Friday, October 29, 2004

Hot Shot: Part Douche

First, let me say that I was wrong in my assessment of the Red Sox demise. It turns out that there is no god, or he at least was too busy whipping up a hurricane, volcano, earthquake, or West Nile outbreak that he forgot to screw over the Red Sox again. There is a picture from the celebration that I love. In this picture, Red Sox pitcher Pedro Martinez holds a giant bottle of maple syrup up to the sky in celebration.

Okay, on to the meat of this thing. The douche bag that I've been talking about in the past couple of posts has struck again. See, we have to participate, for my Latin cinema class, in this discussion board about the films we have to watch. As I wrote last time, we had to watch David Lynch's Mulholland Drive. This guy, the fuckbasket who called it a "masterpiece," took exception to what I contributed to the discussion, which is as follows.

I don't think David Lynch even knows what he intended. The film is what happens when poorly written dialogue meets somebody who really really wants to be seen as "so strange he's a genius." Films like this are open to interpretation because--and this is just my opinion--the filmmaker is so pretentious that he thinks if he puts enough random things within it, people will find meaning where they want. It's a lot like all of the Nostradamus predictions--if you keep talking and writing things down cryptically, eventually somebody will read in to what you wrote and take it to mean what they want. It's also, in my opinion, along the same lines of psychics and mediums.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the film on the level that it shows me boobies, and also on the level that it does get so weird because I like weird things (that's why I carry around my I [heart] unicorns Trapper Keeper). But, I refuse to read into it what I can because, if I want to do that, I'll go read some tea leaves or the chocolate milk stain on the seat of my truck.

This is exactly what I wrote, I just copied and pasted it from the message board. Now, Wannabe McGee wrote this in response:
Reading Kurt's input on this film is exactly why I don't want to do this sort of thing.

If (Professor's name deleted to maintain some anonymity) is reading this-- Could I please be released from having to put a second thing in here, I'll do three in any other area you wish!

How much does a zero in this area hurt?

First, for a guy that wants to put across the notion that he's so goddamn smart, his grammar isn't exactly stellar. Secondly, my post was just my opinion, which I stated twice, but it was so against what he believes, because, as I eluded to, he's a pretentious ball of backsweat, that he could no longer continue to even post in the same section that I did. Not even the same thread, but the entire section about Mulholland Drive had suddenly become sullied because I called it out for being wannabe elitist bullshit. I emailed him to see just what exactly about what I wrote made him want to quit life. It's not as much out of whether I give a fuck what he thinks or if I hurt his feelings, I just want to know what did it. I'll be he's got the I [heart] unicorns Trapper Keeper that I talked about. Unicorn-lovers are very sensitive about these things.

Interesting thought of the day:
If you put anything up to a baby's face, it will at least smell it. Just keep this in mind.


Drew said...

You don't carry a unicorn Trapper Keeper because you 'like weird things', you carry it cause you're a homo.

Jimbo the Angry Clown said...

C'mon toon, I bet you could make him either wet himself, or just leave the class if you participate a little more during class.

jaxun said...

As for your explanation of the picture, you're not fooling anyone. That is CLEARLY a post-mortem Rick James, fresh from a few laps in the steam room (or a particularly intense crack pipe relapse), showing off his life-size Emmanuel Lewis award.

You know, the "Mannies"! Or is that "Lewies"? I forget.

Anyway you slice it, midgets are fun! Not only that, they're delicious.