Twin Pants: Twin Peaks Speculation

Anyone else watching Twin Peaks? I’m only aware of four people in my immediate life that are experiencing it currently. While the show seems to be popular enough from what I can tell, I’m sure the lack of exposed breasts every fifteen minutes is holding it back in the ratings. Statistics be damned, I’m loving it! Also, I’m a glad that the blabber mouthing Thrones fan aren’t on twitter the very next day with their gifs and spoilers. Not that Twin Peaks can really be spoiled. Gosh damn I love it!

I’ll admit there was a growing sense of frustration that could no longer be contained around episode six. Not much seemed to happen. It started with Wally Brando, I didn’t see a need to waste what felt like ten minutes on that dipshit. Sure, he was kind of funny and exactly the kind of kid Lucy and Andy would have raised, but we don’t have much time. Then there was Dougie and several other characters that I don’t give a flip about. I was having a hard time with meeting all these new characters when I was still concerned about what old characters were doing. We’ve only got eighteen episodes for sure. No one wants to be left hanging again. Not that we need to have everything explained to us.

I remember saying, “I don’t care if someone hacks this [streaming service] and deletes all the episodes. I wouldn’t stop someone from coming into our place and shooting our [streaming device].” Then I laughed like a crazy guy who’d been waiting for twenty five odd years* to find out what’s up with, not only Coop, but everyone else from Twin Peaks. Instead I’m learning about Wally, watching some guy sweep a floor, and Dougie.

I was broken as we tuned in for episode eight. I remember saying something about not caring anymore. There was probably an angsty “whatever,” in there as well. However, eight changed my perspective. Shit happened, then there was hopelessness as we flew through an explosion, then I became a believer.

My entire outlook changed. All I – and everyone else – had wanted to see was good ol’ Coop. We kind of got a dose of him in the first couple of episodes before he and Dougie switched spaces. Maybe that’s all we’re ever going to get! Yet, all anyone can talk about is Coop coming back. Somewhere around episode ten, I started to realize something. It’s crazy and needs a little explanation. I don’t know if I want Coop to come back.

Why not? Well, one of the Coops has to die. Which means there would only be one. I don’t want Good Coop (Gooper) to die, but Evil Cooper has done some shit. Not only a lot of bad things at a federal level, but many terrible things that have affected the people of Twin Peaks. One can’t stand before a judge and plead it was their doppelganger.

Right now, Gooper has his happy ending. A wife and kid, lots of money. Truly ignorance is bliss. Hold on, is all of that just as manufactured as Dougie was? Vegas is seen by many as a city of facades. Could this be another waiting room style place, a trap to keep Cooper in place? Diane doesn’t seem to be tracking quite right, is that a Dianeppleganger? Was the good in her used to construct Jane E.? Is Audrey still in a coma? Wait, did we already see the ending of Twin Peaks: The Return at the end of Fire Walk With Me? Did Coop take the doorway back into Red Room in 15?

Did anyone else pick up on how portentous and referential The Veils ‘Axoltol’ was? Axoltol being an amphibious fish salamander that can regenerate missing limbs. So something that really isn’t something. Also, the ghola growing tanks in Dune were called Axoltol tanks. Ghola’s were genetically grown people with some modification here and there. Possibly some hidden ones. In some cases, they were clones of very important people. This is probably what Lynch was actually interested in when it came to Dune, but he never got that far.

* I did watch a good portion of Twin Peaks during it’s original run. I skipped chunks of season two. Yet, I remember watching that final scene, turning to my parents and asking what the heck?

Darth Vader: Space Dick Head

Face it, Darth Vader was a bad dude. The mere mention of his name, if it were even spoken aloud, sent chills running down the spines of all that heard it. Made their b-holes shrivel like deflating balloon. He could lightsaber duel like no-one’s business and force choke people when he was feeling blah. When truly uninitiated, Darth Vader could order people to blow stuff up for him. With nary a care in the universe. He didn’t care about the people that he killed. They were vermin and beneath him. Darth Vader had no feelings. Well, not good ones that The Beach Boys liked to sing about.

Before becoming the love child of death and a badly in need of service vacuum cleaner, in a metaphorical “I hate Mondays” T-shirt, Darth Vader was known as Anakin Skywalker. A good looking, sniveling, whiny, business in front, party in back rat tail wearing douche which no one particularly cared for, except Padme and JarJar.

To the detriment of tension, he happened to be good at everything he did. Fighting, jumping, flying, sniveling, were all in his wheelhouse. Which happened to be the reason why Palpatine was interested in him. If one is going to play an intergalactic game of dodgeball, then one should pick the best person for one’s team.

That’s exactly what Palpatine did. However, he didn’t want Vader to be too powerful. To that end, Palpatine manufactured some restraints into that suit. This would hopefully prevent Vader from overpowering and killing his master. Something that happens to every single Sith Lord at some point in time. So much so, that it leaves one wondering why they continue to take on apprentices.

The biggest limitation though was the helmet. There’s no denying that it looked cool and threatening, especially with the skull like mask. However, it had a secret. One of those things that, once it’s seen, cannot be unseen.

Everyone was absolutely one hundred percent terrified of Darth Vader. That was the only reaction anyone could have. Terror. That is until a plucky rebel trooper Chet “Amazeballs” Phasall pointed it out. The thing that couldn’t be unseen. Darth Vader’s helmet looked like a dick.

That was the cherry on top of the black cowl 1970’s sweat suit combo. It looked like Darth Vader could run a 5k on Hoth and be ready to take a bullet. He had a dark lustrous voice that sounded like silk that’d been run through the wash a thousand times. Then there was his mask, both skull like and yet, very alien at the same time. Yet, none of it was worth a dime once people realized he looked like a space weiner.

On top of all the limitations of the suit that kept Vader’s power in check, he had to have phallic head gear. It was all too much. Eventually, Vader tracked down Chet and made an example of him. A year later Rogue One happened. You can see that Krennic still couldn’t unsee the helmet.

The first post after a break ain’t easy. Even if I started writing well before said break.


Nintendo Classic: Revenge of The Virtual Boy or Wii U

A ways back I wrote this charming piece about the Nintendo Classic. In it, my abject skepticism for the Nintendo Classic was expressed. I had no hope and wasn’t looking forward to feeling like a T-Rex when holding the controller. Then I saw one in action and my stance softened. Then Nintendo killed it with no specific reason given, but I believe I know why.

Turns Out I Was, Somewhat, Wrong

My friend, Oregano Scrupplesworth, had thrown caution to the wind. Even after reading my post. It’s nothing short of big ol’ dumb bravery to ignore the words on, but that is what Oregano did.

When he approached me with a smug look and said, “Come here, I have something to show you.” I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe he bought a new guitar or a puppy! Next thing I know, I’m at his desk feigning enthusiasm for this thing that I’ve slandered. I was relieved when he told me he had read my post. Not only for narcissistic reasons, but I could also drop the act and was able to speak a bit more freely. Open up my mind. Lay my opinions on the table and prepare to take in the good stuff that I may have ignored.

Meanwhile… Nintendo Classic Is Dead

Days later, for some reason, which was not specifically called out, but has lead to much speculation, Nintendo discontinued the NES Classic. It seemed like a weird move because people still wanted one and Nintendo simply didn’t want to make more. Maybe it was because of hacking and cracking, maybe it was that they said they were going to make the SNES Classic.

Regardless, people looked up to the dark rain cloud laden sky. Their eyes closed – except for the nerds wearing glasses – to keep all the rain out. Some let loose a roar so ferocious and long that it it turned into a gurgle once their mouths filled with rain. Their pants got muddy (*gasp*) their respective mothers will be so upset.

I on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief. The time spent at Oregano Scrupplesworth’s desk and softened my opinion. Sure, the controller cable, at one point in time, had been destined to become a nunchuck for the Wii/WiiU. That is until, the demographic that enjoys playing games while impersonating an epileptic T-Rex, petered out and moved on. Yes, the Nintendo Classic only had thirty games and people would have to hack it to get more. Oh, the sound was kind of weird. Was there sprite flashing? I think there was, but I can’t be sure. I think I commented on it because I wasn’t expecting it to happen.

Yet, there was something magical about it. The pixel perfect mode was great, the controller was responsive and the UI seemed like the creators cared. In other words, it had shortcomings, but it was a quality product. Unlike similar consoles that do the same thing, but craptasticly.

The Heroic Procrastinator’s Journey’s Destination

I had left Oregano’s desk fully prepared to write, Nintendo Classic: Maybe I Was Wrong. Yet, I didn’t for a myriad of reasons. Most of which involved me doing something else instead. I pondered purchasing a Nintendo Classic, but standing in line and paying an arm and leg for something because of scalping? That dog will not hunt! Now, I’ve written and you’ve read* this.

Ah, I do have one possible answer as to why Nintendo killed the Nintendo Classic. Not owning a Nintendo Classic has given me a lot of time to stare at the wall and come up with theories. Who wants to play video games?

I remember like it happened yesterday, back in nineteen ninety – whatever- Nintendo released the Virtual Boy. It was a giant, strobing, colossal failure. That was the moment when kids realized that Nintendo wasn’t perfect. Not very many people bought one. Fast forward twenty years to the Wii U or as I like to call it, the Virtual Boy 2. Similar story there too. People didn’t know what to do with it and they really didn’t want it.

Nintendo is just showing us not to bite the hand that feeds it. We did this to ourselves!

I’m going to go play Dreamcast!



Covfefe: Obligations and What-Not

The ‘Fefe Was That?

Not meaning to toot my own horn, but “toot-toot!” I went the entire day without sayin’ boo. Covfefe? More like covwhofuckin’cares? I’m going to take high road travelled by grumpy old men and look down on anyone who jumped on the bandwagon. For shame!

So gloats the great horn of irony! It’s not lost on me that this post is a contradiction, but I needed something to write about and I might as well go where the money is.

What the hell was it all about anyway? I can’t be bothered to google it or look into much more than the shallow end of twitter, but I believe it was intended to be “coverage.” I typed it like I was playing accompaniment air guitar on a Jim Brickman song. Meaning, so gently I didn’t depress a single key.

My investigation concluded with substantial evidence that everyone is an idiot. The person who typed it, the people who jumped on it and made it go viral, me for writing this. We’re all in this together! We just spread a virus. Symptoms include shrinking of hands and being an idiot. Covfefe, catch the fever!


See you in the funny papers. Which now happens to be every paper.


Simon and Simon: And The Case of Teaching Us How To Love Again


Admit it, you hear the slide guitar in your head. That scratchy riff. The bumping of the kick drum. You may be heading off to the internet to track down the theme song, so let me help you out. Let it jog your memory. Let it carry you off to the memories of yesteryear. Ah, such a great song!

Now, I’m not going to act like I was a huge fan of the show. I was ten when it was canceled. There is no Rick cosplay costume in my closet. I never attended the Simon and Simon Con and Con. In fact, I don’t remember that much about the show. No episode is stuck in my mind. Hell, I had to google their names. When I read Rick, it rang a bell, but Andrew “A.J.” Jackson didn’t really.

The show was about two brothers. One who had gotten too big for his britches and moved to, not only the big city, but Cali-forn-I-A. While the other stayed behind and then went off to ‘Nam. For some reason, they decide to open a Private Detective agency. Good times ensued and conflicting differences occurred. Mr. Fancy pants A.J. was the well-to-do, practicing Catholic, book smart guy who played by the rules, mostly. Meanwhile, Rick was never seen without a combination of a mustache, denim or cowboy boots, yes, even in shorts. He was surly, ornery, and in general rootin’-tootin’.

Needless to say, their case solving styles were different. Sometimes one of them wanted to punch a guy, while the other one figured it was best to hit said guy with their truck then punch him. Even so, they were able to put aside their differences and solve over one hundred and fifty* cases. Still, there is one case they didn’t solve. A case they didn’t even know existed. For the crime wouldn’t be committed for almost thirty more years.That’s the Case of the Divided people!

Coast to coast. Urban to rural. Facebook to twitter. We’ve quickly become people that can’t fathom speaking with someone on the “other side.” Compromise isn’t a word we seem to be familiar with. All we want to do is to keep posting our one-sided feel good, won’t convert anyone’s thoughts memes.

Here’s the thing, even if they wanted to solve the case, they couldn’t. Simon and Simon, could not exist right now. Not in the current bi-partisan polar opposite climate. Not in the fake news thumping, finger pointing, dick wagging, hear no republican, speak no democrat, see no – whatever – bullshit spree we are on about. If it did, it would bomb when one of the two groups easily offended snowflakes started complaining. Either Rick is too much of a racist redneck or A.J. would be a fast talkin’ sissy. Take your pick. In truth, neither one would actually be offensive to anyone except the snowflakes.

Yet, I would argue that we need Simon and Simon. Now more than ever! The only way they could solve this case is by demonstrating acts of brotherly love and acceptance. Rick and A.J. could easily show us how it’s done. Extending the hand and not giving into the temptation to strike one another in the mouth.

Come on Hollywood do it! Bring it back! Get Gerald McRaney and Jameson Parker back in there. If it makes you feel better, I’ll even let you cast Danny McBride and James Franco or Zac Efron. Make it a bit more of comedy if you’d like. Don’t go dark with it. Opening sequence, two brothers step out of the voting booth, as the place their “I voted stickers” on their lapels, they look each other dead in the eyes. A tense moment passes and then, a good ol’ brotherly rivalry fueled eighties fight scene ensues – please include a water fountain. Because let’s face it, Rick and A.J. would have voted for Trump and Hillary respectively. Sure A.J. may have toyed with the idea of Gary Johnson, but he eventually came around.


*This is based on the assumption that they solved one case per episode.


Back In Your Ass With The Resurrection

Where the hell have I been? That weekly post sure didn’t come out last week. Nor was there any sort of little post saying what the hell was going on. Well, let me say that I’m sorry about that. I’ve been sick for days for damn near weeks. Yesterday was the first day that I actually felt and looked better. For days prior, yes, I was getting better, but I didn’t look it or sound it.

Sleazy chills, snotty nose and a cough that sometimes came with prizes and at other times, just wanted me to break a rib. In other words, I was gross. No one should have had to witness me. I probably would have been wet to the touch if my sweatpants hadn’t been “wicking” it away. My mind wasn’t in the game. I’d tried to do some writing and I barely got through the first three sentences of this post. Later I would have to rewrite it anyway and change the tense.

So I stopped and played World of Warcraft instead. Yeah. This is actually what I was going to write about. Two fridays ago, I resurrected my WoW account. I should say, I created a free account. I resurrected my account about five days later and have already let it slip into a state of disuse.

Anyway, as I created that free account, it felt like I was drunk. Like I wasn’t in control of my own actions. As if I were watching through my eyes as someone else controlled me and was doing some seriously squirrelly and out of character shit. That moment that I clicked okay and I was the proud owner of free account. I dismissed it, thought I probably wouldn’t really play. Told my wife and we both laughed it off.

Over the course of the next three days I took a character to the threshold of level 20 – for free. It was fantastic, I met other players. We LOL’ed, we killed stuff, we danced in some town. It was everything I remembered and yet better. I hadn’t played in ten years and that last bit was more dabbling that anything, but this seemed significantly different. I could solo like crazy. There wasn’t any wasted time. Tons of quests whose goals were in the same area. Go get this thing and kill ten of these things while you’re there, oh and grab five of these as well. Dopamine, anytime, all the time.

I liked it! That’s why I resurrected my old account and they gave me seven free days. Then, I realized how shitty my old characters were. I played for hours and didn’t run into anyone. So I made a new character on the server my free character* was on and leveled him to eighteen in one day. Not a full day mind you, just a normal sick day with some reading and acknowledgment of my wife’s existence.

It was still fun, I was into it. However, I was starting to feel better and WoW demands attention. It’s a thing that requires upkeep and time. Just like other important things in my life do. That’s why I had to let it go. Sorry, I can’t keep up with you, but you sure are fun.

*They can’t mingle for some reason

The MySpace Exodus of Two Thousand Whatever


The Rise, The Plague, The Fall

MySpace, remember that? It still exists and at one time, scrolled sideways in an effort to be cool. My page is* derelict and full of plug-ins and quizzes that no longer exist. Remember how easy it was to take the default page and turn into a late nineties DIY blog’s interpretation of a Las Vegasian nightmare?

Someone once said that MySpace was founded on three principles. Skanky pictures, of skanky people, doing skanky things. That isn’t an exact quote, but it is damn close. It may also be only one principle. Either way, they were right, so very right.

MySpace started its descent from popularity around 2007. Facebook threw the first punch and everything else swarmed it. Someone flipped on the lights and the skanky people scurried away like plague infested rats scrambling from a sinking ship. Problem is, they took up residence on the surrounding icebergs, in other words, the new cool social networks.

Back In Your Ass With The Resurrection

A while back, I discovered a vein of skanky people on twitter. One follow back and the next thing I knew, my feed looked like it was straight out MySpace. In other words, the digital equivalent of watching from behind the curtain as the neighbors have a naked fist fight in the front yard and, as the cops pull up, their toddler – the one with tattoos – steps out on the porch shooting a .44 while dropping bombs of the eff and cee variety. Then Ron Jeremy shows up. It was 2004 all over again!

Have you been to MySpace lately? It’s rebranded cleaned up and seems to completely be about music. No one gives a fuck about Tom. I assume he is either chugging beer at the frat house in the sky or moved onto other marketing opportunities. Unfortunately, he left his skanky friends down here.


Written at Ikea while waiting to return something, refined at home.

*Was. Now it’s shut down.

New Viewing Context: The Three Amigos Is The Sequel To The Wild Bunch


Over the Family Day long weekend, I watched a lot of westerns and horror movies. It had been awhile since I got to wallow in worlds with tons of death and no indoor plumbing. There’s something fantastically liberating about going into a movie and knowing that at least ninety percent of the cast is not going to make it to the end credits. I won’t list everything that I watched, but The Wild Bunch and Bone Tomahawk were on the list.

Seriously, what’s the deal with Bone Tomahawk? It’s great! I really liked it, but that PG rating lulled me into a false sense of security. “What’s the worst that could happen, little bit of blood, little bit of swearing?” Nope! There have been countless horror movies that I’ve sat through. So many that I’d started to think I’d seen it all. That was until I bolted up right on the couch. I won’t spoil it, but it really made me wonder what the criteria for getting a rating above PG is.

Anyway, The Wild Bunch – which got an R rating like it should and didn’t make me turn on all the lights in the house and start re-watching The Strange Calls after – was also great, better than great. One of those westerns from the 60’s and 70’s. A time when people knew how to make westerns. The films would transcend the genre and convey a deeper meaning through metaphor. Everyone was bad and wrong, none of that John Wayne hero crap. Also, I loved how the first fifteen minutes is an argument against gun carry laws and having guns in school. It’s practically a left wing funded PSA.

After the first half hour, I started to realize a few things. Some similarities between The Wild Bunch and The Three Amigos. At first, I thought it was just coincidence or wishful thinking on my part – then I would be able to write another New Viewing Context. Yet, after awhile the coincidences turned into homages.

The same songs permeate the background sounds of both movies. The locations look very similar, as they should because both movies take place in Mexico. Not only are the settings similar, but both films take place in nearly the same time*, with maybe five years separating them.  This conclusion is based on a Wild Bunch conversation surrounding the car and how there is a flying one. Airplanes are a bit of a mystery to the characters. However, in the Three Amigos, we see a plane and it’s fairly common. Lastly, two suit-wearing Germans show up to strike deals with the main villains of both films.

There was a lot of potential for a blog post just from the homages and similarties. Then came the big one and with it, a little spoiler. Alfonso Arau is a bad guy in both movies. In the Wild Bunch he is Herrara,  some tertiary right hand guy. In The Three Amigos he’s El Guapo, the crazy bandit leader. We never learn El Guapo’s true name and Herrara’s fate is, somewhat open to interpretation. Sure, he’s shot in the shoulder, but seriously how fatal is that in movie logic? Not only that, but many people in The Wild Bunch tend to roll saving throws against succumbing to bullets, no matter where they are hit.

So, here it is.

Herrera’s shoulder was on fire where the god damned gringo had shot him. Yet, it didn’t stop him from standing up and looking at all the death the surrounded him. The compound was in shambles, Generalissimo was dead, and it would take a good week to clear out all the bodies, even more for the blood.

In other words, the society he had been a part of, had crumbled. The easiest thing to do would be to follow the line of survivors out the door and into the desert. That’s what he did, making sure to keep his head down as he passed the remaining gringos.

He walked for days, maybe even weeks. During that time, he was able to figure out where it had all gone wrong. Generalissimo had gotten too big and gone national. If he’d only stayed local and terrorized a few villages everything would have been fine. Everyone would still be alive.

Herrera remained lost in a daze of thought until, he passed a bush that was manically singing songs. He realized that he could not recall what happened to the people around him and that he was alone. Then he came upon the invisible swordsmen. They had a nice chat and Herrera laughed deeply when the swordsman sarcastically said that Herrera was, “Muy Guapo.”  He had needed a good laugh.

The next day he arrived at the village of Santo Poco. Herrera strode into the cantina, introducing himself as El Guapo and recruited all the near do wells to his new army. Then they went back to the fortress and cleaned it up as best they could and began a reign of terror.


Go watch a movie!


*Both movies take place in 1913.

Sweatpants Theatre: John Wick, Action Flick For Dog Lovers or Art House Film On The Elusive Female Orgasm?


I’m a pretty busy guy, my dance card is almost always full. For that reason, it’s taken me awhile to watch John Wick. A movie that almost everyone with a penis in my life* can’t recommend enough. Described as stylish and sleek with lots of death, it totally sounds like something I’d totally be into. While that description is apt and the movie delivers an assortment of ass kickings in urban settings filled with noiry darkness and douchey club lights, there were a few things that I didn’t like.

For those who haven’t seen it yet, don’t worry this thing is mostly spoiler free, not that there is much of an opportunity for spoilers. In order to have spoilers, a movie must have a plot and landmarks along the journey. Which are two things John Wick tricks the viewer into thinking it has, but does not. What passes for a plot is really just a trigger that leads to an anthology of fight scenes that happen because someone said they needed to. And because there is no plot, there can be no landmarks.

What I Didn’t Like (Besides The Obvious)

Alright, spoiler warning ahead. This is going to be the only spoiler. You’re a smart person, you know what to do.

What kicks off the story is one of those off-beat trigger things that one would expect from Chuck Palahniuk and sound like it would be hilarious if John Cleese and Terry Jones wrote it. However, none of these folks did. So, no matter how quirky and cynically ironic the premise is, it never seems funny. It also doesn’t help that the characters speak about it in serious dismissive tones the entire movie.

Alright, enough beating around the bush, time to rip off the bandage. Prepare thyself for the spoilers. Some twatty mobsters son, played by consummate weeny Alfie Allen (Theon Greyjoy) kills John Wick’s dog. Which is the last gift from his recently deceased wife. Not only that, it’s a puppy! Who kills a puppy? It was a bit too macabre for me personally. Maybe the writers are cat people and think they are super funny because their mom has always told them so. The entire point never seems to spread its quirky wings and ends up being void of dark humor it so craves by the end of the movie. Yet as a dog lover, I was hungry for revenge.

More of What I Didn’t Like

The characters, for the most part, seem to know it would be better to avoid John Wick, but do nothing to improve their chances of survival. It’s almost like a 80’s slasher flick where the viewer roots for the psycho killer. John Wick’s location is always known. Hell, everyone seems to know where everyone is. I mean, they’re old gangland acquaintances. No one seemed to move on up to the west side. Same old haunts, clubs, lofty penthouses. Yet that doesn’t really put anyone in real danger. Not the kind of danger the danger producer’s could produce. Threat is governed and throttled for the sake of screentime. I don’t recall seeing such truly insipid characters since Prometheus.

The plot as a whole, looks like a EKG reading for a patient in stable condition watching C-Span while eating saltines and water. There simply is no climax, just a few people vying for the spot of main antagonist/”the person voted most likely to have their asses handed to them next,” and doing things to piss off John Wick. It was strange to realize that there was no climax. No sense of closure. No tension. John is a super character, I mean an almost zero fault character. There is also rarely a point where he is in a near death situation that he can’t get out of on his own.  When he is – which is hard to believe after seeing him kill one hundred and forty people – the script fixes it easily enough. It just didn’t seem like he should really screw up.

What I Liked

The fight scenes are what this movie is all about. Of course with two stuntmen at the helm, how could they not be. There’s lots of interlacing of martial arts and guns. I found myself wondering how much cooler Equilibrium would have been with action sequences like this. Then I thought, “And the award for Movie Most Likely To Have Benefitted From Being Written By Kurt Wimmer Goes To -”

The Continental Hotel and, in general, the movie’s world building and history are pretty cool. That’s all I’m going to say about that.

Well, that was short. Oh well.

The Verdict

I’m not saying that I need my action movies to be so cerebral that they need to be directed by Werner Herzog. Their stories don’t need to be so serious that I ultimately end up seeing Paul Giamatti put Maggie Smith through a table after she does the splits and punches him in the Tom Johnson’s nutty uncles. However, having respect for the story and having believable characters whose actions adhere to what they say is really important.

If it were sex, this movie would be supremely frustrating. Sure, it would be really good looking sex with plenty growling and bangs. But there is no climax! It just drives around the block for an hour and a half, but never really gets you there. And when you think it’s done, it turns out it has another thirty minutes in it.

If you like action movies, check it out.


As always, I love the likes, shares and comments.

*Are you cringing.

Blog Post or Dark Souls: Choose Your Own Blog Post

Blog Post or Dark Souls


It’s that time of the week when  I release a new blog post. Yet, the call of Dark Souls has been too strong. I haven’t played it in over a year due to my controller dying and me being a huge cheap ass. Needless to say, I have a new controller and fell in love with that gosh dang game all over again. I’ve hit that point in the game where I can smugly tank bosses and hit them when I can. A few more hours and this playthrough will be done.  Seriously though, how many of you are here to read about me playing Dark Souls? Not very many, but I have a game for you to read about you playing me playing Dark Souls – if you so choose.

Choose Your Own Blog Post!


You’re a slightly pudgy thirty something sitting in front of a computer. You’re pretty cool guy, fairly respectable, have a big red beard and plenty of friends. What is that you’re doing?