This is a blog I had planned out a month or so ago.  I've found that I've been increasingly uninspired this past month and have put a ton of things on the back-burner, including this blog.  So I won't include the normal introductory bullshit and I'll get straight to the point.

I like mustaches.

Not even like.  I love 'em.

I don't know why.  Whenever I have one, I get a lot less action from Lydia, and a lot of people take me even less seriously.  Plus, I get ketchup and stuff in it, and drinking anything just becomes plain silly.

But there's just something about it that wins me over.  It's that aura of confidence I feel when I look into the mirror.  It's the smile on someone's face when they see my mustache out in public and they get it.  It's the distinction that says no matter what might be socially acceptable, damnit, I've got the sophistication and class to have a mustache on my face!

You can eat all the steaks you want or stare at the flag flapping in the breeze, but having a mustache gets me more jacked up than any of that combined.  I think anyone who's ever had one probably feels the same way; like you could fight the world and win.

Lots of cool people have them too, and that's always important.

The crazy thing though is that most guys…have never had one.  Sure they've had goatees or beards or whatever, and they had a mustache when they first started growing facial hair, but most people I know have never had an honest-to-god mustache on their face.  Whenever I suggest it to people, most take a deep gulp and apprehensively confess "I don't know man, I've uh, I've never had just a mustache before."

Well, I'm hoping that I can change that.  Maybe I can give people a little motivation.

That's why I'm declaring this coming December 14-16

'TWAS THE MUSTACHE BEFORE CHRISTMAS WEEKEND

That's right!

I'm calling on any male that reads this to cast aside any concerns they've had before aside, and for this one weekend to proudly declare "You know what?  I can grow hair on my upper lip-and it looks pretty fucking good there!"

Are you with me?

Not yet, huh?  That's what I figured.

That's why I've made sure to sweeten the pot.

I want anyone sporting a mustache at all that weekend to email a picture of it at christmasmustache@hotmail.com.  I don't care if it's big and bushy or barely there-send me a picture.  The best/my favorite mustache is going to win a mustache grand prize pack!

Want to know what all comes in this awesome package?

An 8-inch comb with long handle,

So you can make sure your mustache is always straight.

$5 bucks.

You just won a contest, go get yourself something special, my treat.

Aviator sunglasses.

If you have to ask why, then you have no business growing a mustache in the first place.

Bod-Man spray.

Because even your 'stache will lure girls in like a fucking tractor beam, you still need to smell good.  Nothing goes with a mustache like some Bod-Man spray.  After all, you want a sophisticated scent to go with your sophisticated look, right?

Trojan Condoms.  Ultra-ribbed and Lubricated. A 36-condom economy pack.  Box never opened.

For all that mad pussy you'll be getting the whole weekend.

A $15 gift certificate to Fire Mountain.

Also good at any Ryan's.  It'll let that special girl you've just come inside know you're classy without you having to break out that Red Lobster money.  Plus, their buffet has a good amount of food that won't stick in your mustache.

All this comes in a collector's edition "Scarface" box.

The film "Scarface" is not included, but that red satiny shit in the box looks real nice.  You could probably reuse it again if you take out the Al Pacino shit.

All this could be yours for free-all you have to do is not shave your upper lip.  This contest is open to anyone.  If you don't live in the area, I'll mail it to you.  You deserve that kind of VIP treatment, superstar.

To make it fair, I've disqualified myself from competition.  My facial hair-growing abilities are thrice that on a mortal man, plus I don't fuck wit rubbers anyway.

To make it even more fair, if you've already got just a mustache, you're disqualified as well.  If you've got a beard or goatee and shave the rest of it off, that's fine.  But anyone just rocking a plain 'stache doesn't get to enter.  We already know the thrill guys, let's let some of the new recruits get a chance.  So that's right Sam Elliot, head out to pasture, because you won't be welcome.

Don't reanimate yourself just yet, Richard Pryor-your pictures won't be counted.

Don't even think about it Wilford Brimley.  Your upper lip is only good for one thing, and that's spewing out the relentless bullshit you peddle on my TV.  Why don't you go suck a diabetes-laden dick, Brimley?

And last, but certainly not least, don't you even think about entering, ROH timekeeper guy!

Now who wins the contest, you braggadocious son of a bitch?  You can't beat me!  Ask me to take down a goddamned wrestling ring again; you'll be lucky if I don't put a damn ring around your mustachioed neck instead!  Got it?

Anyways, that's the contest!  I know it only leaves a couple of weeks, but I'm not going to be that picky, I promise! You've still got plenty of time to grow something halfway decent, and then you'll still be able to shave it off when Aunt Doris comes in for Christmas. I just want to see some people with mustaches!  Tell everyone you know about this, you'll feel a lot cooler if everyone you know has a mustache as well.  I've got bigger mustache plans to announce come January, so this can be just the beginning!

Need some ideas for a mustache?  Check this link out:  Mustache stuff!

I used to be.  When I was younger, we had 3 dogs at my house.  One of these dogs my mom had had since she was 17.  Of course, as all things do, the dogs eventually passed away.  When our last dog, Hampton (yes, after the Tiny Toons character),

passed away, I just really stopped caring about having a pet.  I felt no other animal could mean the same to me as those dogs did, and so any other pet we got would just be a failed attempt at replacing the deceased ones we so cared for.

Unfortunately, my mother and sister felt otherwise.  Over time, we got another dog, 2 parakeets, a fish, and a rabbit.  Of course, since these animals were gotten as replacements, eventually the interest in them faded away.  Once it was realized that they couldn't fill the hole left, the animals slowly became ignored.  They were still fed and everything, but no one paid much attention to them.  They got lonely.  And then they eventually died.  Once our dog, Indy, died, I was ready to be rid of the rest of them.  If I didn't care about having a dog anymore, there was no way I was going to deal with a rabbit and a stupid fucking parakeet.  Oddly enough, a couple of months later, the parakeet died.

I was almost into the clear.  But I figured it would be a long wait.  The rabbit my mom had gotten was only a couple of months old.  Every day, I would loudly state my wish that her rabbit would soon be deceased.  A few months later, I went to Birmingham for the weekend.  Before leaving, I told my mom "When I come back, I hope this rabbit is dead!"  I even got down and pointed my finger in its face.  Oddly enough, my mom called me 2 days later.  "Well, you got your wish.  Our rabbit died yesterday."  I let out a Roger Daltreyesque yell of excitement.  Turns out the rabbit died from some unforeseen circumstance.  We didn't get a fucking rabbit autopsy or anything, so who knows what killed it?

I was relieved.  No more pets.  No more shit smells.  No more feeding animals I could care less about.  Nothing.  And it's been soooo nice.  It's not like I hate animals in general.  I like other people's pets.  But in my house…no chance.  There have been a couple of times where my mom or sister has stated, "It'd be nice to have a dog again."  Anytime I hear this, I jump right on it. "We can't have a fucking dog!  Think of how much money we save on not buying food!  No one's here during the day but me!  I'm not watching it!  It can't be an inside dog!"  This will go on for about 30 minutes.  I could probably get a job with Fox News for how well I spin this argument. 

But from my perspective, it's all true.  I don't want to listen to a dog yap when I'm the only one here.  And I'll be goddamned if I'm going to pick up an animal's shit.  I wasn't the top loader at FedEx Ground so I could pick up the waste of something that can't even talk!  Apparently, my argument was pretty well made.  Either that or I just wore everyone down to where they were tired of hearing me bitch.

So last Thursday, as I walked into my house from getting off of the bank, I was quite perplexed to see a giant box sitting in the middle of the living room.

"What's in the box?" I asked my sister, to strangely no reply.  I went and took a look inside.

And I was so not expecting this that it didn't even register.  "Why is there a puppy in a box in the middle of our house?  Did somebody need a dog-sitter?"  Still no reply.  "Why are we sitting someone's pu………AAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!  JESUS CHRIST, IS THIS OUR PUPPY?"

"Isn't he cute?"  My fucking mother exclaimed as she ran in and picked him up.  This time, I didn't respond.  She handed him to me, I guess so I could examine his cuteness.

My sister piped in.  "He walks like he's drunk, so guess what I named him."  A litany of names ran through my head.  A really cool name might redeem this dog.  But my sister didn't have any good names of drunks.  No Gibson,

no Kennedy,

not even Necro Butcher.

No, my sister went headed a much different direction down ol' puppy name road.  "His name is Captain Jack Sparrow!"

Not just Captain Jack.  Not Jack Sparrow.  Oh, no, not for my sister.  She goes for motherfucking CAPTAIN FUCKING JACK GODDAMN SPARROW!  This was spiraling out of control.  I jumped into spin mode.  "Well, first off, it doesn't matter what you call him, because we're not keeping this dog!  And for the short time he's here, I am not referring to him by that name!  I'll call him Captain, if necessary, but the only time I'm going to even be calling him is when I'm booting his puppy ass down the trash disposal!"  Oh, I was pissed.  I turned from my sister and looked angrily at the dog.

Look at him.  I hate his smug little puppy fuckin' guts.  This dog is so small, I could crush him with one hand and he doesn't even realize it.

My mom said he's half rat terrier and half border collie, which equals 100% pain in my ass.  I looked up that mix of dog online, so I could find out their typical behavior patterns.  I was shocked, to say the least.  Turns out these dogs are bad news.

I went and took at look at the dog, which was just sitting retardedly in the middle of the room.

I'm sure you're all thinking, "Nick, this is terrible!  What a cute little guy!  Can't you just leave him alone and make a Terri Schiavo joke or something?" 

But that's because you're not really looking at this fucking dog.  You're not getting past the "little puppy" factor.  Look closely at that picture again, open-mindedly this time, and maybe you'll see what I'm talking about.

This dog, man, this fucking dog.  When everyone went to sleep, I decided I had to put an end to this.  I set up a table in the kitchen, one that was about 3 feet off the tile floor.  Then I put the dog on it.  My hope was that he would be too fucking stupid to realize the table ended eventually, at which point he would fall off
and land on his stupid puppy head. 

But oh no, Captain Jack Sparrow is too good for that!  He just fell asleep on the table!

Do you know how long it took me to come up with that plan?  I went through a whole case of Dr. Pepper!  There were calculations made and fucking diagrams drawn up and everything.  If our military had this plan, they would have been out of Iraq for 8 years!  That's right, it was so good that the military would traverse back through time and be finished with this before it had even happened.  But I guess a great idea doesn't matter when your opponent just falls asleep on the fucking table, does it?

And you wanna know what I hate the most about this fucking puppy?  All those things I bitched about earlier, all the reasons I said we shouldn't have another dog; well, this fucking jerk has yet to do any of them.  He doesn't yap all the time, he's yet to piss or shit in the house.  As a matter of fact, the only time he really barks is when he needs to go to the bathroom.  He doesn't bite; he hasn't torn anything up.  It's like he's fucking mocking me!  "Oh, I've got to be a well-behaved dog so I can make this guy look stupid!"

Lydia thinks I'm putting on an act; that I really like this dog and think he's adorable.  I like this dog about as much as I like getting punched in the fucking teeth.  Fuck Captain Jack Sparrow!



I can assure you, I do not favor this puppy in one bit or fashion.  And when I go missing, and an Iranian finger turns up in puppy stool, I can only hope that my point will be proven to all of you.  Until then, I'm sleeping with my eyes open.

There's not a whole lot to this blog; I'm just giving a nod to several people or events going on that I think you should check out.

And if I'm going to promote people, well, who better to start with than myself?  If you're a regular reader of my blogs, then you remember my milk-drinking promo video from a few months back.  About a month ago, Myspace took it down due to violation of copyrighted music.  Huh?  I got a message from Tom and everything.  But never fear, because now the video is up in its full glory on Youtube!  Don't feel like searching for it over there?  I've also added it back into all of my old blogs, and fuck it, I might as well put it in this one too.

Speaking of videos, the Lagniappe, which is a local alternative paper here in Mobile, recently had their 5-year anniversary.  To mark the occasion every year, they have a Best in Mobile award ceremony, otherwise known as the Nappies, that are voted on by the readers.  This ceremony is held at the Saenger Theater here in Mobile.  This year, the fine people at the Lagniappe wanted to have someone film an intro to set the mood for the event.  They got up with my buddy Carson, who recruited me.  I unfortunately didn't get to be there when they showed it, but was told it went over huge.

I think that short really shows the depths I'm willing to go to for an acting role.  I didn't feel like anyone could be a "loser" with my fine looks and sculpted physique, so I grew the worst hairstyle imaginable and gained about 15 pounds in beer gut.  It may seem a little extreme, but I'll do anything to further the craft of acting.  The Lagniappe editors said the video was the highlight of the show, which I thought was overdoing it just a little, but I was still willing to let them stroke my ego as long as they wanted.

Curious about the other people who made the film with me?  Jordan is a usually unemployed friend who has recently moved to Tennessee.  If you've got a moment, message him and tell him that Tennessee sucks and he should move back to Mobile.  Mason works at Blockbuster.  He's not on Myspace, but you can usually find him out painting the town red. Carson and Marcus are both filmmakers, and actually have a short documentary showing at Sidewalk Fest next weekend in Birmingham.  The name of the documentary is "Dick-George, Tenn-Tom." Tickets for a single show at Sidewalk Fest are only $7, so you should make sure to check it out if you are in the Birmingham area.

Although we ended up using copyrighted music, two local bands agreed to let us use their music if we needed too. El Cantador is one of them, and definitely worth checking out.  I have never seen a band rise to prominence so fast in the Mobile area as they have.  They play shows all over the Gulf Coast pretty regularly, so go watch them if you have the opportunity.

The other band willing to let us use their music is Abstract Artimus.  A recent performance of his was described in a college newspaper.  It read, "The second act, Artemis, was quite appalling. Artemis is a Mobile native who sounded like a screaming girl and had a strange stage presence.  He was wearing a wife beater and scarf and reminded me of a male version of Avril Lavigne from her punk rock days. Every word he uttered built on the fact that his mouth was a toilet bowl full of filth. For the last song, he took his shirt and pants off and tried to rap. That's when I walked out because I was truly disgusted by him. –Elizabeth Jones" Man, what a cunt!  Do you want to miss a show like that?  Tonight is actually the last Abstract Artimus show in Mobile.

Next week, Art is packing the act up and taking it to Brooklyn.  Art has been a friend of mine for almost 12 years now, and I will loyally support any music venture he ever takes on.  I can only hope that when he's sucking someone famous' dick up in New York, he's thinking about is pals here in Mobile.  Come watch my good friend leave the city in a blaze of glory tonight.  Even if you don't like the music, I promise you, you will never see a local band put on a more entertaining stage show than Art will tonight.

Speaking of entertaining, do you get disappointed in the lack of blogs I do?  Or just the quality of my blogs (like this one) in general?  Then you should definitely check out my friend Kiel's blogs.  Not even check out, but go ahead and subscribe.

If you like mine, I'll guarantee that you enjoy his.  He's got a lot of serious shit going on right now, so it might be a few weeks before he posts a new one, but you'll have all of his old ones at your fingertips in the interim.

On a final note, I have the best story to tell ever, but I can't do it on Myspace.  Well I could, but it would ruin a man's career, marriage, and life.  This person would probably justifiably murder me if I posted this story online.  But that doesn't mean I can't tell you in person!  Next time you see me, ask me about the Mr. B story.  Make sure we have access to a computer when you ask me.

Earlier this year, the American Film Institute issued its revised list of the 100 greatest movies.  These films, voted on by various actors, writers, and directors, have been declared the most landmark, influential films in the history of cinema.

Shit on all of those movies.

As a matter of fact, fuck the entire list.  Anything that anyone on that list had to say is now worthless.

There is one film, recently released, that has managed to redefine everything ever associated with film.

Shoot 'Em Up.

The best film ever.

Unfortunately, this masterpiece hasn't received the acclaim it so rightly deserves.  It barely made the top ten box office for it's opening weekend, and it did even worse the next weekend.  It will probably have one or two more weeks in theaters, and that will be it.

You can change that.

It's extremely rare that I plead a case for seeing a movie.  I get to watch them for free, and I realize that I might have a different opinion if I had paid to watch it.

But trust me, this movie, is money well spent.

Some of you might have decided not to see it because you don't like action flicks.  Well, guess what-I hate them.  I don't even watch them.  I've never seen any of the "Lethal Weapons," no "Die Hards," and not even "XXX."

And it doesn't matter.  "Shoot 'Em Up" is the only action movie you will ever need to see.  This movie redefines over-the-top.

The film is so implausible that it's perfect.  And the director doesn't waste his time making unreasonable explanations to justify actions in the film.  Fuck it.  A simple explanation is all that's given.  How come Clive Owen can shoot with such precision?  "He was probably in Black Ops."  Oh, cool.  How does Paul Giamatti always know where to find Clive Owen?  "Oh, he used to be in the FBI."  And that's all you get.  Which is awesome, because that's all you need.  I don't watch a movie called fucking "Shoot 'Em Up" to see a 30-minute back-story!  I want to see people getting pierced with bullets!  And they don't make you wait, either.  The first gun is fired maybe 2 minutes into the film.  And it doesn't stop until the credits roll.

And it's not just guns shooting wasted bullets.  Clive Owen kills at least 80 people from start to finish.

He's also got a million pet peeves, and he punishes people for committing them as he's taking out hitmen.  At one point, a guy cuts in front of Clive Owen, who's being chased, without using his blinker.  Does Owen ignore him and continue to speed away from his followers?  No chance, buddy!  He rams the guy right off the road for being inconsiderate.  How better a way to teach someone a lesson than with completely unnecessary violence?  Clive Owen bitches about these pet peeves the entire movie too, resulting in such great lines as "What's the difference between a porcupine and a luxury vehicle?  In a luxury car, the pricks are on the inside."

Pure brilliance.

This movie is so explosive, that when being delivered to Mobile, it wasn't allowed to travel through the tunnel to get here.

This movie is so reckless, even Britney Spears could win a custody battle against it.

This movie is so masculine; it hunts Ted Nugent for sport.

This movie defies so many laws of physics, that Stephen Hawking has his wheelchair taken from him by the Department of Science.

This movie is full of so much testosterone; I'm surprised that it didn't kill Chris Benoit's wife and retarded son.

Still not convinced?  Are you fucking stupid?!?  I can only hope that, if you don't see this movie this weekend, it's because you aren't planning a trip to the theater.  Because if you're going to the movies, this beats everything out there.  Need proof?

Halloween:  shitty acting from a wife

Shoot 'Em Up: Clive Owen cuts an umbilical cord by shooting at it

Good Luck Chuck: a non-nude Jessica Alba

Shoot 'Em Up:  Paul Giamatti feels up a dead woman

Superbad: teenagers not getting laid

Shoot 'Em Up:  Clive Owen kills 30 people while making a woman climax

Dragon Wars:  are you serious?

Shoot 'Em Up:  Clive Owen repeatedly uses a carrot to kill people throughout the movie.

The Brave One: a gripping drama where Jodie Foster seeks revenge

Shoot 'Em Up:  Clive Owen says, "Fuck you, you fucking fuckers."

Resident Evil: Extinction:  Zombies are shot repeatedly

Shoot 'Em Up:  Real people are shot repeatedly

3:10 to Yuma:  Actually a pretty good film

Shoot 'Em Up: 30 minutes shorter than 3:10 to Yuma

Your decision is made.  Cancel watching the Alabama game, forget about your trip to the mall, and call Grandma Agnes next weekend.  She'll understand.



I'll even make it easier for you.  Here's the link for Fandango.   Get your tickets now so it doesn't sell out.  Make sure your girlfriend is on the pill that day, because this film will get her pregnant.  And go see this fucking movie.  Or else.

So, how was your weekend?  There was plenty to occupy yourself with these past few days.  Whether it be the NBA playoffs, or the De La Hoya-Mayweather fight, or the numerous Cinco de Mayo celebrations being held everywhere, there was definitely no shortage of things to do.  Chances are the main agenda on most people's list this past weekend was to see "Spider-Man 3." 

I'm sure most of you saw it, and some of you probably saw it multiple times.  It's the most expensive movie ever filmed, and apparently Sony made a great investment, because the movie has shattered every box office record imaginable.  As most of you may know, I work at a theater, and therefore had the luxury of watching the film before its release.  I mentioned previewing it to my friend Tyler, who mentioned that he had read a review calling SM3 the "worst movie ever made in American cinema."  I immediately scoffed at the remark.  How bad could it really be?

Little did I know…

WARNING:  This blog has more spoilers in it then you could possibly imagine.  If you plan on seeing this movie, and want any part of it to be a surprise, I would recommend holding off on reading this one until you've seen the film.

The movie begins with the same tired  "going through the web" opening credit sequence we saw in the last two movies.  For some reason, scenes from the first 2 films are shown throughout the opening credits as well.  I guess to get the 13 people who didn't see the other two up to speed.  As the movie begins, Peter Parker directly addresses the audience with a cheesy "Here's what's been going on in my life lately" dialogue.  What the fuck is this supposed to be, a fucking diary entry? 

Harry Osborn/New Goblin

Shortly after the movie begins, Spider-Man is ambushed by Harry Osborn, now in his New Goblin persona.  This fight is the first of the movie, but certainly not the last, to feature the "let's spin the camera so much you get nauseous" trick. 

Most likely used to cover up the terrible choreography and ridiculousness of this fight.  Harry ends up hitting his head on a pipe, and Spidey has to take him to a hospital.  Harry finds out that he has slight amnesia, losing all of his short-term memory.  Medically, there is a condition known as retrograde amnesia, where the victim temporarily loses certain memories that happened before his head trauma.  Harry forgets everything that happened in the two years immediately following his father's death.  Amnesia that specific is unheard of in the medical community, and I believe is usually referred to as "convenient plot device."

Harry fills his time with painting and basketball until kissing Mary Jane suddenly brings his memory back.  Huh?

Flint Marko/The Sandman

I was actually thrilled about this casting choice.  I've been a huge fan of Thomas Haden Church for years, and I think it's great he landed this big a role.  We first see Sandman escaping from prison and returning to his home, presumably to get his favorite striped shirt. 

We also learn that Sandman has a sick daughter, and he must commit robberies in order to pay for her treatment.  Has he never heard of St. Jude's?  Even in Mobile, Alabama, we have doctors and hospitals that will treat you if you don't have money.  I'm pretty sure they have the same thing in New York.  After Sandman and Spidey's first encounter (which shows us that even though the Sandman can change his body into any form, he really likes making a giant sand fist)

we learn that Sandman was the actual killer of Peter Parker's Uncle Ben!  Which, of course, makes no sense.  How would the police not have known there were two criminals at the scene?  It was a fucking carjacking; surely there was one other person on the road that saw this.  Also, I thought the whole reason he became Spider-Man is because he could have stopped the person who killed his uncle.  "With great power comes great responsibility."  If he had been responsible and stopped the burglar, his uncle would still be alive.  But if his uncle would have been killed regardless, what does it matter?  The whole reason he became a superhero has just been taken away!  Sure, it gives us more reason to dislike Sandman, but it doesn't make any sense!  If they just want us to dislike him, why don't they give him a swastika tattoo and have him say something derogatory about the troops?  It makes more sense to do that then completely shit on a major storyline from the first movie.

The Symbiote/Spidey's black suit

In the comic book, the symbiote is brought back to Earth with Spider-Man after he does battle in an alternate galaxy.  On the Spider-Man TV show, the symbiote suit attaches itself to a space ship returning to Earth.  But in the movie, it's just on a meteorite that crashes into the park.  Yup.  Just a rock that randomly happens to fall right by Mary Jane and Peter.  Also, the symbiote doesn't bond with Peter Parker, but instead with his Spider-Man costume.  He can take it off, he can wash it, he can put it in a box.  I'm pretty sure something that is symbiotic would attach itself to something living, so it can stay alive and all.  Not in this case.

Spidey finds out from Dr. Connors that the symbiote brings out the more aggressive side in one's personality.  This should be a pretty interesting scenario, seeing the mild-mannered Peter Parker embrace his dark side.  The first thing he does is part his hair into an extremely emo hairstyle. 

WHAT???  It's a good thing he had to deal with the Sandman again, or else the rest of the movie could have been him hanging out at Hot Topic.

His dark side is on display once again as Peter Parker takes a stroll around his neighborhood.  What dark and dastardly deeds would this new suit inspire him to do?  Have you ever seen "Saturday Night Fever?" 

Remember the famous John Travolta strut scene? 

Well, that's what we get.  For some reason, Peter's dark side involves him strutting down the street like a fucking big douche, making googly-eyes at every girl he walks past.  With most of them, he points at them as well, which results in about a minute-long shot of his fingers pointing at people.

I've seen a lot of shit in my lifetime, but that's easily the stupidest damned thing I've ever seen in a movie.  Ever.  Even though the whole promotional campaign was built around Spidey and the black suit, we only see him in it about 5 times.  He eventually decides to ditch it, and it then gets passed on to

Eddie Brock/Venom

I like Topher Grace.  I liked him on "That 70's Show," when he was playing the smarmy young kid.  I liked him in "In Good Company," where he played a smarmy young executive.  There are a lot of things that the Eddie Brock character is supposed to be.  Smarmy is not one of them.  And so the character is immediately ruined, because that's all Topher Grace can do.  His voice is the same, his delivery doesn't change, and his facial expressions don't change.  Anytime he came on screen, I felt like I was watching "That 70s Show," with Erik in a Venom costume instead of a Zeppelin shirt. 

Anytime he attacked Spider-Man, I kept waiting for Red to come into shot and call him a dumbass. 

Rumor is that Sam Raimi doesn't like the Venom character, and didn't even want him in the movie, but Sony leaned on him to put him in.  And his dislike for him is blatantly obvious; as Venom maybe appears for 15 minutes in the 3-hour movie   He's only the character that everyone was looking forward too, the one who had all the Internet buzz.  And most of the time when we see him, his face peels back to reveal Topher's stupid mug. 

Apparently we know he's evil because he has bad teeth.  And speaking of bad teeth

Mary Jane Watson/Gwen Stacy

Does anybody actually find this bitch attractive?  Fuck Mary Jane, this bitch should have played Sabertooth. 

I hope you like her, because she's in the movie just as much as Peter Parker.  Let me pose a question:  Why does she constantly sing in the movie?  She's supposed to be an actress, but we never once see her rehearse a line or practice a face; she just sings all of the time.  And if she's so terrible, how does she get cast in a fucking Tony-winning Broadway show?  Did they not have auditions?  Were the roles first-come, first-serve?

The Gwen Stacy character is completely unnecessary.  She was written out of the story of the first movie, where her role would have actually been interesting, and then awkwardly placed in this one.  And why Bryce Dallas Howard?  She's alright looking, but Gwen Stacy is supposed to be ridiculously hot.  I guess they couldn't find an attractive blonde anywhere, so they had to go with an okay redhead.  Was fucking Los Angeles closed on casting day or something?  There's only one Gwen/MJ confrontation.  Peter and MJ have broken up, and Peter takes Gwen to the jazz restaurant where MJ works as a singing waitress.  Peter has the black suit on, and as MJ is on stage singing, he decides to show her up.  Because apparently the symbiote not only gives you excellent finger-pointing abilities, but it also makes you an excellent piano player and dancer!  And that's what happens.  It feels like footage from another movie gets place into this, as we get the most unnecessary scene ever in film as Peter Parker wows the crowd with dance moves and then has a dance scene with Gwen to make MJ jealous.  This actually replaced the finger thing as the worst thing I've ever seen in a movie.

The Showdown

Eventually we get to a point where Venom and Sandman have paired up to take out Spider-Man.  They kidnap Mary Jane and put her up in a web above the city.  Spidey comes to save her and gets the shit kicked out of him by the two villains.  This is the only point where it seems that Spidey is actually in danger, as the Sandman grows to monster proportions and traps Spidey on a beam. 

He then pounds away on Spidey as a crowd of people and reporters watch.  Throughout the movie, they continuously cut away to some bystander's reaction whenever an action scene starts to build tension, and they do it again here.  It cuts to a reporter who says "This is one of the worst things I've ever seen; it's truly a tragic day for New York City."

Whoa, whoa, holdup for a second.

The Spider-Man movies take place in New York, in a post-9/11 world, as hinted by the first film.  So when I think of tragic days for the city of New York, this is what comes to mind:

Is that really something they want to compare it to?  Well, it's got to be pretty bad to equal that, right?  Sandman must be eating Spider-Man limb by limb, while Venom sodomizes Mary Jane high above the city, right?  What could be so terrible?

Do you want to see what happens?

That's all.  Sandman just hits him with that damn sand fist again, only this time it's bigger.  Nothing spectacular, nothing awesome, just the same shitty effect we saw 2 hours before.  It looks grim for Spidey, until Harry Osborn makes the save!  Why?  Because his crazy old butler told him that Spidey didn't kill his dad, and even though Harry wouldn't listen to his best friend Peter Parker tell him that, he will listen to a fucking butler.  Anyways, he fucks the Sandman all up and starts fighting with Venom.  Venom steals his little hoverboard and throws it at Spidey.  For some reason Spider-Man's spider sense doesn't detect this, but luckily for him Harry steps in and takes the blow, getting impaled in the process.  Then Venom gets killed.  Yeah, you read that right.  It took him 2 movies and he still couldn't beat Harry Osborn, but his greatest archrival gets killed after 20 minutes of screen time.  And then Spidey and the Sandman become friends.  Sandman says he didn't mean to kill Uncle Ben, and Spidey immediately forgives him.  He immediately forgives the guy who killed his uncle, the guy who is responsible for ruining his and his Aunt May's life?  All because the guy says he has a sick daughter?  I'm sure if he would have known it was going to be that easy, then Sandman would have tried to stick a sandy finger in Mary Jane while he was at it.

The End

So yeah, Harry dies, and all villains have been dispatched.  They have a big silly funeral for Harry Osborn.  I was really surprised I didn't see Sam Raimi in the background of the cemetery, smoothing the dirt over the grave of this franchise.  Several months pass, and Peter finds MJ at her jazz restaurant, where they dance together, signifying that they are back together?  How many times can you split up or get back together in 3 movies?  And this is where the movie ends.  On a shot of these two dancing.  As far as I can remember, this is the only hero movie to not end with a shot of the hero.  Ever.  You should always end with that.  It makes sense.  It shows that even though the movie is over, our hero is still on patrol, guarding the city.  It takes your audience out on a high note, as the last thing they get to see is the hero they paid $8 for.  It helps merchandise sales if the last thing a kid sees before leaving the theater is the hero's face.  It makes perfect sense.  But I cannot find any logic in the last shot being of a melodramatic and unsympathetic twosome who are getting back together for the millionth time.

So yeah, obviously, I didn't care too much for the film.  I don't think it's flat-out "worst movie ever."  But I do think, if you add in how much money was spent, with how good the other two films were, with the usually great quality of Raimi films, that this movie is easily in the top ten of shitty disappointing films.  I mean, you see Spider-Man maybe 8 times.  The fucking movie is called fucking "Spider-Man!"  Shouldn't we see him in at least a third of it?

I really believe that this was Sam Raimi's intent to bury the franchise.  He has said he had no interest in doing any more Spidey films past these 3.  Regardless of that, Sony has already said that they will make Spider-Man movies regardless of Raimi's involvement (which they've already announced the green-lighting of several sequels following this weekend's box office totals.)  Wouldn't that piss you off?  You create this huge franchise for a company, based off your vision, and then find out that when you leave, your vision will just be repackaged and watered-down.  The only way Sony could have given Raimi a bigger "Fuck you" would be to tell him that right to his face.  Why wouldn't he bury the franchise, just so he could preserve the legacy he had built?

There was just so much bad about this movie.  From the lack of superhero action, to the exact same CG fights we've seen 100 times, to all of the humor bits.  A lot of my friends have knocked me for bitching about the finger scene, or the dance scene, or the Bruce Campbell waiter scene. "They put it in there because it's funny; what's wrong with that?"  You wanna know what I've always thought would be funny?  To find some little infant crawling around on the ground,

and to just go up and punt him like a little baby football.  I wouldn't want any physical harm to be brought on him, but the visual is hilarious to me.  But that doesn't mean I do it!  Just because something is funny doesn't justify it!  Funny doesn't change the fact that is makes no fucking sense and is just being used to hide the terrible narrative!

But you'll laugh at it anyway, because you're a fucking trained monkey.  I know some people think that if a movie was entertaining to them, then it was a good movie.  It doesn't matter what's wrong with it, but if it captured their imagination, then it did a good job.  If you think that, well, I hate to break it to you, but your opinion of movies if fucking stupid.  It's because of assholes like you that movies get shittier by the year.  And the ironic thing is, I'm sure most of you are the same assholes who bitch about "Why are so many sequels coming out?  Why can't they make new movies?"  But then you'll go and eat the first golden piece of shit Hollywood craps out on your plate.  And you'll convince yourself that it's good, and you'll swallow it down, because it's easier to do that then admit that your love of big-sizzle no-steak movies is a huge implication that you're a shallow person in general.  And I've already seen it with "Spider-Man 3."  After the first midnight show, I watched as the crowd walked out with vacant stares, convincing themselves of what a great movie they just watched.  And I watched Friday morning as some of those same assholes came back again, 10 hours later, to watch the movie once again.  That's it; just keep adding fuel to the fire.  And when you're watching "Spider-Man 9:  Mary Jane's Big Night" in a few years, and you're even thinking about complaining about it, I want you to think back to this time.  The time you sold your soul out to Sony so you wouldn't have to think for 3 hours.

I usually don't like to do serious blogs.  Even though I am extremely politically opinionated, and spend most of my spare time researching the news, I know that people aren't viewing my page so they can have someone else preach at them.  So I usually try to keep it pretty light-hearted, filling my blogs with absurd bets, ridiculous adventures, and a pretty steady influx of semi-nude pictures.  Another reason I don't usually do serious blogs is because by the time I've come up with my points, figured the placement of my jokes, and photoshopped all of my pictures, the story isn't newsworthy anymore.  So for me to do a serious blog, it takes an issue that I feel really strongly about, and one that I feel I can put a spin on that most people wouldn't hear or think of.  It's a pretty rare occasion.

But a couple of weeks ago, one of those occasions reared its 10-gallon hat-wearing head.  I'm speaking, of course, about Don Imus. 

I'm sure you all heard about the whole deal, but if not, Imus was fired from his radio show for "racist" comments.  Here is a transcript of the offensive dialogue in question, from a conversation held on air by Don Imus and his producer Bernard McGuirk:

IMUS: That's some rough girls from Rutgers. Man, they got tattoos and --

McGUIRK: Some hard-core hos.

IMUS: That's some nappy-headed hos there. I'm gonna tell you that now, man, that's some -- woo. And the girls from Tennessee, they all look cute, you know, so, like -- kinda like -- I don't know.

McGUIRK: A Spike Lee thing.

IMUS: Yeah.

McGUIRK: The Jigaboos vs. the Wannabees -- that movie that he had.

What most people don't know is that this is actually extremely tame for the Imus show.  For years, they have shoddily tried to capitalize on the shock-jock genre with lame, poorly written racist jokes.  Unlike a lot of you, who had probably never heard of Imus until this controversy, I've hated him from years.  I find him to be the absolute worst radio personality I've ever slistened to in my life, and I've waited for years for his show to be cancelled.

So why did I feel that this issue was blog-worthy?  Because I completely disagree with his firing, and I think the fact that someone was punished because he said what he felt like on his own radio show is a concept that should frighten every American who values the concept of free speech.

It was a blog that practically wrote itself.  I had the whole blog written out in my mind 2 days after the story first broke, but I kept putting off on posting it due to an extremely pressing matter I found myself dealing with.

I wasn't worried.  I thought that the Imus scandal would be as big a deal as the Janet Jackson "wardrobe malfunction" a few years back.  What could possibly happen to distract the media from this story that they had harped about all week?

The largest shooting spree to ever take place on U.S. soil.  And just like that, the Imus story went right out the window.  You don't see it in newspapers and you don't see it on TV.  All thanks to some stupid asshole who couldn't even come up with an original idea.  "Your trust funds weren't enough, your Mercedes weren't enough.'  Fuck you, pal!  You could afford to go to Virginia Tech and had a $400 digital camera to take pictures of yourself.  Gimme a fuckin' break.  Any kid who gets to sit in a class and write shitty plays isn't disadvantaged, you 3-name havin' motherfucker. 

And because of all of this, my Imus blog joins the irrelevant pile, and there's now no reason to post it.  Usually, when I'm working on a blog where the story drops out of the public idea before I can finish it, I've already done a couple of the pictures.  Since I have no use for the pictures, I promptly delete them.  Well, not this time.  Like I said, I've hated Imus for years, and find everything he says to be offensive to my intelligence.  But even with that factor in place, he had managed to stay on the air and I was able to happily live my life.  The following pictures were to be an alternate solution to people trying to force a network's hand to act; a step-by-step guide as to how I've dealt with the Imus problem for years.

Pretty funny, yeah?  Now imagine how good it would have been with proper build-up and thought-out arguments.  But it's never to be, all because some 23-year old dick who, as my Bosnian pal Osman says, "has probably never even been inside woman," got a wild hair up his ass.  Let's see what else Seung-Hui Cho has to say about it.

"You just love to crucify me. You loved inducing cancer in my head, terrors in my heart and ripping my soul all this time."

Dipshit.  Not only did you kill 32 people, but you unnecessarily ruined a potentially awesome blog.  What a jerk.

Sunday night, April 1, 2007, Jerry Reiner's house, Wrestlemania 23 party

My stomach was killing me.  I had never dealt with pain like this.  It felt as if all of my inner organs were pushing through my pores, trying to force their way out of my body.  But still, I managed to hold on.  I only had a few seconds left.  Only a few seconds and I would have won the milk challenge.  As the final second ticked away, a giant smile crept across my face.  I stood up and basked in the moment as everyone else in the room applauded.  Except for Kornbred and Chuck, who had long since given up.

"I can't believe you actually did it!" Kiel exclaimed as he handed over the money due me.  I was beaming with joy.  Could this moment get any better?  I turned my head to the tv, where WWE's lead announcer Jim Ross was making an announcement in the ring.  "Ladies and gentlemen, our main event has been cancelled for the night.  In a shocking turn of events, "The Heartbreak Kid" Shawn Michaels has been found disembodied in the back of a car.  Normally, we wouldn't glamorize such an event, but that sonofabitch had it comin'!"  The crowd cheers as pyro goes off and an image hits the WWE video wall.

I sat up with a jolt.  I looked across the room and saw Lydia, Celia, and Kiel sitting on the couch watching "Not Another Teen Movie."  I must have dozed off for a second.  I could only hope my dream was a foreshadowing of events to come.

I was pretty excited about the milk challenge, and had tried to build it up as big as possible.  I even reunited with my old collaborater, Harris, who at one time I had sworn death upon, to make a promo video for me getting ready for the challenge.

Once we got to Jerry's house, we hung out for a little bit, and then quickly got the milk challenge under way.  Kornbred was late showing up, so me and Chuck went ahead and started. 

Chuck seemed a little apprehensive at first, taking his time and making several jokes.  I was all business, staring straight ahead and drinking milk with a passion that could only be matched by Rod Stewart at a dick-sucking festival. 

I had even wore the one shirt that I thought would guarentee me victory. 

Within 10 minutes, I had finished off a little more than half the gallon.  Everything was going how I planned it.  I quickly sat down, and started to make myself burp repeatedly in order to relieve the pressure building up in my stomach.

A short while later, I was ready to start drinking again.  I had 20 minutes left to finish the milk, and I planned to stretch it out to the last second.  The longer I waited to finish, the shorter the time would be that I had to hold it down.  I took several more large gulps from the jug, leaving me with the equivalent of 2 glasses left to finish.  I stayed standing after I set the milk down, to once again work out some burps.

It seemed different this time, however.  Wrestlemania had just started.  The room was more crowded then it had been 30 minutes before, and everyone was talking.  "It's so goddamned busy in here" I thought to myself.  "Why can't everyone shut the fuck up?"  I could hear their voices reverberating inside my head and throat.  I tried to watch the PPV and block out what everyone was saying.  The 8-man Ladder match was starting.  As each competitor came out, someone would make a little smart-ass quip about them.  I tried hard to ignore what they were saying.  I could feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat.  Booker T, who is doing a royalty gimmick, came out and hit his signature pose, where he kneels and holds his pinky finger up.

"Guess where this finger's been" I heard Kiel say.  "This hand used to be white."

Fuck.

I started to chuckle, and immediately felt something start to come up.  I clenched my neck muscles as tight as I could, but I was losing the battle.  I looked at the floor, and realized that the path between me and the door was blocked by several people.  Lydia was sitting right in front of me,  and I cringed at the idea of vomit getting on her.  Randy Orton came out, and I heard Nick Vortex say "Look , he's doing the Nick pose." 

But as he was doing this, I was doing a new pose all my own.  I had my hand placed firmly over my mouth, and took as big a step as I possibly could in order to get away from Lydia.  My foot landed, and I realized she was out of harm's way.  So I let go.

The first bit hit my hand, and ricocheted to the left.  "That one had to hit Vortex" I thought as I sprinted for the door, leaving a trail of curdled milk behind me. 

I made it outside, and proceeded to spew for the next minute.  It wasn't even normal throw-up, it was Team America-level spraying-everywhere puke.  I was going to walk back inside afterwords, but it smelled absolutely horrible.  I joked around for couple of minutes, and then walked across the street to Kiel and Celia's apartment so I could take a shower.  I'm sure I was quite a sight as I stood on the side of Olive Rd., curdled milk all over my body and dripping from my face, as I waited to cross the street.

After I got done, I went back over to Jerry's to finish watching a completely unremarkable Wrestlemania.  Occasionally a whiff of vomit would make it's way through the room.  Kornbred eventually showed up, and was still interested in taking the milk challenge, which he won. 

Several people asked me how I felt about losing.  I had built this up to be a pretty big deal.  I had already had to shave my body from losing one challenge, and now I had lost another.  I thought about it for a little bit, and reflected on everyone's night.

Chuck-was too grossed out by my vomiting to finish the milk challenge.

Chris Canada-laying by Nick Vortex, got milk vomit on his leg and shoes.

Nick Vortex-got throw up all over his shirt, had to borrow a shirt from the Curt Diamond emergency supply kit.

Celia-cleaned up vomit (which was unbelievably considerate of her to do, I'm going to treat her to dinner next time I come in.)

Jerry Reiner-even though Celia cleaned up the vomit, his house and patio still smell like rancid milk.

Kornbred-finished the milk challenge, but felt horrible the whole time.  Also, everyone was kind of worn out on the whole milk thing, so the rules were greatly reduced when he did the challenge, making his victory as tainted as an interracial child.  Relax, I'm kidding!  I'm a half-breed myself.

Shawn Michaels-not only had to lose to John Cena by submission, but will still have to look in the mirror every morning and know deep down that he's a cocksucking lying motherfucker.

Let's compare that to my night-I got to throw up all over someone's house, vomit on two people and not fear retaliation, watched Shawn Michaels lose yet again at Wrestlemania,  cause someone to quit the milk challenge and manged to downplay Kornbred's victory, caused a smell so bad that 2 people left the party immediately afterwards, managed to steal the spotlight during the best Wrestlemania match of the night, and got Lydia to make out with me 20 minutes after I got done vomiting. 

Does that sound like a loser to you?

I did throw up on my favorite shirt, but I washed it last night and the smell and the stains were both easily removed!  I think that's enough to make it official:

Kiel did an excellent blog about this event as well.  It's got the same pictures, but it's the whole event from a completely different perspective.  It's also got a video of the aftermath, including an interview with me 10 seconds after I got done vomiting, and an excellent photoshop picture done by Tk101's Candy in the comments.  Check it out here.

Today is Wrestlemania 23. 

The biggest event of the year for wrestling fans.  For the past several years, I've always been with a large group of people to watch Wrestlemania.  This year I'll be going to Pensacola to watch it.  As you may recall, the last time I documented going to Pensacola, I was completely destroyed by a girl in a game of basketball.  As a result of that loss, and a ridiculous bet proposed by me, I had to shave off all of my body hair.  It's really left me looking like kind of a fool, and for the past couple of months, I've been trying to think of a way to redeem myself in the minds of my Pensacola friends.

Enter the milk-drinking challenge.

The milk-drinking challenge is a contest where you have to drink a gallon of whole milk in 1 hour, and then keep it down for 1 hour.  If you finish the milk in 40 minutes, you have to keep it down for 1 hour 20 minutes.  My dear friend and gulf coast professional wrestling legend Jerry Reiner tried it a couple of weekends ago, and failed miserably.

Click here to read the story of Jerry Reiner and the milk challenge!!!

Jerry's having a big Wrestlemania party at his house, and we're going to do the milk challenge a little while before Wrestlemania 23 actually starts.  And I couldn't be more pumped.  Wrestlemania is known as the "showcase of the immortals," and at the Wrestlemania party, I will claim my status with the gods.

Normally, I would do a much longer blog about this, describing how I felt and going into more of a back story.

But it's Wrestlemania.  The biggest show of the year.  So I don't think a written promo about the event will be enough to really show the magnitude of this event.  It has to be bigger.  It has to be extravagant.  It has to be..

So a couple of months ago, I challenged this girl Christine to a game of basketball.  I built it up to be a "Battle of the Sexes," and I made a wager on the game.  If you're unfamiliar with this bet, you can read it here.  So gameday came, and, no surprise, I lost.  Lost isn't even the correct word.  I was completely demolished.  When it was all said and done, Christine had an H, and I had HORSE.  And even though Christine wasn't as good at basketball as I thought she would be, it didn't matter.  She was good enough to finish me off.  So, due to the terms of the bet that I had arranged, I now had to shave off all of my body hair.

            Or, I should say, Lydia had to shave off all my body hair.  A few days later I decided we would try waxing it all off instead of shaving it off.  As it turns out, our friend Felicia's sister Michelle works at a salon, and waxes people all the time, so Lydia was off the hook  I had never met Michelle before, and although I tried to play cool, I was more than a little apprehensive about having someone I had never met before waxing my entire body.  We got to Michelle's house and she was ready to get right down to business.  She said she would start with my chest.  She had bought a new kind of wax, where instead of using strips, the wax itself hardens and then you just pry it loose and pull.  Michelle had even been kind enough to test it on herself first.  She had me lay down and proceeded to put the wax on.  It was a little warmer than I would have liked.  "One, two, three!" Michelle counted off before she pulled. 

"FUUUUCKKKK!!!" I thought to myself.  Michelle asked me if it hurt, and I told her no, although it was through gritted teeth.  I was determined to show everyone who said I couldn't take getting waxed completely wrong.  Michelle did it again, and I noticed this time it was worse than before.  It's not so much that it hurts as in a pain, but it felt like my chest had gone into complete shock.  I told Michelle to give me a few minutes before we went again.

            10 minutes later, Michelle went for the third pull.  As soon as it was off, I quickly sat up and exclaimed "Fuck that shit!  I'm done with this bullshit!"  Most of you have never seen me when I get really pissed off.  When I do, and it's not a rational anger, I tend to talk like a thug teenager.  I don't know if it's because of where I've lived my whole life, or because deep down I'm a John Cena mark,

or what it is that causes it.  Felicia asked  "But what about the promise you made in your bet?"  "Fuck that shit," I said.  "That bitch is just an aquaintance, I don't care if she values my word or not.  This is bullshit!  Fuck this!"  And yes, I am fully aware that I am the one who made all the terms of this bet.

            Michelle then asked me if I wanted to at least try the wax strips instead, since I had already paid for them.  So I gave it a go.  She went to do my left arm, which I made it about ¾ of the way through before telling her to stop.  Then we went to my back, of which I made it halfway through before once again telling her to immediately stop.  Michelle asked if, since my back was already sore anyways, if she could put a smiley face on it as well. 

We also did half my left leg, which actually didn't hurt that bad, but I soon had her stop anyway.  I was ready for the experience to be over.  She offered to at least buzz the rest of me down, so I didn't look like a complete asshole.  I turned her offer down, because I thought it would be worth a good laugh.  So for the past month, this is what I have looked like.

            I've heard that several girls, including Christine,the girl who beat me,  have said that I completely pussed out, because they get waxed all the time and they are able to take it, wheras I couldn't.  Felicia's husband Uri even voluntarily got his underarms waxed to prove how little it hurt him. 

So, to anyone who doubts my manliness because I couldn't take getting waxed, let me offer you a great big patented Nick Shantazio

After projection demi-god Judson McDaniel, I feel that I can easily lay claim to being the hairiest person in the lower Alabama/Northwest Florida area. 

And believe it or not, all you doubters, the thicker your hair is and the more you have of it, the harder it is to get it waxed off.   So if any of you female doubters have hair as thick and plentiful as mine, feel free to make yourselves known and present your case.  I thought so.

            And I was fine to leave it at that.  If people just thought I was an asshole who went back on my word, so be it.  I was fine with this decision, until just the other day.  I turned the news on, and saw that 5 more U.S. soldiers had been killed in Iraq.  "Wow," I thought "they're just willing to give it all away for our freedom."  It really hit me kind of hard.  I went outside to reflect for a little while.  I heard a bird shriek in the sky.  I looked up, and saw a majestic bald eagle flying across the blue horizon.  I spoke out loud.  "That's what it's all about right there, Nick.  That's what it's all about."

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,

Did those 5 soldiers, along with the other troops from the past couple of years give their lives so I could go back on my word?  No.

For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!

Did George W. Bush liberate an entire country of people so I could quit something just because it was physically painful?  I think not!

America! America!
God shed his grace on thee

Did my own father look the king of Iran right in the eyes, and say to him "Fuck you; I'm going to U.S and A." so I could walk around with hair on my body that I had promised to remove?  Absolutely not!

And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

Damnit, this is America!  Freedom isn't free, and it was time for me to pay my price.  Just like all those brave U.S. soldiers who died, just like George Washington when he turned his back on his home country to start a new land of promise, and just like JFK when had his brains spilled all over his wife's dress!  It's time to play the game!  Love it or leave it!  These colors don't run!  I would shave off my body hair as promised, but I wasn't going to do it because of a bet.  I was going to do it for…AMERICA!!!!

It's now been 1 day since I had all of my hair shaved off.  Other than this blog that you have just read, I consider shaving off my body hair to be the absolute stupidest thing I have ever done in my life.  Easily.  Not only do I look like a complete asshole, but I have so many places on my body are in more discomfort than I could have ever imagined.  All joking aside, I really regret this whole episode.  Usually I'm all for something stupid if I can get a laugh out of someone, but not this time.  This sucks, and I'm an idiot.

P.S  On a completely separate note, the one positive experience from this was getting to meet Michelle and her husband Dave.  Michelle was totally cool and professional, especially considering that she was willing to completely wax a fully nude stranger.  When I get tired of repeatedly shaving all of my hair off, you can bet I'm going to go get my hair cut by her.  I hope she doesn't mind me giving her a plug, especially in a blog where I make fun of soldier's deaths.  I was joking, by the way.  Maybe I won't mention where she works after all.

Due to a shortage of employees, I've been working back at Carmike in a manger capacity the past couple of weeks.  It sucks.  I'll get off from Amsouth around 8:30, dick around for 40 minutes, and then go to Carmike until 1:30 in the morning.  Not only does it suck because being at the theater is miserable in general, but now my sleeping schedule has been thrown completely out of whack.  I had started to sleep at night, but now I'm back to sleeping during the daytime after staying up till 5:00 A.M.  If any of you know my habits when I can't sleep, then you know there is one place that I will at some point visit:

I love Wal-Mart.  For some reason, going to Wal-Mart at in the middle of the night fills my heart with joy.  Not only because of the amazing bargains, but because the oddest collection of weirdoes shop at night.  Crackheads, goths, amputees, rednecks, transvestites, people with that disease where your skin falls off-they all shop at Wal-Mart late at night.

I was especially excited about going last night, because it was hours before Valentine's Day, and every loser that forgot about it would be in a frenzied rush to get some heart-shaped Snickers.

As I pulled up, it looked better than I could have imagined.  The parking lot was nearly full, and all the registers were backed up with 20 people apiece.  I decided to pick up a case of Dr. Pepper while I was there (which I'll probably finish in the next hour).  As I walked to the back, I noticed there was an exceptional amount of patrons using the electronic buggies. 

Anytime you're at Wal-Mart, you're bound to see 2 or 3 of them.  Last night I saw 28.  And every one of them had cheesy Valentine balloons tied to the front of their basket. 

Every single one of them!  I don't get it!  Maybe they had to use them to get out of the buggy or something.  Whatever the case, there were a lot of fucking balloons on a lot of wheelchairs.

So I got my Dr. Pepper and found the shortest line I could.  Two spots ahead of me was an older lady in, you guessed it, an electronic buggy.  This lady had 12 balloons tied to the front of her buggy.  The cashier had to untie them in order to scan the code at the bottom.  When he went to tie them back, the old lady snapped,  "I can do it myself!  Just because I'm in a wheelchair doesn't mean I'm helpless!"  She looked like a bitch too; one of those miserable old ladies whose expression looks like she just gulped a big cup of piss.

She finally checks out, and a couple of minutes later, I check out as well.  As I was going through the theft checker thingy, I noticed the old lady was in front of me, headed towards the exit door.  Someone came in from outside, and due to the wind, you could feel a large amount of air get sucked out of the lobby.  I guess the old lady didn't tie her balloons back too well, because one of them tore off her buggy and flew towards the exit door.  I set down my drinks and made a grab for it before it went outside, but I couldn't reach it in time.  We both hurried outside, and saw the balloon floating upwards.  It was about 12 feet in the air when the old lady looked at me and said, "Well, use your little legs to jump up there!"  I turned and looked at her incredulously.  If you can't comprehend how high over my head 12 ft. would be, look at this chart.

I stared at the lady for a second, and then looked back at the balloons, which were now 20 feet in the air.  "Well, what are you waiting for?" the old lady barked. "Jump already!"  So, using all the leg strength I've got, I leapt, arms stretched out, a mighty six inches off the ground.  Which made me about a good 14 feet short of the balloons.  I turned to the old lady, and made a "well, I guess there's nothing we could do about it" gesture.  She looked at me and snarled "Some Valentine's Day hero you are!"  Then she scooted to her car enraged.

Also, Wal-Mart has 6-packs of Dr. Pepper bottles as 2 for $5. 

Can they ever stop being awesome?