1000 Things We Hate #153: Jonathan Pierce

15 04 2011

you make me sick

So, I watching the live streaming of Coachella on YouTube today, waiting around for Interpol (naturally), and I caught the set of The Drums. At first I was intrigued. They started off with a good solid song that had plenty of potential in its own right. I thought I might like it. But oh, how very wrong I was. I tried desperately to ignore the Dennis the Menace attire, but it was really hard to shake. Watching this reminded me of exactly why I hate most of the bullshit that’s been coming out recently. And what’s with the whole 90’s thing?! When were the 90’s EVER cool?! There was nothing cool about the 90s. All I remember was Queen Latifah’s hat and Blossom. See?! Nothing to speak of; let’s just pack away our rollerblades and overalls somewhere and forget the whole thing ever happened. But now, all of a sudden, its “hip” to wear the mom jeans and cropped t-shirt combo again? What has become of us?! World, whatever you see coming out of the states, ignore it. This is the worst possible representation of this generation, just so you know. And Jonathan Pierce is only furthering this stereotype.

I'm shocked that someone would put this on, look in the mirror and say, "Allllriiiight, good to go."

Fuck this guy with his stupid fucking bull cut and fucking oversized stripped tee tucked into his high-waisted 90s jeans. Actually, Ian put it best when he said he looked just like Stuart from those fucking Mad-TV skits. That’s right, Mad-TV. So fucking 90s. Fuck that guy. Fuck everything about him. You could tell there was this putrid arrogance revolving about him. He was just so 90s he even made a reference to Fresh Prince by doing the Carlton dance. Unless… I guess I haven’t quite decided if that was just the way he dances or what. If it is, that is just possibly the saddest thing ever. Thanks again fucker for showing the world that white people really can’t dance. But then, if he was just making the reference than that just makes me fucking angry. Angry enough to hunt him down like Ice-T in “Surviving the Game”; and yes, I would be on a four-wheeler and everything.Oh Gary Busey, you know just how to touch my heart.
What was with that weird, vaguely south-london fucking accent that would pop up every once in a while?! YOU’RE FROM FLORIDA. It was like he was trying desperately to just straight up be Morrissey and then at other times it was like he was mimicking David Byrne from the Talking Heads. I just felt so confused and alone, and I didn’t want to keep watching but I couldn’t help it because it was just becoming such a spectacle that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the page and at the same time I felt the need to go Oedipus and scratch out my eyes with a couple of pins. This is almost as bad as Dirty Beaches. But not really, because that’s the worst trash I’ve ever heard. Thanks Pitchfork for hyping some piece of shit dick bag trying to bring on lo-fi rockabilly. Its like listening to early Elvis, but over an AM radio station that broadcasts 100 miles away from where you are. Sorry about that detour. I’ll move on.

Fuck me. I mean, I realized they’re going for that “post-punk” sound or whatever, but this is just fucking ridiculous, you can’t just take all of your favorite bands and just mash them together and call it good. Because that’s all it was. Well, I guess the only thing that distinguishes him from the others mentioned is that for some reason he had a thing for making this awful noise that just sounded like he was choking on a hotdog. I mean, I don’t know if that’s what he was going for, but that’s what it was, and he kept doing it, to the point where half the song was just him choking on a hotdog and gagging a lot. In all reality though, I couldn’t help but with he were choking just so I wouldn’t have to continue to hear him squawk and Carlton all over the fucking stage. And the dance! Stop fucking dancing! Watching him made me want to grab him by those little fucking blonde hairs on the back of his neck and repeatedly bash his face into a cement sidewalk screaming “EAT SHIT CUNT!” over and over again until blood starts dripping out of the corners of his mouth and all I can hear are the weak gurgling whispers breathing “Stop, not the face”. And I will laugh. Boom. Bitch.
Oh, and fuck YouTube for broadcasting this bullshit instead of Odd Future. I really fucking appreciated that. Didn’t waste my time with that or anything. Dicks.

1000 Things We Hate #134: Modern Adaptations of Classic Literature – Part 2

23 01 2011

Yes it does.

Let us be frank for a moment and discuss the subtleties of “Bram Stoker’s Dracula”, the modern adaptation of the novel, Dracula, by Bram Stoker. What the fuck is this load of shit? When I watch it I feel really uncomfortable (sexually) and I almost always have to have a couple forties nestled next to me on the couch so that I can drink away my shaking depression. All of that because I’ve watched this movie.

Winona in her lesser known film...

Quite normally I’ve never been opposed to the works of Francis Ford Coppola. But here, he took an incredible piece of classic literature and took a literal dump all over it, and all over my heart as well.

Don’t misinterpret my hatred. I grew up watching Bela Legosi’s “Dracula” of course, as well as the numerous acts of Christopher Lee. But in all of this I was able to separate myself from the book. Sure, many of those movies did not follow the plot of the story either but they made it their own by separating themselves from the book.


Coppola did not make this decision. Instead he decided to go directly to the source of the title and call his abomination “Bram Stoker’s Dracula”. Here there was no mistaking the origin: BRAM STOKER’S DRACULA. Alright, so you’re expectations are set from the very beginning. This is supposed to be an accurate film interpretation of the novel Dracula by Bram Stoker.

This Book

First thing’s first, never EVER title your film after a work when it doesn’t even follow the storyline. Sure plenty of filmmakers have done it in the past, but they’ve always changed the name, or shortened it. Either way, they didn’t make this films fatal mistake: including the name of the author in the title i.e. “Bram Stoker’s Dracula”.

First of all, what were you thinking when you knew the setting of the film (England) and casted Keanu Reeves? Seriously. He has a hard time acting already, but throwing an accent on him like that?! Come on. That was just mean. I feel bad enough for him, but think about your audience sitting through two hours of up and down, in and out. It’s like losing my virginity all over again, and that was bad enough the first time.

Come on. We're talking about the flaming bus guy here!

And the bad accents are not merely restrained to the acting of Reeves, Winona Ryder is no fucking better. Well, maybe a little better.

Half this dialogue was entirely made up, and most of the shit that happened in the movie certainly NEVER happened in the book. So, thanks for the history lesson dick wad. I understand that you wanted to humanize Dracula. But the purpose of Dracula is to materialize desire. THAT’S WHY HE’S NOT HUMAN IDIOTS. This is not a love story. This is a story about pure sexuality and its repression in society. No one gives a fuck about your stupid love story.

What was up with all the rape? Now, yes the novel is riddled with very sexual scenes and hints, and the possibility of rape or strange sexual encounter is never excluded. But to put it bluntly, no Werewolf fucked the shit out of Lucy in a maze. THAT NEVER HAPPENED. There was no fuzzy dick rubbin’ itself raw all over this girl, such an act was never even implied. Yes, Dracula could turn into a wolf, and a large one at that, yes, but when did he morph into this seven foot tall half-man half-beast to rape somebody? Why?


And what was with the giant half-man half bat scenario?


Or even the orgy? That came from nowhere.


And Mina NEVER loved Dracula! He immortalized desire, but she never loved him. You’re missing the fucking point. And she certainly never made out with him as he was corpsin’ it up in Transylvania.

fuck this.

This film is more than frustrating. It’s a curse to my soul. Why Coppola?! WHY?! How could you do this to me and all of your fans? You have only shamed yourself in this endeavor. This movie sucked. And simply doing research again for this article makes me want to throw myself into oncoming traffic. Good day.

1000 Things We Hate #131: Modern Adaptations of Classic Literature – Part 1

29 12 2010

There is, naturally, potential for modern adaptation for most classic works. I’m not saying that it cannot be done right. We have seen it done beautifully many-a-time. For instance the Coen Brother’s adaptation of the Odyssey could not have been better with their film, “O’ Brother Where Art Thou.” However, a strange disease has begin to run amok, and has been since the 90s, in which filmmakers feel it is appropriate to take a classical work such as Emma or The Illiad and strip them down of all their worth and turn them into something so disgusting that the story itself is no longer prevalent whatsoever.

What I mainly came here to talk about was one adaptation in particular. Yes, there have been plenty of terrible ones, but this one really takes it for all she’s worth. This inferior work I speak of is none other than Baz Luhrmann’s “Romeo + Juliet”.


Oh, where to begin. I suppose we’ll start with the first thing that I’m sure threw everyone off, the dialogue. Yes, I love that they decided to stick with the original dialogue and dialect. However, what the fuck are ten kids in the 90’s talking like that for?! That specific dialogue belongs to a very specific time period. You can’t just take it all and stick it in the mid-90s. I understand if you wanted to keep the beauty of the language but the point is to keep the beauty and the poignancy of the meaning of the dialogue. If you’re going to make it modern make it modern all the fucking way. That just speaks to the laziness of the writers. If you’re not even going to take the time to decipher the language and put it into a modern context than you’re a fucking fool who is wasting your own time as well as that of your audience’s. I hope you get hit by a bus for putting no effort into life.

I get it, “its like putting a new context to an old idea man.” We’re not trying to cater to the MTV generation with Abra in grills, okay? If you’re going to put this story into a new context you must be clever about it. YOU DON’T PUT ABRA IS GRILLS!!! Let’s just pause here for just a moment while we ponder on this one together. GRILLS! Did you fucking see that?! He was wearing grills!! Does that not disturb you?! Because it scared the fuck out of me.

This is the only picture I could find of this character. But beneath those taunting lips are a set of golden grills! I swear it!

And what the hell was John Leguizamo doing there? Him doing Shakespeare was like watching a old grizzled cat die on the side of the road. John Leguizamo, don’t you ever do that to me again, ever. Then again, I can’t really count on much from you except that cartoon misfit voice of yours.

I just can't take this look seriously.

This is not the same as Gangland. All of the pretty, violent, shoot-em-up scenes were worthlessly directed. And the dialogue did not help the already awkward acting, making it part Shakespearian, part western, part mid-90’s shit-fest (and I mean mostly mid-90s shit-fest).

Come on.

I don’t put this blame on all of the actors of course. The director is where I put most of this blame; if you can’t pull an incredible performance out of a talented actor than you’re not worth anyone’s time. Because there were talented actors on this film, but their potential was not brought forth to the screen because the director was not there to guide them. This is why there was countless errors in continuity. Here is the full list: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0117509/goofs

Also, it was not necessary for every actor to have his shirt unbuttoned. I mean, really? Was that necessary? I didn’t even get to see the one chest I craved! Paul Rudd’s. Let me just say, why Paul Rudd? Why? How could you disappoint me so by doing this.

It's supposed to be like this!

NOT like this. And I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be TIME, but TIME would never write an article like that. Retards.

Tell me it for the money, the hot sex, the underage girls! Tell me anything and I will understand, as long as you don’t tell me that Baz Luhrmann is a genius sent from Orson Welles’ right hand.

It was even a disappointment to see Radiohead on the soundtrack. But everyone makes mistakes; this is an official warning.

Making this kind of stuff as a joke is one thing, quite in the likes of Tromeo and Juliet. But its quite another when you’re this serious about making trash.

Join me next time for Part 2 in this series: “Bram Stoker’s Dracula”.

1000 Things We Hate #94: The Fair

11 08 2010

They make it all look so exciting and harmless.

Ah… the fair… one of the foundations of summertime in America. And consequently the Devil’s personal, yearly vacation spot/single gateway to the world above.

After all this hard work his arms hurt, he needs a cool-down place. What better place than the grandest display of the decay of humanity?

Every year the filth from around the state crawl out of their holes to make way into town for their favorite event, for all the candy, watery beer, alarmingly hazardous rides, and all the fat-dripping, artery-clogging goodness their stomachs can handle.

What the fuck?!

How could this not be the devil’s favorite vacation spot? He must come for the same reasons: for the people watching. Think about it, all the mullets and belly shirts you could ever dream of – in one place! It’s more of a dreamland than anything; bad magicians and worse comedians prowling the tents for one last pity laugh, ear-scratching karaoke, poor talent, and a washed up Gallagher (yeah, the racist).

oh you...

Somehow, every year I get wrangled into going to the fair. I don’t know how it happens; either going with my Ma to keep her company, or my dad giving me free concert tickets. And this year, having moved out of town entirely I figured that I would finally break the slippery pattern. However, just like any other, I got wrangled into it. This time my father had produced two free VIP passes to see Weird Al (everyone’s first childhood love), and free passes into the fair.

that zany.

Well, we had no excuse to not go; so there were we, on that familiar road towards the towering flames of hell: the fair.

As soon as I walked past the gates the air smelled mysteriously of fried dough and ten cent hookers. Just look down, keep your eyes to the ground, focus on the ground and get to the event center as quickly as possible. And maybe, if you’re lucky, you won’t run in to anyone. That’s the worst part, running into people. You always run into the worst of ‘em too, at the fair, always the same bunch of gross dickbags who hit on you, stared at your boobs, or made racist remarks during highschool. No wonder they’re there really, but the hard part is that you’re in their territory now, and they’ve pissed Miller Lite all over that goddamn place.

We all know these guys.

Drink a real beer assholes! It’s never a pleasant experience to run into these people. There’s always the awkward exchange of glances or the even more awkward few word conversations. I try to avoid this at all costs, not because I’m embarrassed to be there, I would just like as little human contact as possible while I’m there. That’s all. Not that much to ask, right? Luckily I had a trusty body guard this time, so that I could jump behind him at any given moment. I like havin’ him around.

We stopped to get some food, which of we avoided most.

For good reason. Mmm... mystery food on a stick. Always a classic. And it probabaly cost eight dollars

Fair food is always expensive. Shit, everything is expensive there. And for what reason? None other than to suck the soul out of consumers for shitty goods. As I recall it costs ten dollars for a small drops of dough to be deep fried and covered in powdered sugar. What the fuck is that?! Most of the food there is worthy of non-stop shitting for days on end, and by the time you’re through you’ve excreted 60-70% of your body mass and you either pass out from exhaustion and dehydration or you just plain die.

This is what you look like after that kind of expulsion of fluids.

We found the least sketchy looking cart; Mexican food is always a good choice (unless it’s made by white people. Fuck you Taco House!!!). We ate our burritos as fast as possible and made a jumpstart for the event center to grab a couple of seats.

Luckily, we got there unscathed, shoved our Weird Al tickets into the sweaty palm of the toothless collector at the door and marched inside. The place was packed. Mullets and women with sideburns were like candy. We found seats at the back of the VIP section, next to two drugged out Weird Al fanatics with notably ass-length hair and baggy jeans. When the show started everyone rose to their seats. Luckily we were right behind an older wheel-chair bound man, so we didn’t have to stand up and could see perfectly well. All in all the show was pretty good, I must admit that there were some rather hilarious moments.

Yep. That pretty much sums it all up.

It was shockingly better than last years show when I went to see Peter Frampton with my Ma and sister. Old women were throwing their brassieres and oversized undergarments onstage as the lighters came out scattered vaguely across the audience. And I’ll never forget the blasted old woman down front in a long white skirt grinding up against a young, awkward hormonal teen, begging for any kind of a boner.

We didn’t stay for the rest of the show, we left right before the encore so we could go and look at the animals. And you can’t even cuddle with the bunnies! Which ought to be against the rules. Let me play with them! They’re so soft. That torturous display only made me want one more.

I need all of this.

To sum up my hate for the fair: gross people, food, shows, talents, and you can’t take home the animals! All severely disappointing. And let’s not forget the fucking traffic to get out of there. My god.

So, all in all, fuck the fair.

It really is Hell!!!!

1000 Things We Hate #91: Riding in Cars with Cats

8 08 2010

That’s right, just like that one movie starring Drew Barrymore and Steve Zahn, except minus the pregnancy, marriage, and heroin bits. Well, alright, there was only a little bit of heroin involved; but it was only used to calm the nerves!

Alright, so there’s no one left in town to watch our beloved Catman,

Catman "Emperor Xerxes"

and last time we left him home alone for a few days he freaked out and probably nearly drowned himself.

Ending it all.

So, foolishly, we decided to bring him along this time so that he didn’t get too terribly lonely. We pack up the car and are ready to go; he’s got his litter, his overnight bag complete with lazar pointer, tennis ball, food and water bottle, and his beloved bean box (that’s right, it really is just a box filled with navy beans).  We can’t really afford a carrier for him, but figure it would do just the same to stick him in his box. We’re ready for our three hour trip on the road down to the big CO; it can’t be that bad, right?

Wrong, bitches.

Wrong. We were so unforgivably wrong. My god. Five minutes down the road Catman begins to cry, but we figured it would end, it always does. Ten minutes down the road we’re hit by heavy traffic, backed up from Portland to Salem. Twenty minutes down the road and Catman is still crying a high pitched scream every other second and we’ve barely hit the south tip of Portland. Ian is breathing hard and frustrated, trying to keep the cat down in 90° weather and tells me to turn the car around and that he’d rather just stay home with the cat for the weekend. But we shove on. We’re sweating profusely and ready to bash his head against the dashboard as it takes us two hours to reach Salem, normally a forty minute (if that) drive. We’ve done everything at this point, mostly including baby-shaking him, which normally works right?

After a good baby-shaking.

I mean, it ought to scramble their brains about a bit to the point that they don’t know where they are and shut the fuck up. But, I guess through trial and error we discovered that the confusion caused by baby-shaking a cat only makes them more upset and induces more screams. We give up and let him run around the whole car screaming as he jumps over boxes and crawls under seats trying to shimmy his way beneath my brake pedal (I honestly think he was trying to kill us).

That's right. Fuck you guys.

After three hours of nonstop screaming Catman finally calms down and falls asleep head first in a bowl on the floor.

Usually like this.

And a couple hours later we reach our destination for a scream-free three day weekend. However, as soon as we pack up the car to return home and put him in the backseat the screaming starts again as he claws frantically at the taped-up, busted in window. We didn’t get the luxury of him falling asleep this time. No, he screamed from Redmond all the way back to Portland, all 180 miles of it.

I think I would rather throw him in the bag and toss him in the river than do that ever again. And I love that goddamn Catman. Bastard. I’m never travelling with cats again, ever.

You're lucky I love you so much Catman.

1000 Things We Hate #88: Wuthering Heights

29 07 2010

Talk about the most overrated book in all of fucking Romantic Literature, and I’ve read a lot of it. Let’s be honest here, this was the longest episode of Passions I have ever wasted my time on, and I’ve watched A LOT of Passions. The characters are unnecessarily overdeveloped, or should I say exaggerated, to the point of being utterly unbelievable. I would have to say that the episode where witches steal a baby from a hospital is more believable than this, and that was pretty fuckin’ out there. (Alright, that’s a bit of a stretch, I know).

soooooo gooood.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it, Heathcliff is supposed to be the physical portrayal of the wild soul of the moors, whatever. There’s so much shitty symbolism I would rather slit my own throat than be forced to read that through again. But that doesn’t mean that everyone’s reaction to just about everything has to be so over the top that they feel the need to yell and shout and punch holes through walls all the fucking time (okay, it wasn’t a wall, it was a window, same thing). It’s just overdramatic to point of extremity. (And I thought I had seen enough of that in the eight years or so I did theatre. I guess I was wrong.) This is just a bad soap opera drawn out too far.

Terrifying. Thanks a lot Ralph Fiennes.

I won’t doubt that the book has a good structure. I’m not doubting that at all. In fact, the book has a very interesting structure that carries the story through to the end. However, the structure does not make up for the contents, by which I mean the complete lack of making believable characters. You can make a good story out of what you’ve got going on, but the characters were so over the top and absurd that it made it entirely impossible to follow them through the story to the end with any sort of attachment. Oh wow, that guys bein’ a douchebag AGAIN. Not surprising in the least. I realize that this is fiction, and that it does not necessarily have to be believable in the common sense of the word. However, I do believe that even in fiction there has to be a certain spark of believability within the characters so that the story is coercive. Without that it doesn’t make much goddamn sense, now does it?

Yeah, that's right, they did that.

There’s a lot of revenge in this story. Everyone has to get revenge for something or other, and I felt that there weren’t well-enough explanations for their actions. Some things in writing you should leave to the reader, but others you should certainly not leave in the dark. And I feel like their characters were, to an extent, left in the dark.

I realize that this post isn’t that funny. I’m just angry to the point of being almost entirely serious, which almost never happens. So, please, bear with me, I’m just venting. Maybe I take this kind of stuff too seriously. I’d rather read Jane Eyre any day over this.

Way better, I recommend it.

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Romantic Literature, give me Shelley (be it Mary or Percy), Wordsworth, Coleridge, or Keats any day. I just have a thing against poorly executed literature that is over publicized and overrated as being better than it actually is. I realize that many people would disagree, and that’s fine. You can think what you will, but you’ll never be able to change my mind.

1000 Things We Hate #87: Hummer Limousines

28 07 2010

Is this entirely necessary? Really? I mean, you might as well just wave your cock out your goddamn window. I’m sure it’s very small. That’s probably why you make up for it by spending exorbitant amounts of money on something as useless as a ride in a hummer limo so that when you pick up your lady she won’t be as angry with you when she reaches in your pants to play with your manhood only to discover you haven’t got much of one.

You'll need one of these.

Let’s look at the facts behind the Hummer Limousine, shall we? An 18 passenger Hummer Limousine gets EIGHT miles to the gallon. A regular limousine gets about 13 (if you’re lucky), which is not much better. But 8 MPG is simply inexcusable. They actually have to pay a gas guzzlers tax to the government to make up for all the pollution that they’ll emit over a lifetime. However, I think that a mere tax is not enough for this grotesque expendable novelty.

I didn't think wooden floors were necessary in a fucking car!

Let’s face it, the only reason you paid so much for something so ridiculous is to prove how awesome and powerful you are and that you’re oozing with manliness and money. However, the only thing it really proves is that you are, in fact, just another fucking asshole. Nothing shows more powerfully the chauvinistic, consumerist nature of your intent. You’re not only deceiving the world with the size of your dick, but also yourself. You’re not that macho of a guy. Sorry.

He probably drives a Hummer Limousine.

It’s the classic case of lying to yourself so much that you actually begin to believe it. It’s nearly a prat of our nature, is it not? We hate to admit that we’re wrong. I think you can take accurate examples from our government, “We’re POSITIVE that there are weapons of mass destruction.”

Looks like we dun screwed up.

or in the mass media, “We here at FOX News see Shirley Sherrod as a filthy racist and a destructional force in our government that is clearly in the government’s plot against the good white people of America.” (Alright, that last one wasn’t a direct quote at all, but it might as well have been.)

You're right, she does look like a potential racial terrorist.

But the facts all come to the same conclusion that retards like you don’t look at the wider spectrum of facts in order to make good, honest decisions in life. And when all evidence points against your decision, your lie becomes your truth. Emphasis on YOUR.

I think that the issue is that you’re swimming in your imaginary ego. You want to think you’re all that, but in all reality you’re in dire need of attention, to prove yourself to the world that you’re somebody “look, I’m being carted around in this Hummer Limousine, I must be a total badass.” Nothing could be further from the truth.

Let’s not confuse ourselves though, I’m not trying to discriminate and put all the blame upon the males in this issue. I clearly need to point out the role of the female. And any female who buys into this ploy or finds this confusing attempt as “impressive” are inexorably foolish. And I for one refuse to associate myself to this unforgivable sect of females. They give us a bad name. Though, I myself am indeed part man (I like to think).

She'd probably fuck you in your Hummer Limousine. I mean, I hear she brushes her teeth with Jack Daniels. She'd probably fuck just about anything if you got her drunk enough.

There are plenty of other ways to impress your ladies. Get creative. We like that.