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Thought I didn’t like Grease? Here’s Grease 2. (And Bonus Fat Chicks!)

13 Nov

from September 1, 2007

People say I don’t rant enough. Well screw that! I’m gonna rant baby, and about some serious nonsense too!

I was watching TV the other day and they had some real crap on. Not the usual crap- extremely crappy crap. Thanks VH1! Go to Hell. Anyway, I’d read some review somewhere online somewhere of Grease and thought I’d watch it since A- It was on and B- I wanted to do something nasty to punish myself for having the god-awful bad sense to be a teacher. Well, it wasn’t Grease. It was Grease 2. Two! Grease frickin’ 2! Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to make a Grease 2? Did Europe have a Bubonic Plaque 2? Did Princess Di have a second bad night in that French tunnel?

OK, I get it, the first one made money so they had to make a second. Like Battlestar Galactica became a worldwide hit (I’m bullshitting here- it was cancelled after like one season.) so they followed it with Galactica 1980 and it starred Lorne Green, an annoying brainy kid, and a couple of dicks who kind of sort of act like Starbuck and Apollo but weren’t Starbuck and Apollo. At least Johnny Bravo fit the suit! Where were the Cylons? They did the show without the freakin’ bad guys! They didn’t even have the damn robot dog! Who watched that show besides me? I got two words for you- Space Scouts. If you watched that show you know what I’m talking about . That show wasn’t just bad, it was a painful Ass-Hell show.

But Grease 2 (screw it- do your own underlining. And I ain’t gonna bother with no good grammar neither!) was worse. They took all of the background and minor characters and brought them back. They brought back the same sets. They even brought back the same plot! What they didn’t do was bring back the stars. Believe it or not, they cast a cast (yeah, cast a cast) of people even less talented than the original actors. I know what you’re thinking- “BULLSHIT! It’s impossible to cast a less talented actor than John Travolta. I saw Battlefield Earth!” But they did. Leading the cast is Adrian Zmed (snicker snicker ha ha!) “Zmed.” That’s one of those female things, right? Like a woman goes to the gynecologist for a pap smear and a zmed exam?

Here are the selected highlights of Mr. “Zmed’s” career from imdb.com:

-Shira-The Vampire Samurai

-Honey I Shrunk The Kids: The TV Show

-Little Insects, as the voice of “Sir Sneekleberry”

and 72 episodes of TJ Hooker, which I will claim to my dying breath is William Shatner at his finest.

Then there is some lummox named “Maxwell Caulfield.” I put that in quotes because I’m sure that’s an assumed name. How am I so sure, I just think so. Get it? I “assumed” it’s an “assumed” name. (Don’t like that joke? Tough. Like you’re paying for this?)

Here are some selected highlights of this jerk’s imdb:

–

That’s not a mistake- Grease 2 is, by far, the biggest highlight of his career. And it was his first credit! This dick sank even lower than Grease 2!

Genuine decent actress Michelle Puh-Fieffer is there. (Not that she’s any good here. This film would turn Anthony Quinn into Carrot Top.) I’m pretty split about her. She’s either pretty hot or pretty skanky depending on my mood. But then I remember that she did shit like this and I’m totally turned off her again.

The plot is- look, if you saw the first film you saw this one, but with two exceptions:

1- The songs are far, far worse.

2- The producers were geniuses! GENIUSES! DAMN RIGHT I’M PUTTING THIS IN CAPS! Get this- they gave the Danny part to the girl, and gave the Sandy part to the guy. Yes! They reversed the genders! WOW! (Damn, they should have done this in drag! It would have been even worse!)

As far as sequels go this is better than World War Two, but not as good as The Revenge of the Sith.

Damn, I love writing reviews where I didn’t actually watch the movie. After the opening credits I started to flip around the channels and found blog-worthy paydirt on BCAT- Brooklyn Community Access Television- AKA- “we’ll show anything.” This is a channel where anything gets on the air if you can pay the fee. Got a low-res jpeg of your dog? They’ll show it. Most of the shows are done by either

1- jerks who think they’re funny and rope in friends and family to film them doing “funny” things,

2- jerks who think they are smart and rope in friends and family to film them calling Bush a “dwad,” or

3- jerks who take their video cameras into clubs and mack on women.

DISCLAIMER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am going to be using very offensive terms to describe women. Now bear in mind I am referring to certain very specific women, all of whom are, and here I am being very very truthful, all of whom are over 450 pounds. Reread that again right here- over 450 pounds. So any of the stuff I say is directed solely at them and their big fat asses, not at all directed to any of the women on my friends list, all of whom are very slim, attractive, and sexy. You ladies know I love you, to quote Keith Hernandez.

Goddesses is a show by, for, and about extremely obese women. The purpose of the show is to show that big huge tractor-like women can be hot too. Let me clue them in- no they can’t! They have so much hanging flesh under their arms that they can trim it off and create a whole new person. They are all sweating badly under the studio lights. They all have eight or nine chins. They are big slobs! And I’m just talking about the parts that can fit in frame.

(And before you point it out- yes, I am overweight. But these women would be overweight if they were, say, a platoon of tanks.)

This show I saw had the “Goddesses” going to a club (that they rented) to have a fashion show (of clothes they designed) and dance with men (that they already knew.) Fine. No problem. Let them have fun. Let them delude themselves. I don’t care. If it makes them feel good to crowd 8 of them into a room with a capacity of 150, fine.

None of that was bad, really. None of that was a problem. None of that mattered to me.

Until.

The.

Wet.

T.

Shirt.

Contest.

THEY HAD A FRIGGING WET T-SHIRT CONTEST. THEY WALKED OUT ON  THE DANCE FLOOR IN THIN WHITE T-SHIRTS AND THE GUYS DRENCHED THEM WITH WATER. It was at this point that I went blind. Remember the part in Return of The Jedi where Jabba the Hutt had some girls dancing for him? One of the girls was big and fat and had eight breasts. The first girl looked like Both Jabba and the girl, stuffed in the same shirt. AND THEY THOUGHT THIS WAS SEXY!

It was not.

And the guys acted like this was a Girls Gone Wild video. Who are these guys? No, no, I really don’t want to know who would sell their soul to the devil and have to act like this turns them on and really have to go home and have sex with these house-like females. Some things should remain unknown.

This was train-wreck TV at its best/worst. You know it is awful. You know that it might harm you. But you can’t look away.

Still, it was better than Grease 2.

So I bet you’re wondering how much of this show I watched? Did I watch it all? Tape it and replay it? Do I secretly watch this in the wee hours of the morning? Christ, what is wrong with you people? I saw nearly 9 whole minutes of this before I ran through the channels again and finally settled on Spongebob Squarepants. Then I blocked the channel for good.

So to wrap this up, if you are ever up in the middle of the night and have to choose between watching Grease 2 or Goddesses, stick with Grease 2. This is the only possible scenario in which I would ever recommend Grease 2. Grease 2 may make you want to take your own life, but Goddesses may actually kill you.

Serious and thoughtful feedback is welcomed and encouraged.

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Mr. Know-It-All: Big Box o’ Bad

11 Nov

from March 5, 2007

Wow, it has really been a while since Mr. Know-It-All has been sober enough to type. Man, my life sucks. I mean, how many times can you wake up in a puddle of assorted bodily fluids next to a hooker going through your wallet and her pimp doing blow before you decide to sober up? For me it’s 182 and counting.

Anyway, the infrequency of this rambling, and probably misnamed, “advice column” is not in fact due to my sobriety, or lack thereof, but to a specific legal precept * and the qualifying corollary.**

So we come now to Harriett Cole. I am going to exclusively use letters from her column. I love the tools who write in to her. They’re even stupider than the average Jersey girl. But not as big boobed. (Just kidding. I love Jersey broads. And big boobs.) Here’s the first letter, and it deals with an issue that Mr. Know-It-All is an expert in: urination.

Dear Harriette:

I work with five men and four women in an office with one unisex restroom. Whenever a man leaves the toilet seat up, he is made to assume some actual law has been transgressed.

I think these women need to realize the female method of urination is, at best, equal to the male method, but not superior to it. It’s as much of a nuisance for me to put the seat up as it is for some women to put it down. In fact, I rarely ever need the seat down at work, but I am forced to put it up all through the day.

I have the impression a couple of women here connect the toilet-seat issue to women’s rights. What a mockery. Women act as if they have some type of entitlement in the restroom, but unless they have broken arms, they could carry on as men have and prepare the seat to their own liking without the absurdity of complaint.

Jack, New York

 

Oh man where to start? First of all, a unisex bathroom is great! If I had one around here I could take down all of my hidden web cams in the women’s john.

Next, the old question, up or down? Well Mr. Know-It-All may buck the trend around here, but the answer is down, at all times. Let me explain. I take more depressants, anti-depressants, psychedelics, and just plain booze than the average army. I don’t know how many times I’ve stumbled to the bathroom, using my last erg of strength, bleary-eyed and strung out, and just made it to the toilet. I plopped down, only to fall into the bowl because the seat was up. If the seat was down I wouldn’t have gotten a goddam wet ass for like the bamillionth time. It’s one thing if I get blasted and wet myself, I don’t need a stupid seat left up to do it for me. But I got to tell you, nothing will wake you up like a splash of cold water on your nads. I learned that in ‘Nam. And it’s not like I need the seat up anyway. I haven’t taken a piss like a man since I came down with my fourth case of syphilis.

And what’s with these women anyway? “Women act as if they have some type of entitlement in the restroom,”  Jack writes. What the hell is that all about? Women’s rights? Get back in the kitchen and bake me a pie. And don’t even think about voting. Who do think you are, Susan B. Anthony? Get out of the bathroom and back in the kitchen. (And if my mother is reading this, I blame it all on you.)

———————————————————————-

This next letter is written by a jerk.

DEAR HARRIETTE: In response to Sonny in New York, I saw something on TV about “women” from faraway countries asking for money. Do not send a dime! Chances are you are not even speaking to a female. The report found a man posing as a female in this type of scam. If you send the money, you will never see that person or the cash. Also, this “woman” will invent some sob story about how she couldn’t make it into the country for whatever reason but that she spent your money already, cannot get it back and needs more money. Like Harriette said, “Trust your instincts.” Run away! And fast!

Scott, New York

I can go so many ways here. I can go with the internet scam angle. I can go with the “fool and his money” angle. But I’m going with the men posing as women angle.

Let me tell you a little story. It was July 26, 2004. I was trolling around Red Hook at 4 am looking for a little friction. You’ve all done this. At 4 am you’re not getting the pick of the litter, but Mr. know-It-All spent most of the day passed out on a strange floor and this was the earliest I could find my car keys. Well, we’ve all been there. So I slowed up when I saw this [CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED]  and got her in the back and we [CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED] until it was raw and scabby, but when I [CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED] it was a man! So I [CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED] Long story short- I paid him double and met him the next night.

And here is a part of Harriett Cole’s “response”:

I received a few letters from people who wanted me to say that Nigerians as a culture are dishonest, because the woman in question is from there. I cannot make such a statement. It is dangerous to label a whole group of people in any way. I refuse to do so.

Mr. Know-It-All has no such morals.

———————————————————————

Finally, another pathetic loser who can’t solve her own problems and needs someone to think for her. I shouldn’t complain- without them I’d have no column.

DEAR HARRIETTE: Like many others, I lost a dear friend when our friendship collapsed under the weight of changing life circumstances, disappointment, resentfulness, an inability to listen to each other and sometimes outright cruelty. The dissolution of our bond caught us both off guard – we were closer than sisters, and I had never imagined my life without her. I have forgiven her for the hurt she caused me and I have been working on forgiving myself for the hurt I caused her.

However, we still share a mutual circle of friends – we see each other at gatherings. I wish nothing but the best for her, and I am happy to see and speak to her at these gatherings. But now she has indicated, and I have heard from mutual friends, that she wants to be friends again. I tried at least twice to reconnect with her on a more frequent basis, but old feelings led to quick arguments and unpredictable meetings.

Does forgiving someone mean you have to trust her to be in your life again? Does my reluctance to reestablish an ongoing connection with her mean I’m being unfair and haven’t truly forgiven her? I feel guilty every day for not being able to willingly reciprocate her feelings, but I don’t feel comfortable allowing her back in my life.

Vivian, Chicago

Vivian, you need to be like me. Hate everybody! Hate hate hate! Trust me- people suck! All they do is steal your car keys in a misguided attempt to stop you from drinking and driving. All friends do is try to get you into some clinic to dry out. All friends do is refuse to let you vomit on their new carpet.

Forgiveness? Did Mr. Know-It-All forgive his father for touching him in the garage when they were working on the car when I was only eight years old? Did Mr. Know-It-All forgive his ex-wife for stealing all his money and running off with the dry-cleaner down the block? The one who you just know could have gotten the stain out of my jacket if he really tried? Did Mr. Know-It-All ever forgive Mr. Giambucci, the gym teacher, for the “jock strap incident” in junior high? I’m still not over that one!

So be happy you lost some dead-weight and get on with your stinking life.

————————————————————————

So let’s recap this one, ’cause it was a doozy. Urination, cold nads, anti-women’s rights, my favorite cross-dressing prostitute, Nigerians, hate hate hate, and some incidents of my life that I still have nightmares about. No wonder I drink and inject cocaine in the corners of my eyeballs.

Mr. Know-It-All often wonders what the purpose of this column is. Is it advice? Is it an abject lesson in what not to do? Who cares? It pays the bills. Or in this case it buys the cheap hookers, booze and blow.

* Sometimes you feel like a nut.

** Sometimes you don’t.

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