Splooge to the Music!

It's alarming how many songs out there feature lyrics about ejaculation. Seriously, "bitch" and "ass" are taboo on most radio stations, but if a song features detailed descriptions of fucking splooging--well, that's a-ok. This of course is nothing new, because as long as men and women have been able to strum chords on a guitar, they've written songs about their climaxes.

It's just one of those counterintuitive censorship mentalities you see in every media. On television for instance, people get shot, operated on, ran over, punched in the face, strangled, and tortured during prime time. But will you ever see a bare ass or--gasp--a female nipple?! Fuck no. After every bible thumping soccer mom in the country had a brain hemorrhage when Janet Jackson's boob popped out during the Super Bowl, all bets have been off. Violence: fine. Sex: very bad.

Which brings me back to the music thing. I really cannot see in any way how this sort of thing is allowed. It's not like it could possibly "slip by" the censors. 'Cause dammit, I don't care if you're a prepubescent teen or old enough to have seen both World Wars, when someone says "come into you," there's only one goddamn thing that could mean.

Seriously, I'm trying to think of how one can "come into" someone else and have it be appropriate subject matter somewhere other than Penthouse Forums, and I just can't. To paraphrase my dashboard dictionary, "come" is a present tense verb that means to move toward, travel, accompany, reach to, occur, join, make progress, and become apparent to. All of those are things that people do, but none of which can be done in someone else. So even in the broadest interpretation of the word, if you're coming into someone, you are fucking that person and fucking ejaculating--nothing else!

You don't have too look very deep into your music folder to find examples of this, either. Every artist from the über risqué to the most squeaky clean does it--and it's embraced by all. In fact biggest song of 2007 nothing but an ode to the money shot. You know the one, where the skinny girl sings euphemistically about umbrellas and rain? Well anyways, the last few lines of the song go like this:

. . . baby come into me
Come into me
It's raining (raining)
Ooo baby it's raining
You can always come into me
Come into me

Always, huh? Well, I sure hope little Rihanna is on the pill. But all joking aside, this song was huge. Fucking huge. So abhorrently popular that it's a likely candidate to appear on the next Kidz Bop CD and it's all about coming.

Now I'm the last person to promote censorship, I fucking hate it. But I would like to see some consistency with what's edited and what isn't. If shit pop songs can rule the airwaves with lyrics like this, then why the can't you say "shit" on TV? It makes no sense.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to listen to some radio-friendly erotica.

Movies That I Will NEVER See - Valentine's Edition

Well, it's Valentine's Day--my favorite day of the year. As I type this, poor saps everywhere are being subjected to two-hour plus waits at restaurants because they fear the wrath of their girlfriend/wife/girl-that-they-are-currently-bedding. And for what, really? A made-up holiday that forces us to do nice things for the people that we love, things that we should be doing all year? Yeah, I don't buy it. But enough bitterness! I'm eating candy and "St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)" just came on my iTunes, so I'm happy!

So as I sit home with my candy and John Parr music, I'll be safe from these rotten examples of holiday tie-in cinema.

DEFINITELY, MAYBE
Ryan Reynolds plays a loving but misogynistic father who's having a hard time telling his daughter who her mother is because of all the women he fucked the year she was born. But instead of being perturbed by this, the daughter thinks trying to figure out who her mom is from stories of her dad's promiscuous past is a fun game! Then the audience goes, "Awww!" Seriously, who greenlighted this? They can stamp it with all the "From the makers of Love Actually" stamps in the world, and I still wouldn't go see the goddamn thing. Oh, and Ryan Reynolds looks like Dane Cook. I fucking hate Dane Cook.




STEP UP 2 THE STREETS
If there was any movie from 2006 that cried out for a sequel, it was Step Up. The ending left audiences wondering, "Will they ever dance again?!" Well, the answer is here. And I hate to spoil it for you, but they dance! That's it! More fucking dancing. A whole lot of dancing. People dancing in warehouse with a bunch of people standing around watching them. Dancing with the latest hip-hop hit playing in the background. With all that dancing and a title sounds like something that a moron who uses numbers instead of letters would text message to another moron who uses numbers instead of letters, you can't go wrong!




JUMPER
The kid who ruined my childlike feelings of awe whenever I saw Darth Vader takes yet another sci-fi role as a teleporting guy who gets hunted by . . . other teleporting guys. One of the "other" teleporting guys is the venerable Samuel L. Jackson, who dons a white coif and proves once again that he'll gladly play any part that's thrown at him. This one is rated PG-13 for a generic sci-fi premise, bad acting, mild violence, and language.

Maybe I'll Be Fast as You

Saying that the weekend went by too fast would be stating the obvious--and I hate stating the obvious--so I won't say it.

Even though I spent the past two-and-a-half days being anti-social, I had a good time. I should should address, though, that being anti-social means not going out and drinking. I've decided to attempt being healthy in the days leading up to my trip. You know, not eat junk food, avoid the beer, exercise and all that bullshit. So far it hasn't been very difficult, but I doubt that it's making any real difference. In a little over a month I'll be one of the countless flabby, untanned, mainlander tourists at the beach. Score!

I suppose I was social on Saturday night, although I am not sure if people coming over to your apartment and playing videogames all night counts as a social activity in most circles. But yeah, I have to tell you all that Poker Smash for Xbox 360 is the greatest. I downloaded it yesterday and that's all we played for several hours. It takes the mechanics of Puzzle League and combines it with poker hands. So, not only can you eliminate similar face cards, you can also make poker hands which are worth more points. Anyways, it's fucking amazing and you should totally download it if you have an Xbox 360 and a Live account.

The best thing since intercourse was invented.

I felt especially manly today. Spending six hours with my dad, the manliest of all men, tends to do that to me. It was fun, though. We ate BBQ, talked about what a pussy Tom Brady is, and wait for it--worked on my car. See! That's some manly shit, right there.

I didn't mention it, but a couple of months ago some douche bags stole the sidemarker lights from my car. I got over it pretty quick, seeing as I realized at a very young age just how terrible most people are. Some could say finding that out when you're little would make you jaded, but for me it helps me cope with situations like this. But yeah, I even have an idea as to who did it . . .

I'm sure it was one of these assholes.

Anyways, we went to several car parts stores before we finally got the parts that we needed. It was pretty fucking cool, because instead of just standing there while my pops does everything, I actually felt useful today. I found the wires we needed and even got some grease on my hands. Here's some before and afters of our handy work:

Looks good, huh? We'll see how long these last before Paul Walker and/or Vin Diesel come by and jack them.

Time to play some more Poker Smash, kids. Download it. Seriously.

Hello=Goodbye

Remember that episode of The Brady Bunch where the whole family (including the fucking maid!) packs up and heads to Hawaii? And then stupid-ass Peter finds that wacky little tiki statue that he swears is good luck, but everyone tells him it's not--because all this scary shit happens, like Greg almost dies surfing and that spider totally almost kills Peter! Anyways, in the end they go in a cave for some reason and almost get molested by Vincent Price. Remember that one?
Well, in March I'll be going to Hawaii and I hope it's exactly like that!

My friend Adam has some crazy email-notification thing that informs him about flights to Hawaii, and one came up for pennies. Literally pennies. 27,700 pennies, to be exact. What a deal!

In case you can't tell, I'm really goddamn excited about this. It should be good times. It will be good times. Even if it isn't as good as the Brady trip, it will at least be as good as the Saved By The Bell one.

Can't wait!

Movies That I Will NEVER See - 02/08/07

There must've have been a catastrophe at the shit factory this week, because only two turds are rolling out of the assembly line on Friday. And I don't know about you guys, but I'll take a shirtless Matthew McConaughey and Martin Lawrence getting hit in the groin repeatedly over a Sylvester Stallone "comeback" any day. But that doesn't mean they're any good!


FOOL'S GOLD
Matthew McConaughey shows off his pecs while Kate Hudson over-acts until you want to kill yourself. That's the gist of this romantic-comedy-adventure dud that reunites the stars from How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Movies like this make me sad, not especially for the lack of creativity, but for the poor schmoes out there that are forced by their moronic girlfriends to go see this crap week-in and week-out. Seriously, why do it? Because if it's in order to get laid, I'll tell ya . . . I've had some sex in my day, and I never had to sit through a Reese Witherspoon/Sandra Bullock/J-Lo/Kate Hudson crapfest to get it.




WELCOME HOME ROSCOE JENKINS
Martin Lawrence argues with fat women, falls down stairs, get sprayed by a skunk, and hits his grandma in the head with a softball all while being made fun of by Mike Epps in this new "comedy." This time around, Lawrence stretches his acting ability to the limit in his portrayal of a small-town guy who left his roots behind and made it big as a talk show host. Lawrence then returns to home only to get pummeled repeatedly by fat women, skunks, inanimate objects, and the sardonic tongue of Mike Epps. The trailer is full of physical comedy cliches and sight gags that weren't new when the Three Stooges did them in the 1930s.




That's it for this week! Not too much to bitch about, but next week is Valentine's Day. The most pointless of all holidays always ushers in some terrible movies. Yikes!