How to Burn Bridges and Become an Impregnable Fortress of Hatred

I've been asked on several occasions how to successfully ignore individuals who seek to cause you emotional pain. "Jay, how do I stop caring about people who say mean things about me" - I suppose that, since I have made it my job or, at least, a hobby, to spit verbal bile on a near-weekly basis, some people get the idea that I'm somehow immune to shit-talkers and those who dislike me.

This is true.

Youtube isn't competitive. The only contests that exist are ones we either manufacture for ourselves, or enter into voluntarily. As I said in my video earlier this week: ultimately, we're just making stupid stuff for strangers to look at. Due to the anonymity of the internet, as well as the almost 100% control one has over the content they produce (unless they're a sellout...I'll return to that point shortly), and the wide accessibility of that content, we get the opportunity to be as intimate or as extrinsic with our fans/viewers as we like. Real life isn't nearly this customizable, but the defensive skills I've honed (a word which I very much hate) in my experience with making videos are transferable. With that in mind I thought I'd provide a list of things that've enabled me to actively badmouth people while remaining unfazed when I'm given the same treatment.

• Stop making unimportant things important. Without disclosing too much about how much success I've had thus far, I can assure you that the videos I make are about a 80:20 split between self-enjoyment and actual financial success. If I were a "creator" for any reason other than because I like doing it, I would've quit years ago. It's not lucrative for me; it's a source of personal entertainment. As with anything one does purely for oneself, whether or not it's a big deal to others shouldn't be a priority. THIS IS TRUE OF ANY ARTISTIC ENDEAVOUR. If you're creating, you should do it for yourself, and not with the hopes that others will enjoy it, or even give a shit. At least that way, it's a pleasant surprise when you become recognized for your effort. I appreciate every minute that any stranger has wasted watching my videos, and the reason I appreciate it is because I don't expect it to happen. The only opinion you truly have to live with is your own, so the important thing is to do what you can to make sure your opinion of yourself one you can live with (be it high or low). Negative words from outside sources are of little consequence when you're old and alone. STOP CARING ABOUT WHAT PEOPLE THINK OF YOU. Consequently...
• Lower your fucking expectations. This'll be short. If you suspect that whatever you're doing is going to be a monumental disaster, you'll be elated when it turns out better than that; more often than not, it will. Similarly, if you imagine that your public image is generally garbage, any time you receive any kind of support or appreciation, you'll pay greater attention to it than if you think you deserve it like a pretentious cock juggler. People who believe that they are in any way entitled to anything are the worst kind of people. You're entitled to food, oxygen, and a rectum that isn't currently being raped. Anything else should be treated as a bonus.
• Frequently welcome hate from all sources. The vitriol I blast out into the internet puts me in a position where I'm basically begging to be hated by everyone. Any reputation I've accrued over my time on Youtube is one of and relating to bitterness, negativity and worthlessness. I go out of my way to generate umbrage. I'm like a perpetual motion machine that, instead of energy, creates an ocean of frowning faces. Insensitivity is my wheelhouse. The creators of South Park once said that they could get away with anything, because if someone is offended by their content, another person will check them immediately by saying, "Well, it is South Park. What else do you expect?" Toby Turner's main channel is a mess of promotional advertisements disguised as actual content and the fact that he has a television show about a fictional character who is experiencing real life as if it is real boggles my fucking mind and I wouldn't complain if he had a heart attack or something equally detrimental to his health. Matthew Santoro is a short bald man whose girlfriend is a Yes-Man in a woman's body and her job appears to be nothing more than repeating what he says until she forgets what words mean. -- I can say these things because my social status is DECREPIT ON PURPOSE. The easiest way to overcome hate speech is to accept it. Bathe in it. Internalize it and return it productively. NOT POSITIVELY, mind you. I mean...you can if you want. I don't control you. But I prefer my way. In addition...
• Wholeheartedly believe that you're garbage and love every second of it. Again, I don't control you, and this strategy isn't for everyone. Some people are ill-equipped to handle having a negative opinion of themselves. Sensitive people will have a hard time embracing self-loathing. However, living in a metaphorical pit frees one up to do almost anything they want with no fear of any kind of effective repercussion. You can't say anything to me that will hurt my feelings, because I do not have any feelings to hurt. The darkest jokes are the ones that make me smile the widest. Definitely when they're about others and especially when they're about myself. Self-deprecation is the greatest way to develop a skin so thick that dragons will be calling you and asking to make armor from your hide.

The real bottom line here is that being shit on doesn't matter (unless you're literally being shit on because that is probably the worst. Unless you like that, in which case you're a sick fuck and get out of here) unless you allow it to. It's easy to ignore - even embrace - hate from all sources. The only person you have to answer to is yourself, and if you can do that with contentment, you'll be fine. If not, that's all you have to work on. Forget the rest.

As one of my favourite bands ever so eloquently put: "Lower your standards to lower than they have ever been before. When you start laughing in the middle of a horrible, mind numbing, financially devastating, morbidly depressing and pathetic situation, you are living at the top when you're at the fucking bottom."

The Guest (or, Don't Ruin the Fucking Movie)

Here's a fun story.

I know some people who, during a movie, will complain about the lack of realism in a particular scene. "He wouldn't be able to walk with that leg wound" - "nobody could survive that fall". What nobody mentions, however, is that if there is someone enjoying a film for what it is, there is no iota within them that gives a hot shit about whether or not anyone believes it to be true, and I'll tell you why.

Unless you're aiming to portray a story realistically, or stay true to real-world source material (ie. military films which are based heavily on true events, or stuff like Before Midnight, or human dramas which rely more heavily on accurate emotional representation), it doesn't matter that the gun's magazine holds too many rounds or that the main character shouldn't have used whiskey to clean her arm gash.
If you go into many action, thriller, or horror films, expecting to be dazzled by how real they are, you've come to the horribly wrong place.

Film is a storytelling medium. Realism is largely unimportant, provided that the story is well-told. That's why fairy tales exist. Leprechauns aren't real, but that doesn't make it any less fun to chase the end of a rainbow.
If you moan about realism during the movie, and I'm there watching and enjoying it, you're shitting on my rainbow.

This wouldn't be so bad if it weren't such a tectonic shift in the viewer's thinking. I don't mind when individuals, who are clearly displeased about the choice of entertainment, express that displeasure consistently and with meaning. But usually, when someone points out that something is terribly fake, they haven't complained about anything up until that point, when there is likely very much that should've irked them. Suddenly, the moviegoer has noticed something that they've selectively isolated as a film-ruining mistake, and needs to make sure the world knows that they're no longer on board. Why? It's unlikely that a room, or theatre (for the worst offenders) full of people will share in that very specific element of the experience that made you so upset. You've essentially singled yourself out, and for reasons about which you only care.

However, it doesn't end here. Although the person in question believes that their complaint is valid, this is very seldom the case; more often, they choose to take issue with something that either is universally impossible, or of no consequence to anything else. Do you really think that there's a Rambo somewhere in the Kenyan badlands who can magically avoid thousands of bullets, being shot by hundreds of men, simply by running really fast and licking his biceps a lot? Would you prefer that he die in the first fifteen minutes of the movie, in order to conform with your idea of how it should've happened? What kind of movie is that, and why are you such a jerkoff?
If I'm watching a movie about ghosts, and there's a ghost, and you say, "Look at that awful CGI! that ghost is clearly not real", not only have you made yourself look idiotic (by assuming that anyone thought that was a real ghost), but you've somehow created the most unnecessary expectation within yourself. Was the director supposed to hold a seance, summon a spirit, and then negotiate with it for a film contract? In what world do you live, where that ghost could be real, and therefore evokes such great disappointment in you when it doesn't look real enough?
Usually it's an unspoken understanding that we're all here to watch a story being told, no matter how farfetched it is. It wouldn't be a good story otherwise, you dick fucking face. If I wanted to watch a documentary, I would've put that shit on.

Recently I watched a movie called The Guest, which is one of the best things I've ever seen in my life. Potentially, this utopia in which I exist, where this film is a masterpiece, could be ruptured by someone who expects it to be an accurate portrayal of real life. If you are this person, I feel terrible for you, because you've missed the boat completely. You know a filmmaker is good when he understands that it is his vision. He can make his own rules, and create a universe wherein anything can happen if he thinks hard enough.

You can't make your own personal rules for art, and be subsequently perturbed when others don't abide by them.

Don't shit on my rainbow.

Why aren't I updating?

Because you're in trouble and you're grounded
Gosh, parents are the worst

OKAY I don't have anything important to say yet so here's this

That's the original thumbnail I was going to use for the video I uploaded which corresponds to the date of this entry.

Alright so paintballs are painful. I was hit about five times, possibly more in that video so I consider myself an authority on the subject. Through vigorous and forced experimentation, and with little to no regard for adequate scientific procedure, I have concluded that paintballs are painful.

That almost rhymes, so you know it's true.

I'm just...letting it all hang out, aren't I. Now that I've put further consideration into this image...it's a fucking embarrassing position to be caught in. 

You know when internet folk pause vlogs on a random frame and screencap it if the person they're watching makes a terrible face mid-sentence? I think I've just discovered an equally humiliating practice for stunt videos. Perhaps I shall embark on a quest to find the most awkwardly-positioned screencaps of my poor self flailing in agony, awash in a sea of helpless pain.

That got really bleak for a second.

Ostensibly, I try to distance this blog from my YouTube while maintaining some slight relation in subject matter or cadence so unless there are interesting events occurring in my life outside of videography, I don't usually have much to discuss. But I'm trying god damn it.

Home Invasion

For my partner and I, the procedure is routine. We case a one-storey house for several days to ensure that there's only one homeowner and few-to-no visitors. Somewhere rural, where the houses are a few minutes' drive from each other. This time, it's a middle-aged man. He leaves his house alone, and returns alone, for hours each night. He carries large containers which appear to be very heavy from his door to an old, poorly-maintained truck, and back again. It's during one of these trips that we start our work.

I sneak up behind him while he's on his way to the vehicle, and knock him out with a crowbar. The large cooler he's carrying spills onto the ground; in the country darkness, I can't see its contents, but they sound wet. My partner breaks a window and we climb inside. We turn on some lights and begin loading our bags with anything of value. Lots of women's jewelry. We split up to cover more ground; I find the stairs to the basement, and upon descending them, discover a large, locked metal door. Jackpot. I call for my partner to help me open it, but he doesn't answer. Whatever, we're running out of time. The guy outside will wake up soon. I'll do it myself.

I jimmy the crowbar into the crack, near the doorknob. It's taking a while to pry. We're running out of time. I pull harder, with my foot on the door. We're running out of time. I'm straining against the lock. Suddenly, the door gives, bursting inward, unleashing light from inside, illuminating the stairwell, revealing its horrifying interior.

Human arms and legs, heads, midsections. Hanging from the ceiling, suspended by meat hooks. I'm immediately aware of the footsteps behind me.

It doesn't sound like my partner.

Musical Evolution

As I succumb slowly and painfully to this advancement of age, this creeping, crippling world of "getting older," I find that my tastes in music are becoming increasingly complex. This happens for many, if not all people in some capacity with whatever subject in which they take interest. Hence the pursuit of a career in that field, the practice of a hobby, or any other way one chooses to dedicate or invest a serious amount of their time. Musical discovery happens to be one of the fields that fall into this category, and I've noticed that, as I continue to uncover sounds I've not before heard, my standards are raised, making it increasingly difficult for me to be impressed.

One way that a band can easily keep my attention is by continuously developing their sound. This is a suspect phrase, because "development" doesn't necessarily mean "innovation" - that's an important distinction to make. When artists are able to continuously create new material that manages to adhere to the old ideal while pushing the boundaries of capability,  those artists are candidates for my loyalty and respect.

As long as they don't suck dick.

Once a band begins to meet spotlight status, they can go many ways; few are acceptable. Example: Deftones has, since their conception, evolved their music in such a way that it remains heavy (granted, of late, not as heavy as previous albums) and still breaks new ground, every time. It becomes more polished, more dynamic, wholly satisfying. This is due largely to their ability to maintain sight of what they enjoy, in lieu of how bogged down with copycats and dick-suckers their environment tends to be.

Sometimes I feel like a music elitist. Don't worry; I don't hate sound-blacks. ...Can you imagine if music was a skin colour? There's be 50 or 60 more races and it would be absurd. People would look like cows and zebras with all the genre crossovers. All my friends would be constantly screaming.

Another example: System of a Down began in a much different place than they ended. I notice that when a group wants to break up while remaining friends, but can't do both due to their popularity, they say "hiatus" with every breath and then never return to their cohesive form. I can't say for sure, but it's my belief that System is no more because of the direction they were taken musically. They lost their sound in the interest of a more coherent political message; this was unnecessary, since most of the die-hards knew what they were talking about at initiation.

Meshuggah is fairly genre-locked; progressive math-rock is extremely specific. Yet, they keep from suffocating within the limits of their style of music, somehow creating art from sources that others would deem tapped.

My point is that, much like natural selection (actually, it's literally natural selection, isn't it? I'm so terrible with similes because they always end up being exactly what I'm comparing instead of just similar to it), bands who don't at least attempt to evolve, develop, or innovate their sound - Disturbed's last three albums have been the same rehashed and remixed drivel and have caused me to listen to them so infrequently that I almost forget they exist - quickly become repetitive and boring. Bands interested in changing their sound so drastically that they're near-unrecognizable should either start a new band, or just not do that. The few and far between who succeed in evolving in the best of ways, well, they're gold to me.

Winter is Awful

Thankfully I live within the boundaries of "acceptable climate to be happy year-round," and so the issues I encounter regarding temperature are virtually nonexistent. Rarely, if ever, do I encounter a day where it's either so hot or so cold that I seriously consider relocating (although those days come more frequently in the summer than any season) so in that respect winter remains satisfactory, as long as I'm either inside or outside and dry.

I'll get down to business; snow is a terrible thing. It's the worst thing. I envy those from regions where there is little (I say 'little' because I worry that I would tire of its absence if it didn't appear maybe, oh, once a year) of this white menace and would prefer my immediate vicinity to take a hint from the wisdom of others. At the very least, my city needs to make the conscious decision to smarten the fuck up and kick this snow out.
Breaking it down goes as follows:

1. Initial snowfall - One of the worst parts of the process. I can't garner wages during any form of precipitation. Trying to film in the rain is arguably worse, but snow also tends to attach itself to my camera and stay there, melt, and seep into mechanisms unseen. It also seems to enjoy falling slightly past the brim of my hat, immediately swooping upward and placing its ass ever-so-daintily upon my eyeball while my eyeball is open and trying to look at a thing. Snow is like James Bond, if he were very small, and a dick. If I ever meet Sean Connery, I'm going to tell him to tell M to stop hiring snow as a form of warfare against me. I'd tell her myself, but I'm afraid my harsh words might rattle her into a heart attack. You know, because she's old. Snow is hard to gauge for personal efficacy since you may think you can still accomplish outdoor tasks, but once you get out there, you realize it's just as aggravating as if it were a tornado.
2. Flurries - Every time I hear the words "snow flurries" in a sentence like "there's going to be snow flurries," I load a shotgun. I have several positioned strategically around my house, in such a fashion that I can fire one and the others will simultaneously erupt into concentrated explosions, the shrapnel aimed directly at my head. Snow flurries are like Satan's way of saying "I told you this place fucking sucks." Don't go outside, unless you enjoy the feeling of tiny icicles penetrating everything that isn't wrapped in buffalo hide. You can't open your eyes if you're walking at all against the direction of the wind, so you can't see shit, and it's cold and wet. More on "cold and wet" later.
3. Cold and wet (or, I Told You So) - The area in which I live grants us the luxury of extreme regional cold followed by moderate regional warmth. This means that the thinner layers of snowfall promptly freeze, coating everything in an innocent layer of frictionless, transparent surface. When you step foot on this surface, you get a one-way ticket to "Being Cold and Wet" Town; Population: Assholes. Perhaps you fall on more of this substance (which, if you haven't figured it out by now, is ice), which gives you a free transfer ticket to "So That's What My Brain Matter Looks Like" City. Or, inconveniently, you fall into a puddle of wet shit or a local snow bank, which effectively ruins whatever your mood was previously and makes everything you're doing three or four times more irritating. Cold and wet is probably the worst thing that winter brings.
4. Slush - This is one of those red flags that indicate when the Earth is sick of our shit. There exists a substance that, when mixed with dirt, becomes cold, wet, sloppy, sticky dirt. Those of you claiming that mud also fits that description can fuck right off, because it's not at all the same thing and you know it. Well, perhaps you don't, so I'll fill you in. Imagine a thing that you hate. You loathe it. Imagining this item, object or condition alone causes you distress. I bet it's slush. It's always slush. Some dick has the nerve to reproduce, and spawns a child who, with insurmountable genius, decides to pile it all together and jump on it with gusto. The slush flies everywhere, and if you're nearby, you die immediately. Slush will kill you.

I know I left my general "hate everything to some degree" principle off the list, but that's because it's more of a rule for living than a seasonal nuisance. These are all reasons why winter is awful. Maybe I'll turn it into a video, since these posts receive anywhere between zero and virtually zero views.

'The Comedy' - A Dark Cinematic Journey

Nominated by me for best pitch black comedy of 2013, because I run the awards show with an iron fist and a titanium erection.
It's constant.

If I said "Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim" to you, you'd probably think of things like Awesome Show Great Job, or Check it Out with Steve Brule, or their movie. I would wager that a very select few, connoisseurs perhaps, but a small group nonetheless, would think of The Comedy. That's because this isn't Tim and Eric.
Well, it is, but it's not...fuck, you know what I mean.

It's unfair to call this film simply by that name alone, and rarely does one cross paths with a piece that succeeds where The Comedy manages to do so. The phenomenon of multiple experiences is more prevalent in dark comedy, which is why I flock to it like a hornet with a pollination fetish (get it? ...Because he wants to get all up in that business twice as hard as the average spore-carrying insect), and while I'm rarely disappointed, being pleased with the time spent and being blown away by what you spent it on are two things entirely separate.

Tim Heidecker plays a character who, with his group of like-minded friends, lives in a world that would be so horribly depressing if they were to halt and take it seriously for more than five minutes. They make light of their surroundings, attempting to carelessly glide through existence as if it were a constant show.
That synopsis is too optimistic.
Instead of 'film,' this cinematic masterpiece could be more descriptively characterized as "a series of snippets depicting the life and interactions of a group." These interactions are frequently heartfelt, full of jest and a sort of oxymoronic heavy lightheartedness. This is comedy for the self-loathing and sorrowful. In short, it's beautiful, and I would never go back.

This is probably the first film I've seen that so seamlessly tethers such heavy-handed depression, improvisational humour, love, loss, loneliness, impulse, ecstasy and terror. It's important that one doesn't try to determine what they're getting into until they're too far in to return. Only when you're balls deep in this molasses, can you achieve any understanding of why.
There is no erring on the side of caution. Everything is turned up to 11, thrust forward head-first in roller coaster fashion. It travels quickly between curiosities, sometimes even dipping into pure horror.

I think a fair-sized portion of the reason why The Comedy is so effective has to do with its relatability, and its realism. There wasn't a time, through the whole movie, where I couldn't imagine it really happening. Each interaction is tangible; the atmosphere that the movie creates comes right out and joins the viewer.

If I had to summarize these paragraphs, it would be as such; The Comedy reproduces a wide variance of emotions, and I was glad to be there for all of them. It's self-indulgent and self-deprecating.
I love it.

Internal vs. External Pressure (or, Why I'm Unemployed)

I'm not talking about gastro-intestinal bloating, pregnancy or having rocks put on you until your eyeballs propel from your skull with enough speed to decapitate local farmers and horses. When I speak of "pressure," I refer to the stress upon you from those around you. Be it your workplace, scholastic environment, parental desires, deadlines, etc., most tasks, to me, become more difficult when there's an outside source grilling you to complete it.
It's for this reason that I would prefer all of my deadlines and requirements to be self-imposed.

If I'm getting some shit done, I'll do it at my own pace, god damn it. That was hostile. Well, it needs to be. I'm only a procrastinator in the face of necessity; there is a rebellious spirit here that exists solely in order to make an authoritative counterpart frustrated. Subsequently, if I'm given room in which to stretch my arms, work at my own pace and complete things in an order that makes sense to me, I find that any work is not only easier, but much more enjoyable.
One of the beneficial things about making videos for a channel you own is that any schedules you've created are just that; created. By you. I can defy this weekly format any time I see fit, possibly even revert back to my routine of "I'll upload a video when I'm good and damn ready. Apparently, I'm ready to upload five today and none for three months and you'll like it. Forever. Until the end of time. Which ends when I say it does, also." Thankfully for everyone, I've found a rate of production that challenges my creativity without putting too much strain on my fragile and useless cranium.
In addition, I'm currently afforded opportunities that allow me to work this creativity whenever it strikes. I woke up at three in the morning with an idea not too long ago, and once I was finished stroking it lovingly--the idea, not whatever you're thinking of, you sick fuck--I put it to work for me. Like a hooker. I guess my point is that when you're free to do as you please, you treat your ideas like hookers.

Wait, that's not right.

Individuals who work a job they dislike in order to provide for their futures or assume some level of status are doing something that I've never been comfortable with. It may be a deficiency, and I wouldn't be surprised if there's some shitty section of my head that constantly waves its dick around instead of doing what I've been imagining it to since my conception. However, in the absence of rigidity imposed by those who expect you to follow direction and nothing else, it's possible to get just as much, if not more, work done in the same amount of time one may be committing to something less mentally fruitful. The difficult part is carrying that forward upon an avenue that's lucrative. Needless to say, I haven't given up on that yet.

I commend those who work boring or awful jobs that they hate, just to support their ideals wholly; I'll probably have to bite that bullet some day. The part I'm excited for is when I shit that bullet out, because I'll load it into my nostril and blow it onto whatever canvas I choose to adopt. Then I'll sell the lead back for twice what I made swallowing it.
Not to mention, that metaphor involved actual shit. That was a life goal of mine. See? Sometimes it's easy.

Moral of the story: do your own work, for you, and you'll feel better about doing it.

Django Unchained + The Possession

I mentioned in the past how wondrous it is for a film to summarize all of my aspirations as a viewer; the culmination of events that, in complimenting each other, create a wholly phenomenal experience.

The Possession is one of such films. Django is another.

Lately I've become picky in my deeming a film even "great," hence when I call one more than that, you can bank on my endorsement. Any fans of demon, ghost or possession-themed horror should write this down on their list of To-Watch, preferably somewhere around the top, in order to ensure that you'll be able to view it as many times as humanly possible before rolling over and promptly allowing yourself to die happy.

Denny from Grey's Anatomy is a thoughtful father/basketball coach whose daughter makes the obvious mistake of going to a garage sale without properly researching her ancient Hebrew demon curses (first of all, who the hell doesn't visit an everything-must-go without doing that first...plot holes) and happens across a box that wastes no time in teaching everyone a lesson about how pertinent it is to pay attention in your high school World Religions class. Denny spends the rest of the film trying to undo his bad-dad mistake(s).
Don't interpret this paragraph to be an accurate plot synopsis, I assure you it's anything but.

I'm not even going to bother detailing the plot of Django, because it cannot be explained in less than three full-length novels, and I wouldn't bother trying to do so even if I wanted to.

There's no way to adequately describe The Possession's experience until one sees it for oneself, so I'll instead declare that it combines all of its acts into an ending that couldn't possibly make more sense. There are no loose ends, and if one goes into the film with a mind open to its subject matter, they will not be disappointed.
Demonology is something that remains elusive of my desire to research, so I'll admit my ignorance to the subject. However, one does not need to be versed in these things to enjoy the movie fully since it is one of few that properly explains everything that needs to be explained. The atmosphere created within it is perfect for its style, and you may find yourself enthralled.

Django is a classic Western hero tale told with a very unique slant that adds a refreshing element to a historically stale genre, spun by one of my favourite directors, ever. It would be a lie to say Quentin Tarantino can do no wrong, however it seems to be very difficult for him. The story is well-paced and its ups and downs are great in their intensity. The film provides you with hopelessness and pride on a scale that could race earthquakes.

I had, in the weeks before, been privy to many accidents turned into "films" via avenues that included poorly-fathomed Netflix decisions and suggestions from those who had heard that I sometimes watch stupid bullshit. Perhaps, then, these two movies were made better by comparison, but I doubt it, because either one of them    could stand on its own, even if it had no legs and one eye. As a matter of fact, watching these two movies back to back is encouraged, because they pretty much run the gamut of genres that don't involve giants, robots, or giant robots, or giant robot penises that rotate and pulsate like a shower head from the bowels of the Earth.

To reiterate, as a famous filmmaker (me, in my dreams) once said: God be damned, these two movies are beautiful.

If you enjoy Leonardo DiCaprio (as I'm sure you've heard by now) completely annihilating his hand on a glass, then rolling with that punch as if it were dealt by an Asian midget; Jamie Foxx playing "a black man" as no one has before, with enough pride, gusto, and anguish for eighteen of us; That happy Nazi from Inglorious Basterds with an equally pleasant demeanour and an impregnable beard of excellence; Quentin Tarantino being classic as ever in the chair of director, as well as on screen in actor form, you had better make time out of your busy schedule and catch Django Unchained. Pff, as if you haven't,

Before you get up, and while you're at it, check out The Possession because, may lightning strike my dick and cause it to explode upward into my own mouth if I'm wrong, it's just as good for about three handfuls of different reasons.

Windows 8 Is Like A Dog With Two Legs

There are many videos floating around the internet world that depict canines with such pedal shortcomings. Anyone who has viewed these images knows that most of these dogs, with some extra training and attention, become just as good as their four-legged counterparts.

In this scenario, the mutt with the full range of mobility is Windows 7. Its unfortunate playmate is Windows 8, and the two missing legs come in the form of a proper Start menu.

I won't lie, I'm not a huge proponent of drastic change. I've read many a blog in my efforts to reattach those two legs to my new operating system ('how to get the old start menu back' searches deliver fruitless third-party abominations and dangers) and in these informative posts are - as always - someone's opinion about whether or not the change is good. 

Often, this viewpoint comes from the fingers of an ass hole who insults the intelligence of anyone who doesn't like the Windows 8 'Start Screen' better. However, I must be a full-fledged idiot, then, because I hate the Xbox Live home screen and I certainly don't want to adopt it on my computer. I'll drown that orphan.

For those who don't own an Xbox or a copy of the new OS, I'll explain: The screen is opened, innocently and delicately enough, from the same corner as your current Windows logo. It spreads its loving wings, soars up over your desktop, and promptly takes the biggest shit you'll ever see, in the form of every single program you've ever had installed, all over your eyes, nose, mouth, ears, etc. in the form of an "App." Your programs are listed by category and you can choose from them.

Note: I'd also like to suggest to those who don't have either of the aforementioned pieces of technology that they invest in a time machine and travel to this fucking century.

I would assume this new layout is for accessibility, but that can't be correct. If you're building a wheelchair ramp, it's a small incline that starts in the parking lot and daintily raises itself to the level of the curb.

It doesn't start at the second floor window of the supermarket and jut out into the street, blocking three lanes of traffic and creating a huge, vindictive cement wall between you and the enjoyment of whatever you'd like to do with your life.

I understand the need for innovation. You don't want what you're selling to appear stale in the eyes of the consumer. However, if you're going to alienate decades of loyal patrons in an effort to show off how nicely your App screen sweeps to the left, at least make the Start Screen optional, instead of stuffing it down my throat for making the mistake of opening my mouth in excitement. 

Barring that, maybe make it a little bit easier to navigate. There are more of us out here that want the old Programs list back, that freely customizable and wonderful piece of design. I've actually deleted all my Apps and, since that doesn't delete the programs, now have a system of clutter---I mean, folders, on my desktop in order to navigate my shit the way I've always loved to do. That's what I had to do in order to be happy. I'm not alone in this plight.

Windows 8 is the runt of the litter that was born without front appendages due to a lack of room and oxygen in a womb populated by good ideas. With a little work, you can get it to stand up straight, run, probably even fetch toys. However, even with such breakthroughs, everyone who sees it is going to wonder how cute it could be, if only it had all of its fucking legs.

Windows 7 is the older sibling that shits in its mouth just to assert its dominance over the weaker genus.

Death Grips, Flesh Tips

The second portion of the title is an allusion to a penis.
Penis.

With the rampant over-saturation of music these days, the market seems to be very cluttered. In the face of this, it's refreshing to see such a small, DIY group of hardcore artists reach such a level of success. I don't know when Death Grips became a "thing" to the populace, but they're still relatively new to me, and I've been enjoying the excitement of their music. They've tapped into some sonic elements that make one feel amped (so to speak), doing so with such spontaneous ease is a rare treat.
I've watched a couple interviews wherein they praise their interest in the visual arts, and their work so far has reflected such inclination. They also speak of being very introverted, which shows, and I appreciate that equally as much.
In a world of perceived meaning, deliberate metaphor and expected depth, it's amazing to be able to take a break and listen to such an accelerated form of minimalist music.

-------

Those familiar with me know that I enjoy the bizarre, depraved and twisted, and I've been collecting works lately that reflect these irrational obsessions. This is mostly in the form of books by Hunter S. Thompson and Chuck Palahniuk (as mentioned previously, I'm sure, because I'm like a broken record of self-indulgence). There are few things I like more, one of them being unimaginable (and perhaps imaginable) horrors in the same written/directed form. Talking about movies, folks, try to keep up. Though, I guess I make it difficult on purpose. Sort of a "weeding out the weak" scenario. You have to EARN your key into my consciousness. Earn it with blowjobs.
Mental fellatio.

"Flesh tips" is the best thing I've heard all day for real.

-------

My love for cartoons like Home Movies and Aqua Teen has invaded the reality in which I live, and I've come up with a little game in order to cultivate this. You can try it at home, it works especially when you're privy to a conversation that's either boring, awful, or has nothing to do with you.
Say you have a favourite television show or movie, or if you have several, choose one that you know the dialogue from best. As well, you'll want to have a good grasp of the personalities that most of the characters adopt, and the atmosphere that the show created (more on this later).
Now that you've done this, while in the midst of the conversation or scenario in question, try to imagine those involved as if they were characters on/in whatever you've chosen. Not as pre-established roles, but their own, only implanted within this setting (for instance, if you really like Squidbillies, think of those conversing as trailer-trash cartoon squids in whatever awful town Squidbillies is set in). Things will automatically be funnier, especially if they have the capacity to be taken out of context. My friends specifically say a lot of nonsensical things, and if I imagine them to be within the universe of Aqua Teen Hunger Force, it tends to fir perfectly and becomes much better, no matter what the subject.
It's a great exercise for your imagination, and an excellent way to entertain yourself in the absence of any sufficient stimuli.
I find that everything is hilarious if someone like Master Shake is saying it. Though, that may be because he's a fucking milkshake with a pink straw and gloves.
That's a gamble I'm willing to take!

Out.

"Sinister" is an All-Around Enjoyable Experience

This post may contain what some would consider to be "spoilers." If you don't like it, suck it. Suck it hard. But don't spoil it. 'Cause then sucking it would have spoilers which defeats the original purpose of sucking it.
You know what I mean.

It has been a while since I've watched a standalone horror film (as in, not part of a greater series) that I've been adequately satisfied with. Often a good premise will be squandered with poor pacing or a terrible ending, cliffhangers with no guarantee of salvation. Typically if a person can see a movie and immediately fathom a couple of better ways to wrap it up, or even a more effective method of overall execution, there has been some mistake made in the process of its creation.
Sometimes you get the feeling that a filmmaker has held back a possible outcome for fear of squandering their creation in the process; perhaps if some directors were bolder, or more willing to take risks that would jeopardize their operation, in the interest of a greater result, more films could be touted as pushing the boundaries of a genre. This is especially true of horror; many times I have encountered movies that could have been better if the creators hadn't erred on the side of caution quite so much.

Sinister, Ethan Hawke's latest good decision, took a chance, and pleased me thoroughly in the process. The loose synopsis is as follows: a defunct true crime writer moves himself and his loved ones into a house that was once the home of a family who was (all but one missing child) killed by an unknown person. He finds a series of films depicting the murders, discovering connections between them and planning a book around the results. Mystery and horror ensues within his family, as well as on the property itself.
Of course one can see the immediate danger associated with moving your wife and children into an abode where a family-targeting killer once chose victims, and there are many ways for the head of the household to react to that.
Many times, in classic "Paranormal Activity" fashion, the family decides to stick it out through the trauma and turmoil in the interest of preserving the unit, only to find out that their decision was a poor and ultimately irreparable one. People start dying, children are put in danger, maybe father goes insane. The nice thing about Sinister is that there is a hint of most of these elements, a satiating amount, but the characters don't plummet so far into a delusional perseverance that they don't notice their own lives crumbling in the face of the madness and exercise their ability to eject from a terrible situation.
There are many things in this vein that Sinister does right that other movies tend to overdo. When it comes to the horror genre, less tends to be more; you can imply a gruesome act without depicting it in its entirety. Many of the people murdered in the film are obviously dead, and yet one isn't forced to sit through the entire ordeal in stereo sound as some sort of cheap reach for a shock factor. This, to me, is more effective than a more direct method of conveyance. The mind is left to fill in the blanks of the footage which, depending on the creativity of your imagination, can be very colourful.
I've also noticed an increase in the ever-present "jump-scare" type of attempt to induce a fearful response from viewers. Sinister does employ this tactic, however it's achieved in a way that's much more tasteful than most movies. Whereas sometimes it's as if a caveman put a scene together, everything here is still very surprising, even if you're expecting the events to transpire.

The ending, without giving it away, is very unexpected, although it does fit the mood of the film. It is, to me, the most viable way to end a story of this kind; everything is nicely wrapped up and you're not left guessing many outcomes, if any at all. The creators of Sinister tried many new things and executed them successfully, while still managing to maintain a familiar mystery horror feel. Overall, I'm very satisfied., annd it gives me hope for titles to come.

Also, Ethan Hawke is an acting giant, not to mention a sex GOD.

Not that I'd know.

Digression

I realize that often my posts (or articles, as I call them, for reasons I'm about to explain) frequently and blatantly come off as preachy and annoying. In light of this, I should clarify that at no time am I trying to generate a serious following of minds dedicated to my thoughts, opinions, or theories. In fact, a lot of this is rambling and cranial extradition.

Being dissatisfied with my surroundings comes at greater ease than amusement and so if the blog is disappointing in regards to its level of humour, that's because it's mostly just for me, and I don't really care if it makes anything but a dent in the psyches of anyone reading. That's also why a lot of the jokes I make go unnoticed; the majority of them are funny to me and maybe five other people who I haven't met on the whole planet.

------

Am I the only person who thinks that Goosebumps could benefit from a re-imagining of sorts? If not directly, than in subject matter alone, at least. As a twenty-one year old man, I feel quite a serious lack of whimsical horror anthologies in the format of episodes and seasons. There are shows like Fear Itself, but they're so low-budget and painful at times that it's almost like watching a puppy get stepped on just because you wanted to hear a really loud bark; the enjoyable part of the situation is far overshadowed by its reprehensible  lack of fulfilment.
Anyone who watches American Horror Story knows what I mean when I say "I want this to have a different plot and setting every episode." In the interest of a lengthy arc, perhaps the story could switch up every second or third episode, but the idea is still there.
That would rock.

------

I think my ideal pet would be of an unusual aquatic nature. A medium-sized shark that's tank-friendly, or a large octopus, or a deep-sea angler if I could swing it. Barring one large animal, I'd enjoy several small ones. I imagine watching several shrimp scuttle about in a four-foot aquarium to be rather entertaining. I've heard stories about salt-water tanks that you can have in your home, however the expense is hefty and I'd most likely be unable to foot a bill of such monthly magnitude. That, and when you think about it. Salt-water is salty due to a combination of Earthen gases and large sea animals urinating and ejaculating constantly into unfiltered waters.
So maybe that's something one would want to stay away from.

Marriage is Awful, Weddings Are Worse Pt. 2

In the interest attempting to maintain what little attention span is offered on this vast machinescape, I've separated this post into two parts of semi-equal length. Just makes things easier.

Part 2: Weddings

I've dissected the institution of marriage, extracting whatever emotion serves to cloud what is already a very unnecessary course of action. Weddings are infinitely easier to testify against.
We are a species that prides itself on selfish indulgence and false justifications. Gods are great because they say they are, obesity is a disease, and bigger is better, because it's bigger. That makes it better. Because it's bigger. Shit.
For many, weddings are a celebration created entirely to please family members, largely at the expense of the happiness had by the two getting married. This is a process that rivals Las Vegas for the title of "greatest time-wasting financial black hole." Many spend months in preparation for one or two days, organizing with and paying hundreds of people to ensure that everybody but them enjoys the experience for a few measly hours while cramped into chairs around tables full of people they rarely talk to. The ceremony itself is long and formal, which guarantees that people like me are going to hate existence for its entirety.

While couples could be hoarding their earnings, saving them for the purchase of a home or even for frivolities that are much more enjoyable for a much longer timespan, they instead (often due to direct parental pressure) opt to throw money directly into the garbage, with expenditures that flaunt price tags that shouldn't even be legal. Exploitation of what was initially designed as a day of conventional celebratory entertainment has effectively ruined whatever "sanctity" the ceremony intends to preserve. You're destroying as you create. When you think about it, though, you're not even creating anything good.
Sometimes, during the preparation stage, a couple will, under unbelievable stress and tension, discover things that they despise about each other. Perhaps one half of this partnership isn't as assertive as they could be, and subsequently loses a reservation and must resort to the second-choice venue. For some, this is so pivotal that the entire thing is aborted, and irreversible damage is done to the relationship (to one's "soulmate", as well as with their parents, because if you ruin this you might as well just dig up Grandpa Jones and fuck him right in the ass, since he's already rolled over in his grave). This is a situation that could be avoided entirely if there never was a wedding in the first place.

Included on the list of "reasons why this is more of an awful idea than a good one," is the expectation that the relationship is magically made better by these acts alone. There are no words that strengthen a bond between people, because it is not, and never has been, verbal language that ties two people together emotionally. Being inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame won't magically improve your batting average. Wining an Oscar doesn't make your acting better than it was before you won it. If anything, it makes you sloppy, acting as a milestone in which you plunge your dick and leave it. Both marriage and a wedding will individually and collectively lower your self-imposed standards for relationship quality, over time.
As well, the presence of a minister directly infringes on many people's "keep your religion the fuck away from me" policy, an ideology that must be relinquished for literally no good reason whatsoever.

In case you weren't already convinced, I'll gladly remind you of the ideas behind the "bachelor" or "bachelorette" party. What we've concocted here is a night that is symbolic of one's transition from being unmarried to the horrible, restrictive alternative. Not only does this offer the opportunity to spend hours in the company of other sexually desirable people in a very suggestive and almost insistent environment, but it brings with it the implication that you can be, and up to this point have been, unfaithful to your significant other. You're insinuating that dating someone is so basic and loose that you could have and probably were fucking anything and everything, but you can't do that after tonight, or else you might lose your mate.
Well, fuck you then, for questioning my ability to commit to another, and assuming I haven't already.

I have yet to be presented with a reasonable use for the traditional wedding, unless your aim is to bankrupt yourself and ensure that whatever offspring you may produce during your "night of consummation" (another big issue; I and many other people like to keep their personal lives person, and your whole family knows exactly what you're doing and is happy about it) will be well-versed in the art of panhandling for years to come. I welcome any contrasting views, and wish anyone luck in trying to sway this giant novel of concrete absolution on the matter.

Marriage is Awful, Weddings Are Worse Pt. 1

The clarification is necessary, because many people will complain endlessly about marriage, when in actuality they dislike a traditional wedding ceremony. Often, the conversation will be the same, with the target being reversed.

I, on the other hand, hate both. Unequally, maybe, but there is definitely a hatred reserved for each as a separate entity.

Now, I understand that these opinions are not unknown or unpopular, and there's much I can't say that won't be reiteration. I'm not trying to provide a new point of vantage on the matter, instead I want to elaborate further, for those who may still be in favour of either institution, because they're both very silly.

Part One: Marriage

Marriage continues to survive as a mildly sexist idea. Though much of its male dominance has ceased to be part of the convention, it still exists for many on the pretence that a woman is leaving her biological family to join a new one under the supposed rule of her male counterpart. It's well established that this was once part of a tradition that included trading a woman for livestock and acreage. It hasn't developed much since then (other than the inclusion of marriage within the same gender), instead undergoing a sort of shrinking process.

It has (probably in the interest of saving time) mostly been boiled down to paperwork that serves the purpose of legally splitting your lifelong accumulations in half and ensuring consequence should you consider any infidelity or abandon any progeny. If you're feeling particularly bold, you can grab some more papers that instead promise that, wish you ever to part ways, you'll be able to do so with all of your belongings. A hefty gamble, as this request is so insulting to some that they'll end the relationship immediately, effectively ruining two lives for an undetermined, possibly indefinite period of time.

Is that an odd custom to anyone else?

What you're telling me, by requesting this certificate of partnership, is that you have moderate difficulty with commitment, unless you're presented with the opportunity to sign something that says you're going to be damn good at it. This is especially true of those who demand this as a form of affirmation; either they can't maintain a relationship without some sort of legal binding, or they're terribly insecure, and think that their significant other will just pick up and leave at any time.

Continuing in that vein, I get the impression that one's ability to connect emotionally isn't a sufficient adhesive with which to hold two people together. Aside from the aforementioned documents, there is no difference in relationship level or quality following the process of marrying someone. Being with someone isn't climbing Mount Everest; there's no peak, after which you never again need to worry about whether or not they're going to stick their dick into - or open their crotch-gape and welcome - another person. there's no "that's it, you're there," moment. It's a continuous investment in your own happiness (or if you're altruistic and sacrificial - you're not - the happiness of another). Marriage as an attempt to promise that happiness in the future is a fruitless venture, because nobody can guarantee anything about the future, regardless of how many dotted lines you handwrite upon. If someone's determined to be adulterous, they're going to do it. If they're presently unhappy, they're going to take measures to alleviate that unhappiness, possibly at the expense of others. Fuck your signature.

Failing all of that, you're saying that if someone ever fucked your life severely enough, you'd take their shit as punishment.

Ultimatums and consequences are no base upon which to build an endless connection with another human.

There are some evident exceptions to the rule that marriage is essentially a useless land-claim. Any couple who marries so that one can garner citizenship, wherever the agreement was conducted, is great. There are few ways to effectively give the middle finger to multiple people from multiple cultures simultaneously, and fucking the system for personal gain (from a third party, an important distinction) has and always will be an excellent example.

Note: many of these arguments rely on surface-level judgement, as some people do have their own, irrefutable reasons for desiring this method of partnership. I'm not trying to defame anyone based on their convictions; I'm trying to defame the principles behind the concept of marriage itself.

Part 2 later in the month.

Semi-Famous People Say Some Really Stupid Shit

Humility seems to be the first thing to make a hasty exit from one's internal repertoire as soon as they garner more than a whiff of  fame. This is less prevalent within the community of the YouTube famous, yet the exceptions are few and far between; the ratio of arrogance:modesty is heavily in favour of the negative. Coupled with that comes the opinion that one (perhaps literally) shits untouchable gold and that everything that may secrete from one's fingers, mouth, or pores, should be heralded as pure genius, even when it's actually something that everybody - everybody intelligent - already understands.

Recently, a man who has proven this hypothesis frequently and publicly in the past took to his Twitter to spew forth a textual cacophony of words in what appeared to be an attempt at a mind-blowing epiphany. To paraphrase, he informed what he must conclude to be a mass of uneducated mush that he believes an individual shouldn't be judged or treated unjustly solely because of the decisions that their region's government makes.

This is a sound statement, and it isn't the belief that irks me. I am disturbed because it is an opinion that nobody has an argument against. 

Now, I'm just one person, but in my experience, people don't live in one particular country simply and entirely because they agree with that country's political platform, electoral or otherwise. This is an established and widely agreed upon concept. It's boggling to me that I've even taken the time to type that out. You don't take up residence in England because you enjoy monarchy. Even if someone moved from a democratic nation to a totalitarian one, no person would jump to the conclusion that they did so because they got sick of voting.

Still, that situation is entirely different from the topic of discussion. You can easily form an opinion of a person based on their political views (although it's largely frowned upon and not at all a reasonable way to determine someone's worth), however it would be completely idiotic to choose their country of origin's governmental choices as a vantage point from which to decide whether or not you liked that person. It's as if the man who made this statement imagines that people think we exist in a world where everyone has political sway in their respective locale's parliamentary offices. We don't. You have to go to school for that. 

This wouldn't bother me so much if I wasn't positive that hundreds of people treated that as if it were a gift from a genius. Given this man's propensity to deliver shit from his many orifices like an overzealous geyser of worthless ideas and yet still be well-received by his many fans, one can make the appropriate assumption that many ostensibly intelligent, avid followers promptly hopped on and rode his dick as though he saved them from a world of incomprehensible darkness by proudly displaying his ability to state the completely obvious. Nobody had visibly challenged his assertion, not because it was false, but because it was so true that it needn't be mentioned. Like they're afraid to tell him that we're not as stupid as he seems to think.

This is a man who has achieved popularity by regurgitating various fluids, screaming profusely and dressing as Batman in almost-public (in reference to his attempt to qualify a "public prank" with the presence of one or two passersby). These actions alone are entertaining until done constantly, and are made especially unfunny by his insistence on proselytizing his thoughts in such a way as to make several people believe he thinks he's been sent from the heavens on a silver unicorn that can cure AIDS with its tears.

Don't get me wrong; I don't think I'm better than the guy. I don't consider myself great, nor do I believe I'm deserving of his popularity. I am pleased with my successes, and don't pretend that I'm more enjoyed, recognized or desired by the growing numbers of "internetters" than many of my cohorts. There are aspects of this man's work that I respect highly, unfortunately there aren't enough of those aspects to redeem his egotism, self-love, condescension and blatant misogyny. 

Rant end.

Horror Genre's Ups and Downs

Last month (if I'm correct, far too lazy to check), I posted an article detailing my interests in the horror movies being produced this year. Emerging not only partially disappointed by the titles mentioned (if you want motivation to remove your own eyeballs, go ahead and throw on Wrong Turn 5 one afternoon) but disenfranchised and unenthusiastic about what I've yet to see, I couldn't help but turn my gaze toward the plethora of films riding the coattails, or better put, playing the market created by such popular genre flicks appearing lately.

Oren Peli, director of just about everything I've liked wholly in the past half-decade (that's a blatant exaggeration, so don't call me on it) continues to do things that bring a mild elevation to the sides of my talk-hole. Unfortunately, in a great display of universal balance, the world must continue to preserve my apathetic frown by showing me things that, to a certain extent, drain the faith I had in the film industry.

I haven't been pleased with any alien-related films since The Fourth Kind and, on a lower level, Super 8. Being a proprietor of cranial fantasy and great hopes/dreams in favour of hostile galactic exploration (in other words, visitations from monsters from beyond my long-armed reaches), imagine my excitement when hearing about Dark Skies, an alien abduction story slated for February. Upon viewing the trailer, however, I was alerted to the definite and probably discouraging idea that we'll all bear witness to the return of what I call the "neighbourhood misunderstanding" concept. Often in films, in order to add another layer of story to an already fairly-yet-not-quite-complex-enough arc, many directors will introduce the difficulty of explaining a supernatural situation to a close-knit or friendly group of neighbours. There are only a few destinations on this avenue, the most common sometimes involving a police report filed by a nosy carpool mom, or in this case, a hospital visit that rapidly turns into evidence of domestic violence. I have little patience for characters who refuse to take the time to study the circumstances more closely in order to make a more informed and fair decision, and I believe this is what we'll be seeing here.

In other news, V/H/S was half-good and half-bad upon retrospect (though I think I mentioned that already), and I'm beginning to give independent and low-budget films less and less benefit of the doubt as time wears steadily forward to my demise. I'm growing tired of attempting to convince my cohorts to ignore the poorly post-produced blood splatters and stock screaming, in favour of immersion and suspension of disbelief. In the back of my brain, that nagging feeling of accidental farce continues to haunt me. That's scarier than the ghosts.

Birthdays Suck

Sometimes I'm a cynical introvert with no desire to speak to anything with a mouth and reciprocating thoughts. Other times, more frequently in fact, I come off that way while trying to challenge or defy consistent social norms that have no purpose other than to uphold traditions older than the concept of common sense itself.

Mostly I just dislike birthdays.

I didn't even remind anyone when my birthday was this year. If my computer had ears, it would probably hear you asking "Why, asshole?" Since that's likely the reason why you were roped into reading in the first place, I'm obligated to answer. Interestingly, that ties well into my first point: Obligation.

Say someone of value to me decides to delve deep into their metaphorical "piggy bank" in order to provide me with something I've been verbally longing for. Great. There are few things I hold in high enough esteem to appreciate as a gift, first of all, but I can't say that, since that means their time and most likely their hard-earned-yet-frivolously-cast-aside money has been promptly squandered. I'll accept most presents without much quarrel (sometimes), but the transaction doesn't stop there. Most people expect you to do something equally "nice" for them; be it return the expenditure on the date of their birth, or do them a favour at some point in the future. Whatever it is, it's oft accompanied by a dark and menacing cloud of debt, in which you'll find me. Even if I were to encounter one of the rare few who don't intend for me to keep that balance, I'll still feel like I should. Right now. Forever.

I don't act as though I can read the minds of my various acquaintances and targets of emotional investment, family or otherwise. As such, I can't possibly fathom what others might be desiring once the one day of the year that they're mildly important to work strangers happens to trundle in and invade my senses. Unless you tell me outright, constantly, incessantly, I'm not going to remember what you want. Come to think of it, I have a difficult time remembering when the fuck your birthday is in the first place. There are just so many and they're almost never in close proximity to each other. It's like taking the same aggravating memory exam each year, just as you've finally forgotten what it is you're supposed to memorize.

There's so much emphasis already on the date, individually, that piling even more celebratory measures upon the heap of one's happiness seems unnecessary to me. Especially since birthdays are so un-special. They're literally as common as human beings are. There are several each day. Odds are, someone's singing that awful song right now. More importantly, what's the significance in childbirth in the first place? Every mammalian species does it (discounting some genetic abominations, like the platypus, or some stupid flightless bird which isn't even a mammal really anyway). Whales give birth, and from what I hear, it's gross as hell. People swim in that all the time, especially if they live on a tropical island.
Think about that for a second. You're swimming in diluted whale placenta and poorly-aimed semen.

Happy birthday.

Cyber-Bullying is a Big Joke.

What's more, people who are irked by internet "bullying" for longer than the 10 seconds it takes to read whatever hate comments they recieve are wasting valuable time and emotion.

"Cyber-bullying" is probably the worst way to classify what should, in reality, be called "wearing out your keyboard at no benefit to anything." The fact that I've dedicated this much time already to the topic causes me more emotional distress than any one of the seven and almost a half billion other people on the face of this vast, crumbling celestial rock ever could. There is no merit to the battle against this phenomenon, and continuing to pursue a means of preventing individuals with soft hearts from being perturbed at length by random, negative comments (no matter how great in number) is like trying to stop wolves from killing for sport.

That's another, completely unrelated issue. Some wild animals are indeed sport hunters and you have to be born deficient to deny that. Get off your towering animal-rights activism horse.
That's an oxymoron.
People who take cyber-bullying seriously are oxymorons. Wait, I mean they're morons who breathe oxygen.

I'm no humanitarian, so the things I say may be construed as hostile. However, I'm just one person, on one particular and isolated piece of the internet. Which is my point, really. There is inherently little risk in speaking negatively of someone from quite possibly hundreds of kilometres away. Subsequently, anyone with a working computer and a semi-functional brain can say just about anything they please, often in an attempt to get a rise out of another person, or to fulfil some sort of misplaced sense of inadequacy.
Even more, according to Occam's Razor, perhaps they just want to "start shit."
Those who sit down with the intent to defame someone completely alien to them have less value than the text they manage to type out, through what are most likely grotesque, disfigured and twisted fingers, hands, faces, maybe a third eye, etc. These people should, in turn, be given as much time as they warrant, which happens to be none. Surprise.

Simultaneously, however, I'm not in the business of pandering to those who take comments such as these with anything more than a grain of salt. There is a substantial difference between offering criticism constructively and trying to cause a person mental turmoil. Most people can recognize this and differentiate; the next step being to disregard the iterations that are simply for the sake of torment. Thus, they are able to keep themselves from harm. You wouldn't get all upset and cut yourself if some street-demon with no concept of your existence told you that you were ugly and your life choices were poor (at least not if you're intelligent and have any idea how rarely strangers care about you), so maintain your thick skin, especially against an ignorant online persona. Many people should learn to do this, and quickly, because the world is much less friendly than the seclusion granted by this generation's development process would lead one to believe.

In some cases, people are stupid right off the cuff, doing things they wouldn't ordinarily do, thinking that the anonymity provided by this great technological advancement will provide some sort of barrier between what they've done on their computers and the reality in which they live. The truth is, this is reality, and they coexist. To think that, for instance, getting your breasts and/or testicles out, live, with a webcam, won't come back to bite you in them, is absurd. Especially when your face is visible.
Imagine the internet as if it's one big amusement park. The only one. Now, imagine that when people come here, they can say/do anything they want, to whoever they want, with a mask on. They only have to pay once a month for unlimited access. Lastly, imagine that parents freely and willingly pay for this luxury, and that provides everyone they talk to with the ability to attend this park.
Now stop imagining it, because that's what the fuck this is.
You have to be a retard to get your tits out at Disneyland, and they don't even get half the business that the internet does.
My point is that some people get what they deserve when they act like an idiot.

Now, don't mistake me. It isn't fair to try and ruin the entire home and online lives of businessmen because they weren't smart enough to have more than one password. Nor is it acceptable to drive people to suicide if they like getting naked online. However, if people were to practice a little discretion, or had some common sense, outcomes like these can be avoided completely. It's not the internet's fault for capitalizing on the mistakes of others, because we've been doing that since the conception of this species. This invention has only made opportunities to do so more widely available and frequent. This wouldn't be the case if those victimized would exercise some caution and took steps to keep their internet lives and their "real" ones as separate as possible.

Remember in King Kong when it turns out that we're actually the monsters? Killing the gorilla isn't going to save us from ourselves. He was behind the huge fence until that fat asshole let him out. The tribesmen had a good idea, keeping him on that island, close enough for us to visit, but not so close that we had to see his big hairy dick all the time.

For those of you who are a little slow, King Kong is a euphemism for the internet in this instance.Try and keep up.

Remakes Aren't "better" or "worse," They're Different.

I'm getting tired of people who automatically write-off remakes as though there was no effort put into creating something new. Often, the film in question isn't trying to adhere to any aspects of its predecessor, except for setting, or loosely, the plot. Granted, there have been many so-called remakes that seek to out-do the original, or copy it verbatim, and are miserable as a result, but the list of successful recreations is much longer and can't be ignored just because it shares the name and concept.

Complaining that a remake of an original film tries to one-up the previous by, for instance, revisiting scenes portrayed in the elder film exactly, defeats the purpose of the film. It's not a race to make something better; it's a retelling of the same situation. Instead of imagining the new film to be a young generation's way of telling the old that they're no good anymore, go into a remake as if it's a new adaptation of an idea. Film is an art form; to say, after someone creates a piece, that nobody can imagine the piece in a different way and portray it as such closes doors to entire genres and everything becomes rigid and uniform.

Don't reflexively hate on a new movie because you really like the old one. Don't even treat it like the old one. It's a new movie. That's the whole point. The retardation involved in this decision is mind-boggling to me. It's not the same movie. Often, it's not even trying to be the same movie, at all. Pay attention.

Now, I'm not trying to argue that every remake is an untouchable masterpiece. I'm not defending cash holes that recreate the entry before it scene-for-scene as a money grab. Many are awful, and often on a grander scale because there is an established standard which it, at least, has to live up to. However, remakes should be treated like any other movie, and given the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise.

If anything, good remakes are great because the scrutiny from the public is so demanding already, without your crass nay-saying. Dick.

It's absurd to think that a new idea can't borrow from, pay homage to or cast an old idea in a different light without people thinking it sucks without giving it any chance whatsoever. New ideas are formed on the backbone of older ones; it's innovation. 

If you want to miss out on a perfectly good experience because it's "been done before," I suggest you stop watching movies altogether. As a matter of fact, you should never leave your house. No, don't even HAVE a house. find a hole in the forest, grab some twigs and leaves, and live there. Actually no, because that's been done before too. You know what? Just die.

Just DIE.

Apologies to anyone who read this on my Tumblr already. Sometimes, I feel as though my opinions deserve a wider audience than the 5-10 individuals who visit this site bi-monthly. This is one of those times.