Wednesday, December 06, 2006
And I was trying to relax...
To get my skyrocketing blood pressure and anxiety problem under control, I've been watching LOTS of TV to ensure that I make like J-Sexy and "chillax." Tonight, I'm watching the season finale of "America's Next Top Model," which is markedly increasing my calmness quotient in spite of Tyra Banks's obscenely horrible red-and-purple, wide patent leather Santa Claus-belted, silver spaghetti-strapped sweetheart bodice tank dress. Caridee is complaining about her struggles with psoriasis, Melrose is being a fucking bitch, and all is right in the world.
However, any relaxation I gain from my "Top Model" addiction is mitigated by the overwhelmingly shiteous selection of commercials I've had to watch during breaks.
Exhibit A: An ad for a cell phone/mp3 player in which two hipster douchebags in beat-up rugby shirts and beat-up Chuck Taylors sporting boxy glasses and intentionally shaggy haircuts argue about whether or not the chorus of The Clash's classic punk indictment of the Ayatollah Khomeini's no-rock-policy following the deposition of the Shah "Rock the Casbah" is "lock the cashbox" or "stop the catbox." You dumbasses...look at the fucking title of the song on your stupid LG Chocolate or whatever! "Dumb people buy this phone/mp3 player" is what this commercial tells me. Who is in charge of that marketing department, a Rhesus macaque or a fucking howler monkey? Either way, it's some sort of shit-slinging lower primate for sure.
Exhibit B: A trailer for Eragon, a movie about a boy in the mythical world of Alagaesia who finds a dragon egg and, with the help of his mentor Brom and his CGI dragon Saphira, joins the ranks of the legendary Shur'tugal and dares to challenge evil sorcerer/tyrant/dragon abuser King Galbatorix. Okay, obviously I've betrayed the dark secret that I'm actually excited by this commercial in a positive way. I totally am ashamed to admit that I want to see Eragon. I'm even more ashamed to admit that I read the book. And I'm kill-myself-so-as-to-avoid-dishonoring-my-family ashamed that I read Eldest, the sequel to Eragon. These books were written by a homeschooled 15-year-old in Montana who may be the geekiest dude I've ever seen in my life. Despite that, I just can't keep myself from admitting that I want to see this movie. It looks kind of good. And by "kind of good," I mean fucking awesome. Whatever...I'm a nerd. I love this kind of crap:
Nonetheless, this hasn't helped me chillax because it excited me so much with all the sword-swinging, army raising, and CGI dragon-containing epic battle footage. And Jeremy Irons, John Malkovich, and--HOLY SHIT--hot-ass Djimon Hounsou (!) are in it wearing hauberks and engaging in grandiose Lord of the Rings-ish shit-talking.
Exhibit C: Heidi Klum singing "Santa Baby" in a Victoria's Secret commercial not showing any tits, probably because she just popped out another kid and her postpartum FUPA (fat upper pussy area) isn't amenable to doing Gisele-esque underwear ads. Heidi Klum CANNOT sing. She sounds like a dying cat and yet still acts like she's some sort of sexy Von Trapp crooning "Edelweiss" convincingly enough to arrange a secret escape from Nazi Germany. WRONG. There's a reason why she's a model/reality TV competition judge and not a model-slash-anything else. Heidi "The Body" Klum needs to stick to crafting her "Project Runway" bitchy one-liners and stay the hell off the Vicky S. runway while she's recovering from producing yet another of Seal's progeny.
Exhibit D: The trailer for Unaccompanied Minors. This is a film about a bunch of nine-year-olds who somehow get lost in an airport at Christmas and engage villainous adults in the style of Home Alone, except instead of terrorizing the most incompetent burglars in the world with air rifles, buckets of paint, Micro Machines, a tarantula, and the voice track of Angels with Filthy Souls, they torment stranded innocent travelers by running them over with luggage carts and wreaking havoc with the luggage-sorting system. At least Home Alone featured only ONE totally obnoxious spoiled brat acting like a shithead for ninety minutes. This film has a baker's dozen of the little monsters running around. Presumably hilarity is supposed to ensue, except by "hilarity" I mean murderous rage. Lucky for the kids they're in an airport and nobody is allowed to be walking around packing heat. The only good thing about this movie is that apparently they cause massive bodily harm via slapstick assaults on Wilmer Valderrama, but otherwise, make all the airport food vegan and put Rihanna's "Unfaithful" on the soundtrack and you're in the latest conceptualization of my personal hell. Here's the trailer, but if you dare to watch, make sure you have a nitroglycerin patch, a bottle of Bayer, a home defibrillator, and an epi-pen handy, because this will simultaneously cause anaphylactic shock and massive cardiovascular shutdown if you aren't fully prepared for its unbridled horror:
Exhibit E: An ad for Uno Spin, a game that livens up the traditional Uno (AKA Crazy Eights for Dummies) by putting the cards into a battery-powered card shuffler on a Lazy Susan that vomits cards at the players, who scream with delight. On one hand, it's good that Uno has made a game requiring more physical activity, thus combating the burgeoning hordes of fat people in the world. On the other hand, the only thing more obnoxious than some smug motherfucker shrieking "Uno!" is having them shoot another card in your face. God, my blood is at a rolling boil just thinking about it.
The only thing that has saved me from a complete psychotic meltdown based on the commercials is the fact that the Top Model judges actually made an intelligent decision for once. Melrose got sent back to the draggish slag heap she crawled out of, and Caridee ultimately became America's Seventh Next Top Model! Disaster averted yet again.
However, any relaxation I gain from my "Top Model" addiction is mitigated by the overwhelmingly shiteous selection of commercials I've had to watch during breaks.
Exhibit A: An ad for a cell phone/mp3 player in which two hipster douchebags in beat-up rugby shirts and beat-up Chuck Taylors sporting boxy glasses and intentionally shaggy haircuts argue about whether or not the chorus of The Clash's classic punk indictment of the Ayatollah Khomeini's no-rock-policy following the deposition of the Shah "Rock the Casbah" is "lock the cashbox" or "stop the catbox." You dumbasses...look at the fucking title of the song on your stupid LG Chocolate or whatever! "Dumb people buy this phone/mp3 player" is what this commercial tells me. Who is in charge of that marketing department, a Rhesus macaque or a fucking howler monkey? Either way, it's some sort of shit-slinging lower primate for sure.
Exhibit B: A trailer for Eragon, a movie about a boy in the mythical world of Alagaesia who finds a dragon egg and, with the help of his mentor Brom and his CGI dragon Saphira, joins the ranks of the legendary Shur'tugal and dares to challenge evil sorcerer/tyrant/dragon abuser King Galbatorix. Okay, obviously I've betrayed the dark secret that I'm actually excited by this commercial in a positive way. I totally am ashamed to admit that I want to see Eragon. I'm even more ashamed to admit that I read the book. And I'm kill-myself-so-as-to-avoid-dishonoring-my-family ashamed that I read Eldest, the sequel to Eragon. These books were written by a homeschooled 15-year-old in Montana who may be the geekiest dude I've ever seen in my life. Despite that, I just can't keep myself from admitting that I want to see this movie. It looks kind of good. And by "kind of good," I mean fucking awesome. Whatever...I'm a nerd. I love this kind of crap:
Nonetheless, this hasn't helped me chillax because it excited me so much with all the sword-swinging, army raising, and CGI dragon-containing epic battle footage. And Jeremy Irons, John Malkovich, and--HOLY SHIT--hot-ass Djimon Hounsou (!) are in it wearing hauberks and engaging in grandiose Lord of the Rings-ish shit-talking.
Exhibit C: Heidi Klum singing "Santa Baby" in a Victoria's Secret commercial not showing any tits, probably because she just popped out another kid and her postpartum FUPA (fat upper pussy area) isn't amenable to doing Gisele-esque underwear ads. Heidi Klum CANNOT sing. She sounds like a dying cat and yet still acts like she's some sort of sexy Von Trapp crooning "Edelweiss" convincingly enough to arrange a secret escape from Nazi Germany. WRONG. There's a reason why she's a model/reality TV competition judge and not a model-slash-anything else. Heidi "The Body" Klum needs to stick to crafting her "Project Runway" bitchy one-liners and stay the hell off the Vicky S. runway while she's recovering from producing yet another of Seal's progeny.
Exhibit D: The trailer for Unaccompanied Minors. This is a film about a bunch of nine-year-olds who somehow get lost in an airport at Christmas and engage villainous adults in the style of Home Alone, except instead of terrorizing the most incompetent burglars in the world with air rifles, buckets of paint, Micro Machines, a tarantula, and the voice track of Angels with Filthy Souls, they torment stranded innocent travelers by running them over with luggage carts and wreaking havoc with the luggage-sorting system. At least Home Alone featured only ONE totally obnoxious spoiled brat acting like a shithead for ninety minutes. This film has a baker's dozen of the little monsters running around. Presumably hilarity is supposed to ensue, except by "hilarity" I mean murderous rage. Lucky for the kids they're in an airport and nobody is allowed to be walking around packing heat. The only good thing about this movie is that apparently they cause massive bodily harm via slapstick assaults on Wilmer Valderrama, but otherwise, make all the airport food vegan and put Rihanna's "Unfaithful" on the soundtrack and you're in the latest conceptualization of my personal hell. Here's the trailer, but if you dare to watch, make sure you have a nitroglycerin patch, a bottle of Bayer, a home defibrillator, and an epi-pen handy, because this will simultaneously cause anaphylactic shock and massive cardiovascular shutdown if you aren't fully prepared for its unbridled horror:
Exhibit E: An ad for Uno Spin, a game that livens up the traditional Uno (AKA Crazy Eights for Dummies) by putting the cards into a battery-powered card shuffler on a Lazy Susan that vomits cards at the players, who scream with delight. On one hand, it's good that Uno has made a game requiring more physical activity, thus combating the burgeoning hordes of fat people in the world. On the other hand, the only thing more obnoxious than some smug motherfucker shrieking "Uno!" is having them shoot another card in your face. God, my blood is at a rolling boil just thinking about it.
The only thing that has saved me from a complete psychotic meltdown based on the commercials is the fact that the Top Model judges actually made an intelligent decision for once. Melrose got sent back to the draggish slag heap she crawled out of, and Caridee ultimately became America's Seventh Next Top Model! Disaster averted yet again.
Labels: America's Next Top Model, epic geekery, hot chicks, retard rage, TV
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]
