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May 10, 2016
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Advice on how to make the next super hero movie so people might actually like it.

Ben Affleck was the new Batman. Hip hip hooray! He’s the logical choice. After actors like the TV original Adam West, and then stalwarts like Christian Bale and George Clooney, who better to inhabit a wooden character than another wooden actor. Wasn’t Schwarzenegger available? There’s enough wood there to build a gazebo in my backyard, and have enough left over to build a clipper ship inside one of those little booze bottles. Clooney gets the most praise, the wood in his head is of extra density and therefore will last up to 22% longer government tests confirmed just last Friday.

Oh Hollywood, Hollywood, you wretched slimy bastards. In “Batman vs. Superman you produced another lousy, crappy movie. How many thousands of times over the last 50 years have we been subjected to this sort of rancid drivel? Hmm? The Stupor Hero saving the world from yet another crumb-bum. The list is endless, Superman, Batman, James Bond, endless, endless, the same old tired re-worked stories, completely devoid of any intelligence, zero creativity, near-comatose people lumbering out to see them as a sort of communal tribal ritual. Just to say that they went.
Let’s get creative, let’s give the wonderful people of this world what they want. Now, who wants to save this lousy, crap-ass world? I certainly don’t. It would be utterly impossible for me to care less. Global warming? Bring it on baby! I cheer for global warming, I can’t wait. Every night before retiring I flick my lighter every night for about 10 minutes or so, just hoping to raise the mean temperature of the globe by some tiny, tiny little infinitesimally small amount to hasten our complete and total ghastly annihilation. And I don’t even smoke.

Couldn’t we have a Stupor Hero for once that acted like a real person would act? Let’s call him Fatman, no better yet, Fat-face. His true love and soulmate, Constance Truetits bounces through the door of Fat-face’s cave, “Oh Fat-face, Fat-face, the evil Dr. Pencilweiner is going to destroy the world! You must save us!”

Fat-face, “Fuck dhat. Say doan Laverne and Shirley come on right afta Mork and Mindeee?”
Constance, “But Fat-face, that evildoer Dr. Pencilweiner has invented another secret weapon. This one will strip all of the pretense and phoniness from all of humanity. All people would instantly be seen just as they are. As nobody would then want to have sex with anybody ever again, the human race will quickly die out!“

Fat-face, “Wouldn’t dhat be de catastrophee? Hey, yeah, yeah I was right, here’s Laverne now…shots and pepper corporated, we’re gonna do it! Wacky man, wacky, wacky. You see Con, for me you people are all like giant upright cock-a roaches. With my superior intelligence, how could I possibly live among a people such as well, you and your kind? I mean…Jesus. Your politics and culture? I got four words for ya baby, Bush, Barack, Bieber and Cyrus. I mean really, there’s just no chance. So while dhat rat Dr. Pencilweiner is shooting his ray guns at people with the help of his squadron of flying monkeys, I shall be kickin’ it Bermuda with the bath salts. Dig?”

Constance, “Oh but look out Fat-face.” With this Pencilweiner now appears on screen and heads right for Fat-face. They both meet in the middle and instantly engage in about a 30 second long French Kissing display that makes even inanimate objects want to like seriously freaking hurl. Like okay?

Constance then blurts, “Oh no, all is lost.” The movie then fades out as all of humanity is finally dying horrible pretense and phoniness-free deaths. The End.

You see Hollywood, THIS would be a big boffo box-office hit. Nobody in the freakin’ world wants to save humanity, not even humanity wants to save humanity. People don’t love or even like humanity. Really. They don’t love each other, they don’t even love themselves. Wars, genocides, eating like pigs, drinking, drugging, smoking themselves to death just as fast as they can. Humanity is sick of humanity and who can blame them? So let the movies reflect some obvious reality, you’ll tap a vein that will lead to lines around the block.

Next time you are going to inflict us with another lousy, scum-sucking, soul-crushing, will-to-live decimating, mind-annihilating piece of diseased, rancid dog-shit you laughingly refer to as a movie, at least if you do it my way, you’ll let the patrons stumble out of the movie with a big grin on those warm, altruistic mugs of theirs.

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