Thursday, June 17, 2004
If the Feeling of Forced Anal Rape Was Made Into a Movie, This is What It Would Look Like
Let me say this before I start: I love my girlfriend. I really do. We've been going out for 18 months now (as of tomorrow) and she means everything to me.
That being said I have to talk about her weird, freaky fetish. I'd use another word for it, but fetish seems most appropos in this situation. You see, my girlfriend has dragged me to more shitty movies than I can possibly count, without much explanation. If a god-awful movie has come out in the past 2 years, chances are she's dragged me to go see it. Thirteen Ghosts? Rented it. The Hot Chick? Oh yeah. Eight Crazy Nights? Opening weekend. Texas Chainsaw Massacre Remake? Damn straight. JESUS Chainsaw Massacre? She doesn't even believe in Christ and we went to watch it. And that's only a partial list of some of the worst. But today; TODAY. I was shocked, I really really was. She gave no explanation and, if she didn't have her hand down my pants, I would've been a lot more vocal in my objections. But I wasn't strong enough, and we went.
The horror.
THE HORROR.
GARFIELD: THE MOVIE.
It was like the King of Cartoons ripped 5 bucks out of my wallet, sat me down, pulled his pants down and shit on my face. The movie amounts to this: a big orange fuzzy lump of shit skittering about and making jokes lame enough to PREVENT THE CHILDREN IN THE AUDIENCE FROM LAUGHING for less (thank Saget) than 90 minutes. If Jennifer Love Hewitt's sexy ass wasn't bouncing around in miniskirts and dresses, I may have gone blind, my head spinning around as I vomit pea soup and stab my dick with a crucifix. I was amazed that Bill Murray didn't get whiplash after going from the extreme top to the extreme bottom of his career between 2 movies.
I only laughed one time in the entire movie, and that was when the credits started rolling. Granted it was the kind of jittery uneven laughter you usually only hear from mental ward patients, but laughter it was. I think I've started blocking it from my memory, because I honestly can't remember exactly what happened in the fucking movie, and it ended at 4. So in summary, I will be forever truamatized by this. You just wait; in another 4 or 5 years, there will be groups especially for people who watched Garfield: the Movie. All of us sitting in a circle, babbling and shaking "Don't eat the lasagna, Garfield. No Garfield, no.....don't kick Odie...Garfield...no! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!"
Throw this on the list alongside Cat in the Hat, How the Grinch Stole Christmas and every Transformers spinoff they've done since the original series: another childhood memory raped of it's bonnyness.
And if anyone ever attempts a Calvin & Hobbes movie, I swear I'm gonna go buy a gun.
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Let me say this before I start: I love my girlfriend. I really do. We've been going out for 18 months now (as of tomorrow) and she means everything to me.
That being said I have to talk about her weird, freaky fetish. I'd use another word for it, but fetish seems most appropos in this situation. You see, my girlfriend has dragged me to more shitty movies than I can possibly count, without much explanation. If a god-awful movie has come out in the past 2 years, chances are she's dragged me to go see it. Thirteen Ghosts? Rented it. The Hot Chick? Oh yeah. Eight Crazy Nights? Opening weekend. Texas Chainsaw Massacre Remake? Damn straight. JESUS Chainsaw Massacre? She doesn't even believe in Christ and we went to watch it. And that's only a partial list of some of the worst. But today; TODAY. I was shocked, I really really was. She gave no explanation and, if she didn't have her hand down my pants, I would've been a lot more vocal in my objections. But I wasn't strong enough, and we went.
The horror.
THE HORROR.
GARFIELD: THE MOVIE.
It was like the King of Cartoons ripped 5 bucks out of my wallet, sat me down, pulled his pants down and shit on my face. The movie amounts to this: a big orange fuzzy lump of shit skittering about and making jokes lame enough to PREVENT THE CHILDREN IN THE AUDIENCE FROM LAUGHING for less (thank Saget) than 90 minutes. If Jennifer Love Hewitt's sexy ass wasn't bouncing around in miniskirts and dresses, I may have gone blind, my head spinning around as I vomit pea soup and stab my dick with a crucifix. I was amazed that Bill Murray didn't get whiplash after going from the extreme top to the extreme bottom of his career between 2 movies.
I only laughed one time in the entire movie, and that was when the credits started rolling. Granted it was the kind of jittery uneven laughter you usually only hear from mental ward patients, but laughter it was. I think I've started blocking it from my memory, because I honestly can't remember exactly what happened in the fucking movie, and it ended at 4. So in summary, I will be forever truamatized by this. You just wait; in another 4 or 5 years, there will be groups especially for people who watched Garfield: the Movie. All of us sitting in a circle, babbling and shaking "Don't eat the lasagna, Garfield. No Garfield, no.....don't kick Odie...Garfield...no! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!"
Throw this on the list alongside Cat in the Hat, How the Grinch Stole Christmas and every Transformers spinoff they've done since the original series: another childhood memory raped of it's bonnyness.
And if anyone ever attempts a Calvin & Hobbes movie, I swear I'm gonna go buy a gun.
