NFL Countdown, NFL Primetime, The Blitz, The Home Run Derby, The NFL Draft, The U.S. Open, MLB on ESPN, the list goes for days. All quality sporting programs you can’t turn on without hearing the grainy, in-your-grill voice of The Swami. Boomer’s kind of like that deranged, unmarried uncle that gets a little too drunk, yells about some shit and gets away with it at every family function. Deep down everyone knows he’s a massive fuck but he’s been around too long and says enough memorable stuff where you’ve just got to kind of sit back and let him do his thing.
Whether you love him, hate him, or just don’t give a shit about him, if you call yourself a sports fan you have to respect his lifetime of sports broadcasting work. Here at The Mime we’re more or less cool with Boom. But as time goes on, it’s gets harder to cling to the school of thought that he’s America’s lovable sports douche.
Take last night’s Home Run Derby for example. C Berms bumbled through a lengthy ass three hour broadcast which was highlighted by a geography lesson from George Brett and John Kruk going HAM on a tub of ribs. I’m no map expert, and those ribs looked freakin delicious so I won’t dwell on that, but the point is America is getting tired of Boom’s HR Derby schtick. Since 1986, Chris Berman has been doing the derby’s play-by-play. That’s a pant load of “BACK, BACK, BACK”s. Annoying? Yes. Unnecessary? Definitely. But would the HR Derby be the same without it? I’d argue maybe not.
It seems that even though Berman is an insufferable douche, he’s got a little bit of something that makes people enjoy his broadcasting. He toes the line of being absolutely unbearable and somewhat like-able with the grace of one thousand polar bears tip toeing across a tightrope over Niagara Falls. Since I was a youngster I’ve made a point to tune in on Sunday evenings in the fall to NFL Primetime (now The Blitz). Tommy Jackson’s passive big ol teddy bear nature balances out Chris Berman’s intense aggressive-ass nature perfectly. TJ provides the legitimate in depth analysis while Berman coins hilarious nickname after hilarious nickname. My personal favorites were Curtis ‘My Favorite‘ Martin and Mike ‘Your in good hands with’ Alstott. I’m also a sucker for his ever enduring “WHAAAP!” when describing spin moves, fumbles and laterals. Just hilarious every time. It’s the perfect sound effect for when I’m breaking 5Piece’s ankles in a friendly game of full contact backyard football, too.
Sadly though, for every hilarious nickname and well analyzed football highlight, an egotistical psycho rant or inside story (Smitties) of him creeping hard on some chick emerges. Just when I think the scales are tipping towards C Berman being a good dude, they flip right back the other way. It’s like a constant mental tug-of-war in my McGriddle noggin. The guy’s been the golden child of ESPN for 40 fucking years. Anyone can tell you when you’re a part of a media giant like that for the majority of your life you’re going to develop a hefty ego, if anything, by default. Sure, it doesn’t happen to everyone and Boomer’s definitely on one end of the dick-spectrum but I’m just saying I can see why he is how he is.
I guess what I’m driving at is this. ESPN is more or less a network filled with tools. From Trent Dilfer to John Clayton they’re all just a bunch of oddly shaped talking heads. Of course, exceptions can be made, and as I’m saying this keep in mind I watch ESPN every damn day of my life. But generally, Chris Berman is just another puffy, balding dick on the greatest network on television. He may say some ridiculous stuff and make you want to drop kick your TV on a regular basis but deep down the guy is good as hell at what he does and let’s be honest, sports wouldn’t be the same without him.
So Boom, keep fuckin trucking homey. The American public may want to anally fist you to death but keep in mind you’ll always have a couple pals at the Mime. WHAAAAP!
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