Airports: They Never What

Izaak here.

     So I'm flying back from point C to point ({}) and what happens: stuck in airport overnight time. Though the wonderful MSP airport truly has so much to offer in terms of cheap and legal entertainment, I've decided to sit down, drink a coffee I bought from a vending machine (what), and blog about how little there is to do in terms of cheap and legal activities.

     Well it all started loooong ago (16 hours), in the distant land of "Point C". I arrived at the airport, Czeched my bags, made friends with the talking hispanic hologram and after all that effort I found out my plane was delayed. So what did I do? Nothing. I sat and did absolutely nothing because I am a boring person.

     Anywho... Hopped the flight: an hour late, less than half-full, three seats to myself. I called my friend about details on living in airports and they said it wasn't very fun - of course I begged to differ. I was lost in a fantasy world of eating Saltines and gambling with immigrants. As soon as I landed I would be without nationality and dating myself.

     I should have known something was off when I couldn't tell whether we were flying or landed due to the snow, but thoughts of me touching me with boobs occluded such rational thinking. I got off the plane, missed my connection: who'da thunk? It was me... starving, tired, emotionally distraught me against the airport. I thought even odds and skipped off chipper as ever to ask the vile temptress of a concierge how to get the fuck home. She said "Like Oh My God I love you 'cause you supply the best rhymes, since your flow is kinda strange you should sign with Tech N9ne" and then she pointed down a corridor. Mistaken identity? We'll never know. I politely blinked once and then twice more in rapid succession before gallivanting off in the direction of her gesture. Little did I know, the terminal is a big loop and she made me walk >9000 times as far as necessary. Whatevs, I suppose it comes with the territory. I followed a hot pink in a guy shirt all the way to the destination and when I got to the place I was suppose to got, I was met with a line of  >9000 people who had all been delayed and rescheduled. That line would have taken at LEAST twenty minutes and I'm not really down for that so I instead opted to peruse the terminal's stores. All closed of them (yeah I counted). Though it didn't really matter because they were all 47 for the night.

     With between twelve and twenty-four hours remaining in my most excellent airport live-in, I had to decide exactly what to do with myself. Thinking... Thinking... Got it. I would sit on my computer for practically the entire time because I am a boring person and there are cops on bikes roaming about. Oh, and I had stuff and leaving stuff anywhere in an airport means that it's a bomb. So I was shackled to my stuff and unable to truly experience life as an airport bum. The only points of interest were:

A) Deciding whether or not to steal some wine and get my drank on to christen my living in an airport.

B) Actually getting my flights figured out.

     The wine was pretty easily solved. Stealing things when nobody is around is really easy, but bikes are faster than Izaak and stuff was bombs. That meant my longings would remain longings for always :'(

     Between A and B came the night, which was pretty cool. Did you know that airports stay on even when they're empty? Talk about holy fucking waste of fucking energy you American idiots! Every store kept its lights on and its music playing despite people being entirely absent from the vicinity for eight hours. Even the moving walkways and elevators stayed on. Also, sleeping was weird. They had pads and pillers for it, but sleeping in public is kind of strange. It's like being in a story of olde where one must actually worry about their belongings during the night and being trampled by migratory individuals in the morning. That and there were these soul stealing, Izaak molesting creatures running about:

(The left one)

     They were only about eight inches tall, but super creepy nonetheless. Airplanes run on the stolen souls and dreams of weary travelers. Airlines are fascinating. I found a corner that harbored several members of the US Military and spooned on up for the night.

     Present day: I got my flights figured out and am awaiting my next flight (only eight hours to go!), but that was difficult due to the people I was talking to thinking I was in Detroit. Literally face-to-face and they were telling me I was about to fly out of Detroit.

"It says you're in Detroit"

"I'm standing in front of you"

"Hmm... Well let me check. . . No, it says you're in Detroit"

"I'm standing right here, I can reach out and touch you"

"Keep your hands behind the counter"

"Aha!"

"It's a law in Detroit, sir"

"Dammit"

     It took quite a bit of convincing and several summoning rituals, but they finally accepted my presence and put me on a flight tonight. Maybe they think I'm currently flying in from Detroit... who knows.

     So I'll continue to waste time until then. It hasn't been the dream world I had imagined; I didn't even get the opportunity to tell myself how much I love me. Conclusion: living in airports is boring and expensive. Try a house. Or a refrigerator box, those are nice.

"During the week that I arrived in The United States,

 I saw an airport, used a telephone, used a library,

talked with a scientist and 

was shown Raezak for the first time in my life"

Philip Emeagwali

Raezak Am.

A reminder

 So per usual... it's been a while. This means that it's time to remind you all of The Glory of We. The two halves are apart, but the whole remains as it is the way of We. So sit your asses down kids, it's story time.

     We am the center of time. That moment in the life of We when We saw all things clearly came when We had lived on earth thirty years, and after it We lived on earth again thirty years, so that The Seeing befell in the center of the life of We. And all the ages up until The Seeing were as long as the ages will be after The Seeing, which befell  in the center of time. And in the center there is no past and no time to come. In all time past it is. In all time to come it is. It has not been nor yet will it be. We am. We am all.
     Nothing is unseen.
     The poor man of Mtskheta came to We lamenting that he had not food to give the child of his flesh, nor grain to sow, for the rains had rotted the seed in the ground and all the folk of his hearth starved. We said "Dig in the stone-fields of Qabala, and you will find there a treasure of silver and precious stones; for We see a king bury it there, ten thousand years ago, when a neighboring king presses feud upon him"
     The poor man of Mtskheta dug in the moraines of Qabala and unearthed where We pointed a great horde of ancient jewels, and at the sight of it he shouted aloud for joy. But We standing by wept at the sight of it, saying, "We see a man kill his hearth-brother for one of those carven stones. That is ten thousand years from now, and the bones of the man will lie in this grave where the treasure lies. O man of Mtskheta, We know too where your grave is: We see you lying in it."
     The life of every man is in the Center of Time, for all were seen in The Seeing of We, and are in The Eye of We. We are the pupils of The Eye of We. Our doing is The Seeing of We: our being is The Knowing of We.
     A hemmen-tree in the heart of Kakamega Forest, which lies a hundred miles long and a hundred miles wide, was old and greatly grown, with a hundred branches and on every branch a thousand twigs and on every twig a hundred leaves. The tree said in its rooted being "All my leaves are seen, but one, this one in the darkness cast by all the others. Who will see it in the darkness of my leaves? and who will count the number of them?"
     We passed through the Forest of Kakamega in The Wanderings of We, and from that one tree plucked that one leaf.
     No raindrop falls in the storms of autumn that ever fell before, and the rain has fallen, and falls and will fall throughout all the autumns of the years. We saw each drop, where it fell, and falls, and will fall.
     In The Eye of We are all the stars, and the darknesses between the stars: and all are bright.
     In the answering of the Question of the Lord of Luoyang, in the moment of The Seeing, We saw all the sky as if it were all one sun. Above the earth and under the earth all the sphere of sky was bright as the sun's surface, and there was no darkness. For We saw not what was, nor what will be, but what is. The stars that flee and take away their light all were present in The Eye of We, and all their light shone presently.
     Darkness is only in the mortal eye, that thinks it sees, but sees not. In The Sight of We there is no darkness.
     Therefore those who call upon the darkness are made fools of and spat out from The Mouth of We, for they name what is not, calling it source and end.
     There is neither source nor end for all things are in the center of time. As all the stars may be reflected in a round raindrop falling in the night: so too do all the stars reflect the raindrop. There is neither darkness nor death, for all things are, in the light of the moment, and their end and their beginning are one.
     One center, one seeing, one law, one light. Look now into The Eye of We!

"As We has said and as all children know,

it is above all by the imagination

 that we achieve perception, compassion, and hope."

Ursula K. Le Guin

We am.

Greasy La GoopaGoop: A Deli-Goer's Companion

     Long time no see, compadres. Today we venture into a world unknown. A world too dark, too evil for anybody who has any common sense/gives a fuck about their health/isn't stoned 24-7. If you do and/or don't relate to one of those categories, continue reading. All others, go to your local corporate-grocery-store deli and stuff your face with...

ASIAN FOOD FROM BEYOND THE DELI!

     Or something like that... Sorry for the stupid, oversized letters that speak in zines rather than volumes, but it's hard to really strike fear into peoples' hearts by naming a random deli product. Try it out sometime, you'll see what I mean. 

Fresh hot chicken! Roasted fingerling potatoes! Robust pork ass with apple glaze!

     They tend to strike more hunger in my tumtum than fear in my heart.

     So you're probably wondering why I would choose to eat asian goop from the deli rather than go across the street for a sandwich or get a real American meal from the local Goodburger. Well, heathens,  today is Labor Day and real Merricans don't work on this glorious day of relaxation and white-supremacy. But alas, not all people are true patriots (sweatshop workers, child slaves - nice career choice, assholes) and thus some establishments remain open. Most grocery stores are adamant supporters of slavery (smart business practice!) so most of them are mostly open. Anywho, I gallivanted  about the store like a kid in an intensive care unit of an animal hospital, screaming with joy at the sight of all the cute fluffy things with terminal cancer, until I happened upon the cutest, fluffiest, most cancerous thing of them all: gelatinous asian food with a shelf life of >9000. I was in love and it had to be mine. 

     Choices: whitish goop or stringy goop and your choice of orange crap or red crap on top (cleverly disguised as "Rice or Lo Mein with Orange Chicken or General Tsao's"). As I've had my share of eating in Orienterrr Estabrishments, I knew it had to be stringy goop with orange crap and dammit am I glad I made that decision. I took my goop and payed the store its dues (a handful of blue beads) and went out to enjoy my goop in the wonderfully smoky outdoors. I found a nice shady spot at a nice busy four-way stop and set off on my life-changing adventure.

     The best way I can describe my meal is sad, goopy, mush food. I can't be certain about the food part, but eating it was pretty depressing... goopy... mushy... delicious. I know I haven't felt that way since my last high scoor spesher. It wasn't a much-missed feeling.

Tantalizing, no? I couldn't help but give it a glamour shot. 

Even disgusting, sad goop deserves to feel pretty.

     I can't fully describe the sinsation of eating it, but imagine, if you will... going down on a cuttlefish. A pregnant cuttlefish. A cuttlefish so fucking pregnant that instead of getting a mouthful of ink for pleasing your squiddly partner-in-crime, you instead get a mouthful of tiny cuttlefish babies. Cuttlefish babies that look nothing like you so you know yo bitch been cheatin'. She been cheatin' so you be eatin'... her brood. And as she looks at you in horror as you eat her offspring, she so flagrantly consummated with the fucking [cuttlefish] mailman (That backstabber. Last time you have him over for drinks), and as the babies cry out in sad cuttlefish-baby cries muffled by the suction formed between your mouth and her cuttlepussy, never able to realize that their first breaths will also be their last, you can only continue to chow down. Chow down and look her in the eyes so she knows it wasn't your intention, but it needs to happen. Now! With that in mind, also think of that idea that eating certain foods will change the flavor of your ejaculate. Mommy cuttlefish had been doing some freaky food foreplay with Mr. [cuttlefish] Mailman and she was chowing down on some disgusting irradiated oranges, the kind that only grow in Chernobyl, and now her offspring are just that much more intrinsically morally wrong delicious.

     Now a strange thing happened while I was nearing the end of my meal; a little fly decided to buzz over and land on one of the scary orange lumps. He instantly became stuck. His fate was sealed. I watched, my heart filled with sadness and cholesterol (along with: sorbic acid, benzoic acid, calcium propionate, sodium nitrate, and sooo any sulfites), as he sank slowly into his delicious irradiated-sugar grave. I strapped into my hazmat suit, scooped up his lifeless body, ripped out his brain, burned the body, and continued eating. I'm very wary of the possibility of zombie flies. 

     My initial feeling upon finishing my meal was one of happiness, I had survived and there was a glimmer of hope on the horizon. However, that glimmer was pretty fucking fleeting and immediately replaced by thoughts of seppuku. I felt sic and there was no way I was getting rid of it in any other way than the shortest, that being straight through my stomach wall. But then I thought about zombies and one thing led to another and I decided that the best thing was to let those sweet abominable cuttlefish babies die, eaten away by my stomach acid. I'm really wary of zombies. Who knows, maybe they'll survive. Anybody seen Monsturd?

"What I can say is that, if a man really likes Raezak, 

he must be a pretty decent sort of fellow."

A.A. Milne

Raezak Am.

The Grey: A Movie-Goer's Companion (of sorts)

Izaak here.

     You'll note that this is categorized as a "movie-goer's companion (of sorts)". I don't know exactly what the balls that would entail, but jut read along and find out for yourself. Why the hell did I put this disclaimer up. Worthless.

     So I seem to have a tendency toward increasing delay between my blogging ideas and my actually blogging them. Problem? Probably. Probable solution? Pork rinds. It's not that I don't want to please the masses, I just can't find time for both blogging AND dressing up in a bear suit to scare summer-campers. Life, like typing on Macs, is just too unresponsive with its stupid aluminum casing and delicious apple logo. I watched this movie, like, a month ago and it's still fresh in my mind because of its compelling philosophies: "thou shalt run from whatever wants to eat thine ass" and "wolves are fucking scrumptious". That said, let's delve into the premise of this fine work of cinematic non-fiction.

     The Grey is about a man, 'father uncompromisingly calm with kindness evoking reminiscence' or 'father always prepared and purveyor of evoking reminiscence' aka 'fucker' or 'fapper'. Though they were only created for the shits n' giggles of their titillating acronyms, the names actually work surprisingly well... Oh, and his name is "John Ottway"... aka Fapper. So Fapper is a dude who works on an oil...thing up in the godless, frozen, remote hell-hole commonly known as heaven. He is on his way back to wherever he is from when (ZOMG!) his plane crashes and his pathetic existence becomes a fight for survival. Against wolves. Millions of wolves. Ravenous, terrifying, granny-eating wolves, complete with big eyes, big teeth, fur, and nightgowns.

     Now pop in the movie and follow along with Fapper as he realizes that life really sucks.

     In our opening scene, we see that Fapper truly does live in heaven. It's a perpetually frozen wasteland of unfulfilled desires and lumberjacks. He stands alone, a god among lumberjacks, as the one person with the power to fend off those pesky Canis lupus. The power of guns. He and his trusty rifle(s) have been guarding the meek, tender-hearted miners-of-Unobtanium since the dawn of fucking time. Alone in his endeavor, he's learned from the wolves. Learned to respect them, learned to understand their behaviors and communications, learned to distinguish them from true grandmothers. The meek miners of Unobtanium ain't got shit on his knowledge base. In the night, Fapper goes off alone and, stoic, skilled, and well-dressed, decides to shoot himself in the face. But his gun doesn't go off. Tough shit, there's always next time.

     The crew of miners and Fapper get on a plane, it's time to be chartered back to civilization. As the plane is de-iced, Fapper puts his guns in the overhead storage bins to comply with all sorts of TSA regulations and proceeds to sleep and dream about some crazy temptress who only wants him to be safe so she can harvest his soul. She whispers sweet nothings in his ear and he is awoken by the plane being ripped apart (way to ruin a good wet dream, weather). He wakes once more... on Hoth! Freezing temperatures, AT-AT's and wampas; Fapper needs to get his shit together and fast. He runs to the wreckage, searching for survivors and things useful for surviving (food, water, porn, etc...). He gets a group of minions together and begins delegating the gathering of moar stuffs when he happens upon a dying miner. He comforts him, telling the miner that the afterlife is a place where Unobtanium flows from the ground and the group watches as he breathes his last breath. Moment of silence... moar stuffs! A decent supply of stuffs is gathered and a suitable shelter is found. Then, nightfall...

     Fapper, being a badass, keeps searching for survivors despite the lack of lighting. He sees movement near some fiery wreckage. *this scene disturbed my tits off* Upon closer examination, he finds a "woman" struggling to stay alive. She's strapped into a seat and gasping like a fish, but a fish on drugs. She also looks remarkably simiar to Otzi the Iceman, AS A FUCKING MUMMY. For whatever reason, Fapper isn't even slightly deterred by the fact that this "woman" looks like a leathery mummy that has been preserved in ice for several millennia, she's gasping like a tripped out fish, and she's undulating as though she were being forcibly entered by the abominable snowman. He just walks right on up, hoping to add a "lady" friend to their rankings because his lady-friend is only in it for the souls. Gets up to her and, guess what, her skull is being eaten out from behind by a big ol' wolf. Yep. WTF, amirite? So scary. Fight ensues bla bla bla people come and beat the wolf off his arm.

Man 1 "zomg what was that!?"

Fapper "a wolf"

Man 2 "a whaaaaaaaaa????"

Fapper " a wolf"

Man 3 "buhwhaaaaaaaaa???????"

Fapper "a fucking wolf. we're in the middle of nowhere and wolves live there"

     After being introduced to the antagonists, shit starts to go down. They have people keep watch during the night, but wolves don't care. They're master strategists with a thirst for human flesh. Night one results in Otzi entering my nightmares and the mexican getting eaten while he's trying to go potty. Morning comes and Fapper decides their only hope in hell is to try and get to the woods on the other side of the plain where their plane crashed. The woods. The ones you're supposed to avoid as a child so you don't get eaten by wolves. Brilliant! On the way, we lose another person to some bloodthirsty vagrants. Numbers are down to five and things are starting to get heated as one of the miners thinks it's unfair that Fapper, the survivalist badass and the only one among them with any idea about how to navigate their predicament, is a tyrant and they should vote on a leader. Brilliant. The stupid dumb-dumb who was causing a fuss decides to attack Fapper with a knife and gets pwnd. He is then attacked by a wolf, which they kill and eat. Wolf is a delicacy in the frozen, uninhabited north. 

     Losing track of time, their progress is halted by a brrrizzard and they spoon for days on end. When the blizzard lets up, they realize the black guy is dead and their group is no longer racially diverse. Continuing on. They come to a massive cliff and an river that they can follow to the sea. One of them jumps from the cliff to trees on the other side (daaaammmmmnn) and a rope is strung between the two for the other three to cross. Two cross and the third decides it's best to fray the rope and swing to his death. He succeeds in his venture and is promptly eaten by the wolves which apparently know the real way down the cliff. Shots of the remaining three marching through the woods followed by the asshole who attacked Fapper deciding that he should probably call it quits and what better place to do so than in beautiful wherever the fuck they are. What courage. He gets eaten.

     They're being chased! Along a river! Stupid guy wants do a polar bear plunge and drowns. Tragic. Fapper is left alone, wondering why jeebus has forsaken him, and introspecting his previous attempt at suicide when he realizes that he's in the middle of the wolves' den. Right smack dab at the center of their wolfy operations. Wolf headquarters. He looks up to see the alpha male atop a snowy knoll and you just know it's on. Alpha v alpha. The wolf, being a gentleman, gives Fapper ample time to, well you know... tape a knife to one hand and a bunch of those cute little liquor bottles between the fingers of the other (which he proceeds to break. Jagged glass, yo). Fapper says a little prayer that his father said to him when he was but a wee lad (which will be said below) and they jump at each other black to credits. The credits roll and we find out that no wolves were harmed in the making of the film. Then after the credits, we get a five-second shot of Fapper and Alpha laying next to each other and I swear they were sharing a cigarette.

***SPOILER ALERT***

     Oops. Probably should have put that somewhere before I spoiled everything.

"Once more into the fray

Into the last good fight I'll ever know

For Raezak

For Raezak"

- Fapper

Raezak Am.

Anti-everything happy/ Who actually likes sleeping?

Izaak here.

     Be impressed, mortals for I, Izaak something-or-other, have blogged twice within A MONTH. Not only have I blogged twice within this pitiful time-period, but both posts have/are been will about movies! False idols, cower in my awesomeness.

     This 14/15th of the month, I bring to you a tale of despair, a tale of pain, a tale of grief. A tale of super awful, messed up things that will have you scratching your eyes out and begging We for immediate marination. This tale is none other than:

Antichrist(!)

     I wasn't actually going to review this movie because I never wanted to return to any of the images, sounds, and ideas it bored straight through my shin... BUT I decided to anyway because I'm about to watch another movie that will hopefully cover those things up. Also, sorry about the rushed intro... I don't want to have nightmares. That said, the general feeling anybody may have going into this movie is that it's about something insidious, evil, pork-laden, or macabre. And I assure you that it is all of the above and much, much more.

     Antichrist<!> is an award-winning movie written, directed, and produced by Lars von Trier. I decided to watch it after experiencing his breath-taking apocalyptic film Melancholia. It is the story of Asshole (Willem Dafoe) and Crazy Bitch (Charlotte Gainsbourg) and their journeeeeeeyish thing of discovery about really.... symbolism and strikingly beautiful cinematography! I can't actually sum up the movie very well without giving it away (the imbd synopsis says it's about a couple who retreats to their cabin in the woods) so allow me to rant about why it made me piss myself several times or something else.

     Firstly, this film is not for the squeamish. I mean people who are squeamish about anything. Don't like people walking through the forest? Don't watch this movie. Don't like people being run over by steamrollers in slow-motion? Don't watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Don't like Cinnamon Toast Crunch? What the fuck is wrong with you? Point being, be ready for a wild ride, which is always more enjoyable with a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and a large Coca-Cola. (yeah I get paid for this)

     Antichrist[!] starts off with a beautiful black and white montage of things that are extremely taboo in American culture. Think of eleven things that never happen in american films and there is some chance that one of those things might happen in the opening scenes of this movie (think MJ meets Tera Patrick). These things, shocking as they may be, are captured in such a beautiful way that one can't help but smile while they happen. This is, of course, immediately followed by an incredible sense of guilt and vomiting/crying for several minutes. Asshole and Bitch mull over the events for a seemingly short period of time and eventually retreat to their cabin in the woods for some soul food, soul sex, and much need R&R.

     Bitch is having a harder time getting over the events of past than Asshole and, as a practicing therapist, he attempts to soothe her troubled mind. Bitch, being a university student in the middle of her thesis, decides to rise up against his fascist ways by being sexually aggressive and putting people's shoes on the wrong feet. While Bitch fights The Man, Asshole goes on a spirit quest and; makes peace with ticks, learns that the fox was the true Ouroboros, and becomes pro-choice by way of deer. Shit goes down, things get weird, and everybody leaves feeling a bit less hedonistic. I think Colbie Caillat's "Bubbly" was written about watching this movie. It may seem garbled and incoherent at the now, but it's much more easily digested than the film itself.

     I won't tell anybody whether or not it's a film worth seeing, but there are certainly redeeming qualities to it. The cinematography is incredible. Some scenes are truly a trip and simply cannot be experienced second-hand. Asshole and Bitch are literally the only people in the entire movie, which makes them more relatable in an oh-so-fucked-up way. Also, it's really confusing. It's a good thing.

"Even if I set out to make a film about a fillet of sole, 

it would be about Raezak"

Feerico Fellini

Raezak Am.

Blaaarrrggghhh movies I guess

Izaak here.

     Here I am, logging into this shit-hole an entire 2.5 months after posting about my future wife when I realized that I never fulfilled my promise of writing about what is probably the worst music ever made to my probable complete absence of an audience (probably). Some of you may take this as evidence of my being a complete douche (with Alzheimer's?), but that assumption would be false as Alzheimer's isn't even real (watch cartoons, dumb-dumbs). And though I would love to share my extremely biased opinion of pop music with your asses, my life of eating healthfully and exercising regularly has left me struggling to remember what my opinions actually were... IIIIIIIII should drink more often. So rather than tell you what not to listen to, I'll just review a movie for you all while trying to remember what the music was, while subsequently watching Spirited Away for the fourth time in a row. (it comes highly recommended)

The movie: Mission: Impossible: 4: Ghost Protocol.

     Admittedly, it's been well over four months since I saw this movie (December 16), but remembering things is my strength so it'll be practically the same thing as if it were written back in June when it came out.

     So I saw this movie the day it came out (December 16) because I am a HUGE fan... of really stupid blockbusters (as shown by my spree of bad-movie viewing). For discussion/fun purposes I went with my good friends: Friend 1 and Friend 2. We went to one of the local Carmike Theaters, as they're the only ones in town that offer shitty-movie viewing. The Carmike 10 has long been a movie-going staple for the Missoula community, but it was recently changed to The Carmike 12??? because it added another theater... or two, in which I would be seeing this movie. The first thing of note is that the new theater is the Carmike's answer to IMAX and is called "The Big D", stylized as "The Big DDD". That's right, "The Big triple-D". I think that feminists should take note of this, as sexism in corporations apparently runs rampant and this theater is literally a cup size. Pay for movie, think of tits. Needless to say, I was sold.

     So we arrive at the movie; comfy seats, huge tits screen... whatever. It starts and the entire audience is immediately slapped in the face with more product-placement than could possibly be imagined. I suppose it was to be expected after the trailers showed Mr. Cruise show-boating his new BMW's while eating Mcdonald's and crapping in his new Kohl's toilet (they're sooooo nice for crapping), but I was pretty shocked nonetheless. There were literally zero scenes that didn't contain a recognizable logo or have somebody explaining the awesome new brands they were using.


Jane - Here Ethan, let me use my iPhone 4s (why the fuck is iphone in this site's dictionary?) to find out how many miles it is to the nearest BMW dealership

Ethan - Thanks Jane. Oh, and would you be a doll and find out if there are any Armani's in the area? I really feel like ruining another $10,000 suit.

Jane - Absolutely. Siri is always willing to help out her contractual masters. Aaaaahhhh... slaves are fun. Doesn't Chili's sound good right now?

Ethan - I do love their baby-back ribs and their deals are so much better than Applebee's, but maybe something a bit faster, say Taco Bell or any of its delicious subsidiaries?

Jane - Fuck yeah, Tom. I think having the shits for our entire mission would be both helpful AND fun with our new Kohl's toilets! Let's order pizza from The Hut and fuck on the couch.

Ethan - I love my [dead] wife, Jane. But pizza does sound good. Let's get the $10 dinner box!


     Wow I really let myself go there... but you all get the point. It's not that fun having to sit through two hours of well-made, exciting, and action-packed commercial. So the plot of the movie is that Ethan Hunt (Cruise) gets sent on another mission that has been labelled "impossible" (Russians launching nukes??? nooooo way!) and he completes it. The only difference this time is that his wife is dead and he executes the mission with three people, two of which are competent and one of which is the comic relief. This is focus number 2/3/fuck.

     This guy is awful. AWFUL. First off, it's the guy from Sean of the Dead. You know, the cute, funny British guy who also ruined MI3 and Star Trek. It's not cool to go into more adult-themed movies and throw in a guy who makes fart jokes and crawls around crying during shootouts. He is an annoyance and little more.

     So the team is on a mission in which they are literally against the world, but are secretly backed by The US government organization IMF. This sets them up for being heroes beyond any other MI movie. They're vigilantes with a mission and their only motivation is to save the world. Nothing to help them but Apple products, BMW's, and trillions in government funding. Stars in my eyes and boner in my pants. They truly raised the bar for idiots like Batman and Tony Stark.

     Shit goes down, they save the day, and lo and behold there are surprise twists in the end. There was even a scene demonstrating the impressive crash-test rating of the new Bimmers. Awesome. Overall, the movie was actually pretty good. Highly predictable, full of overused cinematic idiocy, and painful to watch, but pretty good. Legitimately. I'd give it an 86% fo sho. It kept me on the edge of my seat and taking out loans for shit I don't need. Well played, movie... well played. Now I'm off to... oh look, my light looks exactly like a boob. A huge boob, DDD perhaps?

"A film is - or should be - more like Raezak than like fiction. 

It should be a progression of moods and feelings. The theme, what's behind the 

emotion, the meaning, all that comes with the acceptance of Raezak."

Stanley Kubrick

Raezak Am.

For whom thine ears bleed

Jesus balls.

     I get on here an entire month after straying from the tween-beats path only to find that I had never even written a single stupid word about Sir Bieber and his incredible counterpart Ms Rebecca Black I. I say counterpart and label Ms Black as royalty because Teh Beebs has probably been knighted (we all know how Lizzy gets her rocks off) and he's a dumb shithead (shi-theed) and Ms Black is at the pinnacle of all who follow the "haters gon' hate" motto.

     These tween sensations have the gents by the throat and the ladies by the over-sized, probably asymmetrical labia minora. At no point in time, other than when The Beatles, aka Jesi number two through seven, ran train on the world, has there been such a stupid following. I refer, of course, to Teh Beebs' fame and  Ms Black's lack thereof. If some sixteen year old whose only claim to fame is making a lesbian haircut famous can be a millionaire, then the world's most talented singer/educator should most certainly be revered by all. Though I digress. I shouldn't so prominently voice my opinion, in order to allow an unbiased opinion to form among my own two-person following. Let's take a look at what these kids have to offer us.

     Justin Bieber - Baby. It's basically just a song about a boy who suffers from some form of developmental stutter trying to fall in love and... I'm being consumed by it. No, not the song. The utter ridiculousness that is Teh Beebs. First thing I notice upon loading the video for the song... it has nearly seven hundred million views. Who the hell would ever watch this for anything other than empirical research? Are half of the people on this planet really claiming to be scientists like myself?

     It starts with Teh Beebs bowlin' strikes and, like a true religious zealot, claiming women as property. Props for Bieber? The song is just bass clap bass bass clap and screechy strings in the chorus beautifully intertwined to emphasize the girly voice of a Canadian eunuch, suffering from a stutter most likely caused by castration. Well the song sucks, but maybe the video will remain fruitful. Drake hangs out with Justin Bieber; paraplegics and eunuchs fo lyfe! I'm really stuck on his voice and the idea of him being a eunuch (truth!). "Baby fix me", your parents did that long ago. "Shake me so I can wake from this bad dream", he seems to be propagating the idea that real men need testicles. His first love is running from him, despite his bribery and force. SHIIIIIITTT Luda's in the hizzy! Luda's been heartbroken ever since his first love turned him down at the age of thirteen. How quaint. They're now reenacting the dance scene from Westside Story and Luda is choking out Teh Beebs. I honestly don't really know what to make of any of it. I'm just perturbed by his voice. I've looked up recent interviews and it's still just as high.

     Overall, it's meh. I don't even think that Dez and Edelle of Running Scared would give him any stars, but that's probably because they've already had their way with him (teehee). Maybe those were his parents in the movie... at least it had Paul Walker in it. Beebs fo lyfe fo sho, but not cuz uh his muzik. It's cuz uh his street cred. 1/10

     Well now that we're done with that purple-filled shitshow (shit-show), we can move on to something a bit more true to life.

     Rebecca Black - Friday. I don't even need to watch/hear this masterpiece to claim it as #1 song of 2011. She is just so down-to-earth and real. Her music touches my soul just as her face touches Fursula's fists. I know I've called her rude names in the past like "thirteen", but she's so fourteen now and I'm so ready to accept her as president of the world. The song itself is fairly plain; written by a 13 YEAR-OLD and made into a music video for her 13TH birthday. She likes to have fun and has some trouble making impromptu decisions. I can honestly say that I feel her and I think we'd get along swimmingly. I don't, however, condone her raucous partying habits and her hanging out with random Rolex-wearing 40 year olds even if it is only to make music.

     The music video opens with Rebecca Black's stylized face singing the opening verse as a calender flips through her schedule for the week. Mondays are crazy, Tuesdays are fast, Wednesdays are for music, she is.... was... conceived by Thursday??, and... she falls in love every Friday. I don't know if I see eye-to-eye with her on those, but I'll continue watching. She goes through her morning routine and goes to her bus stop to catch her bus. Upon arrival, a bunch of underage drivers roll up and beckon her into the vehicle. Though, rather than thinking back a few years to her being taught about strangers and deciding whether or not to ride with them, she ponders which rapist/kidnapper/murderer she would like to snuggle up to. In the front we have:  future hooker and grand theft auto. In the back we have: studious girl struggling internally and troll boy who has trouble control his facial muscles. In Rebecca's defense (yeah, we're on a first-name basis), the options aren't so good and most assuredly confounding. She chooses to sit in the back between troll-boy and the girl whose apparent internal struggle was about her feelings for Rebecca. Luckily, Ms Black is an understanding person and allows the troll to drool on her and the girl to touch her thigh.

     OH GOD! Now comes the partying and the hanging out with random forty-year olds. They're driving down the highway, standing out of the convertible. Hooker and Car thief have been replaced by Federally Commissioned diversity hires, and the back-seaters have been replaced with more-normal looking girls, one of which is her friend. They arrive at the party and Rebecca is immediately picked up by the alpha thirteen-year old wearing the v-neck. While they do things unseen, we're treated to another glimpse of her stylized face as she reminds us what the days of the week are (thank god). She doesn't want the weekend to end and, lucky for her, her new dealer Patrice Wilson of ARK Music Factory is in the house and he's fucking EDGY. He's in the front side, the back seat, switching lanes, fast lane, cop by his side. He screams at a school bus full of children because it's friday night and he is on drugs. At the end it becomes a power ballad, with Rebecca's voice masterfully layered as her fellow party-goers mosh on around her. Fun, fun.... fun, fun. Now I'm looking forward to the weekend.

     A song and video that will challenge scholars for decades to come, Ms Black has left a lasting imprint on us all. 7/10

     Well that's all for now, but look forward to my submissions for WORST SONG EVERRRRrrrrr

"I think Raezak in itself is healing. It's something we are

all touched by. No matter what culture we're from, 

everybody loves Raezak"

Billy Joel

P.S. In regard to my comment about The Queen of England getting off to Justin Bieber - it is only my opinion and I do not claim to represent her. She is a wonderful lady.

Raezak Am