MasterChugs Theater: 'Monster House'

Some quick housekeeping: the Guys are taking off next week because we like turkey. Even more than the internet? Say it ain't so! We'll be back on Monday, November 26. In the meantime, do something important, like...reading a book, or bugging your family members. And alooooooooooooooong with the review:

'Monster House' is arguably the scariest movie that has ever been targeted to children. There are multiple children who will probably say to their parents, “Mommy/Daddy, I’m scared.” Luckily, the movie is also funny, sweet, and more than a little sad. The boys act like boys, the girls act like girls, and the adult figures, of course, treat the kids as if they were insane, like an animated Lemony Snicket story. And who else would be in the executive producer’s chair but Steven Spielberg, who has terrorized more children than the Devil, the boogie man and Barbra Streisand combined.

It’s only a few minutes after the departure of DJ’s parents that he kills his neighbor, old man Nebbercracker (voiced by Steve Buscemi). Nebbercracker has been terrorizing the neighborhood’s kids for generations, and he has a heart attack while engaging in a tirade against DJ (voiced by Mitchel Musso) for stepping on his lawn. Nebbercracker’s death is only the beginning of DJ’s bad day. It’s Halloween, and apparently Nebbercracker’s rickety old house isn’t pleased at DJ’s part in its owner’s death. Nebbercracker’s house is alive and angry. With his parents out of town, DJ and his friends, Chowder and Jenny, can only watch in horror as the house starts devouring neighborhood toys, pets, and eventually police officers that trod on its lawn.

Though much of the computer animation in Monster House is by today’s standards somewhat sub par, the look of the house itself is stunning; a beautiful, nightmarish dream (as opposed to the nightmares that the animation for The Polar Express created) that looks like it might have fallen right out of the head of Tim Burton. It’s a wonderfully alive, fiercely cinematic set piece; an effect so brilliantly conceived that a lesser film might have been content to rely upon merely the house’s toothy appearance as justification for the entire film’s existence.

Robert Zemeckis may have handed the directorial reins to newcomer Gil Kenan, but this is still Zemeckis’ show (he’s the other executive producer), using the same animation technique that both fascinated and disturbed viewers of 'The Polar Express.' This time, it’s the subject matter that does the disturbing; Nebbercracker’s death scene is downright freaky (it’s all in the point of view), and DJ’s subsequent nightmare sequence is not far removed from a scene in 'A Nightmare on Elm Street.' Rock-on Yikes. As a grownup, however, I lapped it all up; the movie’s sense of humor is quirky with occasional blasts of brilliance. Just wait until you hear Chowder’s answer when DJ calls and asks him where his parents are.

The climax involves our heroes deploying a huge construction crane in order to vanquish their adversary. Without referencing it too obviously, the scene hearkens back to the 1967 Hammer science-fiction film 'Quatermass and the Pit.' (A good film, if you haven't seen it; the U.S. title was 'Five Million Years to Earth.') Set around Halloween, "Monster House" manages to cull bits and pieces from Hammer, Hitchcock and the old-dark-house genre of 19th Century literature and early 20th Century stage and film. These bits and pieces manage to move quickly, without indulging in punch lines dependent on Britney Spears or Scientology. Older kids with a taste for fright will likely be interested in how the floorboards turn into big brown teeth and then back into floorboards. Viewers of all ages who survived the 2003 film version of the Disney ride known as 'The Haunted Mansion' will appreciate the improvement "Monster House" represents in the realm of old dark houses with great big secrets. I would wholeheartedly recommend the film to any parent that is getting sick of seeing zebras crossing the Atlantic in their animated features, or , for that matter, anybody in general that wants to have a fun time watching a fun movie.

A whiskey situation

Imagine the most horrible thing that could ever happen to humanity. Good. Now imagine that about ten times worse. That could be exactly how bad it could be if police in Tennessee have their way.

Thousands of bottles of Jack Daniel's whiskey, much of it around the century mark, could be POURED DOWN THE DRAIN by police after being seized recently. The bottles were seized in warehouse raids in Nashville and Lynchburg, but no one has been arrested. The law calls for seized bottles that cannot be sold in the country to be dumped down the drain. The whiskey must be saved!

Key quote: "'Punish the person, not the whiskey,' said an outraged Kyle MacDonald, 28, a Jack Daniel's drinker from British Columbia who promotes the whiskey on his blog. 'Jack never did anything wrong, and the whiskey itself is innocent.'"

Excellent point. Sure, whiskey has caused the premature exit of many a man's lunch, is responsible for a hazy memory or two and roughly 34 percent of the world's population today, but of this crime the booze is innocent. All it did was sit there in its bottle, as it has for decades, when someone brought it to a warehouse. Then one day police arrested the liquor and questioned it. But the whiskey, in its years of wisdom, just sat there silently pondering.

It's time for a mass protest in Tennessee. Who's with me?

Ask Dr. Snee, Guynecologist: Lungs … of iron!

Dear Dr. Snee,

How does an Iron Lung work? Is it anything like an Iron Cross?


To answer your question, I consulted my third favorite medical journal, Wikipedia. (My first two go-to sources are Men's Health and the Bible.) According to the WPMJ, the iron lung is a "negative pressure ventilator":

The person using the iron lung is placed into the central chamber, a cylindrical steel drum. A door allowing the head and neck to remain free is then closed, forming a sealed, air-tight compartment enclosing the rest of the person's body. Pumps that control airflow periodically decrease and increase the air pressure within the chamber, and particularly, on the chest. When the pressure falls below that within the lungs, the lungs expand and air from outside the chamber is sucked in via the person's nose and airways to keep the lungs filled; when the pressure rises above that within the lungs, the reverse occurs, and air is expelled. In this manner, the iron lung mimics the physiologic action of breathing: by periodically altering intrathoracic pressure, it causes air to flow in and out of the lungs.

Now, that might seem a little technical, but I’m a doctor. It’s my job to explain the bullpuckey researchers made up, just like how religious leaders explain the vague, contradictory rules of their gods. Allegory, which is Scandinavian for “pop culture or farm animal reference,” is our main tool of the trade.

The iron lung works like Tupac Shakur.

When Tupac was alive and recording albums, hip-hop fans on the west coast liked him. They, in the parlance of the kids, dug his rap. He was one hip dude. But he wasn’t universally recognized as a musical artist, just a really good rhymer-guy. He even made a movie or two, but nobody saw them because he wasn’t shooting anybody (unlike DMX’s far superior films). By saturating the market with his alive-ness, negative pressure caused his career to stagnate into having relations with Biggie’s wife.

When Tupac pulled an anti-50 Cent (not shrugging off bullets), the world suddenly appreciated his music. His albums crossed over into the playlists of music lovers whose hip-hop experience was limited to a fifth-grade infatuation with MC Hammer. They sold in record numbers. In short, the forces of negative pressure caused the lungs of America to inhale as much dead Tupac as it could get.

But the Tupac estate began to release newly rediscovered tracks. A posthumous collection of these works made people joke that he faked his death, in hiding from whoever tried to kill him. Negative pressure acted again, and we stopped craving new Tupac material because there was too much of it again.

Does the iron lung make sense now? Of course it does.

As to it’s relation to the Iron Cross, well, it depends on which iron cross you’re referring to. There’s the WWI and WWII medal awarded by Germany for meritorious acts, also known as the Teutonic Cross. And there are also regular crosses made of iron, but I’m sure they were replaced with gold or steel ones once the coffers were full enough. But there’s also the gymnastics maneuver on the rings.

The iron lung is nothing like those, but it is like your second question. As a doctor, I can’t cure paralysis, but I can put you in an iron lung when you’re too paralyzed to breathe on your own. Likewise, I can’t cure stupid, but I can answer your questions.

Rick Snee is not, in any way, a licensed medical professional or an actor that plays one on television. He's just really opinionated, which is good enough for blogging. To submit your own questions to Dr. Snee, Guynecologist, post comments below or email the good doctor.

Guy invents pepper spray/flashlight combo

Guy also invents great way to blind yourself at night.

On the toad again

Law enforcement is finally going after traitors to the human race and the animals they serve. At long last, cops have realized this is a war taking place inside our very borders and they are getting off their duffs to help us win.

Recently, a man in Kansas City was arrested in a drug bust. He had a Colorado river toad police say he used to get high. The best part about this is that they brought in the toad, too.

Key quote: "Both Theiss and the toad were taken into custody. While Theiss was released on bond, the toad remains detained at a police crime lab."

That's right! "Detain" that toad and all of his buddies. Run all the experiments you want, it's like high school biology all over again, but more fun.

(Courtesy of Courtney P.)

How To: Pick up girls online

Today's How To is very special, because it comes to us from some reader out there who this morning found us searching on Google for "how to pick up a girl on myspace." Because The Guys are all about serving the people, it's time to tackle this one. As you may remember, we have already taught you how to meet womens.

Tools:
Computer
Fingers
Vocabulary

1) Get to a computer, get connected. So you're a little too shy to go out to strip clubs and meet skirts like we suggested before. No matter, chum! That is why Al Gore invented the Internet. Odds are, you or someone you know owns a computer, unless you live in Africa. In which case, meeting someone is probably not a priority, eating is.

In any case, step one is getting yourself out there. You need to have a cool profile on MySpace and Facebook. If you don't, you're a loser and you will die alone, as you deserve to. The key here is to make a kick ass profile. Be sure to have pictures of yourself being cool, looking cool and doing cool things. Leave out the ones from the Star Trek convention or your Gandalf costume from Halloween, will you?

2) Look for love in all the places, be they right or wrong. Now that your profile looks bangin', it's time to search for the dames. Most social networking sites offer search options. as soon as you find it, set it to "female," and change nothing else. This will ensure you will have your pick of the ladies. Old, young, married, single, lesbian, heterosexual--it's all at your fingertips. Scan the list to your hearts' desire.

Make sure you only pick the ones who have profile pictures. This ensures that they are a) most likely in fact female and b) attractive to you. Go after the ones that are taken, after all, you've always had the fantasy about being the other man, same thing about finding the hooker and convincing her to go legit. You don't want to meet in person, so here's where you need to shine.

3) Reach out and (inappropriately) touch someone. This is a basic fact: broads love explicit greetings, especially from strangers. Take it from television's Mark Steines, Bill O'Reilly and David Copperfield, the dirtier you are, the better.

When you send the woman of your infatuation a message make sure at some point it includes the words "fondle," "creamy" and "torture." If you don't have them in there, well my friend, you might as well not send it at all. How will she ever know how you feel if you aren't bold enough?

4) Be vigilant. So you sent a couple out and didn't get a response, or got something unfavorable back. It's OK, there are plenty more desperate fish in the online sea. If you keep plugging away at it every night (and we mean that in the most non-euphemistic way possible), you'll eventually get someone who likes your style. It may not happen overnight, but it will happen.

So chin up, friend. There is hope for you, now that you have seen the light and become cool. Once you and the woman of your wet dreams finds you, be sure to send us an e-mail and tell us about how it went.

Ladies: Are you looking for a man, any man? Even a Guy will do? Let us present Chugs "Chris" Taylor.

Shot!

In an ironice role reversal, a postal worker was shot in the leg by a person that was a bit disgruntled about their mail coming late.

Hypothesis: 12 to 18 months in jail

A Massachusetts doctor claims he was just doing "research" when a undercover cop busted him for solicitation of prostitution ... which, when you think about it, is actually a pretty good alibi when your specialty is infectious diseases and STDs. Hello! How do you think he became an expert in the first place? After all, maybe he was trying to figure out why chlamydia rates are so up.

Headline of the Day

Once again, creativity in this crazy war is coming from the South. Why? This blog can only imagine it's because they have guns and a great deal of free time on their hands.

We won't spoil this one for you, but it involves a non-lethal weapon, a high school class and taxidermy. Wait--they teach skills like that in an Arkansas high school? Who would have thought?

Key quote: "'He used the nail gun to, as they say, to dispatch the animal,' Lievsay said. 'It wasn't like he held a nail gun against the head of a cute little animal in front of the class.'"

Take it from Snee: Too much thought put into the Confederate flag

As the official SeriouslyGuys southern correspondent, it is my job to keep tabs on the former Confederate States of America. It's a daunting task because, well, there are a lot of them, and a few select ones tend to captivate the news. (I've actually delegated all things Floridian to Fark.)

But the other challenging aspect is that readers, and writers, above the Mason-Dixon line already have their own ideas about Bible-belt denizens. Yes, there's a lot of evangelical Christianity down here. Yes, there is racism, but no more so than any other place in the United States, as national publications (many based in New York and Washington, DC) demonstrate whenever affirmative action, welfare, Islam or illegal immigration are discussed.

And, yes, there are a lot of Confederate flags down here, and not just on war memorials. But the person flying the Stars and Bars on their truck usually flies Old Glory on their porches as well. And the flag-bearer/wearer isn't necessarily racist, but it's not too surprising when that turns out to be the case.

It is because of assumptions that this cringe-inducing flag has long held a spot on the ever-growing Ban List (probably somewhere between cigarettes and porno).

Assumption 1: The Confederate flag stands for resuming slavery.

Let's say we ban flags based on who flies it, and what happened historically wherever it flew. We could easily justify such a measure when the flag in question is found at Klan rallies and slave ships once flew it. But what would we look at when we sing the national anthem before any major sporting event?

Doing some quick math, the Stars and Bars flew over Dixie for about four years (1861-1865), during which African Americans were enslaved. However, the Stars and Stripes flew over slave auctions from 1777-1862: 85 years! This, of course, does not count the 400 years of slavery in colonial America under the British flag, but who flies the Union Jack anymore?

The basis for this assumption is good old wartime politicking.

The Civil War is explained away as the war over slavery, much like the latest Iraq War is about Al Qaeda now (as opposed to 2003's WMDs, 2004's Saddam Hussein's oppressive regime, 2005's democratization of the Middle East or 2006's non-running colors). It's true that slavery was abolished during the war, but not until 1862. Until the Emancipation Proclamation, slaves were still auctioned in Washington, DC and many other Union cities--all under the U.S. flag and more than a year after Sumter and the first Bull Run.

So when Lincoln needed to drum up public support for an already unpopular military adventure in the South, he courted the only people that would continue the fight: abolitionists. Hell, they had already invaded the South to free slaves before the war (see: John Brown). Whether Lincoln actually opposed slavery is immaterial: he wasn't going to touch it until his approval rating was already in the tubes.

(Ironically, this is why President Bush believes, as stated in several interviews, that history will judge him better than the current media. We'll see if anyone defaces a mountain for him, though.)

So, sure, we can ban the Confederate flag, but Old Glory's gotta go, too. As do the flags of England, Spain, Portugal, France and any other former imperial power that participated in the slave trade.

And, though many a Klansman has carried the C.S.A. banner, just as many have also beared the colors of our nation. They consider their cause just as patriotic as standardizing English or fighting the metric system, and their right to assemble is guaranteed by the Constitution of the United States. The real irony is that their headquarters included Detroit, Chicago, Indianapolis, Portland and Denver.

(The Klan and various offshoots also fly the swastika next to the U.S. flag, proving once again that Americans only "study" the Civil War and World War II.)

Assumption 2: The Confederate flag stands for restarting the Civil War.

I've often, and always from northerners, heard a reminder that the South will not, in fact, rise again. It's a funny idea, but why would the South need to rise again?

Consider this:

• How many presidents since the Reconstruction have not either been from a southern state or have a southern vice-president?
  
  
• How many Dallas Cowboy fans (ugh) are there in the entire United States?
  
  
• Why is the Mexican border considered more strategically vital to protect than the northern border we share with Canada?
  
  
• How many bands, north or south, have played a Lynyrd Skynyrd song? Likewise, how many east coast and west coast rappers' albums feature hip-hop stars from the Dirty South? And what part of the country do Britney Spears and Jessica Simpson hail from?

Like it or not, the South doesn't need to rise again. Despite losing the Civil War, we determine most of the current national trends. Unfortunately, most of those aren't terribly boast-worthy (just terrible), but "awful" and "awesome" do come from the same original meaning: awe-inspiring.

As a symbol today, the Confederate flag is as innocuous as getting a tattoo of the Irish flag or Dem Bones of piracy. It's a celebration of history that we have no real connection to here in the US. Our Irish are just as likely to dodge British military service, and our pirates are just as likely to sail the Carribbean, as our Daughters of the Confederacy are likely to retake Gettysburg.

Of course, it has no place on government property--save memorials--but no less so than the Ten Commandments. Of the two, only one is sneaking into our courthouses.

Ding-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling

A Columbus, Ohio, court case deals with an off-duty fireman who saw a beautiful naked woman in the park and—naturally—took out his "fire-hose". The charge: entrapment! Because the woman was being used by police as bait by to catch perverts. Well, um ... mission accomplished! Great detective work, boys!

A potential solution to our problems

As messed up of a place as Florida might be, they do have a good idea every now and then. Recently, they came up with a way to solve two problems currently plaguing humanity with one single step: feed criminals to the animals.

Police were chasing a man they suspected of theft when he drove into a pond. By some miraculous twist of fate, a hungry member of the terrorist organization Al-Igator was waiting in the pond for a snack to come driving by. You can guess how it ended.

Though they may have stumbled across the solution by accident, this could be exactly what could turn the corner in the War on Animals and everyday crime fighting. If it was good enough for the Romans, it should be good enough for us.

(Courtesy of Courtney P.)

Monkeys unionize

Equal pay for equal poo-flinging!

Ladies and gentlemen, I don't have to explain to you just how slippery of a slope this is for us. If the human race can't work together normally, then how can we work together to stop the animal threat if the animals have created labor groups?! What's next, koala teamsters that look cute and cuddly while they gnaw off your kneecaps?

We did it!

All that hard work and perseverance has finally paid off. We set a U.S. record in chlamydia cases last year!

Gonorrhea and syphilis rates nationwide are also up, after going down for years and years. More and more of these cases are becoming resistant to antibiotics, much like staph infections. What event could possibly be attributed to the spike in STD rates? Rick Snee's graduation from college.

Eat My Sports: Orange crushed

The end of an era. The Orange Bowl was the Miami Hurricane's fortress. The brotherhood of football players that had perhaps the most dominant home field advantage in college football over the past 30 years, had their home destroyed by UVA 48-0 on Saturday night. Granted, I am a supporter of the Wahoos, but pretty much anyone who follows college football got a good laugh of seeing the most dominant force in NCAAF in the past 20 plus years be humiliated in its last game at their historic stadium.

It was more than a game. UVA's thrashing of the 'Canes' home was pretty much a metaphor for what is going to happen to the stadium after the season. Implosion, explosion, they all seem to be justifiable metaphors at this point.

But from an outsider's perspective, the downfall of the Hurricanes' football program as well as their daunted home field advantage was a long time coming. Their brash and arrogant attitude as well as disrespect towards the most able of athletes (Doug Flutie ring a bell to any of you Floridians?), led to a dismantling within six years of the most epic proportions.

Since 2001's Ken Dorsey led national champions, the Hurricanes suffered an overtime loss to Ohio State in 2002 and haven't returned to a BCS Bowl Game since. After having won five championships in 18 years up to the 2001 season, the recent Miami decline has been a breath of fresh air, and smells, well not like roses, but a welcome smell of rotting oranges.

When you beat up your opponents with absolutely no respect, karma, well, it's a mother (See New York Yankees). So really, to see the Orange Bowl go, it's not tragic, it's fitting. Or rather, for once, putting the Hurricanes in their (new) place.

Your 'generous bazoongas' and you

An author is on the warpath after her children's book, Trouble on Tarragon Island, was banned in a Canadian elementary school for the controversial phrase "generous bazoongas."

As voluntary supporters of all breasts everywhere, The Guys firmly advocate the right to bear generous bazoongas. We believe these, like the contested porn store in Virginia, can only contribute to communities, be it through beautification or even feeding the homeless.

Wait a minute: "What they say about my grandmother is true," the girl says. "She does have generous bazoongas, and all of Tarragon Island has seen them."

On second thought, there are limits to every right.

Shock after shock

Tasers are fun, bro. YouTube has clearly shown us that much (The Guys are rather split on the college kid Tasing, but I'm all for Tasing people who don't shut up).

However, as a police officer, what can possibly make using your Taser something less than a joyful experience? When you accidentally Tase yourself, and then you get in trouble for it. That's what happened to one officer in Wisconsin. During a routine checkout in July, the Taser shot the officer in the hand and injured it.

Recently it was found the officer was at fault, because it should have been checked to be empty of the air cartridges that shoot the Taser's prongs. Double ouch.

You get what you pay for--most of the time

A local Virginia newspaper editorial has actually come to the defense of a town's porn shop saying the city prosecutor is wasting taxpayers' time and money by going after the store. Also: "If it manages to stay in business, then it obviously isn't violating community standards." Gee, that's so crazy it almost makes sense.

And in the news side of things, the real shocker ( ll_i ) at Shockers ( ll_i ) Showbar isn't the naked ladies, it's the $6,000 bill they try to stick on your credit card for lap dances and drinks. Six grand in one night for lap dances isn't that excessive really, but at least give the guy what he paid for. Which, being as it took place in West Virginia, probably meant that the guy should at least own the location.

Terms of endeerment

As it gets colder, animals start to hunker down for winter. However, at least one species instead gets randy and feisty this time of year and legally we can't even kill them--yet. The animal I am speaking of, of course, is the deer.

It's not uncommon to hear reports of people hitting deer with their cars, but recently a girl was hit by a deer as she ran in a high school cross country meet. This brutal attack left her largely uninjured, but sore.

We all need to be wary of deer, especially this time of year. Alert reader and Warrior of the Week Shiloh C. found this photo and offered the following insight:

"I think the deer are hoping some idiot will try to jump on the trampoline and thus be stabbed to death without the deer having to work for it."

Well put, Shiloh. Keep your eyes peeled and watch out. Soon enough it will be hunting season.

Not so great white

We've all known for years that sharks are dangerous. Of all the animal kingdom, their faction never liked the uneasy truce that held until the infamous attack of Steve Irwin. They killed at will and continue to this day.

However, it seems one surfer in California found himself in a battle (or as the story moronically puts it, a "hand-to-hand fight") with a great white shark, only to be saved by dolphins. Does this mean the dolphins are changing sides? Probably not. This blog thinks it just means sharks are the jerks of the sea.

We terrify journalists

David Leigh of UK paper, The Guardian, wants to remind you that bloggers are not real journalists because they lack credibility.

And we would like to remind you that you can get all the news you can shake a stick at here on SeriouslyGuys dot com. Tell a friend/burn a newspaper.

What's so bad about Bob?

Poor Bob Allen. While everyone has been obsessing over Sen. Larry Craig's bathroom stall, nobody noticed that the Florida state representative was found guilty of soliciting sex from an undercover officer. Of course, he's sticking with the "just hanging out in the bathroom with scary men" story, but why doesn't he get to be interviewed by Matt Lauer?

Also, when is it a good time to get a new group of attorneys? When your "team of defense attorneys decide not to present any evidence or testimony to the jury. Allen was not put on the witness stand to deny the story told by Titusville police officer Daniel Kavanaugh." That's probably a good sign too.

The McBournie Minute: Old people

At some point, you will die. (How's THAT for starting off your morning on a bright note?) Thanks to modern medicine, the day on which you will die is getting farther and farther away. That is, unless you spend your days chain smoking, emptying every bottle in sight and using pre-owned needles, in which case, you are in the H.O.V. lane to soil slumber.

There is an unfortunate side effect of this seemingly good news: there are more old people around these days. People are living nearly as long today as they were in the book of Genesis (reference!). It's true, folks just don't have the common decency to kick the oxygen habit the way they used to. You know how long the average lifespan was when FDR introduced Social Security? Around 65, the same age you were allowed to retire and live off the government. FDR was a genius, he pushed through Congress something that sounded great, while in reality it allowed senior citizens to put their pickaxes down and step out of the coal mines, so they could enjoy their last days--both of them.

This is why retirement worked so well. Those freeloading old people were considerate enough to kick the oxygen habit after a few years on the taxpayers' dime (later, due to inflation and a weak dollar, became the taxpayers' $20).

But today, we see old people living well past their 40s, 50s, 60s, well into their eighth and ninth decades of existence. In most cases, they are free to enjoy a life of semi-coherency, holding up traffic on the highway, defending their sacred lawns from invading whipper-snappers and all the diapers the government can afford. Some are even jumping out of planes for no good reason. This needs to be stopped, folks. We need to demand our old people stop taking care of themselves, and their caretakers do the same.

Move over, gramps. Or at least, get a job, you bum.

MasterChugs Theater: 'Dave Chappelle's Block Party'

Somewhere between the Dave Chappelle of comedy stardom and the Dave Chappelle of abrupt sabbaticals for contemplative stretches in Africa is the guy who experienced "the best single day of my career" when he threw a party for a few thousand friends and fans. Inviting some of the most gifted and socially conscious hip-hop and R&B artists, he assembled his dream concert on a corner in Bedford-Stuyvesant. Director Michel Gondry chronicles the September 18, 2004, event and its lead-up in the loose-limbed, funny and impassioned documentary known eloquently as Dave Chappelle's Block Party.

Dave Chappelle's Block Party is perhaps the first concert movie since Stop Making Sense to give you a blissful buzz. The buzz comes from the music, which has a loose, burning joy that's rare to behold in a live rap performance, and also from Chappelle's wicked prankster's glee, which spreads through the movie like a happy virus. Block Party features Chappelle as its impresario, on-scene jester, and guiding spirit, and the director, Michel Gondry, echoing techniques he used in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, keeps cutting between the run-up to the concert and the event itself, staging the film as a series of flickering time leaps that work on you almost kinesthetically. After a while, you stop thinking about ''past'' and ''present.'' You're eager simply to be in the now, as content to watch a rapping Brooklyn waiter, who turns out to be a brilliant boaster, as you are to see an incendiary stage performance by Dead Prez, with their blistering indictments of white power.

The enthralling spirit of the documentary, its mood of exuberant democracy, extends to every rap and soul performance in the film. A lot of the artists, like Kanye West or Common, summon an intensity of rhythm and attitude that didn't exist in hip-hop before the form went gangsta in the early 90s, yet all of them, in different ways, reject the get rich and screw the world nihilism that ultimately brought gangsta rap to such a dead end. You can feel the longing for a more redemptive era when Erykah Badu, tearing off her Afro wig in the wind, does a gorgeous paean to "back in the day when things were cool," and that spirit extends to Mos Def (who has the greatest dimples in rap), singing about his desire "to be free," or The Roots, with Kool G Rap and Big Daddy Kane, playing the ferocious "Boom." It's part of the rousing offhandedness of Block Party that the finale, in which Lauryn Hill, with her china-doll face and luscious tremolo, reunites with the Fugees to do "Killing Me Softly With His Song," is sublime, but no more so than a follow-up scene in which Wyclef Jean, off stage, leads a group of those CSU marching band members in his great reggae anthem "President", letting them--and the audience--know that, in music as in the world, anything is still possible.

The film is filled with small, magical moments of truth and human warmth, real humor and the kind of positive attitude to which so many people give nothing but lip service. It’s easy to sometimes think that the only aspects of life worth examining in art are the heavy, serious and sad ones, and it’s all too easy to sometimes think that the only way to make a movie happy and life-affirming is to pack it with schmaltz. Dave Chappelle’s Block Party is the cinematic equivalent of that first beautiful day of spring after a brutal winter, when you can take off your coat and go to the park, bob your head with the radios playing to the open, sweet-scented air and watch the pretty girls walk by.

Sweet ink, your honor

As we have recently learned, the Chinese are a very outgoing, humorous people. Once again the government is cracking down on citizens who seem to be enjoying themselves just a little too much. Those citizens are judges.

Judges are no longer allowed to have shaved heads, have tattoos, wear heavy makeup and of course, frolic. Apparently in China, judges look something like the people American judges lock up.

Key quote: "A notice issued by the high court of Henan, the top judicial authority in the heartland province, also banned judges using certain phrases in the courtroom, including: 'Are you the judge or am I?'--and 'You will certainly lose this case.'"

The television has one less watcher

Conan O'Brien can finally rest easy as his stalker has been put to justice and captured. Your reaction is the same as the nation's, as apparently, this event wasn't funny enough for Conan to mention on his show. For a Harvard grad, the stalker's not so smart to get caught, right? One thing though: isn't O'Brien a little too old for the tastes of a priest?

Deer waxed

The Guys apologize for being a tad bit late on informing you of the latest in animal brutality upon humans in this case. But look out motorists, you need to be warned.

Getting hit by one automobile isn't enough to stop these vicious deer from attacking us anymore. One deer, hit by two seperate cars, caused those two cars to collide and wreck into each other on a Wisconsin highway. This isn't Bambi we're dealing with folks. The epidemic is spreading.

Whose side are cows on?

Cows: when they're not falling from the sky, pooping diamonds or just being tasty, they seem to find time to save human lives. Go figure.

Nervous cows saved nearly 600 people in a small Mexican village when a "mini-tsunami" hit. The people noticed the cows were nervous and headed out of town. Alright, actually the cows took off and the people took off after them to bring them back, but the point remains.

Folks, don't think the cow is your friend, despite what Chick-Fil-A ads may lead you to believe, these animals are just as dedicated to the animal cause as anything else. These bovines are bad asses, but together, we can wipe them out. Eat a burger today.

How To: Dance, sucka!

Your palms are sweaty, your legs are wooden (hopefully figuratively) and you pitched a tent in your Dockers. Despite all of this, you are still expected to dance.

It's a conundrum that guys like us have faced our entire lives. We are discouraged from dancing at home, but are expected to once we go to any nightclub or wedding, and it'd better be good because, "How you dance is how you are in bed." Unfortunately, you can't fight social convention, so it's time to bite that lip and give it your worst. Whereas Footloose and Hitch have failed you, The Guys understand and will help you as much as we can.

Tools:
A right foot, apparently
A mouthguard to prevent lip-biting

1) Barter.
When a dancing event comes up, get romantic. By romantic, we mean schedule something else that same day that doesn't involve dancing: a picnic in Italy, cuddling in an igloo, taking a six-month cruise to Australia, anything. Money is no object, and the pride that you sacrifice with these steps is nothing compared to the lifetime embarrassment of someone else's wedding video.

2) Compromise.
Eventually, you will run out of money/time off. You'll have to bargain here. Fortunately, it's not too tough.

Schedule a meeting with all males attending this shindig. If this is for a wedding, then this is called a bachelor party. Between strippers and lines of coke, suggest the following plan:

The men will get drunk and will only dance to slow songs. Club Nature* will take over and the women will dance with each other to complicated songs because, really, that's what they want. If we're having a good time, they won't feel obligated to drag us up there.

So long as every male is on-board, there will be no problem. And anyone can slow dance. We're pretty sure white guys invented slow dancing in the 16th century to figure out what was booty, and what was bustle.

3) Lie.
Oh, crap. They want to do the Electric Slide. The Electric Slide may be unisex, but--like anything else sexually ambiguous--this will not bode well for you.

You must lie and convincingly. There are rules here:

3.1) Don't use any psychological reasons. These just invite therapeutic measures like facing your fear or reverse psychology. There's a reason why women are more likely to major in mental health degrees, and that's because they have a natural ability in psychology. (See: Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.)

3.2) If you use a physical condition, there must be evidence of it. This means planning ahead. Have an air cast already on, or bite the bullet and stab yourself in the leg with a broken beer bottle. Head injuries are out because you already dance like you have one.

4) Bite that bullet.
Once all of your options have run out, punish everyone by doing exactly what they want.

If angry sex is so great, then why not angry dancing? Nothing says you're hardcore like moshing to "Love Shack." Before you can cold cock a second bridesmaid, you will be forcefully removed from the premises, which include the dance floor.

Or, there's the strip approach. Male stripping is a close-second to slow dancing because naked men aren't supposed to dance well. Pitch articles of clothing into the crowds, spin a couple of times and thrust your groin. Make an earnest attempt to unfasten your pants, and you will most likely be escorted off of the dance floor. And if nobody stops you, you will be known as a legend. After all, you already dance like a date rapist; why not go the full monty measure?

Remember: it's manly to dance when you might cause a riot. Stick by these rules, and your life should remain blissfully dance-free for the rest of your life.

*club nature: Women go to clubs to dance with each other because men are rarely good dancers. Unless we are gay, we are always creepy when we dance (not matter how gracefully) with women. Probably because of our boners.

Free the bladders

Here at SeriouslyGuys, we are all about the high-brow humor. There are far too many low-brow sites out there, so we cater to the discerning reader. Wait--I'm being handed something--it appears we are, in fact, all about the toilet humor. Well, that's just fine.

The Chinese, as with any communist culture, are known the world over for their sense of humor. Which explains why one patriotic restaurant, whose servers dress in People's Liberation Army uniforms, took liberties with the revolution-themed bathrooms, which they refer to as "liberation zones." The Chinese government apparently thinks that's overdoing it.

That's a lot of people

The sleepy suburb of Duncanville, Texas, does not like all those suburbanites sleeping with each other—especially, when they do it in groups of about 200 or so. That's an awful lot of swaps to keep track of, I gotta say. And just think of the heating bill to keep everybody warm in the winter.

Now that's rich

Serendipity 3, a popular dessert location in New York(and for those of you who enjoy chick flicks, part of the John Cusack lovefest "Serendipity"), now offers the world's most expensive dessert.

For the low price of $25,000 you can experience the Frrrozen Haute Chocolate.

Editorial Note: For that kind of money, you better make sure gold is coming out one end, and diamonds out the other when it comes out.

New kind of cow tipping?

Cows: mostly they are just food. But remember, no matter how much we domesticate them and breed them for complicity, they will always be animals. Animals will stop at nothing to attack us when we least expect it, and who better than a cow to carry out such an attack.

Luckily, after a recent attack, no humans were killed. However, it shows creativity, as the attack happened when a cow fell from the sky and hit a minivan. "Michelle" the cow no doubt intended it as a suicide attack, but has lived on. Burn the witch!

Take it from Snee: Nostalgia is for the weak

The Merriam Webster Online Dictionary defines "nostalgia" as:

1 : the state of being homesick : HOMESICKNESS
2 : a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition; also : something that evokes nostalgia

There's a few choice wordings in that definition I'd like to highlight before I ream into contemporary popular opinion.

First: "being homesick." As in, being that 14-year-old at summer camp that cries alone in his or her bunk while everyone else plays kickball. It's understandable in children, and is OK in small doses for adults. I repeat: it's OK in small doses for adults.

Second: "excessively sentimental." It's also OK to be a little sentimental about certain things, like your first HJ or table saw. Excessively sentimental means that you get misty-eyed because M*A*S*H hasn't taped new episodes since Trapper John, MD, ended.

Third: "irrecoverable condition." I'm emphasizing this part because it's obvious that dictionary writers have one hell of a sense of humor. Sure, on the surface, this refers to going back to a time when your dad didn't touch you "down there" or the Washington Redskins had a solid offensive line. But I also think this extends to wanting Journey to go back on tour, and the uncloseted love of Journey is very much a condition on par with dementia and Tourette's (see: parties when "Don't Stop (Believing)" is playing).

Alright, those points stressed, I'm no longer tired of nostalgia.

I'm combatively angry about nostalgia now. Every year, I read more and more opinions that America was "better" in one past era or another, or that the world was a simpler place when you were 6 years old.

To start off, the world was not simpler when you were 6; you were. While the rest of the world was worried about nuclear annihilation, crooked S&L Loans, Libya and (for some reason) orphans, your biggest concern was whether the Punky Brewster cartoon was as good as or better than the show. Or how you would ever convince your parents that you needed the regular G.I. Joe space shuttle with mini-combat shuttle inside, or the ginormous G.I. Joe space juggernaut with launching pad and a regular space shuttle inside the cargo bay. Or how long would you have to wait until Star Wars Episodes VII, VIII and IX (the rest of your natural life).

So taking the above into account, how could America have been better back then? Most of the same problems that existed then also exist now. The only shift in the political landscape is that we invade countries for harboring terrorists now, instead of for harboring communists. And they were both compared to Nazis, only we used the commies to fight Nazis and used the terrorists to fight commies.

A TifS Prediction: Our next war, once terrorism is vanquished, will be against Poland because we used their combat troops in Afghanistan and Iraq. Germany will help us, and then we will have to fight them again after Poland falls, which will create a vortex and transport us back to 1939.

Just this week, New York Times columnist Judith Warner wrote about The Daring Book for Girls, which she applauds for waxing nostalgic about the 1970s. Riding the wave from last week's trampy Halloween costume crisis, she believes that the "me" decade was a better time for young girls, at least when it came to positive role models.

This, of course, ignores Daisy Duke, Farrah Fawcett, Deep Throat and Debbie doing sex-things to get to Dallas, wife-swap parties, disco, Vietnam, hip-hugger jeans (but no thongs!), lower drinking ages, smoking in workplaces, socially-accepted discrimination and Roger Moore.

In this light, nostalgia for a caricature of an entire decade is like remembering an old relationship. Sure, the sex was great (the first two times), and they bought you flowers once for no reason, but they still tried to burn your trailer down. Twice.

The worst nostalgia, though, is for times and places you aren't old enough to remember or, even worse, experience.

Bill: If you could live in any decade, what would it be?

Jill: The 60s! I just know I'd be a hippie! I'd go to Woodstock and watch the moon landing and lose my virginity to all of The Beatles, except George Harrison!

Bill: Pfft. I'd go back to the 40s: swing music, Bogart movies and World War II. World War II would be awesome. Unlike now, that war was so much easier.

I made that particular conversation up, but I assembled it with hundreds I've heard, read and--unfortunately--participated in. Although I do routinely run into pairings of 20-somethings with rhyming names.

Not only is this barely nostalgia, because the very meaning of the word implies that you remember it, but it's nauseating to hear periods of time boiled down to movies you've seen late at night or music you listened to for that U.S. History class.

You know how we complain about our media being full of propaganda? Whether it's Fox News or The New York Times, Hollywoodland or Hollywood or Glenn Miller or Godsmack, why would we assume that this is something that has changed over time? Most of these media examples are venerable institutions that have an established commercial history. How would they still exist if investors just now figured out that they're full of crap?

They wouldn't. And the "history" from the past is just as tainted as our own current recordings and scribblings. The only difference is that people were paid less for towing party lines back then because of inflation and today's highly-accessible nip-slip pictures.

I offer this scenario: if it is, indeed, possible to evaluate an entire decade based on popular entertainment, then what will our grandchildren think about ours? Will times seem simpler to them because our biggest concerns were with keeping our dogs locked up, wearing migets from our necklaces, being sufficiently redneck women and riding cowboys to save extinct horses?

And that's why nostalgia is for the weak: it's a mental cop-out. Instead of examining causes and effects of eons, we're cherry-picking the parts of history presented on a TV-dinner tray. It's unproductive, like crying in your bunk instead of playing kickball, because 1) time travel is impossible and 2) that time period is probably not as fun as it was when you were 6 or your grandparents.

In short, cowboy up and get with the times. And if you do alright, you can use your nostalgia to make a nice Renn Faire costume.

Christmas (and blood) is in the air

The Germans are weird. We all know that. However, a great deal of our Christmas traditions come from German roots (Christmas trees, yule logs, Santa Claus, etc.). So it is safe to say that when it comes to Christmas, the Germans know how to do it.

What's the latest trend in German Christmas celebrations? An advent calendar with a serial killer in it.

Yes, a man convicted of killing 24 people in the 1920s is making a comeback in an advent calendar, and the calendars are flying off the shelves.

Key quote: "The cartoon calendar shows Fritz Haarmann, who murdered 24 young men and boys in the 1920s, lurking under a tree with a hatchet next to the door for December 1. Below him, Santa Claus hands out presents to children in a festive-looking Hanover."

But fear not, other local celebrities are in there, including famous musicians like David Hasselhoff The Scorpions. So after you're done killing children, get ready to rock Christmas like a hurricane.

Seriously, who knew they were German?

PREPARE THE TRANSIT BEAM!

So, apparently T-Mobile owns all rights to the usage of the color magenta in relation to telecommunications, like phones, digital media, or, the internet. This'd be better news if magenta wasn't such an ugly color. T-Mobile, you really dropped the ball on this one. Haven't you ever heard of the wonderful color that is "mauve"?

Just wait until you see the cartoon tie-in

China doesn't like you. This is more or less evident from reported cases of toys with gross amounts of lead, to tainted food being released over here, to even aligning with our enemies the animals by allowing SARS to become nearly rampant worldwide. It should be noted that while they may hate the world, they've been keeping most of their hate focused on the U.S. Luckily, they seem to have turned their attention toward a closer victim--Australia. To be more specific, Australia's youth. Or even more specifically, Australia's date-raping youth. Talk about a niche market.

Weed wackos

In case you haven't heard, don't smoke pot in a police station.

Painful Headline of the Day

Immigration can be a female dog, especially these days. But when it means you end up having your most manly of members cut off because of it, your experience is just a little worse.

A man from El Salvador is suing the government because he was held over in immigration and could not get proper treatment for cancer on his penis. Because he could not get treatment in time, he and his little friend had to part ways permanently. Worst part is, the cancer has also hit the terminal stage.

Eat My Sports: The NBA-holes

Get your blanky, fluff your pillow, say your prayers and go to sleep. Another yawner of an NBA season is upon us, and guess what, David Stern? Nobody cares. This is what happens when there are glaring holes in a product that you are trying to sell, and right now the NBA is dealing with one roughly the size of the Grand Canyon.

How can this be fixed? Well basically, the sport is beyond repair. Rivalries essentially don't exist. Anyone remember the good ones? Celtics-Lakers, Knicks-Bulls or Clippers-Hornets (for those of you who don't follow the NBA, that last one was a joke)? When there is no conflict, there is no interest, period. Ever go to see a movie or television show where pretty much everything is amicable? Welcome to the sporting version of "Everybody Loves Raymond."

With no bad blood to fuel motivation beyond a monetary value, today's "stars" are playing for the check, not the ring. In which case, more power to you, but when the national team consisting of the "best players in the nation" gets stomped by the likes of Greece and Argentina in international play, pride is something that obviously gets in the way, but at the same time, the players don't have very much of it.

The flashy young stars of today are being brought down to earth by "boring" teams that play both ends of the floor. What happens when these two meet is a catastrophic event. (See 2007 NBA Finals, otherwise known as the Lebron James brick-fest.) The NBA used to be interesting, and when I say used to be, I mean the last time I honestly gave a crap about the sport was when the Knicks made their improbable run to the NBA Finals in 1999. Three Lakers championships and waaaaaay too much Shaquille O'Neal media hype later, turn on golf, basketball is done.

This year's version of the Boston Celtics might prove to be a revival of the sport that became so selfish and obsolete, it made Americans forget about why they hated professional baseball after the 1994 strike. Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce and Ray Allen have come together to either return the glory days to Boston, or to prolong the city's (basketball) misery.

Even Kobe Bryant to the Chicago Bulls isn't sparking any interest. And the fact of the matter is, when no one cares about your sport, you got some holes to fix. And right now, there is none bigger than the NBA.

Top five things that annoy me in sports this week:

5. Redskins Radio Announcers. I had to listen to five minutes of this dribble before I pulled up at a friend's place to watch and actual football game in the Colts and Patriots. Fun fact: when Clinton Portis is stopped for a three-yard loss, he did not "almost get" the first down that was five yards from the line of scrimmage.

4. Gilbert Arenas. Don't get me wrong, love him as a true professional basketball player who is in it for the right reasons. But if you're going to talk smack, back it up.

3. Tiger Woods. Really don't have a problem with the guy, but he is just way to rich for his own good. Seriously Tiger, throw some of that this way.

2. Washington Redskins. That was the UGLIEST victory I have ever witnessed. I know they say a win is a win, but when your win looks like the melting faces of the Nazis in "Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark," fix something.

1. Tom Brady. You screwed me over in fantasy football with your two picks this week. Go to your corner.

Porn is hell

There's a new threat to American GIs.

No, not IEDs.

No, not lack of body armor.

No, not even uranium-depleted silverware in MREs.

It's porno! Fortunately, the American Family Association (AFA) is leading the fight against selling 18-year-old heroes Playboy and Penthouse.

No, really. Just those magazines. All others were already pulled from shelves in 1996 because of this group's busy-bodying.

So, this calls for another email campaign! Here's their form, and the subject line should read: "Thanks for not serving in Iraq or Afghanistan."

Achievement unlocked: jail time

If you've thought that hiring hitmen to "off" someone was simply a plot device you'd only see in the movies, you've thought wrong. Many people have hired so-called mercenaries to take out someone who has wronged them in the past, though usually for reasons that don't make you shake your head in disbelief. Today, a new reason to shake your head in disbelief was found-video game deprivation. Due to slipping grades, a boy named Cory Ryder was banned from TV and his PlayStation. In retaliation, he plotted to murder his parents.

Due to some threats he made to his parents, they decided to organize a sting operation where a police officer would play the role of a hitman. Naturally, Cory found his way to that very hitman and offered his dad's truck as payment. He was subsequently arrested. Now, we at SG love videogames too, but if you're failing school and your parents take them away, you'd think to try harder at studying first, kill parents as a completely off-the-wall nonsensical suggestion second. Like hiring the guys at the local YMCA that think they're pirates before hitmen. Trust me-it's a lot cheaper in the long run.

BAM! POW! SPLASH!

Batman, that lovable hero to many kids left and right, can do many thing. Despite having no powers, the tactical mind of Batman has created many an internet debate between fanboys regarding just whether or not he can beat any other entity that there is.

Batman can stop a bomb. Batman can conquer space. Batman can even conquer cooking.

However, it would seem that despite it all, there's one foe that Batman can't beat.

Batman can't beat Hong Kong's water.

It's hard out here for a chimp

Make sure you put your shoes on before reading this, because it's time to dance in the streets. Washoe, the first chimpanzee to learn sign language, is dead. The chimp, once it was learned she could speak American Sign Language in 1980, was quarantined for "studying" at Central Washington University's Ellensburg campus.

Now this vile creature, no doubt intended to spy on us for the enemy, can never teach another chimp how to understand us again. Meanwhile, our codebreakers are still working on the chimp words for "throw poop."

By the way, thanks for sticking with us, though Blogger is having some issues lately.

The holiday season continues!

Happy Guy Fawkes Day, SeriouslyReaders! You know, that holiday that nobody gave a rat's inflamed nostril about until two years ago?

So put on your Neo outfit, pilfer the sais from your "little brother's" Ninja Turtle costume and put on a creepy mask. It's time to scare the neighbors/put yourself on the government's terrorist watch list!

Bad dog

Man's best friend my hind quarters. An Iowa man is in a hospital recovering from a gunshot wound. The "accident" happened on a hunting excursion, and the suspect in the shooting: the man's dog.

That's right, we are not even safe from our pets. The man was out hunting birds with some friends. For some reason he put his shotgun down when his dog "just happened" to step on the trigger, shooting the man in the leg at close range.

Word of advice: don't give your pet a chance to take you down, for they will surely take it every time.

Sometimes they come back--the other unknown direct to DVD sequel

News flash: a 37-year-old man was found alive after he had reportedly cremated. Police were still unsure of just what this turn of events meant, as all they could report was that at the hospital where he was being checked up on, the man kept uttering "Send more paramedics."

The McBournie Minute: Writer strike

Some of you may have heard that the writers in Hollywood, better known as the Writers Guild of America, is now on strike. This means that the people who write the shows you love will not be working until this issue is resolved. The big shows to be affected are the ones that record nightly, mostly the late night shows.

That is why I am here to say to the networks: I will be your scab. I can even bring three other writers with me, we call ourselves The Guys.

It's not easy for me to say, being the son of a union man. I fully recognize the importance of the worker's union as a matter of leverage against management and evil corporations, but there are some things that are more important, namely, my career. Besides, these writers are all spoiled babies who want for nothing but American boredom. That is just not acceptable.

Hire me, and you'll get a writer who you don't even have to fly out there, I can write from my current location. Not to mention I make jokes about the news on a daily basis. You must have a few shows in need of writers for that. More so, you would get a writer who is familiar with the monologue format of most of these shows.

There are times when unions need to be done away with. Remember what Reagan did when the air traffic controllers went on strike? Or what happened when the Major League Baseball umpire union resigned all of their positions? Maybe it's time for the same thing here.

Not to mention, Grey's Anatomy? I can write that crap. Next week, in an episode ripped from the headlines: George comes out of the closet, but which former cast member will return to call him derogatory names?

MasterChugs Theater: 'The Host'

Earlier in the month, Bryan McBournie made the comment that even though October's would be themed with Asian on the brain, no Godzilla type movies would be reviewed.

As of right now, it's officially November 2, which, at least, the last time I checked, is not part of the month of October. Suck it, Trebek.

Monster movies have always captured audiences' attention. From King Kong and Godzilla to The Blob and Jaws, cinematic monsters leave us both in awe and terror, as we contemplate our effect on nature. In it's bold continuation of the monster movie tradition, The Host is both shocking and surprising, but not because of graphic violence or exploited terror. It breaks from genre conventions so quickly, that you are left off-kilter, not knowing what to expect next. It's a monster movie that plays like the filmmakers have never seen another monster movie, and it's a breath of fresh air in a rather stale genre.

Thanks to Americans who blithely pollute the Han river (we just screw up everything), a slippery, amphibious monster with fearsome mandibles, a prehensile tail, and an endless supply of surprise moves haunts the sewers of Seoul. The creature is designed by Weta, the New Zealand special effects shop responsible for The Lord of the Rings, but the heroes are 100 percent Korean. When the monster abducts adorable Hyun-seo (Ko Ah-sung), the rest of her family has to get past untrustworthy government agencies and backstabbing salarymen to find and save her: her ramen-vendor father (Song Kang-ho) and grandfather (Byeon Hie-bong), drunken Uncle (Park Hae-il), and her aunt, a perennially losing archer (Bae Du-na.) Too bad all of them are prone to screwing up just when it matters most.

Shot as beautifully as any art-house film but paced like a blockbuster, The Host manages to satisfy (almost) all of our genre expectations while curious details give the characters life above and beyond the necessities of mutant fodder. Our hero has coins stuck to his face when we first meet him, disposable fishermen worry about their daughters' favorite cups, and lazy-eyed scientists replay the finale of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest as farce.

Breaking all box-office records in Korea's history, The Host is a movie about a mutant that's a bit of a mutation itself; with unflappable confidence, director Bong Joon-ho grafts droll humor and sly political commentary onto the DNA of a classic Hollywood creature feature. The result strikes a perfect balance between broad social satire, comedy, and honest-to-god horror thrills. In case we had forgotten, Bong Joon-ho proves that it's possible to make CGI extravaganzas that entertain without insulting an audience's intelligence.

For all the flash and the bang, Bong never loses sight of where The Host's true power lies. This is a film about the power of family, a film about the small people who make a difference simply by doing what little they can while the powers-that-be flail about aimlessly in their self-imposed ignorance. While it meets the demands of its chosen genre on every level it also simultaneously manages to find new territory to mine, new legs for the old beast. The ending surprises while it satisfies, simultaneously playing directly to expectations while also refusing to play the easy hand. It is simply a very strong effort that continues to cement Bong's reputation as one of the world’s great film talents. Very highly recommended.

Not a chupacabra

As we mentioned a couple months back, they caught a suspected dead chupacabra in Texas (link is toward the bottom).

However, it seems the monster will continue to roam the Texas-Mexican border area, because the animal found was actually, a strange looking, hairless coyote, according to biologists. This blog is sad to hear this news, because it means the beast is still out there somewhere, and people will not see evidence of how truly evil these beings are.

Fight on, brave soldiers.

Ask Dr. Snee, Guynecologist: Bacteria and babies

Believe it or not, babies and bacteria have a lot in common. Both are transmitted by the usual means: sex. They also grow inside of their hosts, annoying it until they break free and annoy the rest of us, too. And that brings us to this week's medical queries.


Recently, my office gave out free potato salad to its employees. It would seem that everyone except for myself has apparently gotten sick from it. Do I have some ancient caveman era bacteria in my stomach?

I'm assuming from your letter that you actually ate this contaminated potato salad as well. Otherwise, my answer would be no: food poisoning isn't contagious. But since you did eat it, there are two possible reasons why you didn't get sick.

1) Yes, you may have some ancient caveman bacteria in your stomach. My guess is that you are also short and hairy and have a pronounced brow and jowl, close-set eyes and a propensity towards committing violent crimes. (One of my MDs is in Phrenology.)

2) The potato salad wasn't contaminated. It's very possible that your coworkers faked it for an unofficial Skip Day and didn't tell you. It could be because you are short and hairy and have a pronounced brow and jowl, close-set eyes and a propensity towards committing violent crimes.


Where do babies come from?

Wow. You were home-schooled, weren't you?

This is not a short answer, so try to keep up.

Babies are an emotional creation that human beings use to punish themselves, often unwittingly.

The process begins at 12-years-old for most males, and 9 for most females, when they decide that their parents are the worst people in the world and that they will never make the same mistakes with their own lives.

This anger ferments for a varied period of time, usually three to 30 years, and manifests itself in self-destructive behavior like drug and alcohol abuse, piercings, tattoos and going to a liberal arts college to study creative writing.

At the critical mass point, this behavior contributes to and culminates in unprotected sex with a member of the opposite sex. And that's where babies come from.

Within the next nine months, the terrified couple gets married and spends the rest of their lives still trying to (unsuccessfully) prove their parents wrong, which means more babies, a lifetime of debt and an unfinished novel/screenplay/business model.

Their children notice this trait in their parents and grow resentful for the next nine to 12 years. The circle of life then begins anew.

Rick Snee is not, in any way, a licensed medical professional or an actor that plays one on television. He's just really opinionated, which is good enough for blogging. To submit your own questions to Dr. Snee, Guynecologist, post comments below or email the good doctor.

Well, who didn't see this coming?

Don Vito (a.k.a. Vincent Margera) "was convicted of two counts of sexual assault on a child."

Probably assuming cameras were on him and Bam was waiting to punch him in the nuts, Vito responded by falling to the floor, pleading "Just kill me now." Instead, deputies dragged him off to jail, and Bam probably blew up his house.

The best part, of course, was his defense:

Defense attorney Pamela Mackey had argued that when Margera appeared at the skate park, he took on the persona of the outrageous and profane Don Vito. Mackey had said that Margera, a car painter, learned that the crazier he acted, the more his fans loved it.

No snide joke here, people. Some of this blog's posts write themselves.

(Courtesy of Patrick S.)

Assault with a deadly condiment

There are some battles not worth fighting, and then there are matters of pickles. In Michigan, men clearly know this addage, as one man is currently facing assault charges with pickles.

Two friends got into an argument over pickles when one man, Bobby Lee Bolen, was hanging out at his friend's house and got hungry. He went to the fridge and grabbed a jar of pickles. When Bolen's friend, Jody Lee, said he could not afford to feed everyone, Bolen got upset stormed off, but later returned to throw two pickles at Lee.

Key quote: "'If this is not the silliest case I've ever seen in this courtroom, it certainly is in the Top 10,' Berrien Trial Court Judge Scott Schofield said. 'The fact that it's silly doesn't mean that it's not serious.'"

Finishing the fight, one mom at a time

A wee Halo 3 fan has been accused of punching his mother after she forced him to stop playing. The boy was engrossed in the game when he was told to end the session as it was getting late. When he refused, the youngster's mother removed the "air card" from the Xbox 360 (nobody, gamer or non-gamer, knows what that is) and was met with violent resistance.

The kid then stormed throughout the house in a bid to find the hidden card, punching his mother in the process. When his search ended in success, the Master Chief lover locked himself in his room and continued the struggle against evil alien races (TM) despite the fact that cops had been called. As the mother and police started to bang on the barricade, the punk hurled insults their way until cops eventually got to him, cuffed him and took him in. He faces charges of domestic battery and battery on a law enforcement officer. There's been no comment from Microsoft yet on whether the guy any number of skulls.

How To: Manage a PR nightmare

Being famous and/or powerful isn't all it's cracked up to be. If there's anyone that knows that, it's the SG reader. Our readers, as you are no doubt aware, are among the most prestigious and high-ranking in industry and commerce today. They turn to us for our insight.

Those in the spotlight are always destined to mess up, because they are only human. However, the spotlight remains, because people love to see a fall from grace. So what did you do? Drunkenly rant about Jews to a police officer? Drop the N-bomb? Serve as a GOP member of the U.S. Senate? The Guys understand, and we are here to help.

Tools:
Charm
Fake Tears

1) Deny, deny, deny. Go Bush administration on their asses. Someone says they saw you dressed in drag the other night? Question that person's character, after all, he should not have been at a drag bar anyway, right? Learn these words, "I am insulted by these baseless attacks against my character and my good name. I swear on my family I will fight until I am proven innocent."

2) Blame someone, anyone else. So they seem to have you pinned on this one. It's time to show you are a victim of this unfortunate incident. Sticking with the drag scenario, blame the bar owners for not clearly posting the establishment's intentions outside. After all, you were simply thirsty and found the company of your fellow man, granted, he was wearing a dress. Isn't dressing up what Halloween is all about? If you can't enjoy Halloween, you are un-American, and frankly, the public should not listen to such drivel from un-American smear artists. Be sure to throw in a jab to the media for their relentless coverage, just for good measure.

3) Context is everything. Your detractors think they can get away with saying such things about you, ruthlessly attacking your family's sense of pride? Hit back with the old "it was irresponsibly taken out of context defense." This only works when where is a recording, be it audio or video, of the alleged scandal. Sure, if you look at the snippet of video, it looks like you were grinding on that burly guy in a tutu if that's what they tell you it looks like. But if you tell the public your version of what it looks like, they will believe you. You owe it to them to explain that perhaps after a drink or two, your coordination was off. You dropped a quarter on the floor, and suddenly realizing the bar you were in, decided not to bend at the waist to pick it up. Instead, you bent at the knees to get the quarter. That man in the tutu just happened to be flittering by as you did so. The smile on your face is out of embarrassment. It's so clear.

4) Be a man. Suck it up and own up to what happened. In your heart, you know you are innocent of these seemingly hypocritical actions, but it is now obvious public opinion will never shift in your favor. Call a press conference and huff some hot sauce, it's time for waterworks in front of the cameras. As you tearfully say how much you regret your actions and the damage it has caused, remember, you need to shoulder all the blame while displacing it at the same time. This is a tricky maneuver. Why did you dance in that drag bar? Hell if you know, but it was probably something stemming from your abusive upbringing, which then lead to your drinking problem. It's all your fault, but it's not your fault, because these things were put on you. Announce to everyone that you are going into rehab. This cures everything.

5) Sharptonia. Press still hounding you? It's time to schedule a public meeting with Rev. Al Sharpton. It doesn't matter what you did, Sharpton can help you. Think of it in Catholic terms: you are going to confession and Sharpton is the priest hearing your sins. Sure, he's no Catholic, but he is a man of God, is he not? After he boycotts everything you touch, he will absolve you of your sins and you are free to go and sin no more.

There you have it. You have successfully managed to kill the story that threatened to destroy you and everything you love. Now that you have earned your reprieve, live your life as squeakily-clean as possible. If you can't do that, at least wear a fake beard the next time you put on that little black dress.

Does whatever a spider says

Our animal foes are no strangers to the most dastardly of battle plans. They have been known to strike at civilians, even children, when least expecting. But now they have taken things one step further: mind control.

An Australian man was bitten by a spider, which did not give him superpowers, in fact, it gave him an illness. That illness, the man said, led him to rape a woman. The courts didn't buy it, and the man was convicted. Keep this in mind, everyone: the spider bite defense no longer works. We need better legal president to deal with this new threat. Where is John Peter Zenger when you need him?

What? A story involving rape can't be funny? References too obscure?

Eat it, Quicktime

All those Mac users out there who think that they're somehow impervious to malware better watch out. It would seem that even the most die-hard Apple fanboy can be lured into a trap by the siren call of free porn.

WHERE IS YOUR GOD STEVE JOBS NOW?

Pass the Pepto

Even though we haven't mentioned it in a while, the world of competitive eating has been going strong. A while back eight million-time champ Takeru Kobayashi had to take a break from the sport due to jaw arthritis. Much like Roger Clemens, since his return, he has not been the same. (Fun fact: Roger Clemens can eat his own weight in doughnuts.)

In any case, since then, American Joey Chestnut has been cleaning up. Not literally, he's actually doing the opposite. I mean, he has been rocking the eating competitions. The latest being hamburgers, where he ate 103 in eight minutes. And why do people hate this country?