Monthly Archives: February 2020

 

Dear Fox News anchors:

Yes, of course I’d like to be respectful of your religion. And I understand it was Ash Wednesday. But for crying out loud, those black smudges on your foreheads make you look like clueless buffoons.

 

 

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Coronavirus

 

 

Is anyone else beginning to feel a bit like Will Smith in I Am Legend, or Charlton Heston in The Omega Man, hunkered down in your house and watching news reports about the end of the world (above)?

You go ahead and stock up on bottled water and canned beans. I’m going to run out and get a dog and a bust of Napoleon – or whoever that dude is with whom Heston plays chess.

 

 

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Perhaps it’s just another reminder that I’m getting old, and if ever there was a “first-world problem,” this might be it, but the age of streaming TV shows with long story arcs is playing hell with my brain cells. For example: Better Call Saul (above), a great series, last week premiered its fifth season. I love the show, but it definitely places demands on a viewer’s recall.

Not only does Saul employ a complicated time-frame structure – lots of flashbacks and flash-forwards – but you must remember: 1) how the plot (and Saul) progressed during the show’s first four seasons; 2) the entire five-season run of Breaking Bad, a show of which Saul is heavily intertwined and acts as a sort of prequel … although it might eventually become a sequel – who knows? Characters who died in Breaking Bad are alive and well in Better Call Saul. At least I think so.

Like I said, this is a first-world problem; nothing to lose sleep about.

 

 

Tomorrow, another show I’ve been watching and like a lot, Babylon Berlin (above), premieres its third season on Netflix. I fully expect to have the same kind of recall issues with Babylon that I have with Saul, but with the added burden of subtitles.

Poor me.

 

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It was not a great week for legendary director Steven Spielberg.

First, the news broke that his adopted daughter Mikaela is embarking on a career path no doubt made possible by her father’s fame and fortune: She’s going to be an Internet porn queen.

Then, the Web site Crazy Days & Nights ran a blind item linking Mr. Hollywood to sordid behavior regarding child actors. You can read about it here.

 

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Girl on the Third Floor

 

Girl on the Third Floor is further evidence that a talented director can take a silly ghost story and, with skill and creativity, deliver more than a few goose-bumps. C.M. Punk plays a no-account husband who, after cheating on his pregnant wife (Trieste Kelly Dunn) with a sexy blonde (Sarah Brooks), gets his #MeToo comeuppance at the hands of some angry female spirits. Director Travis Stevens uses the creepy old house the errant husband is renovating to good effect. Too bad Stevens’s efforts are undermined by a weak script. Release: 2019 Grade: B-

 

Trieste Kelly Dunn

 

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Donald Trump’s unhappy about Parasite (above) winning the Best Picture Oscar. I haven’t seen the movie, so I can’t comment on its quality, but I do have a question about the nomination categories.

If a foreign-made film is eligible to win both the international and the regular best-picture awards, then shouldn’t American-made films also be eligible in both categories?

 

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There is much fuss about the 40th anniversary of the U.S. Olympic hockey team’s triumph over the Russians. I recall my college roommates’ excitement while they watched the game on our dorm-room television. I, however, left the room to do something else.

Sorry, but hockey bored me then, and it bores me now – and I live in Minnesota, the so-called “state of hockey.”

 

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The item above is from a satire site. Sadly, it sounds like something she might actually say.

 

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Michael Bloomberg took my cigarettes away and he wants to take your soda-pop away. That’s all you need to know.

 

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Legal marijuana vs. illegal marijuana, sanctuary cities vs. ICE, etc. I blame all of these problems on Nevada.

After all, wasn’t it Nevada that started all this trouble between states and the feds when it legalized prostitution and gambling? I mean, once you have something and I don’t, I’m probably going to want that something.

Unless it’s coronavirus.

 

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Commercial Hell

 

What good is running a Web site if you can’t, from time to time, abuse that awesome power by using the site to vent about your pet peeves?

Answer: no good at all.

And so I am going to bitch about TV commercials that are driving me insane. If I have to watch them, then you have to read my complaints.

 

 

I cannot stand the chick pictured above, allegedly the “fittest woman on Earth.”  She is so fit that she no longer resembles an actual woman. In fact, were it not for her high-pitched, nasal voice, I would suspect that she is actually a man. And the music in this commercial is weird. Also, what the hell is goli.com?

 

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GEICO makes funny commercials. Liberty Mutual does not. Liberty Mutual foists aggressively unfunny ads on the public, like the obscenities featuring the young actor pictured below, who garbles his lines and sends viewers into paroxysms of laughter.

Not.

 

 

Continuing its relentless assault on all things actually humorous, Liberty Mutual decided that the blooming idiots pictured below are our new Abbott and Costello, or Laurel and Hardy for the 21st century. They are decidedly not. They make me want to vomit.

 

 

Last but not least, there is “Randy A.” in a My Pillow commercial. I can’t quite put my finger on why, but he makes my skin crawl when I hear him whine about getting a good night’s sleep “so I can do my job in the morning.” I desperately want to ram several My Pillows up Randy A.’s ass.

 

 

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Are we all required to refer to this guy by the nickname, “Mayor Pete”? That’s way too cutesy and familiar and I refuse to do it. He is not my buddy. I suspect everyone calls him that because no one is quite sure how to pronounce his last name.

 

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I am ranting about TV ads this week because some self-loathing Swedish airline made a commercial trashing Scandinavian culture by proclaiming it doesn’t exist. The culture, that is, not Scandinavia.

I am of Scandinavian descent. Everyone is just jealous because Scandinavia has the hottest chicks. 

 

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by Mary Stewart

 

Why, you might reasonably ask, would I read a 58-year-old book by romance novelist Mary Stewart? OK, let me try to explain.

I was motivated by a mixture of:  a) nostalgia, b) a hankering to read what they call a “cozy” mystery and, last but not least, c) fond memories of … Hayley Mills. She starred in Disney’s film version of the book.

So sue me. Go ahead, sue me.  Moon-Spinners fulfilled my wish list.

By today’s standards, the story is certainly “cozy.” There is no sex; just romance. There is violence, but nothing graphic. There is no swearing. On the whole, it’s very tame stuff, which I suppose is good or bad, depending on your taste.

The plot concerns a young English girl living in Greece who, while on holiday at a small fishing village, stumbles on a gang of thieves, a murder, and a kidnapping. Throughout all of this drama, my mental image of the heroine was Hayley Mills. I enjoyed that, because Mills was my childhood crush.

So sue me.

 

Footnote:  As for the actual title of this book – to hyphenate or not to hyphenate – I give up. Take a look at this:

 

 

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“There’s nothing more dangerous in this world than a pretty girl. Her good looks blind us to all the horrors that go on in her brain.”

– Rip van Dinkle, above

 

 

 

We listened to some of the Amber Heard/Johnny Depp audiotapes. Poor Amber definitely comes off as a frightening psycho. However … Depp seems a bit too level-headed, a bit too “voice of reason” and Mr. Wonderful in the tapes that, presumably, he made and leaked.

But yeah, there’s no excuse for pooping in a dude’s bed.

 

As for AOC and her boyfriend … we’re taking them seriously, because we’re quite certain they both hold degrees in sociology and psychology.

 

 

Harvey Weinstein, bless his heart and deformed genitals, seems to have channeled Van Helsing warding off vampires when it comes to pretty girls: Rather than using holy water, Harvey disarms them by peeing on them in the shower.

 

Because Amber’s poop is once again in the news, we thought it was a great time to examine her pooper:

 

 

Hard to believe that so much mischief could come from such a cute rear end.

 

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From our Twitter feed:

 

 

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Quiz:  Which country do you consider a bigger threat to the United States, China or Russia?

Problem:  If you say China, you can be accused of being racist. If you say Russia, you cannot.

Could that be the reason the Democrats so relentlessly demonize Russia, but not China?

 

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Dinkle vs. King

 

 

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You’re at a bar and a stranger tells you a horrible secret about your spouse. Oh, no! So you go to your next-door neighbor for advice about what to do, and while consulting with your neighbor he receives a phone call from the police: His teenage son has been arrested for some shocking crime. Oh, no! Meanwhile, the cop who arrested the boy finds out that her father is actually a notorious thief. Oh, no! Right after that, we learn that everyone – you, your neighbor, the teenage boy, and the cop – has foolishly posed for nude photos which are now circulating on the Internet. OH, NO!!

That’s pretty much the formula of these Harlan Coben stories that pop up on Netflix. Bombshell revelations pile up in such rapid-fire succession that you don’t really have time to think about how silly most of them are. But it’s absurdly entertaining.

If you’re in the mood for that sort of thing, check out 2018’s Safe or this year’s The Stranger (pictured above).

 

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If Elizabeth Warren fails in her bid to become president, what do you bet that she blames her hapless husband for saying “no thanks” to having that beer with her?

 

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So they are delaying the final impeachment vote until Wednesday because senators want to give speeches. Oh, joy.

Can’t we just get it over with so that we can all move on to the next scandal?

 

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Michael Bloomberg vs. Donald Trump: I guess the argument goes, “It takes one billionaire asshole to beat another billionaire asshole.”

I won’t say which is which.

 

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The worst thing about the Super Bowl is that, once a year, we have to watch all of these pansy celebrities pretend that they are just down-to-earth, regular folks who like to watch football. In other words, Deplorables.

 

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I wanted to refresh my memory about Katelyn Faber, the Colorado teen who accused Kobe Bryant of forcibly butt-pumping her in 2003 (Bryant paid her off to avoid a trial). These are the photos that popped up on Google:

 

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I don’t know about you, but to me they look like half a dozen different girls.

 

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Speaking of hotties … the picture above is of Caroline Collins, news anchor for Youngstown, Ohio. Good lord. Why don’t my local anchors post pictures like this?

We’re guessing that Collins gets a lot of boorish, immature comments about her (voluminous) Web postings. Like this one from an expected culprit:

 

 

 

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