Monday, December 14, 2009

You and your ****ing rope.

Why is it that scary movies are considered great 'date material'? Okay, so the girl gets scared and so she's forced to hold on close to her manly hunk of a man... but what is she thinking? The moment anything actually goes down... what's that guy going to do? Say Jason Voorhees pops out of the screen and starts going on a rampage, or hell itself opens up and tears a new one throughout the theater... that guy ain't doing shit. He's getting sliced up like the rest of them.

Sorry ladies, but your man ain't going to protect you from anything. Unless its a zombie invasion. And then I'll save you. I. Will. Save. You.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

For England, James?

- I brought my first and only (due to being proper fucked this month, financially speaking) Christmas present for this year. It was for mah kitty. I heart mah kitty.

- Why is it that tips are deducted from your paycheck? Are tips not rewards for good service? Whats the point if they're taken away later? Fuck good service. Fuck taxes. And fuck collection agencies.

- Dear Sam Raimi... quit raping Spider-Man, and remake The Shadow. And Evil Dead 4/Army of Darkness 2.

- I should be sleeping.


Monday, December 7, 2009

We can dance if we want to.

I think the majority of my personality disorders can be attributed to all the cheesy hair metal I listened to as a small child.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Hail to the King

This last weekend, I went looking through an old online blog I used to keep... (yeah, I was that bored/sick/crazy), and saw that someone had told me that they wished they could be in a movie directed by me.

I do believe that might just be the greatest compliment that anyone has ever given me.

I wonder if they'd feel the same if I directed porn?

Alright. You should hit me for that one. That was too easy, even by my standards.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

You've got red on you.

Apparently, I know nothing of fashion.

Raise your hand if you’re surprised. No? You shouldn’t be.

For years I’ve worn simply what was within closest proximity to me, and usually what was the most comfortable –this meaning that I tend to don the baggiest and worst offerings leftover from the 1990’s. I’ve gotten away with it with minimal remarks up until recently, but now it seems time has caught up with me and I’m openly criticized over the matter. The criticism itself isn’t an issue… you can never please everyone, right? What does bother me though, is when I object to something and I’m told that I ‘'just don't know fashion'

It’s then I realize… I hate fashion.

Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy looking good. Everyone does. It’s just… it’s odd that clothing is supposed to help us ‘express ourselves’ and yet, so many people lose their identity when they conform to a particular style. You are what you wear. I see labels every day. Abercrombie. GAP. Dickies. Nike. Etc. Etc. Etc. I don’t want to go out and wear what every hipster on the block is wearing and suddenly be just a ‘hipster’ and not ‘me’. Why should people pay more attention to what I’m wearing over the quality of character I possess?

The other issue, and more importantly… fashion is just silly. It’s cool to wear something one day, and then the flavor of the week is gone and suddenly you’re blacklisted for sporting something that just isn’t ‘in’ anymore. It comes and goes and everyone just wants to find out what the ‘new black’ is. It changes frequently and without mercy, and only a wealthy man can afford to keep up with the latest trends. It’s superficial, shallow, and empty. And yes… that was redundant.

So I know nothing of fashion. And I don’t really want to. But what I do know? Leotards will never go out of style.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

No John, you are the demons...

When it comes right down to it, we like to complicate things too often.

Truth is... there's only one type of person out there. We all want the same thing -to do something, and enjoy doing it. Whether it's drawing, fishing, managing businesses... we're all looking for that little slice of heaven called self-fulfillment.

Personally, I'll settle for no less than being the savior of the universe.