Monday, February 18, 2008
Criss Angel is a terrorist
I saw a picture of supreme douchebag musician Criss Angel on the gossip internets over the weekend, and I couldn't help but want to duck and cover in case he decided to suicide bomb me. Seriously, he is slowly becoming ever bit the terrorist I always thought him to be. With that beard, he looks like Abu Musab al-Zarqawi reincarnated as a Hot Topic employee rather than a terrorist insurgent.
This reiterates what I've always suspected about Criss Angel. He is a despicable human being who is waging a war against the American way by hoodwinking people into watching his shiteous Vegas magic act. I knew there was something untoward going on with Criss Angel, and now I know what that something is. He is a freedom-hating terrorist. It explains a lot. Now, the Department of Homeland Security just needs to slap those bedazzled handcuffs on his wrists and lock his ass away at Gitmo and hopefully prevent him from pulling off a magical Houdini-esque escape before his turn in the waterboarding room.
Labels: assholes, celebrities, Criss Angel, intentional buffoonery, terror
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Death to Criss Angel
Why I watched "Criss Angel: Mindfreak" last night is beyond me. It may have been because I was thinking about how hot his soon-to-be ex-wife is for handing him a nasty, acrimonious divorce that he can't make disappear and he was on my mind. It may also have been because I am a glutton for working myself into an infuriated state of rage (that's why I would watch "Search for the Next Pussyclot Doll"). In any event, I can't believe I sat through this without distilling all the alcohol out of the Heineken I was drinking and using it as an accelerant to immolate myself with. However, I think it was good for me to see it because now I have a comprehensive reference as to why this guy is the most detestable poseur fucktard on the planet.
When I picked up on the show, Criss was going on about how difficult his stunts are and "levitated" around the interior of the Luxor casino, which employs his bitch ass.
Note to self: No matter how appealing the Decadent Ancient Egyptian theme may be to my inner white trash hedonistic history nerd, DO NOT EVER GO TO THE LUXOR. If I were to come across Criss Angel's ass there, I'd probably distract him by saying, "Hey, your trucker hat isn't askance," thus distracting him long enough to allow me one clear shot at that ugly brooding mug of his. Then I'd be kicked out and possibly blackballed from other Las Vegas casinos for being a known bitch-beater. I like Las Vegas and want to go back, so the best strategy for avoiding some kind of meltdown is to stay the hell away from anywhere Criss Angel might be lurking.
Anyway, in the first part he claims to levitate around the Luxor while striking this Christ-on-the-Cross pose, but I don't buy it. He's obviously connected to some kind of cable that the crowd can't see. He looked like a worm on a damn hook pretending to be the Risen Savior, while Arabic wailing-tinged pseudo industrial music blared. His ass was NOT levitating, and I don't care how many fat tourists watching him believed that he really was!
Then, who should show up but Duane "Dog" Chapman and his corpulent wife Beth, stars of "Dog the Bounty Hunter?" I guess A&E really wanted to work some cross-show marketing in. Anyway, Dog announces his inimitable presence with a husky "Howzit, brother!" and tries to be polite to Criss, who is a complete asshole. Dog thinks Criss is a dumbass and is clearly only doing this to promote his own show. You also know that after getting one look at Criss's handcuff/crucifix neck jewelry number that Dog felt underdressed, and was wishing he'd adorned his hair with the Hawaiian bird plumage he favors. Anyway, Criss implies that his job is more dangerous than Dog's, who calls him out for being a pussy and does not appreciate Criss's mocking the serious nature of the bond-jumping fugitive collecting business. This precipitates some dumb challenge in which Dog will attempt to "subdue" Criss, who is heavily bound and drowning in a hot tub. Criss barely escapes but is considered subdued (probably by Beth and Dog's doting Christian bounty hunter love and compassion), thus prompting a challenge for a rematch. Since Dog stipulates it will be on his turf, that means Criss will show up and pollute a future episode of "Dog the Bounty Hunter". Ugh.
Then Criss gets in a helicopter and flies over the Luxor. Apparently he's going to levitate over it later in the show, and wishes to explain why. In his fur-trimmed flight jacket and signature "CA" logo beanie, he weaves some long sob story about his dead father while shedding some major crocodile tears inspired by the candle power of the light on top of the Luxor. It's a fucking casino, not an apparition of the Virgin appearing to the Medjugorje orphans, you retard...SHUT THE FUCK UP! Unfortunately, he does not, and later breaks down in a meeting with the Cirque du Soleil management, who are helping him plan the Luxor stunt. Seemingly he thinks that they would rather hear about his dreams and his dead pappy than get down to planning the logistics of how to fake him hovering hundreds of feet in the air in the "100 degrees! (Fahrenheit)" heat of the Luxor light. Save the simpering emo parent issues bullshit for your MySpace blog and be a fucking professional, you dumbass...this is a business meeting, for fuck's sake! Well, styling was probably also on the agenda, but since he attended this meeting with a fresh black manicure, a dog choke collar, impeccably applied guyliner, and a maladjusted "CA" logo baseball cap, I'm sure that meeting Cirque du Soleil's standards of pretentious dumbfuckery (AKA putting cherry red highlights into his intentionally unkempt shag haircut) will be a breeze for him.
When it finally comes time to do the much-heralded Luxor levitation, he really goes over the top. First, as he's walking up all the stairs to the top of the Luxor, he tells the camera that "this is the first time I've been alone" and repeatedly mentions that this is "crazy." Of course, he doesn't shut up about his dad, either, and he's so melodramatic about the risk of death that he actually records a "good-bye" message for his mother. Then he addresses viewers, starting with "even if you're not a believer." A believer? PLEASE. Since he's actually a patronizing charlatan with a stupid haircut and a knack for marketing his obnoxious brand to a large share of the idiot consumer market and not the Lamb of God, he needs to LOSE the Messianic language. If he's the second coming of Christ, then I'm converting to Satanism. I refuse to worship a divinity who sends any asshole with layered bangs to orchestrate the final judgment. I'll pass!
Then, we get some analysis as to the technical specifications of the stunt from some real scientastic types. First, a guy in a Jaegermeister t-shirt provides an in-depth analysis of wind dynamics on the Las Vegas strip. Then some producer (who has an intentionally mussed trendy retro mullet...no WONDER I hate this show) explains about all the liability issues involved. Then we see the light team at mission control testing all the systems involved in turning on the light (and probably working Criss's invisible hover machine). This is presented as if doing this is more complicated, critical, and involved than a damn space shuttle launch. Once all systems are go, it's time to cue the Ministry Lite soundtrack and watch Criss Angel howl, tolerate 100 degrees Fahrenheit (which is probably cooler than the surrounding Vegas air), and impress all the tourists gawking up at him from below. Unfortunately, in spite of all the risk of mortal injury, he doesn't die, and there is no happy ending. In fact, he goes to his apartment at the Luxor and greets his cat. OF COURSE HE HAS A CAT! No wonder I hate him...I am a staunch dog person and I instinctively loathe cat people.
Proving that this episode of dumbassery is not an isolated incident, the scenes-from-the-next teaser indicate that next week, the same thing happens. Criss gets towed behind a four-wheeler, and then cries about his mom. Seriously. Is it too much to ask that one day he'll do a stunt that goes horribly wrong and delivers us all from his evil? Criss Angel SUCKS.
When I picked up on the show, Criss was going on about how difficult his stunts are and "levitated" around the interior of the Luxor casino, which employs his bitch ass.
Anyway, in the first part he claims to levitate around the Luxor while striking this Christ-on-the-Cross pose, but I don't buy it. He's obviously connected to some kind of cable that the crowd can't see. He looked like a worm on a damn hook pretending to be the Risen Savior, while Arabic wailing-tinged pseudo industrial music blared. His ass was NOT levitating, and I don't care how many fat tourists watching him believed that he really was!
Then, who should show up but Duane "Dog" Chapman and his corpulent wife Beth, stars of "Dog the Bounty Hunter?" I guess A&E really wanted to work some cross-show marketing in. Anyway, Dog announces his inimitable presence with a husky "Howzit, brother!" and tries to be polite to Criss, who is a complete asshole. Dog thinks Criss is a dumbass and is clearly only doing this to promote his own show. You also know that after getting one look at Criss's handcuff/crucifix neck jewelry number that Dog felt underdressed, and was wishing he'd adorned his hair with the Hawaiian bird plumage he favors. Anyway, Criss implies that his job is more dangerous than Dog's, who calls him out for being a pussy and does not appreciate Criss's mocking the serious nature of the bond-jumping fugitive collecting business. This precipitates some dumb challenge in which Dog will attempt to "subdue" Criss, who is heavily bound and drowning in a hot tub. Criss barely escapes but is considered subdued (probably by Beth and Dog's doting Christian bounty hunter love and compassion), thus prompting a challenge for a rematch. Since Dog stipulates it will be on his turf, that means Criss will show up and pollute a future episode of "Dog the Bounty Hunter". Ugh.
Then Criss gets in a helicopter and flies over the Luxor. Apparently he's going to levitate over it later in the show, and wishes to explain why. In his fur-trimmed flight jacket and signature "CA" logo beanie, he weaves some long sob story about his dead father while shedding some major crocodile tears inspired by the candle power of the light on top of the Luxor. It's a fucking casino, not an apparition of the Virgin appearing to the Medjugorje orphans, you retard...SHUT THE FUCK UP! Unfortunately, he does not, and later breaks down in a meeting with the Cirque du Soleil management, who are helping him plan the Luxor stunt. Seemingly he thinks that they would rather hear about his dreams and his dead pappy than get down to planning the logistics of how to fake him hovering hundreds of feet in the air in the "100 degrees! (Fahrenheit)" heat of the Luxor light. Save the simpering emo parent issues bullshit for your MySpace blog and be a fucking professional, you dumbass...this is a business meeting, for fuck's sake! Well, styling was probably also on the agenda, but since he attended this meeting with a fresh black manicure, a dog choke collar, impeccably applied guyliner, and a maladjusted "CA" logo baseball cap, I'm sure that meeting Cirque du Soleil's standards of pretentious dumbfuckery (AKA putting cherry red highlights into his intentionally unkempt shag haircut) will be a breeze for him.
When it finally comes time to do the much-heralded Luxor levitation, he really goes over the top. First, as he's walking up all the stairs to the top of the Luxor, he tells the camera that "this is the first time I've been alone" and repeatedly mentions that this is "crazy." Of course, he doesn't shut up about his dad, either, and he's so melodramatic about the risk of death that he actually records a "good-bye" message for his mother. Then he addresses viewers, starting with "even if you're not a believer." A believer? PLEASE. Since he's actually a patronizing charlatan with a stupid haircut and a knack for marketing his obnoxious brand to a large share of the idiot consumer market and not the Lamb of God, he needs to LOSE the Messianic language. If he's the second coming of Christ, then I'm converting to Satanism. I refuse to worship a divinity who sends any asshole with layered bangs to orchestrate the final judgment. I'll pass!
Then, we get some analysis as to the technical specifications of the stunt from some real scientastic types. First, a guy in a Jaegermeister t-shirt provides an in-depth analysis of wind dynamics on the Las Vegas strip. Then some producer (who has an intentionally mussed trendy retro mullet...no WONDER I hate this show) explains about all the liability issues involved. Then we see the light team at mission control testing all the systems involved in turning on the light (and probably working Criss's invisible hover machine). This is presented as if doing this is more complicated, critical, and involved than a damn space shuttle launch. Once all systems are go, it's time to cue the Ministry Lite soundtrack and watch Criss Angel howl, tolerate 100 degrees Fahrenheit (which is probably cooler than the surrounding Vegas air), and impress all the tourists gawking up at him from below. Unfortunately, in spite of all the risk of mortal injury, he doesn't die, and there is no happy ending. In fact, he goes to his apartment at the Luxor and greets his cat. OF COURSE HE HAS A CAT! No wonder I hate him...I am a staunch dog person and I instinctively loathe cat people.
Proving that this episode of dumbassery is not an isolated incident, the scenes-from-the-next teaser indicate that next week, the same thing happens. Criss gets towed behind a four-wheeler, and then cries about his mom. Seriously. Is it too much to ask that one day he'll do a stunt that goes horribly wrong and delivers us all from his evil? Criss Angel SUCKS.
Labels: assholes, celebrities, Criss Angel, oh the horror, overcompensation, TV
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Joann Sarantakos
Name: Joanne Winkheart Sarantakos
Alias: Mrs. Criss Angel, Mindfreak
DOB: sometime in 1970
Occupation: Bloodthirsty plaintiff in divorce proceedings, former secret wife
Hometown: Garden City, NY
Current residence: On Criss Angel's ass like an infected hemorrhoid in Nassau County, Strong Island divorce court
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: I can't stand Criss Angel, and he's even more detestable now that I know he kept his wife squirreled away somewhere while he was out humping a stripper pole with Paris Hilton. Now that he's publicly carrying on with Leatherface Diaz (giving her retarded nicknames like "Trouble" and the like...ugh), Joann had enough of his bullshit and is ready to get nasty with their divorce proceedings.
Apparently she hired a private investigator to follow Criss Angel around, although that seems like a waste of time to me, as there's ample evidence of his toolery on the internets. He also hasn't given her a penny, and you know this Long Island bitch has some fake acrylic tips to maintain, so she's demanding he cough up some millions for her. At their latest court appearance, he showed up trying to be contrite. Apparently he wore a suit, no jewelry, and didn't look like he just walked out of a Halloween party dressed as The Crow, and attempted to make nice with her. She told him to get bent. Then, Criss decided to mug for the cameras and have some fun at her lawyer's expense.
"I could make him disappear," he joked to whatever pitiful reporters were at the scene covering this story, pointing at her lawyer.
After a quick conference with his client, the lawyer chuckled, and then smirking said, "I'm going to rip his heart out."
Joann Winkheart Sarantakos is not a bitch to be ignored or trifled with. I hope she gets every last cent of his wages from past, present, and future bullshit charlatanry.
Labels: Criss Angel, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, hot chicks, vengeance is sweet
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Magicians should do what they do best and DISAPPEAR
I just saw an ad for "Criss Angel: Mindfreak" and almost tried to beat up my television. I can't stand magicians. Magicians are a bunch of douchebag charlatans who do shit that I have ZERO interest in watching. Criss Angel spends most of his time hovering around like some sort of low-budget demon from a White Zombie video, and occasionally make something disappear. This episode, he's running some dipshit with overfrosted skater hair over with a steamroller, while the dipshit screams bloody murder. If the dipshit were crushed into a puddle of sun-kissed shaggy bangs, Hot Topic pre-edgily cut-and-safety-pinned Ramones shirt, and stray Anarchy patches, I would watch this show and cheer. However, in the nick of time, Criss Angel swoops in like a lugubrious guardian angel from the roof of the Luxor or whatever and perpetrates some Dark Magick goth quackery. Suddenly the dipshit is fine, out from under the steamroller, laughing in amazement, and recommending the experience to everyone. The only way I'd watch this version is if Criss Angel explained his methods for pulling off this illusionist stunt. However, since magicians never reveal their secrets, that's not going to happen, so what the hell is the point of watching it AT ALL?
Apparently some people enjoy seeing unbelievable sights without questioning how exactly they were generated, as evidenced by the number of people who always line up to see David Blaine's bitch ass. He pulls a lot of his magical stunts (AKA stupid physically impressive shit that most people wouldn't bother to do because it's POINTLESS) in New York, and everytime he's around, you want to know where so you can avoid that part of town. There's always thousands of people just itching to see him suspended over Times Square or swimming around in a giant breast implant in front of Lincoln Center. The only "magic" in this man's arsenal is his seemingly inordinate capacity for voluntarily urethral catheterization. However, there are obviously a lot of people who can't get enough of his accessible yet macabre demeanor. Unfortunately for me and my stress level, magician futures are looking up.
Because of the consumer demand for intolerable bullshit, there's actually feuding groups of fans debating about who the greatest, darkest, most mysterious active magician is. I don't know how they can even tell them apart. It's like looking at three subtly different models of douchebag. The styling is a little different, but they're all basically dudes equipped with pencil dicks and trying to overcompensate by creating a vague, enigmatic image with which to hoodwink bitches into fucking them and tourists into coughing up some cold, hard cash.
Criss Angel (AKA "Mindfreak," AKA "The Avril Lavigne of Magicians")
The only dark mystery I see regarding this dude is why he seems to actually want to get his pelvis anywhere near Paris Hilton's. Otherwise, he's just another fucktard in a trucker hat with a nipple ring and black nail polish who needs to cut his damn hair. Man, I hate guys with long hair. Androgyny is not hot unless your name is David Bowie, so grow a pair and trim that mop! Oh, and BT-Dubs, Gwar called, and they want their stage decorations back.
David Blaine
Criss Angel basically bit David Blaine's style and added slightly more eye makeup. David Blaine likes to remind everyone that he's a mysterious "street" magician, so he knows both card tricks and HARD CORE STUFF, like wearing a bunch of nails instead of, say, a nice Pashmina scarf. He also does a lot of hard core stuff like Photoshopping the shit out of his eye color.
David Copperfield
David Copperfield was the OG brooding illusionist. He pioneered the look, and stock in black turtleneck factories skyrocketed. He also perfected the art of arcanely smirking while levitating passports, presumably to intrigue his audience. What is going on being that perplexing and secretive facade??? I don't care.
Some women allegedly find these magician types sexy. I have absolutely no idea why. According to the gossip internets, Cameron Diaz has been caught "canoodling" with Criss Angel all over Las Vegas, and in the picture above you can almost see the Neisseria gonorrhoeae transferring from Paris's vadge over to his nether regions. David Blaine allegedly has boned the likes of Fiona Apple (not necessarily something to brag about; see Cameron Diaz, above), Madonna, and Daryl Hannah. David Copperfield was banging Claudia Schiffer back in his (and her) heyday. I don't know why any self-respecting woman would want to have sex with them just looking at their packaging, but I certainly cannot fathom why they want to actually date or have a relationship with them.
I bet these guys never knock off the chicanery. I bet they squire a lady out on the town and spend the whole night doing annoying magical bullshit, like making silverware disappear at dinner and pulling movie tickets out of their ears. You'll be trying to get to know them, ask what kind of popsicles they like or whatever, and they'll start performing card tricks instead of behaving like a normal human being having an adult conversation. Once I was on MTV's show "Boiling Points," where improv actors try to infuriate hapless participants, who win $100 if they keep their tempers under control. I was the hapless participant, and was on a drink date with this dude (who I would not have fucked just based on his appearance), who would not stop singing. He sang the drink orders, he sang my name, he sang about grad school, and he did his job by thoroughly pissing me off. I didn't win $100 because I finally snapped and told him that if he didn't shut the fuck up, "I'll stick my stiletto heel through your larynx." I predict that the only thing eerie about hanging out with these magicians is the undoubted similarity to what transpired when I was on "Boiling Points" in terms of what would go down. What would not go down is me.
Magicians are losers. Get a real job, you cheating bullshit artists.
Apparently some people enjoy seeing unbelievable sights without questioning how exactly they were generated, as evidenced by the number of people who always line up to see David Blaine's bitch ass. He pulls a lot of his magical stunts (AKA stupid physically impressive shit that most people wouldn't bother to do because it's POINTLESS) in New York, and everytime he's around, you want to know where so you can avoid that part of town. There's always thousands of people just itching to see him suspended over Times Square or swimming around in a giant breast implant in front of Lincoln Center. The only "magic" in this man's arsenal is his seemingly inordinate capacity for voluntarily urethral catheterization. However, there are obviously a lot of people who can't get enough of his accessible yet macabre demeanor. Unfortunately for me and my stress level, magician futures are looking up.
Because of the consumer demand for intolerable bullshit, there's actually feuding groups of fans debating about who the greatest, darkest, most mysterious active magician is. I don't know how they can even tell them apart. It's like looking at three subtly different models of douchebag. The styling is a little different, but they're all basically dudes equipped with pencil dicks and trying to overcompensate by creating a vague, enigmatic image with which to hoodwink bitches into fucking them and tourists into coughing up some cold, hard cash.
Criss Angel (AKA "Mindfreak," AKA "The Avril Lavigne of Magicians")
The only dark mystery I see regarding this dude is why he seems to actually want to get his pelvis anywhere near Paris Hilton's. Otherwise, he's just another fucktard in a trucker hat with a nipple ring and black nail polish who needs to cut his damn hair. Man, I hate guys with long hair. Androgyny is not hot unless your name is David Bowie, so grow a pair and trim that mop! Oh, and BT-Dubs, Gwar called, and they want their stage decorations back.
David Blaine
Criss Angel basically bit David Blaine's style and added slightly more eye makeup. David Blaine likes to remind everyone that he's a mysterious "street" magician, so he knows both card tricks and HARD CORE STUFF, like wearing a bunch of nails instead of, say, a nice Pashmina scarf. He also does a lot of hard core stuff like Photoshopping the shit out of his eye color.
David Copperfield
David Copperfield was the OG brooding illusionist. He pioneered the look, and stock in black turtleneck factories skyrocketed. He also perfected the art of arcanely smirking while levitating passports, presumably to intrigue his audience. What is going on being that perplexing and secretive facade??? I don't care.
Some women allegedly find these magician types sexy. I have absolutely no idea why. According to the gossip internets, Cameron Diaz has been caught "canoodling" with Criss Angel all over Las Vegas, and in the picture above you can almost see the Neisseria gonorrhoeae transferring from Paris's vadge over to his nether regions. David Blaine allegedly has boned the likes of Fiona Apple (not necessarily something to brag about; see Cameron Diaz, above), Madonna, and Daryl Hannah. David Copperfield was banging Claudia Schiffer back in his (and her) heyday. I don't know why any self-respecting woman would want to have sex with them just looking at their packaging, but I certainly cannot fathom why they want to actually date or have a relationship with them.
I bet these guys never knock off the chicanery. I bet they squire a lady out on the town and spend the whole night doing annoying magical bullshit, like making silverware disappear at dinner and pulling movie tickets out of their ears. You'll be trying to get to know them, ask what kind of popsicles they like or whatever, and they'll start performing card tricks instead of behaving like a normal human being having an adult conversation. Once I was on MTV's show "Boiling Points," where improv actors try to infuriate hapless participants, who win $100 if they keep their tempers under control. I was the hapless participant, and was on a drink date with this dude (who I would not have fucked just based on his appearance), who would not stop singing. He sang the drink orders, he sang my name, he sang about grad school, and he did his job by thoroughly pissing me off. I didn't win $100 because I finally snapped and told him that if he didn't shut the fuck up, "I'll stick my stiletto heel through your larynx." I predict that the only thing eerie about hanging out with these magicians is the undoubted similarity to what transpired when I was on "Boiling Points" in terms of what would go down. What would not go down is me.
Magicians are losers. Get a real job, you cheating bullshit artists.
Labels: assholes, Criss Angel, intentional buffoonery, magick is bullshit, overcompensation, ranting, retard rage, scathing indictments
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Digital cable channel guide descriptions are patently false
I worked quite late tonight trying to catch up on all the lab action I missed while enjoying twelve days of blissfully grad school-free beer drinking, sleeping late, getting a killer tan, and generally lazing about. So when I got home and finished walking the dogs a few minutes ago, I decided to catch up on a little crappy TV watching.
I realized while flipping through the channel guide that is supposedly one of the perks to a digital cable subscription that this thing is fucking worthless. For example, this is what the channel guide had to say about tonight's episode of "Sex and the City" on TBS:
Episode: One. Carrie has a rendezvous in the exotic world of art; Charlotte receives some surprise news; Miranda and Steve celebrate Brady's first birthday; Samantha tries to preserve her youth.
This is the worst description of this "Sex and the City" episode ever. I've seen most of the "Sex and the City" episodes at one time or another, and I happen to know that in this episode something entirely different happens. If I were a channel guide episode description writer, I would come up with something a little more accurate, like this:
Episode: One. Carrie goes to a pretentious performance art exhibition and meets a famous and righteously old Russian artist played by former ballerina Mikhail Baryshnikov who then force-feeds her aspic like a foie gras goose; Charlotte has a miscarriage, after which she spirals into a deep depression curable only by watching Elizabeth Taylor's E! True Hollywood Story; Miranda and Steve ditch both of their disproportionately hot significant others after they hook up in the laundry room over their bastard spawn's birthday cake; Samantha discovers a gray pubic hair and accidentally dyes her short-and-curlies bozo clown red in her desperation to make her pussy look younger.
Okay, I realize that it's not quite as pithy as the channel guide version, but it certainly is more compelling and honest. Furthermore, with the convenient "page down" feature available on most common digital cable remote controls, there is no need to be limited by length. The channel guide needs to get its act together.
Here is another example. This is what the channel guide says about tonight's episode of "Criss Angel: Mindfreak" on A&E:
Episode: Building Walk. Criss attempts to walk down the side of a building.
Although this is relatively straightforward, it is a poor and almost misleading description of what actually awaits the television viewer who flips to "Criss Angel: Mindfreak." This is a more accurate summary:
Episode: Building Walk. Criss "Christoper Sarantakos" Angel spends twenty-five minutes trying desperately to out-David Blaine David Blaine: tousles his Robert Smith meets Edward Scissorhands hairstyle, puts on eyeliner, polishes his edgy body jewelry, cranks up his Disturbed CD, speaks in nonsensical riddles to enhance his master of mystery routine, makes at least five "don't try this at home, I am the only professional tool qualified to do them" liability disclaimers, and sells pull-a-quarter-out-from-behind-your-ear snake oil magic tricks to elicit cries of awe frome a bunch of obese tourists buying stupid t-shirts at whatever casino employs his bitch-ass. Then in the last ninety seconds and while the credits roll he attempts to walk down the side of a building.
It couldn't hurt to put a thumbnail photo of Criss Angel on the channel guide, so that people know EXACTLY what an obnoxious prick he is. Would you watch this show if you knew it meant watching this asshole do THIS for 30 minutes?
I would DEFINITELY know to steer clear of "Criss Angel: Mindfreak" if the channel guide were kind enough to indicate that it involves 30 minutes watching the bastard child of John Rambo and the manager of the Sea-Tac Mall Hot Topic preen himself. I wouldn't even look at this shit long enough to notice that the motherfucker is wearing a BROWN belt with BLACK jeans and combining that with what looks like 50 Cent's training bling. Once again, the channel guide is woefully inadequate for my shitty TV informational needs.
Another inaccurate guide entry is the information for "Celebrity Wedding Secrets" on Vh1. The channel guide tells me that this show is as follows:
Celebrity Weddings. Details from the year's celebrity nuptials.
Looking at this, you might think this show documents the tedious minutiae of some famous person's expensive wedding, like talking about the centerpieces or the cake. This, however, is a more apt record of "Celebrity Wedding Secrets:"
Celebrity Weddings. Q-list comedians, self-important bloggers, ex-supporting cast members from sitcoms of yesteryear, desperate-for-free-marketing wedding planners/starfucking sycophants, and former Vh1 reality stars (ie: Wendy the Snapple Lady) bitterly opine about Sir Elton John's life partner ceremony, then attempt to compensate for their shamelessly exposed jealousy issues by guffawing at their own lame jokes.
Now THAT is something I would watch, if only to mock Vh1's heavy-handed pop culture punditry. The channel guide really needs to get its act together. If anyone at Time Warner Cable is reading this, would you kindly pass my suggestion on to the channel guide department that including snappy language in their episode summaries would ultimately prove a boon for the digital cable industry? People would feel more confident relying on the channel guide, and consequently would watch more cable television. Furthermore, people would likely upgrade to channel guide-having digital cable if they knew that there was an entertaining yet informative consumer tool like a Razzified channel guide included in the package. Better channel guide descriptions would benefit everyone. I expect it's only a matter of time before the higher ups at Time Warner are blowing up my cell phone trying to hire me.
I realized while flipping through the channel guide that is supposedly one of the perks to a digital cable subscription that this thing is fucking worthless. For example, this is what the channel guide had to say about tonight's episode of "Sex and the City" on TBS:
Episode: One. Carrie has a rendezvous in the exotic world of art; Charlotte receives some surprise news; Miranda and Steve celebrate Brady's first birthday; Samantha tries to preserve her youth.
This is the worst description of this "Sex and the City" episode ever. I've seen most of the "Sex and the City" episodes at one time or another, and I happen to know that in this episode something entirely different happens. If I were a channel guide episode description writer, I would come up with something a little more accurate, like this:
Episode: One. Carrie goes to a pretentious performance art exhibition and meets a famous and righteously old Russian artist played by former ballerina Mikhail Baryshnikov who then force-feeds her aspic like a foie gras goose; Charlotte has a miscarriage, after which she spirals into a deep depression curable only by watching Elizabeth Taylor's E! True Hollywood Story; Miranda and Steve ditch both of their disproportionately hot significant others after they hook up in the laundry room over their bastard spawn's birthday cake; Samantha discovers a gray pubic hair and accidentally dyes her short-and-curlies bozo clown red in her desperation to make her pussy look younger.
Okay, I realize that it's not quite as pithy as the channel guide version, but it certainly is more compelling and honest. Furthermore, with the convenient "page down" feature available on most common digital cable remote controls, there is no need to be limited by length. The channel guide needs to get its act together.
Here is another example. This is what the channel guide says about tonight's episode of "Criss Angel: Mindfreak" on A&E:
Episode: Building Walk. Criss attempts to walk down the side of a building.
Although this is relatively straightforward, it is a poor and almost misleading description of what actually awaits the television viewer who flips to "Criss Angel: Mindfreak." This is a more accurate summary:
Episode: Building Walk. Criss "Christoper Sarantakos" Angel spends twenty-five minutes trying desperately to out-David Blaine David Blaine: tousles his Robert Smith meets Edward Scissorhands hairstyle, puts on eyeliner, polishes his edgy body jewelry, cranks up his Disturbed CD, speaks in nonsensical riddles to enhance his master of mystery routine, makes at least five "don't try this at home, I am the only professional tool qualified to do them" liability disclaimers, and sells pull-a-quarter-out-from-behind-your-ear snake oil magic tricks to elicit cries of awe frome a bunch of obese tourists buying stupid t-shirts at whatever casino employs his bitch-ass. Then in the last ninety seconds and while the credits roll he attempts to walk down the side of a building.
It couldn't hurt to put a thumbnail photo of Criss Angel on the channel guide, so that people know EXACTLY what an obnoxious prick he is. Would you watch this show if you knew it meant watching this asshole do THIS for 30 minutes?
I would DEFINITELY know to steer clear of "Criss Angel: Mindfreak" if the channel guide were kind enough to indicate that it involves 30 minutes watching the bastard child of John Rambo and the manager of the Sea-Tac Mall Hot Topic preen himself. I wouldn't even look at this shit long enough to notice that the motherfucker is wearing a BROWN belt with BLACK jeans and combining that with what looks like 50 Cent's training bling. Once again, the channel guide is woefully inadequate for my shitty TV informational needs.
Another inaccurate guide entry is the information for "Celebrity Wedding Secrets" on Vh1. The channel guide tells me that this show is as follows:
Celebrity Weddings. Details from the year's celebrity nuptials.
Looking at this, you might think this show documents the tedious minutiae of some famous person's expensive wedding, like talking about the centerpieces or the cake. This, however, is a more apt record of "Celebrity Wedding Secrets:"
Celebrity Weddings. Q-list comedians, self-important bloggers, ex-supporting cast members from sitcoms of yesteryear, desperate-for-free-marketing wedding planners/starfucking sycophants, and former Vh1 reality stars (ie: Wendy the Snapple Lady) bitterly opine about Sir Elton John's life partner ceremony, then attempt to compensate for their shamelessly exposed jealousy issues by guffawing at their own lame jokes.
Now THAT is something I would watch, if only to mock Vh1's heavy-handed pop culture punditry. The channel guide really needs to get its act together. If anyone at Time Warner Cable is reading this, would you kindly pass my suggestion on to the channel guide department that including snappy language in their episode summaries would ultimately prove a boon for the digital cable industry? People would feel more confident relying on the channel guide, and consequently would watch more cable television. Furthermore, people would likely upgrade to channel guide-having digital cable if they knew that there was an entertaining yet informative consumer tool like a Razzified channel guide included in the package. Better channel guide descriptions would benefit everyone. I expect it's only a matter of time before the higher ups at Time Warner are blowing up my cell phone trying to hire me.
Labels: celebrities, Criss Angel, Sex and the City, TV, Vh1
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