Saucy Movie Reviews

Opening Soon:

Dukes of Hazzard - Jessica Simpson makes her big-screen debut in this re-make of the '80s TV show. The best highlight: Watching those short shorts crawl up the crack of her ass. Then again, wasn't that the point of making this movie?

Now Playing:

Fantastic Four – a group of scientists get caught in the same weird space radiation and adapt special powers, but for some reason, they all get different powers. How does that work? And why is that one dude all orange and shit? He could use some Noxzema.

Bad News Bears – a bunch of foul-mouthed, snotty-nosed social rejects form a baseball team led by a coach who is a womanizing alcoholic who verbal abuses them. Wholesome, reality-based family entertainment.

War of the Worlds – a foul-mouthed, child-neglectful social reject takes his kids and runs from aliens who for some reason spray everything with red snot. Wholesome, reality-based family entertainment.

Batman Begins – begins what? Raping innocent moviegoers of their hard-earned cash? Thanks Batman, you motherfucker.

The March of the Penguins – Watch penguins cross the Antarctic and fuck. Hot, hot, hot!

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – Johnny Depp plays Michael Jackson playing Gene Wilder after doing a shitload of LSD on an empty stomach.

Must Love Dogs - A forty-something preschool teacher looks to the personals for a change...of...pace..... and a........ relationshhhh...........oh, sorry, I fell asleep while I was writing that.

Stealth - Jamie Foxx cringes as he follows up an Oscar win with what is basically the equivalent to Oscar taking a huge dump on celluloid.

Wedding Crashers - Ok, we get it. Will Ferrell is funny. Now, fuck off for 5 minutes already.

Celebrity Spotting #38

Okay, so I spotted Rolling Stones guitarist Ron Wood when he was lined up in front of me at the local multiplex. He's hard to miss.

Who ever thought Ronnie would be into the Bad News Bears?

Insulting Our Children WIth Talking Animals

Coming soon to a movie house near you: Baileys Billion$, a precious little film about a talking dog that inherits a fortune.

Ok, enough talking animal movies.

Take it from me. Our children aren't that fucking dimwitted. They really don't need to hear the voice of Jon Lovitz coming from a golden retriever to "get" what's going on.

Seriously. The Million Dollar Duck never spoke. Why the fuck should Bailey talk?

It's not cute. And it's not funny. Besides that, I only imagine it is causing irrevocable harm to society's standard of "quality family films". Everytime I hear one of these bland, milquetoast filmmaker motherfuckers talk about these talking animal films, they always say, "we wanted to make something that would appeal to kids and adults".

Well, guess what Skitter, you ain't done either. The parents are bored and the kids are getting stupider. Way to go, Hollywood.

In A Battle to the Death: Who Would Win?

Harry Potter - Overexposed Boy Wizard

OR...

Sherman Potter - Tired, Has-Been M*A*S*H Doctor?

Note To All Speed-Walkers...

Enough!
Would you fucking pick it up, already?!

Can I Tempt You?

After eating a big meal in a restaurant, sometimes you really get tempted by the dessert menu even though you really don't need anything else to eat. However, for the sake of argument, this is a list of desserts that I'm fairly certain would not tempt me if I read them on a menu:

Mouse Turd Mousse
Iced Breast Milk
Apple Dandruff Crumble
Toenail Pudding
Wood Ticks on a Log
Hair Yogurt
Warm White Chocolate Brownie drizzled with a homeless crack addict's drool
Blackhead Pie
Taintful of Caramel
Mud Pie
Strawberry Short and Curlies

These are the things I think about when I mix up my multivitamin bottle with the Zoloft....

Sorry Ladies...

Willem Dafoe is off the market.

Chillin' With The Weasel....Again

Wow, Pauly Shore must be thanking the great comedy gods that reality TV came along.

After all, after his career nose-dived following it's quick rise in the misinterpreted melange of the late 80s/early 90s along with such kings-of-the-time as Vanilla Ice, Corey Haim, Corey Feldman and Richard Greico, Shore's finally found a platform for his past-tense kitsch value.

He's got a show coming called "Minding the Store", about his efforts to help run his mother's famous LA comedy club, presumably with dreaded results. Why else would it be on the air unless he looked like a complete idiot?

Pauly's not alone. With special thanks to shows like his, Surreal Life, Celebrity Boxing, shows about washed-up actors dancing, cooking and whatever else you can think of, America has found an absolutely new strata of fame: The Has Been Celebrity.

Yes, no longer are you and your finished fame doomed to perform "Run For Your Wife" at remote Arizona dinner theater productions as 80-year olds-with-oxygen tanks choking on mashed potatoes fill the audience. If you are lucky, you can humiliate yourself on TV instead. You even get bonus points for being misguided that you are still The Shit.

But do we really need to see these former stars each week? Does this fascination of fleeting fame really carry any more weight than a mere 15 second referencial joke about the 80s? Probably not. Because really, isn't that the joke? The fact that we are gobbling up this shovel-full of mindless material on TV. The fact that this kind of programming takes not much more than a good idea, a shameless has-been and a good marketing strategy is a testament to how gullible we are.

There is no content in The Surreal Life. It's watching a bunch desperate wash-ups try to score a second-grab at the brass ring all the wrong way. For us, it's like watching the chimps hang out in the monkey cage. Sure, it may be fun for a few minutes, but at the end of the day, unless that simian's pink crayon comes out and he starts going at it like he's shaking a martini, you've got nothing to brag about with your friends. And who's kidding who - no one reads the information plaques at the zoo.

So what the hell am I getting at? Not sure. Except I wish Pauly Shore luck. I mean, it's not like I ever liked the dude, but its kinda sad to see someone shamelessly try to save their job regardless. And I don't expect he'll ever see a resurgence like he did in the 90s (if you're holding out for Son-In-Law 2, you may wanna think again), but if he counts his blessings, maybe he will get invited back to the Playboy mansion.

Chances are, that's all he ever wanted anyhow.

Would 'Guerrilla Radio' Be Too Much?

HEY!
Here's a happy thought!

What's the one song in the world you would like played at your funeral as your casket is being lead off to be planted into the ground?

Think about it.

More Rock Bands I've Just Thought Up

If you're dedicated to reading my blog (and shame on you if you are), you know I like thinking of band names (consider it a service to the mediocre fucks out there who can't do it themselves). Some of these classic monikers have included The Shit Eating Grins, Professional Figure Skater/Amateur Closeted Homosexual, Monsignor Shithead and The Boy, I’d Love To Fuck Her String Quartet. Now here's my latest batch of warped band names:

Johnny Numbnuts
The Puckering Arsehole Symphony
Fuck You and Everyone Who Looks Like You (or FYAWLLY for short)
Whiskey Diet
Satan Santa (for a festive speed-metal band)
Diarrhea Mime
Dog Licks Himself
Simulated Flavor
Bobby Vinton Was A Cumcatcher
Spagetti Nasal Ejection

Have a band without a name? Help yourself........and your welcome.

Lord Of The Idiots

from the pages of quill of the saucy monk:

Ever leave your card in the bank machine? What the hell were you thinking? You took the money out. You grabbed your withdrawal slip. You simply walked away.

Idiot.

Well, I can beat that. Tonight, I took some money out. Grabbed the cash. Took my withdrawal slip. Then I hit the 'yes' button to enact another tranaction, namely a bankbook update. Then, somewhere in the nanoseconds between hitting 'yes' and waiting for the screen to present my options, my brain changed its mind, went for recess and I wandered off like some drone from Westworld leaving behind not only my bank card, but also my account fully exposed.

Holy fuck. Now that's an idiot.

I wish I could say I was wasted after a marathon-evening of Jagermeister-shooters or just finished a record-setting number of bong hits or something, but I wasn't. In fact, I was perfectly sober. Well, maybe not "perfectly" sober.

After checking with the bank on the phone, it turns out the generous(?) git who next walked up to a bank machine pretty much ready to give away free money only withdrew a $40 sum. My guess is, they thought they'd just get what they needed to buy a large double-pepperoni and a cab ride home yet still teach whoever the dumbfuck is who left their account wide open a lesson. Me thinks thanks are in order?

Next stop, the bank. Tomorrow, I will be the court jester in the bank who has to explain he needs a new card because he wanted to tempt financial fate by leaving his savings to the world. They'll have a good laugh, probably ask me why I did that ("um, because I have schizophrenia and often slip into episodes where I think I'm Robert Goulet and instantly panic and NEED hair-coloring products no matter what", I'll say with a straight face. I just hope its fucked up enough that they don't ask anymore questions) and then they'll tell me I'm lucky I only lost $40 dollars. Yes, you're right. I am lucky. And you are lucky that I'm just humiliated enough by this experience that I don't jump across this desk and crush your windpipe like an empty Mello Yello can, Mr. Self-Important Banker.

I may be an idiot, but I wouldn't say I'm lucky.

.....hurl the insults...

Most Useless Talent of the Week

Farthest Spaghetti Nasal Ejection

If you are ever in doubt about how simply ridiculous our society has become, all you really need to do is pick up one o' them Guiness Book of Records tomes at the local book shop and flip through a few pages.

Kevin Cole of New Mexico holds the record for the longest spaghetti strand blown out of a nostril in a single blow. He successfully achieved a record distance of 19 cm or 7 and a half inches.

He first started practicing his nasal ejection with Ramon noodles (as we all do at some point in college when you're at home, smashed on Sambuca and the power goes out so you aren't distracted by re-runs of Married With Children) and then ofcourse, you know, it naturally progressed onto spaghetti. I'm thinking the next natural progression must be a broad noodle. Or how about fusilli? Let's see how far Mr. Cole can rocket one of those spirally flying saucers out his nose. I bet a good honk'll get you atleast a foot.

Among Kevin's multitude of useless, and presumably girlfriend-averting skills is the ability to blow one end of the spaghetti out of one nostril, and the other end out of the other nostril for a "nasal floss" effect.

Well, Kevin...congrats. You sound like a real dickhead.