Sunday, April 4, 2010
"You're black and poor."
Imagine you gave me a million dollars. I know, I can't be trusted with a sum of money that large, as I would spend it all on overly-ripened nectarines, and then they would turn before I could make a huge smoothie to fill the Grand Canyon. But let's assume hypothetically, that I could be trusted with that money. You trust me, okay? Then you give me the money, and then I say "How quaint!" then I turn around and burn it. I just get out a lighter and gasoline and then I just burn it.
Does that make sense? Does anything make sense? Does Lost make sense, or did they just throw a bunch of dramatic scenes together into a nonsensical hodge-podge, making the whole thing up as they went along, just to deliberately confuse the audience, which they hoped would be perceived as plot depth?
You're absolutely motherfucking right; you're confused and nothing makes sense. That's why you have wise gurus of knowledge like me to explain things. Like Jesse James cheating on Sandra Bullock.
First of all, if I were Jesse James (and I'm not), I would do a few things: Act like I just took a bottle of Xanax 24/7, build motorcycles, ride motorcycles, dress like a cholo, and listen to hardcore rock. One day, I get famous and make a trillion billion billion dollars and I'm like "Holy shit!". Next, I can get any girl in the world, so I pick a Hollywood actress, and not a trampy trainwreck one like Tara Reid. However, despite my great success, obviously, there is a significant difference between Hollywood Actresses, who send their pets to spas, and Biker Dudes, who buy pets primarily as weapons. It's like a Muslim marrying a Danish Cartoonist. It's a volatile mixure. Next, Actresses work 18-hour days on movie sets and then travel around the country on a promotional tour, so they can't tend to their hardcore biker husbands. Aw.
Now, I don't support Nazism. I learned long ago through playing Wolfenstein 3D that Nazis are bad for the environment. So if given the chance, I would fight a cyborg resurrected Hitler in a roof-top kung-fu battle to the death, because that's just how I was raised, with my midwestern values. That's why I disapprove of Jesse James' choice of Michelle "Dykeshell" McGee as his Cheatee. If I were him, I would change the mistress to Iliza Shlesinger or possibly Sarah Simmons. The next thing I would differently is not get caught. An essential element to any decent obliteration of oaths you swore to the creator of the universe in the presence of your closest human relatives is remaining undetected. This can be done with the new German invisibility cloak, or simply cheating when nobody is looking. Make sure nobody is looking. Because people look, those fuckers.
To make an exceptionally long story short, if you being paid millions of dollars, it'd make you pretty damn important, so you wouldn't sit around waiting for your movie-star wife to come home, because you're a celebrity, damn it. No guy gets famous thinking, "I can't wait to get rich and famous, because then I'm going to be celibate, live with my parents and drive a Saturn!"
The fucking end.