MasterSnee (Home) Theater: 'Reaper'

Chugs is out with the measles this week, so I'm filling in. I decided to approach from a different angle, though. I hate movie theaters; the crowds, the sticky floors, the Mormon "Foundation for a Better Life" commercials and the crappy movies have left my fiancé and I bunkered down in our living room like Adolf and Eva. The screen and sound always work, the food's cheaper and tastes like actual periodic elements and television is actually improving.

Now that reality television has finally hit rock bottom (Flava Flav? Really?), the networks we've come to loathe are premiering quality scripted shows again. Well, except CBS, which still hasn't recovered since Nash Bridges ended. Or ABC, which still believes TGIF was its greatest contribution to American society. Or NBC. Fox is still "eh": no longer the maverick network of the 80s and 90s, they rely too heavily on their established cartoon staples, which haven't been novel in at least three years.

No, network television has only two balls in its sack these days: FX and the CW. The Guys are huge fans of FX's Rescue Me and are known for singing the Von Bondies sober or blacked-out. The other network, CW, launched Kevin Smith's new television series on Tuesday, Reaper.

Kevin Smith has always been one of my personal heroes, so I had no problem ignoring House to catch this pilot episode. Since seeing it, I've released just how stale House and other medically-themed TV shows have become since ER. Scrubs is the crowning achievement in medical dramedys, so any further attempts in the genre merely piss in the wind.

That said, Reaper is Smith's first truly viable project without the Jasons Mewes and Lee. Where Jersey Girl had heart, this pilot has life. It is a departure from the View Askewneverse that ventures just far enough away to not seem as contrived or sappy.

Don't get me wrong--there are the typical Smith slacker archetypes that populated my favorites of his films.

The main character, Sam Oliver (Bret Harrison), is the slacker that moved back in with his parents after failing his only semester at college because it "made him sleepy." This lack of ambition causes him to work at his high school job, a chain hardware store inspired by Lowes and Home Depot.

Side note: Bret Harrison looks disturbingly like another Affleck brother.

He works there with his slacker best friend, "Sock" Wysoki (Tyler Labine), who is 25, also lives with his parents and doesn't care what he does so long as it's with Sam. Unlike Brodie or Randall, Sock doesn't "wax intellectual." Instead, he's working retail because it may be his only marketable skillset, though he even fails at that: on a sales chart, he scores the Bluto Blutarsky "zero point zero." In fact, that's probably the best comparison to other ficitional works: he's a coarse, talking Bluto. Or Jack Black, minus the rigga-doo-doos.

Sam's love interest, Andi (Missy Peregrym), works there, too, but--like all of Smith's other female characters--is going to college so that she doesn't work the retail floor for the rest of her life. Unlike Veronica, she has yet to pressure Sam into attending classes with her, though she takes umbrage as easily as Brandy Svenning.

Surprisingly, the slacker supporting character isn't Walt Flanagan or Willem (a.k.a. Snowball), but co-worker Ben, who is played by Old School alum Rick Gonzalez.

So, the pre-existing set-up is similar to Clerks, but the plot is the anti-thesis to Dogma. Unlike Bethany's mission as the decendent of Christ to prevent two rogue angels from proving God wrong, Sam is charged by the Devil (Ray Wise) to recover fugitive souls from Hell. Why Sam? Because his parents sold his soul to Lucifer before he was even born.

This pilot is the quintessential origin story of the demonbuster, Sam, who even uses a Hell-engineered dust buster to collect the combative souls. It's less cumbersome than proton packs and ecto-traps, and it postpones the eventual lawsuit from Ivan Reitman. He discovers his newfound career and accompanying hellish mental powers on his 21st birthday, at which point he is no longer his parents' ward and, therefore, accountable to the Desolate One.

But since this is a comedy, Sam doesn't just have to learn to kick demon ass, but how his new job and powers affect his daily life: the mundane acts of drinking, flirting and employment that action movies and dramas either gloss over or completely ignore. (Seriously, when was the last time the Superman franchise explained how Clark Kent writes news stories when Superman is busy saving the entire world? Or how Bruce Wayne manages the multi-billion dollar Wayne industries or romances women other than by buying things and revealing his secret identity?) As Sam learns to control his abilities, Sock hilariously throws heavy objects at him to test his telekinesis. It's a lot less emo than Joss Whedon's Buffy, who routinely falls in love with vampires and then whines about not finding nice men who can go to the beach.

As with any Kevin Smith endeavor, there is more to read between the lines than, "Sam sends a demon back to Hell with hiiiiiiiilarious results." Sam must also wrestle with moral issues, such as whether it is okay to work for Satan if you're making the world a better place. (FDR would say yes.) In the Peter Parker sense, he also wants to start a relationship with girl-next-door Andi, but his hazardous work already imperils Ben and Sock when they tag along. And finally, he has to decide who is responsible for his current metaphysical status: his parents, who sold his soul, or himself for not pursuing more meaning in his life in the first place.

The Devil simultaneously simplifies and compounds his situation. On the one hand, he's willing to help Sam find meaning in his existence with an important job, but on the other, he does not tolerate failure, which threatens Sam's mother with burning in Hell. He's the conspirator and the tempter in that he know what Sam and the audience want and readily supplies it, yet he also holds all the strings and can withold it at will. The Devil, in this incarnation, is the Miltonian picaresque tragic hero, but with the flair of Lord Byron's Don Juan. Sure, he's evil, but he's also extremely likable, just like that guy in high school that was always on probation.

And finally, there's the social commentary that is inevitable whenever Smith mixes the metaphysical with the physical world. Among the rules that define this universe is that "any place that seems like Hell on Earth, is," which is where captured souls are desposited (e.g., the DMV). Also, some people deserve eternal punishment for their crimes while living, though the very institution that punishes them also encourages them to act out in the first place (e.g., governments warring against terrorist organizations they armed only a few decades before).

But enough with the high-falutin' analysis that proves I have a degree. Reaper is Kevin Smith's chance to really explore new characters without too much fan service. Its similarities and differences from his past work will be interesting to watch over the next 12 episodes, and since it's not on ABC, we should be able to see all of them without buying a DVD collection. It airs Tuesdays at 9 pm eastern/8 pm central on your local CW affiliate.

Danger working every corner

Once again, a state one of the Guys lives in is hit with potentially dangerous news for the parts that make them guys in the first place: in Maryland, chlamydia rates are up all over the state.

I know what you're thinking, and the answer is no, I have not been doing a lot of traveling lately. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take the medication I just got. Make sure everyone follows the Rick Snee health tips.

Multiply and conquer

Someone's dumping rabbits all over part of Long Island and no one seems to know who. For the first time, this blog is in agreement with animal rights activists: the persons responsible for this must be caught and stopped.

There is no reason to dump live rabbits out into the wild, if Long Island can be called such a place. There, they will only procreate and create new armies for us to fight. Instead, dead rabbits should be spread all over, sending a mafia-style message to those that live. We must strike fear into our enemy's heart.

A mighty wind

A man can't even cough anymore apparently. Kent Kauffmann of N.C. has been charged with, kid you not, coughing into a police officer's face. Kent Sneezeman could also face similar charges.

Key quote: "'He says I coughed in his face,' Kauffman said. 'But that would only work if he had a 4-foot-long face.'"

Libraries and the afterlife

If there's one thing we all hate, it's those jerks they call librarians. Sure, they let you read the books for "free," but you have to fill out one of those little cards with personal information on it. Gee thanks, comrade.

Another example is the Harrison Public Library in Harrison, New York. Librarians there are charging the families of dead people for overdue library books. Apparently, these people signing out books, then they die and have the nerve not to return the books.

The librarians are not the only party to get mad at. We need to focus more on the undead: it's time they stop running around aimlessly looking for brains and show some responsibility.

How To: Make friends in a bar

Unless your religion is against it, odds are you will end up in a bar once or twice in your life. Or, if you are like The Guys, you will frequent a bar so often they reserve the dart room for you. Regardless, sometimes you will end up in a bar without a friend in sight. Here's how to remedy that situation with several different approaches.

Tools:
-Facial expressions
-Money
-Short skirt

1) Look tough. Go down to the corner stool as soon as you walk in. Make sure as you walk over, you puff out your shoulders as much as you can. This will make you look big and mean. When you sit down, order a double whiskey in a dirty glass. On the rocks will do, but neat will make you look like a badass, not like you should be wearing a smoking jacket. Sit there, sipping your whiskey, and imagine how frustrating it is to watch toddlers try to put the shapes in that polygon toy that has all the different-shaped holes. Your expression will make people think you're dark and have something in your past. People, especially cougars, will be drawn to you.

2) Be loud and generous. From the minute you walk through the door, people should know you have arrived. To do this, you have to act like you just won the lottery. Grin like an idiot, pat people on the shoulder as you walk by them. As soon as you have ordered your drink, say hello to the people on either side of you. If there is no one, say hello to the bartender and try to ignore their dull, soulless expression. Once you start talking with one person, others will listen in. Then you can ask other people their opinion on the subjects you cover. Then, once people are talking to you, say something cool like, "Hey, who wants to but me a drink? Oh, that's right, I'm loaded. A round of drinks for the whole bar, on me!" This should get just about everyone's attention, unless some are hearing impaired, in which case, loudly sign something cool like that. What? You just realized you don't have cash on you? Time to avoid the angry mob and skedaddle.

3) Play pool. Even if you are terrible at it, playing pool is an excellent way to meet people. And by people we mean cocky dudes who have been playing since three hours before you got there. However, it is also likely they have acquired a following during their conquests. People drinking love to watch other people play pool. It is just one of life's mysteries. As you get your behind handed to you on the green felt table, make sure to make eye contact with a few people in the crowd. Flash them a smile. When you're finally killed off, say something to the effect of "Wow, that lashing gave me a thirst, who wants to buy me a drink?" Watch as the crowd turns their backs on you.

4) Flirt. Make sure to wear a short skirt and a top with a plunging neckline. It doesn't matter if the bar is cold, alcohol is the coal that the furnace that is your stomach needs. When people come up to talk to you, make sure to make a lot of eye contact, laugh at what they say, even if it's not a joke, and touch them on the arm. They will soon be buying you drinks just because your company is so great.

WARNING: This will only work if you are a female or really, really good at looking like one.

Everyone has their own style of drinking, and so should they of bar behavior. Pick out one of these personas, commit to it, and rest assured, you will have friends raising a glass with you. So get out there and find your new friends.

Quit clowning around, do your job

What's better than clown sex? (No, really.)

How about a clown lady-of-the-night that can also entertain your spawn?

Key quote: "Paola grabbed a big black wand and called out: 'I need someone to hold the magic wand for me.'"

Vamos!

You're a Mexican. You're a teenager. Your status in the U.S. and the contents of your truck are both suspect, thanks to a border patrol agent. Sitting in the back of the cop's car, what do you do?

If you answered, "Hop in the driver's seat and drive back to Mexico while the border patrol searches the truck," you are a winner!

That's just what three minors did in California, and they did it while handcuffed. Can you imagine the laugh the Mexican cops had when they caught the kids back in their home country?

Pain on a whole new level

Talk about an unnatural disaster. A Croatian man was unlucky--really unlucky--when he stopped to make a roadside his own urinal and his near and dear John Handcock got hit by a bolt of lightning. Make your own lightning rod jokes.

Ouch. I mean, really. OUCH.

You lack imagination

But do you know who doesn't?

Nepal! Why's that? Because Nepal is considering a nudity ban for people on Mt. Everest. Maybe you didn't realize insane climbers getting jiggy with it in sub-zero, low-oxygen environments was such a problem, but clearly that's because you're not adventurous enough. Hey, just because you didn't think of it doesn't mean it couldn't happen.

Also, who doesn't lack imagination? China! But they want you to. China has banned "sexually provocative sounds" on the radio and television. Perhaps that's like the noodle slurping commercial that was banned on Korean television, right? BUZZ. Incorrect. Think breast enhancement and female underwear commercials. After all, they don't just want female commandos, they want females going commando. ROWR.

Death from the not-so-deep

Fish: most of them taste good, and they all smell to high heaven. We often forget the dangers that fish can pose to us, unless they are piranhas or sharks or something. We keep getting lured (har!) into the feeling that fish cannot cause us harm.

The War on Animals means all animals. They sure know it. A jumping fish in Florida caused a boat carrying two men to veer off their course, dumping the men into a river. One man drowned, the other is in the hospital. Keep on your guard, people.

Take it from Snee: HPV vaccine enables sinners

But the other 50% deserve it, too.
There's an ongoing debate about whether to administer the HPV vaccine to young girls before they become sexually active. While this could eliminate one of the primary causes of cervical cancer, which affects moral people who get married and raise preferably Christian kids, there is an undeniable consequence: that is, there is one less consequence for having sex.

That's why I'm not just against inoculating the young from this disease, but inoculating anyone else for that matter. By treating sexually transmitted diseases, our nation's health care providers are deliberately undermining our tax-funded abstinence-only sex education.

But the HPV vaccine is the tip of the iceberg. At this very moment, doctors are giving deviants antibiotics to treat syphilis, gonorrhea, Chlamydia and a variety of other non-viral STDs. They are prescribing topical creams and pills to control sinners' outbreaks of herpes and genital warts. They are even courting Bono and spending further research dollars on a cure for HIV/AIDS, which wouldn't exist if people had sex with only their spouses.

It may seem inhumane to allow people to suffer from their afflictions, but let's look at history, which is always on the side of those telling it and, in this case, I'm a-tellin'.

Al Capone murdered his way to the top of a crime syndicate to spread demon rum to the masses, yet he only served time for tax evasion. Fortunately, the good Lord gave him syphilis for his wrong-doing, making sure Al wouldn't outlive his sentence without a bout of raving lunacy and leprosy symptoms.

After trying to kill the Almighty, Frederick Nietzche was smote from above with syphilis. Guess who's dead, and, more importantly, who's still alive.

Jazz legend and the Devil's contractor, Robert L. Johnson also died from syphilis. If he was so keen on Faustian bargains, you'd think he'd negotiate for a cast iron willie.

And let's not forget all of the adult film stars that the Guy in the Sky punished with AIDS. God gave us cameras to film picnics and potty training, not the filthy act of fornication.

In conclusion, as every valid point is wont to have, it is vitally important that we maintain a viral/bacterial deterrent for sex. As long as we can point to people suffering from God's wrath, we can ignore our own natural misdeeds and enjoy a world without sex.

Apparently not a cheerocracy

Roger Goodell has done an impressive job during his tenure as NFL Commissioner, however, this just borders on shear idiocy.

Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I thought cheerleaders motivated and inspired.

If it's not about the French, Brits won't think it's funny

What? Too soon?

Remember: children are rarely killed or abducted, so it's not funny to joke about them right after a white girl goes missing or a white boy is shot.

Be careful what you wish for ...

... you just might get it. The mayor of Adelaide, Australia, made the mistake of asking citizens what they want to see more of in the city, and of course, they all said "naked people." People, this is exactly why they say never pose a question you already know the answers to.

Running afoul of water fowl

Sometimes when you're drunk, you get hungry. This is what's called the beer munchies, and it must always be obeyed. A man at a hotel in St. Paul, Minnesota did just that, but it cost him.

The man, who witnesses say was drunk, was stumbling around the lobby of his hotel, which for some reason lets tame ducks wander (We assume this is to lull our enemy into a false sense of security). He grabbed one of the ducks and ripped its head off.

Key quote: "'I'm hungry. I'm gonna eat it.'"

For some reason, they charged him with animal cruelty. That shouldn't even be a charge. We're at war here, people.

Eat My Sports: The bay of youth

Some cheese, like fine wines, only gets better with age. It may stink to high heaven and make you wonder why in God's name you are putting up with something smelling as atrocious as Jodie Foster in Contact, but at some point, it gets better. Except for Foster, you peaked in Silence of the Lambs, move on.

Maybe beyond the cheese though, it's something that gets into us. The high stinky cheese is the nastiest pitch in baseball, thank you The Sandlot. When you're at the top, you're The Big Cheese. Or, if you're like Chester Cheetah, cheese is your business, and you OWN it.

This past Sunday I was at one of the local watering holes in my hometown to watch some football with one of my buddies. This was one of the fortunate instances where the bar I was at had any game you wanted to watch. So, needless to say, there was quite the melting pot (no cheese pun intended, I swear) of NFL fans there, I even sat next to a guy who was wearing a denim long-sleeved Kansas City Chiefs shirt, yes, even I was surprised they made those. Those were probably leftovers from the remaining KC fans from the 80s. This shirt is so old that I literally couldn't even find a picture of it online, but I digress.

As I was perusing the games, I caught Donovan McNabb torching a Detroit secondary that looked more like they needed to be in a powder puff football league, or swiss cheese. I saw Tom Brady and Randy Moss hooking up more times than (insert "Paris Hilton and …" joke here). Then I saw Brett "Yeah, maybe I should retire, but …" Favre.

There was Brett Favre toying around with the San Diego defense like he was almost daring them to make him throw. He was playing reckless, yet poised, a la Jack Nicholson in The Shining, except way less creepy and a bit more hair. Yet still looking like a madman who will kill you at any given moment while asking an imaginary bartender for some booze. Sadly, or maybe poetically, the San Diego Chargers were the wife and child that couldn’t escape. Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere’s Brett!!!!!!

This was the guy who was supposed to be creeping up to the line of scrimmage with a walker. The washed up quarterback, whose pronunciation of his last name STILL makes no sense was supposed to on his way back to Mississippi and moving from those Wrangler commercials to something like Centrum Silver. Instead he's the guy that’s going shred Dan "Einhorn is Finkle" Marino's last remaining passing records.

Now he's back and punishing even some of the most daunting defenses in the NFL. What sense does this make? None. There must be something in the cheese in Green Bay, because Brett Favre is playing out of his mind. It's definitely not steroids, for Favre looks just about the same (minus the gray hair) than he did when he came in the league, and his helmet hasn't expanded for no reason, Barry. Side question here: are there any gray cheeses? Someone please let us know.

Favre has found the fountain of youth in the NFL that seems to elude most players way past their prime. Look at Emmit Smith in an Arizona Cardinals jersey (melting cheese), or Jerry Rice stumbling his way in Seattle (wet cheese). The man is the William Shatner of the NFL, making his career end in a way he wants to, instead of in a punch line. Though Shatner is a punch line, the reference made sense, so I'm sticking to it. Deal with it.

The point of all this, if you’re finding yourself losing the touch on something you once handled. Order some cheese from Green Bay, no matter how your last name is pronounced.

Robots ... in ... SPACE!

Ever wonder what the point was to all of those robot combat shows?

Why, only the conquest of the moon.

Our money's on the Japanese.

'24' happy hour

Jack Bauer can always find is way out of a mess. He shoots people in the knee, he bites their jugular, but it seems the actor who plays him does not have the same luck. Some of you may remember 2006's television special "A Drunken Christmas in London" with Keifer "That f#@&ing tree needs to go down NOW!" Sutherland.

It seems Sutherland has not changed his ways, as he was just charged with drunken driving. This blog says, if this is part of the new season's plot (currently shooting now), then we can't wait for the premiere!

It's wild out there

In more small arthropod related news, after reading this article, we may all now know way too much about the sex life of African jumping spiders, which reminds me how happy I am that humans rarely eat each other alive after getting busy. Because honestly? Cannibalism just doesn't do it for me.

And you thought it was rude when she doesn't sleep over.

Star Trek WAS right

For me personally, I wish to discover the parallel universe where I am rich, and didn't kill that prostitute in Vegas, and I want need to kill that version of myself, and take his place. Especially if that dimension's me is wearing a goatee. Get with the times, beatnik.

Also, I really want to live in the "cowboy-hat universe".

Time for cuteness

Even though it's now late September and Talk Like A Pirate Day is over, it can be tough finding a reason to go on, since there is nothing worth celebrating during the winter months. But hold on, The Guys have found some meaning in this crazy, mixed-up world of hours: marriage!

Well, marriage proposals, anyway.

Take, for example, take Aric Egmont of Cambridge, Massachusetts' proposal to his lover. The two have always done crossword puzzles together, so he used the Boston Sunday Globe to pop the question. It was one of the answers! Isn't that cute!

Or how about Ronnie Vinson of Missouri. He and his beau were just out for a ride in the car when they were pulled over. Vinson apparently had a court date he missed and had to be arrested. But then he proposed while in handcuffs. It was all a gag! What a nut!

But perhaps the best was the proposal by Luke Jacunski, presumably of New York City. He took his woman to Central Park and got down on one knee. She accepted and the two were a happy couple for a few seconds, until they were mugged. Ah, love!

Bulls: not the ideal house pet

As if any of us really need reminders, it's a rough world out there. And for that rough world we have an even rougher war, a war where our enemies seek to kill us no matter where we are. In the War on Animals, none of us is safe, even at home.

A man in Connecticut found that out recently, when a bull tried to do a little redecorating in and around his house. The bull, apparently owned by a neighbor, escaped and began tearing apart the man's backyard, car and outside of his house.

Though Connecticut is often known as the Pamplona of America, who keeps a bull?

Little Billy asks 'Why does my leg feel tingly?'

Well Billy, it's possibly because you're a traitor to your species and have decided to import foreign reptiles into the country via one of your prosthetic limbs. So, really, it's more your nub that itches more than your actual leg ... because your leg isn't actually there.

PROTIP: The appropriate response when approached by authorities should've been "Wait, you think I have what in m--OH MY GOD! AAAAH!" Then he would've gotten away free as a bird.

Kidz Korner: You can't have Iran, too

Hey, kidz! It's been a long time, but The Guys wanted to make sure you felt included. Remember: no adult understands you except for us.

So some of you want a new war with Iran. We can't blame you: they have crazy leaders, they're trying to build nukes and they have oil, too!

But, do you remember the last time we gave you a war? Remember Iraq? Remember how you promised to feed, water and install a functioning democracy there every day? Well, Iraq's still in the backyard and getting angry because you still haven't done those things. In fact, if you don't start living up to your part of the deal, Iraq could die.

We know, you're saying it will be different this time. Well, what about Afghanistan? You forgot about Afghanistan, too, didn't you? Sure, you started out taking care of it just fine, so we got you Iraq. Maybe two wars was too much for one kid, but you said they would be your responsibility.

Yes, we hear you. Iraq wasn't what you expected. It didn't like you very much and it didn't even come with awesome weapons of mass destruction. Yes, Iran has everything you originally wanted, but don't you realize that you have unrealistic expectations that will never be good enough? This week, it's Iran, and next week, you'll want a war somewhere else.

What do you mean? Well, what about Syria? You've had your eyes on them for a long time, too. No, Syria can't be an early birthday present.

We're sorry, honey, but you've got to appreciate what you have. Afghanistan and Iraq can be great companions if you'd just focus and put the time in. Besides, if we caved every time you wanted something, we'd be doing you a great disservice.

The McBournie Minute: Advertising

It seems everyone's in an uproar over MoveOn.org's ad in the New York Times. Aside from the "General Betray Us" quip, critics are saying the ad was misleading, deceitful, even untrue. Since when is that new for advertising?

This is the same country that has been sold cookies by Keebler elves (or were they girl scouts?) while crying Indians told us all to clean up our litter. This may come as news for some of you: the elves don't exist, I'm not even sure if girl scouts do. And that weepy Indian? He was actually an Italian actor. Keep in mind, this whole "New World" thing was kicked off by an Italian who thought it would be a good idea to enslave the native population.

Every single ad you see is trying to mislead you and make you think positively about their product. Take Apple's new iPod Nano commercials. Aside from the incredibly annoying counting song done by some unidentified woman who can't really sing all that well, the commercial leads you to believe the screen on their product is so big you will watch music videos on it all the time. What they don't tell you is that your eyes strain even on the regular-sized iPod. It will probably give you astigmatism (look it up).

The advertising industry is all about spin, lies and half-truths. It has always been that way. That is exactly why we should view every ad (except those for SG) with a wary eye. Least of all a political ad from MoveOn.org.

MasterChugs Theater: 'The Doors'

A great writer once wrote that the problem with American lives is that they have no second act. Never is this more apparent than with the story of Jim Morrison, whose childhood was lost in a mist of denial and his maturity interrupted by an early death. If we can trust Oliver Stone's film, The Doors, life for Jim Morrison was like being trapped for months at a time in the party from hell. He wanders out of the sun's glare, a curly-haired Southern California beach boy with a cute pout and a notebook full of poetry. He picks up a beer, he smokes a joint, and then life goes on fast-forward as he gobbles up drugs and booze with both hands, while betraying his friends and making life miserable for anyone who loves him. By the age of twenty-seven he is dead.

The Doors is an earnest biopic that charts lead singer Jim Morrison's introspective self-destruction, fueled by a monumental drug problem and mindbending idol status. Stone piles on the psychology and stretches the flower-power myth with all its attendant hippy philosophy and heavily stylized trippy visuals. Somehow, Val Kilmer, lends it a veil of truth, managing to resemble the late singer surprisingly effectively. His vocal impersonation of the Lizard King is remarkable and he wears a pair of leather breeks better than most.

However, Kilmer is plugged into a narrative structure that treats him like a character in a Sophoclean tragedy, doomed to an inevitable implosion and premature death. This takes the easy way out, as it removes personal responsibility from the equation. What could Morrison, his family, friends and band mates have done to produce a different outcome? What role did the carnivorous and self-serving media play in Morrison's self-destruction? These become non-issues if the protagonist is trapped in a Greek drama that demands his death. Kilmer's bravura performance and Stone’s fatalistic approach also make the other actors non-entities who flitter like mute butterflies about the edges of the film.

Perhaps I am oversimplifying. After all, Stone does offer repeated scenes of Morrison's petulant behavior, his narcissistic obsession with death, his child-like self-centerd universe, which seem to point to the man as his own worse enemy. But Stone prefers to indicate that these behaviors and obsessions were, as Wordworth might say, the child being father to the man, the drugs and alcohol essential ingredients to his barrier-breaking development as an artist. In the age of "Just Say No" this is a brave assertion, and I applaud Stone's stones, but to excuse Morrison's deplorable behavior on the grounds that he is "an artist" seems self-serving.

The Doors also makes the fatal mistake of taking an essentially minor talent, and elevating him into the pantheon of great artists. Morrison was not, as Stone's pretentious closing shots of the Parisian cemetery Pere Lachaise in which Morrison is buried, an equal of Oscar Wilde, Proust and Moliere, and for Stone to put him in their company invites the sort of derision to which Stone seems rather sensitive. Indeed, in an early scene Stone--playing Morrison’s film school teacher--criticizes Jim’s film as "a bit pretentious, don’t you think?" I don’t know if this is a self-conscious attempt to disarm the critics before they can sharpen their pens, or an unconscious admittance of guilt. Either way, it is a telling moment and aptly describes the movie.

In the end, Stone leaves a large question unanswered: How was Morrison able to leave the country after being sentenced to a jail term for public indecency? But leave he did, to die of an "apparent heart attack" in Paris, where he lies buried to this day, his tomb a mecca for his fans, who have spray-painted all of the neighboring tombs with exhortations and obscenities. Even in death, Jim Morrison is no fun to be around.

Happiness is a warm gun

Rudy Giuliani is going out of his way to prove he's, as Chris Rock would say, a mammal that breathes air and drink water. He took a call from his wife mid-press conference, ending with, "Goodbye, sweetheart, I love you."

To prove the validity of his presidential bid further, he also suggested "[MoveOn.org] should face some sort of sanction" for their "General Betray Us" ad. The reasoning?

"We are at war right now, whether some people want to recognize it or not."

So his Constitutional record for the conference? 1-1: the Second Amendment got its due, but the First Amendment still awards too much leniency to "American political organizations."

You're doing it wrong

In other bat related stories (at least, sort of in name only), scientists have discovered that the male bat bug who skips over the female insect reproductive hoo-hoo zone equivalent and instead impregnates the female by punching a hole in her stomach. Scientists aren't sure if it does that because it's inexperienced or maybe they're just nervous.

SeriouslyGuys has declared war on these terrors of society simply because ... well ... it's f***ing weird what it does. Ewwww. Bugs need to stop watching movies like Alien and instead watch movies like the Raid commericals.

Religion in the courtroom update

We told you a Nebraska state senator filed a lawsuit against God for responsibility for natural disaster, pain, suffering and so on. When he filed it, Ernie Chambers was making a point about frivolous lawsuits that plague our nation's courts.

However, it seems God has filed a response in the courts. Also, it seems God's lawyers live in Corpus Christi, Texas. Looks like God doesn't think he needs to go to court.

A bat-tastrophe

If one thing has become clear, it is that our country's college campuses are not safe. There has been violence and danger at our institutions all over the news lately, including today. But we must remember, we are not the only ones reading the news, our enemy is, too.

A dormitory at Texas Southern University was attacked by bats recently, causing rabies scares and students driven batty (sorry). However, amongst all this bad news, there is the story of at least one hero who was not afraid to stand up and fight when greatness was thrust upon him.

Jason Smith, 19, said he killed "dozens" of bats. That means it he were an aviator, he would be an ace several times over. Smith, you are our Warrior of the Week.

How To: Lift weights

Look at you. You're scrawny--or fat--and weak and you most likely get sand kicked in your face by the ghost of Charles Atlas. It's time to man up; and by man up, we mean hang out with a bunch of bulky guys in tank tops and short shorts. So load your iPod with all the rap metal you never wanted, because we’re going to teach you how to lift weights.

Tools:
A wifebeater (According to Wal-Mart, this is an "a-shirt.")
Short shorts
Um, "support" for your man parts
An iPod loaded with rap metal
A gym
A GNC store

1) Dress appropriately. Remember those mean guys from the beach? Guess where they go when they aren't with your girlfriend. That's right, smart guy. You're trying to join their little club, so you better look like you belong. The proper attire consists of:

• A wifebeater.
  
• Short shorts. The shorter, the better.
  
• Some contraption for keeping your naughty bits in checkmate.
  
• The coolest sneakers you can afford. The discerning beefcake spends at least two months' salary on footwear.

2) Get thyself to a gym-ery. There are two factors to consider before selecting a gym:

• Are there girls there? They’re not only great eye-candy, but they lift less than you (well, maybe not in your case) and they give you something to talk about with the manly men.
  
• Do they have awesome t-shirts? How do people know you go to a gym? Why, you're wearing the T-shirt. And it features a Boris Vallejo-style naked guy fighting three lions on it.

3) Do some bench press. This first exercise will make your chest massive. It is also the loudest, angriest exercise if you grunt sufficiently. This workout will prepare you for such manly feats as benching a Taiwanese hooker and pushing off cars that Magneto threw at you.

4) Do some bicep curls. You know that make-a-muscle pose you've been making since grade school where you bend your arm and flex? That’s your bicep at the bend. No, not your elbow--the top part. There you go. Do a bunch of curls for these, too. Their purpose is to make you look cooler when you invite friends and family to "the gun show." When they get big enough, kiss them for emphasis.

NOTE: If you finish both exercises and aren't tired yet, then find something to punch for a while. Do not do any other exercises. Other exercises are for soccer players, and who plays soccer? Women and foreigners, that’s who. Nobody wants to be a foreigner.

5) Go to GNC. You think you’ll get in shape by exercising? Pfft. You need drugs, and for the sake of our SeriouslyLawyers, you need legal drugs. Buy anything that doesn’t say "Women's" on it or contains soy. Take more than the recommended dosage, six meals a day.

Yes, we said "six meals a day." You're eating for three now: yourself, your right nut and your left nut. And by meals, we mean steak. If you get tired of steak, then eat ribs.

By now, you should be well on your way to kicking sand in other people's faces. But don't feel bad when you do because, by crushing their bloated self-image, you've now inspired someone else to join your gym. That means a lower monthly gym fee for you and someone smaller than you working out there.

Now hit the showers, stinky. Your new friends will meet you there.

Nothing says 'I love you' like a fire hazard

It's not all that unusual to get really ripped after a break-up and then call your ex. Aside from the embarassment of having to explain the next day why you were crying when you called, there is no harm done.

The same cannot be said for getting hammered and trying to break into your ex's place Santa-style. An Indiana man found that out recently, when he got stuck trying to climb down the chimney of his ex-girlfriend's place. His ex was none too happy, and hit him several times before firefighters got him out.

Key quote: "'Everyone do stupid things sometimes when they're drunk,' Valencio said."

Everyone do, indeed.

Don't look down ... or up ... or right ... or left

Spencer Tunick will photograph 800 naked people in South Beach, Florida, next month, which is about two or three hundred shy of the number of naked people you would find in South Beach on a typical Friday night. I can only envision the Craig's List ad right now:

Wanted: Male or Female, glistening, golden body, for picture-taking. Must be in shape, live in the South Beach area, and have a natural personality. People that go to the gym need not apply, as I think you're doody-heads.

(Also, the picture in the article may be NOT SAFE FOR WORK, but you'll have to do a whole lotta squinting to figure out if it is or isn't.)

Great moments in chicken wings

NOT A DREAM! NOT A HOAX! NOT AN ALTERNATE REALITY!

Hooters has actually managed to do do what 50 years of containment policy and nuclear brinksmanship could not by opening a franchise in Beijing and finally destroying communism for good.

Key quote: "In Beijing, 'Hooters' simply means 'owl,' but that doesn't mean the point goes overlooked."

Man oh man, I hope they're not talking about nipples.

Jack gets attacked

Avast, ye--cough cough cough--sorry, that's just a little something left over from yesterday, let me take another stab at it. Once again, the animals are attacking our most cherished of leaders in this war.

The victim of the attack this time was none other than Jack Hanna. He was trying to get a young flamingo through an airport security turnstile in Columbus, Ohio. Knowing Hanna, he was most likely transporting the prisoner to another country where interrogation laws leave more room for creativity. However, the two got stuck in the turnstile. At least that's what the public is allowed to know. Eventually firefighters had to be called to get them unstuck.

Key quote: "'I was stuck like a worm. My eyes were as big as grapefruits,' he said. 'I can't describe the feeling in my stomach. I can't move up or down. The bars are on your face.'"

Jack Hanna, you poor bastard. We'll get them for you.

Take it from Mister Snee: We all be needin’ Talk Like A Pirate Day

Happy International Talk Like A Pirate Day, me hearties!

I've been celebratin' this pro'ound holiday for several years, includin' two columns in The Guys' old prov'n ground, Radford University's newspaperrr, The Tarrrrrt'n. It's been gainin' interest since the release o', from all sources, Disney's and Bruckheimer's Pirates o' the Caribbean; but now that the series be over, what perchance should happen to our favorite holiday?

It be a terrifyin' prospect for considerin'. Once Marilyn Manson became passé, Halloween became all about the infernal Powerrr Rangers again. Christmas only witness'd a massive cultural upswing with the release o' Reindeer Games, but now ye'd be lucky to find decorrrations as early as June. On the other hand, The Passion o' the Christ scar'd the bilge out o' so many lubbers that Easterrr feels like celebratin' yer first keelhaul. (In other words, undesirable.)

Aye, the faithful shall remain, but be that enough for maintainin' a sense o' dignity every September 19?

Some would argue for keepin' this day exclusive, but it be more important to be sharin' the buccaneerin' spirit with mateys at all four corners o' the charts.

For instance, do ye think the Chinese be free to express their piratical natures? It be laughable to think so. Why, these poor rats be forc'd to shanghai (har!) their way into the Interrrnet for pornography. Yarr, it aggravates the senses further to think that this be happenin' in plenty other countries to boot!

And take into further consideration the plight o' the moderrrn cube rat. Most pirates got their start workin' for The Man (o' in this historic case, The British Man). They were flogg'd into submission to autocratic rulin' and had no liberties to speak o', save their evenin' ration o' grog. What did they do? They got fed up and turn'd pirate, they did. But there be no sign on the horizon o' anyone today takin' a stand and sayin' no to extra unpaid hours when they’d rather be home watchin' Survivorrr.

And, o' course, there be the recent case of Andrew Case, the young lad that the University o' Florida Police felt in need of a taserrrin'. Case ‘tis the very example o' why the old salts left the British Navy in the firrrst place, or why another group o' lubbers pitch'd tea off o' diversities into Boston Harbor--"diversities" be meanin' old, old wooden sailin' ships.


'Twere briny depths that day indeed!
I’d be remiss to not point out that the constables were already settin' Case in shackles b'fore even makin' him dance with Jack Ketch--all because he broke a rule about not speakin' out o' turn in a "town meetin.'"

It be a sign o' the times. We’d rather be goin' 'bout our business then be inconvienc'd for one second of unsettlin' liberty. And why? Because we want to follow the rules and not be getting' the boot. We'd rather be acceptin' our pint o' grog than to be takin' 40 lashin's in the public square.

So that's why it be so blast'd important that this day survive Johnny Depp and Kiera Knightley. It be a fun day o' confusin' classmateys and office crewmemberrrs, but it also be a celebration o' the spirit that originally found'd this nation: captainin' our own fates, rather than lettin' some other lifeless lubber do it for us. International Talk Like A Pirate Day cannot remain in our exclusive lot's coffers, but shar'd with the disenfranchis'd all around us.

Flog all those who complain

In case ye didn't hear by now, a college student in Florida was asking Sen. John Kerry a question at a student forum when he was arrested by campus police for goin' o'er his time limit and refusin' to put down his microphone.

This blog would like to say it is all for the taserin' o' people for whatever reason. But we'd rather he taste the lashes from the cat o' nine tails. Those who can't obey orders will be punished and kept from the rum.

Since this is a political story, this would ordinarily be a Scurry to the White House '04, but today it's Scurvy to the White House '04.

If only he had been in a sea-going vessel ...

Ahoy! A carnival worker helpfully explained to the local constabulatory that it not be rum nor lollygagglin' that be leading him to crash his truck into a telephone pole ... it be the people having sex in the back seat who made the vehicle all "tippy." Not everyone be able to score true booty, it would seem, eh lad? It be appearing that this lad be not of the sea dawg variety, as anyone who rides the open waters knows that "tippy" be but par for the course out there.

Halo 3 ... for ye swabby!

In a bit of pirate-spirited irony for the stereotype, Bungie be putting out a jimmy hat to commemorate the release of their newst product, which sadly, be not a seagoing vessel, but a little thing called Halo.

Take heed, all: if ye be acquiring the Halo 3 Legendary edition, Halo 3 Game Fuel, Halo Actionclix and already preordered Halo Wars, there be a good chance that ye not be needing this to acquire this as well. If ye have done all of those, there probably not be many chances for you to use this treasure on the booty of a wench. YAR!

Attention citizens o' Seattle

Aside from the usual warnings of a pirate attack aimed at any coastal town, Seattle has a new activity: ridin' the SLUT. That's right, we said SLUT.

Commuters in Seattle have a new line on which to travel: the South Lake Union Trolley. This has lead to T-shirts sellin' like hotcakes. They sold out the same day they were first sold. This blog be jealous o' Seattle, after all, what better after a long day at work then a ride on the SLUT?

Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day!

Ahoy there, mateys. Nay, your deadlights don't deceive you. The Guys will be bringin' ye the same ol' SG goodness that ye love so dearly, but we shall be doin' it whilst talking--er, typing like pirates.

So grab the nearest glass o' grog and read on!

Eat My Sports: Red Sox and Yankees

Hello, everybody and welcome to the latest SG weekly feature, Eat My Sports. The time has come to inject our little website with some balls! Or … sports that involve them.

This past weekend featured the greatest event in all of sports. No, I’m not talking about playing knife wars with Lindsay Lohan, or let’s see how I can get arrested this time with O.J. Simpson. Folks, we are talking about the quintessential moment in the sporting world: Red Sox and Yankees.

As an avid Red Sox fan, through the years I have been a bit biased towards this rivalry. After all, these are the brooding bloods that brought us Pedro Martinez taking down billion year old Don Zimmer and the greatest comeback in professional sports history. However, after looking at it from a few different angles, the fact of the matter is that nothing quite matches up to when these two teams square off. Cowboys, Redskins, Lakers and Red Wings fans argue all you want, but when these two play, it’s for blood. No other teams in the sporting world, or fan nation for that matter, can honestly hate and despise someone for simply donning the opposing team’s logo. In this world though, it means battle lines are drawn.

This weekend's three game set at Fenway Park proved to be nothing different than what we have come to expect when Boston and New York collide. I mean did anyone see the way Boston's Eric Hinske barreled into Jorge Posada on Saturday’s day game? Clearly thrown out, Hinske went after Posada and tried to take him out a la the way MTV went after Britney at the VMAs. Come on, seriously, Eric Hinske? This isn’t Manny, Varitek or Papi, this is Eric freaking Hinske, and even he wants to do some bruising. Hate runs deep in this game my friends, even down to little used players like Eric Hinske. Did I mention Eric Hinske? You got your 15 minutes buddy, now bring back Manny, someone has to use left field as a latrine.

One of the moments that solidified this as its own entity within the sporting realm was this moment for me. This past Saturday I was on my way to work out at the American Family I belong to. No, I don’t have a family, but I am American, so that entitles at least half of me to be there. When I went to the side of the gym I normally work out on, I noticed none of the televisions had my beloved Sox on. I politely asked one of the employees to change the channel. Given that no one was watching anything over there, and I’m sure no one cared to have Florida pulling away drastically from Tennessee on, they happily obliged. (And by happily obliged, I mean when I said, “Red Sox and Yankees,” the woman stopped what she was doing, put her arm around me and said, “darling, you don’t need to say anything else.”)

The Sox were starting to pull away. I mean when J.D. Drew and Coco Crisp are destroying your starting pitching like Rosie O'Donnell at a buffet, the game is pretty much done. But as I went about my normal routine of water aerobics and pilates (us here at SG only do the manliest of workouts), I noticed that steadily, people were coming over to watch the game. They definitely weren’t watching Notre Dame getting waxed 38-0 by Michigan. (Side note: ND, if your team hasn’t scored an offensive touchdown in three weeks, please cancel your television deal and forfeit the rest of your games, seriously. And to Michigan, when you're using "Cinderella Man" as your team's motivational film, no wonder Appalachian State handed it to you.) AF employees, people just going about their workout, a little bit of everyone came over to watch the Sox and Yanks. By the time everyone came over who that could, it totaled about twelve strong. Now, this may not seem like much, but on Saturdays gyms have the life of a K-Fed album release party, so this brought roughly half of the people there over. Kid you not, these people did not move for the entire hour I was there.

Now, I am positive that not all of these people were supporters of either team, but I’ve noticed that baseball fans, or just people in general take exception to when it is Red Sox and Yankees. They may even despise one or both of the franchises. But the fact remains that something pulls people to watch these games whenever they are on. Something special may happen, or A-Rod might get drilled with a 90 mph fastball from Curt "I swear I'm dieting" Schilling. And for those of us that are emotionally attached, forget whatever is going on, forget it all. Because for us, nothing, and I mean NOTHING else matters. Even when the stakes are high, or both teams are out of contention, the fact remains that Red Sox versus Yankees matters, no matter how much you love or hate it.

Got an issue with me or the sporting world? E-mail the Guys and give us some feedback on what you want covered.

Rambo he ain't

Rudy Giuliani has broken the ultimate taboo of coolness: giving himself a nickname. He's dubbed himself "liberals' 'worst nightmare.'"

Since he doesn't elaborate at all as to how he's a nightmare, much less of the worst variety, this blog can only surmise what he means. We figure his platform will shift to:

• Installing those "you must be this tall" signs at all hospitals for admitance. (They'll only be in English, of course.)
  
  
• Invading five other countries in the Middle East ... you know, for kicks.
  
  
• Adding the ACLU to the terror group watchlist.
  
  
• Extending the death penalty to flag-burners and those who "support the troops, but not the war."
  
  
• Dismantling alternative energy plants to make room for more oil refineries.
  
  
• Declaring the Baptist faith as the official religion of the United States.

And if he doesn't, then we're revoking the nickname.

Grouchy neighbors

As if New Orleans didn't have it bad enough. The recovery process from Hurricane Katrina is a long and slow one. The city, which has been racked by crime and violence, is struggling for hope.

It seems not even the animals are willing to give the poor people of New Orleans a break. Killer bees are preventing the local fire departments from using their sirens, it seems the loud noises make them mad.

Religion in the courtroom?

Ever heard the saying "he has more money than God?" Nebraska state Senator Ernie Chambers may find out the definition. He has decided to sue God.

Key quote: "The lawsuit accuses God 'of making and continuing to make terroristic threats of grave harm to innumerable persons, including constituents of Plaintiff who Plaintiff has the duty to represent.' It says God has caused 'fearsome floods, egregious earthquakes, horrendous hurricanes, terrifying tornadoes, pestilential plagues, ferocious famines, devastating droughts, genocidal wars, birth defects and the like.'"

It's about time someone has held someone accountable for those tragedies! And if God gets called to the stand, that would be quite a scene. Where have I seen that before?

The fugitive

Richard Kimball, the fugitive, always insisted to police trying to arrest him on television and on the big screen that a one-armed man had killed his wife. We now know that a person does not need a single arm to kill you.

Down in Atlanta, relatives of a dead man say his no-armed neighbor killed him. They say the two men had a fight, and the man who had all of his limbs died shortly afterward. Probably from the embarrassment of losing a fight to a guy with no arms.

Iran War beginning with whimper, not bang

Iran is now eyeing its first military victory since the Crusades, after the French announced that they are willing to back their anti-nuke rhetoric with war.

Tehran is breathing a sigh of relief and has prepared his acceptance of France's imminent surrender.

"Thank goodness," said Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. "I was worried we'd have to deal with these guys again."

Roberto Zombie

Venezuela is known the world over as that country in South America that starts with a V. But it seems soon they could be known for something much worse: the first country overrun by zombies.

A man was declared dead by coroners after a car accident recently. His body was taken to the morgue where they began to perform an autopsy. That is until the man woke up.

Key quote: "'I woke up because the pain was unbearable,' Camejo said."

Nice try, zombie punk. Keep trying to act like you're not the living undead. Try to make us feel bad for you and your terrible ordeal. We'll be watching you and your hunger for brains.

Everything old is new again

Somebody seems to be thinking of the children. Apparently, "grinding" is now called "juking" and even though it's been 20 years since Patrick Swayze taught us how to dance in such a dirty way, parents are still shocked and appalled by it. Wait until they find out about break-dancing.

Key quote: "Plans for a seminar titled 'Dr. No: Controlling Your Dance' grew out of repeated requests from members of the Illinois Directors of Student Activities for ideas on how to handle suggestive dancing, said the group's president, Therese McLaughlin."

"Dr. No: Controlling Your Dance" may just be the greatest seminar name ever. Even more so if resident Zach Braff lookalike, Joel Osteen, is asked to give it ... but he better actually manage to keep his eyes open during is rants this time.

Headline of the Day

OK, so it's so much the headline, but the story that counts. From about paragraph two in is where it counts.

Aaaaaand the universe has its course corrected and wookies do indeed live on Endor.

Alabama is trying to kill me

I figured I'd post this one before the other guys got a chance: STDs are on the rise in Alabama, and the main culprit is abstinence-only sex education.

Key Quote: "The subject of condoms, under the state course of study guidelines, is not broached, [said state Department of Education spokeswoman Edith Parten]."

The Guys are concerned, not because of the lack of education, but because I'm here in Alabama. That's why we recommend the following healthy practices:

• Do not sit on toilet seats in any restroom that isn't yours. Okay, don't sit on yours, either. We might be in the neighborhood and need to use it.
  
  
• Use a giant hamster ball to get around. Absitence isn't enough. Even AIDS is transmitted through phone handsets, unregulated hugging and tear consumption.
  
  
• Stay out of the doctor's office. You know what's in the waiting room? Sick people. It's like a zombie movie, only with soap operas and Highlights Magazine in the background.

Stay strong, people. But more importantly, stay home.

The McBournie Minute: Celebrities

Remember back when you were in high school? There were always the various cliques. The top of which were the popular kids. They were the ones everyone gossiped about and wanted to know what parties they would go to that weekend. Any trend they started everyone had to be part of. It was like they lived on another plane of existence.

After high school, society as a whole keeps these elements of social fabric in place. Only now, the popular people are celebrities. We still follow their every move and idolize them, we just don't get to sit next to them in geometry.

We all know that converting to strange cult-like religions is on its way out, but adopting foreign children is here to stay. Also, carrying your newly-adopted foreign children is still in. But why carry them? Do they have weak legs? Did they not have time to master the art of walking when they were scrounging around for food prior to their adoption? Maybe it's something far worse, maybe the children's new parents are tired of walking slowly so their tiny legs can walk cover the same amount of ground.

Why are these children sapping our idols of their upper body strength? We all know they are sapping them of their figures, energy and talent. There are even signs of this happening with natural born children. What happened to Britney (aside from the pharmacy)? Does Katie Holmes even work anymore?

Please, will someone think of the celebrities?

(Thanks Rachel U.)

MasterChugs Theater: 'The One'

Jet Li has joined the illustrious dubious ranks of those martial arts stars playing opposite themselves in a film--including Jackie Chan and Jean Claude Van Damme. But instead of playing a long-lost twin brother to himself as in the other films, Li’s actually himself squared--another version of Jet from a different parallel "universe." That’s right: Only Jet Li can kick Jet Li's ass. Borrowing from the Many Worlds interpretation of Everett's Relative-State Formulation of Quantum Mechanics, The One showcases a scenario of what happens when events in these different universes become intertwined.

The setting for this plot is a "multiverse" consisting of many parallel universes (using the Everett interpretation, there are an infinite number). The first Universes that discovered this "fact" went about creating a police force to ensure no abuse occurs by traveling from one universe to another through "quantum wormholes." Yulaw (Jet Li) is a former officer in this force who discovers that his strength increases when he kills a version of himself from another universe. He then goes about killing the 123 copies of himself that are known to exist and their strengths flow to him and his one remaining counterpart, Gabe (Li again), in the 124th universe (arguably there are more than 125 Universes, but a Yulaw-like personality does not exist in them).

Gabe, a regular cop in a universe similar to ours, is unable to explain his sudden increase in strength. That is until Yulaw comes after him. Aided by two of the Multiverse police, Roedecker (Delroy Lindo) and Funsch (Jason Statham), Gabe must stop Yulaw before Yulaw becomes "the one" standing, which would allow him to gain an enormous amount of power and rule the multiverse as a despotic god.

The acting is also pretty dismal, especially poor Statham, mired here in a laughable role and an absurd New York accent. Jet Li’s career was the only one to get a significantly believable boost (Hero, anyone?), mainly since most of his role revolves around a handful of awesome fight sequences. Nearly as impressive as Li's moves are the special effects that give already incredible fights extra voltage. The filmmakers take the Matrix slow-mo bullet thing a few steps further, almost to the point of abuse. But, man, is it cool to watch. And, scenes exhibiting Li’s superhuman strength--especially one where he picks up a police motorcycle with one hand and slams it down on a cop like a trash can lid--are equally visually fun.

However, much beyond that FX eye candy and an occasional clever joke related to inter-dimensional travel (like a jab at one universe which has a President Gore and another where President Bush proposes a health care system), there’s not much substance to The One. But I’ve got to give the filmmakers props just on the basis that they cast American Movie's Mark Borchardt in a minor role. It was good to see that guy getting some work.

Recommended, but leave your brain at the door ... but make sure to bring an extra pair of eyes. Just in case.

One for the road

The words "harvest" and "sperm" should never be used in the same headline. However, after an emergency court ruling in Iowa this week, 23 year old Daniel Christy was legally able to extract sperm from her dying husband for future children.

Sausage Fest

You only get one dinner sausage. Apparently that is enough to set off some inmates in Hobbs, N.M., proving once again that those male prisoners really like their meat.

Unholy alliance

Even though the War on Animals has been going on for more than a year now, there are still people out there who question its purpose. "What's the point?" they ask. "Animals are stupid and aren't really ganging up against us in a global form of King of the Hill."

Oh really?

A baboon at a Lithuanian zoo named Mitis not only saved a chicken that was going to be fed to other animals in the zoo, he made friends with the chicken. Mitis has even eaten chicken in the past, but has looked beyond that to make friends. Next, this blog expects Mitis and the chicken to have offspring, probably called babickens, and do their part to take over the world.

Touch 'em while you can

Sarasota County, Florida, is entertaining a proposition that would keep patrons 6 feet away from strippers.

Oh, yeah, and they want to ban alcohol from the strip clubs, too.

This effectively turns the nudie bar into your teenage years: watching porn in a dank, poorly lit environment; unable to buy booze; and surrounded by all your friends who want to masturbate.

Sounds swell, Sarasota.

Schooling the schools of thought

A new study shows that the differences between liberals and conservatives may differ in more than just their political views. They actually have different ways of thinking.

The study says conservatives like order and are more consistent with the decisions. Liberals, on the other hand, adapt better to unforeseen circumstances and don't mind ambiguity.

Also, members of the Green party have brains made from 100 percent recycled paper. Libertarians, however, refused to be tested, because it would mean taking off their tin foil hats and allowed the government to hear their thoughts.

(Courtesy of Coleen)

How To: Drive a car

Let's face it, in order to make it in this world, you have to have a car. That is unless you live in New York City, where citizens are not allowed to drive, for they are surely insane if they live there in the first place, this is why cab drivers are foreign.

Because driving a motor vehicle is so important, we are here to help.

Tools:

A car (obviously)

Screwdriver

Blindfold

1) Get going. You've climbed into your Pinto and are raring to go. First things first: do not use a seatbelt. These are only for wussies who are afraid of a little windshield. Next, take your screwdriver and jam it into the ignition. Jiggle it around until you can turn it and bingo, your car is started. Adjust your mirrors, then crank your stereo system as loud as it can go, if you have the option of bass levels, blast that, too. People love it when you set off car alarms from 40 paces and they are just dying to hear what cool tunes you are listening to. Now pull out on to the road.

2) Be safe. Ah, ah, ah! Aren't we forgetting something? That's right, now that you're on the road, lean on your horn and do not lay off of it until you reach your destination. The horn will announce your presence far more easily than your music, which can only be heard if you stand next to the open windows. Because drivers will be aware of your presence, they will be more cautious around you. Another good way to keep drivers remembering not to hit you is by constantly flashing your headlights.

3) Obey the rules of the road. We all know the old addage "those on the road make the rules." This is also referred to as freestyle driving. Feel like chatting on your cell phone while eating a quadruple-quarter pounder with cheese? Go for it! Want to pop a wheelie off of the curb? Give it a shot! Remember, no matter what you do, never use your directional signals. It is always best to keep your fellow drivers guessing.

4) Select a parking spot. Finally, you have reached your destination, the local police felt you did such a good job, you can see they are escorting you, only they are behind you instead of in front. No matter! The key to parking is finding the right spot. If at all possible, park on a curb, this will protect your vehicle from getting dings from others. If a curb is not available, find a parking lot. These are large paved areas with a bunch of lines. Think of these lines as yard lines and you're playing football, try to get your vehicle to cross as many yard lines as possible when you park. For more advanced parking, blindfold yourself in the parking lot and gun the engine. Stop whenever you feel like it.

You now have the skills required to operate a motor vehicle, so remember you may not be as good at first, but if you stick to the tips and practice several times a day, you will be motorin' along in no time!

(Photo by Catherine Haring)

Viva La Cheater!

Hunh-hunh-hunh.

A French website is offering custom made alibis (phone calls, stationary from non-existent companies, and fake wedding invitations) for adulterers who need a little help with their dangerous liaisons.

Please. As if a true Frenchman would ever need help with that. They'll just use and lose the silly American women tourists as all movies show. Also, I'm not exactly up and up on the exchange rate, nor do or would I ever condone cheating on significant others (for lack of a better term), but I've gotta say, 19 euros is a bit of a steal, given the niche.

Best Headline of the Day At This Point

While our minds can wander around and probably imagine a myriad of ways that she could be applying pressure to the senator ... the brain tends to break when Larry Flynt is added into the equation.

MWGS halts Affleck film

Missing White Girl Syndrome has reached a new low. Ben Affleck's new movie about a fictional missing white girl, Gone Baby Gone, has been postponed indefinitely by its distributer, Buena Vista International, for "similarities to the Madeleine McCann case."

Key quote: Gone Baby Gone was based on a 1998 novel by Dennis Lehane and was filmed last year, before Madeleine's disappearance, the film companies said.

Apparently, there are no other missing children right now, and any fictional portrayal of one is, in fact, this particular missing white girl.

MWGS is a condition that causes the brain to only care when a white girl goes missing. It effectively shuts down peripheral vision, which causes all focus to center on the white girl in peril.

Other symptoms of MWGS include:

• Victimizing the parents if they are white and attractive.
  
• Handwringing.
  
• Unfounded speculation that the child will be found unharmed (because they're little princesses that the dragons merely guard).

If you, a friend or a family member are suffering from MWGS, please visit your nearest low-income housing district to see some real pain.

Latest weight loss fad

Looking for a new way to lose weight? Are diets just not working for you? Are you too lazy to get out an exercise? Do you want a method of weight loss that wouldn't require a single change in your life? It's not a pill, it's metric.

The kilogram prototype in Paris weighs less than it should. Scientists are not sure why it is losing weight. This means you could lose weight if you convert to metric, too! Of course, it also means countries that use the metric system (also known as every other country in the world) could be thrown into chaos. Take that, world!

Take it from Snee: Heroes are meant to be destroyed

I scanned the news all week to find a topic to skewer. Unfortunately, all I could find were stories about the VMAs, fallen politicians and opinions on why the surge is/isn't working. But I did notice a theme, one that is always in the news, but not always at the same time.

We embrace people for a variety of reasons as icons, emulate/support them for a bit and then dig up the dirt to bury them.

The obvious example here is Britney Spears. I've endured her songs in the dorms for the past four years, so I found it fitting that her career was killed not long after I graduated. And maybe most of her downfall was through her own panty-less fiascos, but the American people got tired of her after a near decade and now she's a has-been.

Then there's the politicians. We elect these people to office, and then wait for a scandal to get rid of them. Even now, we're pushing primaries ahead of schedule to send Bush back to his ranch on a permanent vacation ... as opposed to all the time he's spent there so far.

Let's not forget how high his approval rating was on September 12, 2001. Five years later, he's no longer a hero. Is that statement incredibly simplistic? You bet. There are a million reasons we don't like him anymore, whether those are a million illegal immigrants, a million million dollar budgetary defecit or a way overestimate million lives lost in the Iraq War. My point is that within five years of being a hero, he overstayed his welcome in the good guy light.

Heroes never last long because, although they may inspire us to become more, they remind us of our own shortcomings. We appreciate them at first, but then we look at our own lives and wonder, "Why not me?" At first, "why not me" means, "I could do that, too." But after a while and being sexually molested by a bogus modeling school, "why not me" turns into "I'm not that great, and neither is that person."

Going back to Britney Spears, we saw a tasty bit of jailbait that swore she was a virgin. She sang, she danced and she gave men guilty boners. Girls wanted to be like her (though I don't know why), and boys wanted to hit her one time at least, if not once more. She didn't have a great voice, but she had everyone's attention. She made me believe that I, too, could be an onstage tease with snakes and back-up dancers.

Like Britney, I'm not a great singer, but people don't want to see me in pigtails (really, handlebars). The bitch had to go down.

And go down she did, on people that I had grown to dislike for similar reasons: Justin Timberlake, Kevin Federline and Chriss Angel. They're more celebrities that seem as mildly talented as the rest of us, but why do they get million dollar paychecks and private jets? Why do they get to sit next to Jodie Foster at awards shows when the rest of us have to kill a president for her?

So I enjoyed a bit of schadenfreude when I saw the pictures from the VMAs and read the reviews, announcing her pop tart career over. My dislike of her was vindicated: she's not as good as me. In fact, now she's worse than me. Hooray! The hero is dead!

President Bush? Same story, only he has no public speaking ability yet won debates for the presidency. Basically, just re-read the Britney Spears part again, but insert "invade other countries" instead of "Justin Timberlake, Kevin Federline and Chriss Angel."

That's how we like our heroes, dead and buried. We need them to become obscure references at parties to seem funny. We need new heroes so we can dress ourselves differently. (Can you imagine if MC Hammer still set the bar on fashion today?) Even Beowulf had to die doing what we loved him best for: killing scary monsters.

And what happens when they finally die and we're happy again? We eulogize them as if they never did wrong. Try looking up the Nixon obituaries if you don't believe me. And that's the role of the hero.

The parrot will talk no more

This blog is proud to announce that Alex the parrot is dead. Alex, an African grey parrot, has been the subject of study of scientists and Brandeis University for 30 years.

Why is it a good thing the bird is dead? While Alex was an animal, he was also a talking parrot known for his intelligence. He could talk to his handlers and other parrots in English. It was only a matter of time before he got his parrot friends to rise against the scientists.

And so, we feel there is no reason to investigate why Alex died of unknown causes.

What to wear? What to wear?

Clothing news roundup

Another alluringly dressed woman was asked to leave a Southwest Airlines flight because of her outfit. The question the Guys want answered is ... how come women like this never sit next to us on airplanes?

Also, a study recently discovered that bras don't work. This begs two questions:
1. How exactly does one get a grant for that project? Does it really go like "Yeah, hi ... I was hoping that you could give me half a million dollars so I could study the way breasts bounce."
AND
2. Does anyone else think that the mo-cap balls are really unfortunately placed on the model's bra?

And finally, sometimes it's not what you wear, but what you don't. I suppose that it's perfectly okay to perform carpentry in the nude (at least in Alameda County, California), but me, I don't even want to think about the consequences of nailing the wrong piece of wood. Rimshot.

But will they strip to Message In a Bottle?

New Yorkers are fighting back against a proposed burlesque club partially financed by Sting and David Bowie. They don't need aging British rockers telling them how to take their clothes off, thank you very much.

Gorillartists

While we are trying to court the big bucks, the most dedicated warriors in this cannot overlook the snobbery of the elite when it comes to the enemy. They are now paying $10,000 on eBay for the finger paintings of Little Joe and Okie the gorillas (though the names make them sound like members of a jug band).

The gorillas are residents of the Franklin Park Zoo in Boston, so while we all know they are nothing but death camps, we should not be encouraging the arts in our zoos. Remember: Hitler wrote "Mein Kampf" while in prison.

Besides, I know toddlers who are better artists than these two jokers.

Rename a shark ... and then kill it

Alright, heroes--in particular, the rich ones--this is our chance to make a real difference in the War on Animals.

The so-called scientists and "conservationists" out there have prevented us from making real strides in eradicating dangerous animals by giving them cuddly names like "panda," "squirrel" and "barracuda." It's no wonder that our warriors are maligned in the media with such blatantly propagandistic nomenclature premeating the news.

We need you to bid on naming new species of animals. We'd do it ourselves, but, well, there's not much money made by being the saviors of humanity. (Even Jesus died with nothing to show for his ministry.)

Some suggestions:

• Tastes Great with Red Wine Walking Shark
  
• Lemon-Pepper Fairy Basslet
  
• Family-Devouring Lionfish
  
• Pictichromis Dotty Back That Wants to Willingly Give You AIDS

It's up to us (namely you) to counter the years of aggressive euphemization of the greatest threat to your family and friends. Euthansia, not euphemasia!

From Mother Russia, with love

Russia apparently has something more than vodka that will knock you on your back (or up). The fact that our government would never sanction a holiday like this, has got to make you think that despite everything, maybe Russia has got it right after all.

Fast foot fighting

Here's a tip for all of you fast food eaters out there: try not to get into an argument with the drive-thru workers while you're ordering. Aside from risking them messing with your food, it's just bad form.

Also, try not to pull the store manager through the window and then run over another worker. It may end up with you going to jail for some crazy reason. Just a thought.

It's all in how you say it

Lawyers and DAs in the future will now have field days with dictionaries thanks to lawmakers in Britain. The British government finally realizes that it doesn't make much sense for selling sex to be illegal, when it's perfectly okay to buy it; however, if you think their solution is to make the whole thing legit ... guess again.

By the way, if someone's going to the grocery store, make sure to pick me up a box of Prostituted Flakes ... they're GRRRRSYPHILIS!

Virginia isn't for lovers ...

... It's for loving. I realize the story's nearly a week old, and I apologize for giving you old news, but boy, is it good news ... well, depending on how you look at it, I suppose. A cleaning crew hired to mop up city hall in Richmond, Virginia, spent their evenings calling phone sex lines instead. Isn't that a wee bit counterproductive? You know, if you do that you're only leaving a bigger mess for yourself to clean up.

You are now free to sacrifice a goat, ding

Plane not working too well? Sacrifice a goat.

The danger they don't tell you about

Test drivers of new Nissan cars thought they had a pretty cool gig. After all, you get to drive around in a brand new car and see how it works, then you get to tell people how you felt about it. They even give you a free mug.

It's all smooth sailing until you find out the mug you've been drinking out of has Chinese lead paint on it. One of the test drivers got sick and complained to Nissan.

Not exactly a lead foot, is it? (Apologies, it had to be said.)

Clothing optional

It could be a general consensus that when fighting a burglar in your home, attacking the criminal or defending yourself would be the primary course of action. Not stripping the assailant nude. Then again, how many SG readers come from Minnesota, home of this.

Backhanded compliment

Kid Rock gives the five fingers to the face of Tommy Lee. SLAP!!!

How the West was lost

Rapper Kanye West was none too pleased to be shut out at this year's MTV Video Music Awards. West grabbed a grand total of zero Moon Men in the five categories he was nominated for, including losing male artist of the year for the second time in as many tries.

Those poor millionaire rappers, they have it so tough.

Key quote: "Give a black man a chance."

License to kill whales

Off the coast of Washington state, some brave souls are taking on the local animal population with more formal tactics, these days. The Makah tribe is allowed to whale every now and then because it's a cultural thing. Recently, members of the tribe went out into the ocean, found a California gray whale, and used the tools used for generations spanning time: a harpoon and a .50 caliber machine gun.

The whale, despite the buoys attached to the harpoon, died and sank beneath the waves. But perhaps the saddest part is that there could be charges coming for members of the Makah tribe. Truly, they are a brave and fighting people.

Mmm-mmm-ewww

As if finding a whole duck and chicken in your turkey wasn't bad enough, someone is claiming to have found a condom in a can of Campbell's soup. SG is starting to wonder what's going on in food factories these days--and if maybe we should make sure that China isn't where some food is manufactured, though lead poisoning soup could be pretty yummy!

Make your own "cream of mushroom" jokes, you filthy monsters.

Best Headline of the Day At This Point

There are days when some headlines just make total sense. Then, there are other days when songs by Ice-T really tend to make a lot more sense than they did in the past.

The air (guitar) up there

If an American can't win this event by doing a backflip onto a beer can to finish his routine, then obviously the Air Guitar World Championship is rigged.

The McBournie Minute: Camping

I know it's been a couple weeks since you've seen me, blame the long weekend and such. I'm back and I'm staying here Mondays.

That said, this past weekend I went camping on Loft Mountain in Shenandoah National Park. My friends and I chose it because it has beautiful views of the Blue Ridge Mountains, secluded areas and the threat of a bear attack.

We camped out on the top of the mountain at a campground where you had to walk around in order to find other people. Our cell phones didn't work and the park rangers were a 15-minute walk away. More or less, we were on our own. Then we saw the people with RVs.

It is amazing to me why people would bring these monsters to such a camp. The whole point is to get away from the usual trappings of life and enjoy the bare minimum. RVs basically make your camping trip into another day at your house, but with a much better view. These things were huge, too. I don't even know what "RV" stands for.

I contemplated these matters as I sat and whittled a stick to a sharpened point. After all, you never know when you might need a sharp object to fend of black bears, or an RVer straying from his ride.

MasterChugs Theater: 'The Sting'

Way before Guy Ritchie's polished bad boy style and hugely complicated plot twists pulled in the punters, The Sting pioneered the genre. This long time stalwart of basic cable movie channel broadcasting remains an entertaining way to spend a couple of hours and, unlike Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, it's more about charisma than greed.

The plot is both incredibly simple and yet incredibly multi-layered; a story synopsis won't do it justice.

Johnny Hooker (Robert Redford) is a young con man who was taught the ropes by his partner in crime, the legendary Luther Coleman (Robert Earl Jones). Luther longs to get out of the racket, so they pull one last big scam; however, this time they choose the wrong guy. Turns out that if you mess with "The Boss," Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw), you get put on his hit list with no mercy. Who would've guessed? After a crooked cop (Charles Durning) gets in on the action, things go even more awry.

Seeking payback, Hooker teams up with another great con man, the smooth but cynical Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman). Together, they recruit a motley gang of fellow crooks and accomplices (including Eileen Brennan and Ray Walston) to take down Lonnegan. An increasingly twisty, endlessly crafty series of scams, double-crosses and ingenious ruses ensue, all to the tune of "The Entertainer", the iconic piano rag by Scott Joplin. Payback could only be sweeter if it was done by a diabetic in a candy store.

The one problem with the movie? The Sting is not really about anything. It is an immensely enjoyable, impeccably produced bit of cinematic entertainment, but it doesn't add much to the sum of human consciousness. It might have had a bit more cultural relevance had it examined the racial and class tensions at more than a surface level.

That, in hindsight, leaves it a somewhat surprising choice by the Academy to beat out other, more "serious" front-runners for the 1973 Best Picture Oscar, including American Graffiti and The Exorcist. But whatever, because ultimately, awards are pretty silly in the first place. And why not just revel in the fine wine, even if it is made out of sour grapes? I've had so much fun revisiting The Sting again and again. There really is something to be said for any film that can hold up so well after three decades. It's truly timeless.

Critics of have said that the movie is all chemistry. Don't get it twisted, as that's a great thing. Indeed, the pure star wattage of Redford and Newman goes a long way in giving the film its heat. But such a simple statement does a disservice, not only to the rest of the A-list cast, but also to David Grant's expertly-crafted script and George Roy Hill's energetic direction. The Sting is so darn entertaining, not just because Redford and Newman flash their toothy grins, but because it works on every single level. Each scene pays off the one before, and sets up the next one, expertly. The writing, the music, the performances, the cinematography, the editing--not a single moment is anything less than elegant, refined and a sheer marvel.

Athletes sometimes describe a temporary state of heightened concentration as being "in the zone." It is a magical, mystical area that a performing athlete enters where the body, mind and spirit align perfectly. Everything is firing on all cylinders, enabling peak performance. The term is not used much to describe creative pursuits like movie-making, but perhaps it should. I'm referring here to those rare blessed moments when a film achieves a kind of perfection with such apparent ease that they, too, have a mystical, magical quality to them. Perhaps I'm overstating my case, but if ever a movie was "in the zone," it would be The Sting. One of the all-time greats, this film is just pretty darn wonderful.