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Monday, March 29, 2010

Monday Morning Trailers

1. Marmaduke

You lost me at "Hey there." I don't know if there's anything worse than hearing Owen Wilson's voice come out of a Great Dane. That's not entirely true. I can think of one thing that is infinitely worse: George Lopez's voice coming out of a cat. Yeah. That's much worse.

I've never really seen eye-to-eye with the "why can't Hollywood come up with some original ideas and stop adapting for the screen and ruining the things I love" people. A good adaptation of something I love delights the crap out of me. I mean, for every Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel there's a Spider-man 2. For every Underdog there's a Ghost World. And et cetera. A big-screen version of the Marmaduke comic strip, however, is proof that if not completely out of ideas, Hollywood sure is getting close.

Who was clamoring for a Marmaduke movie?! Do you know anyone who even reads Marmaduke? Marmaduke hasn't been funny since, well, ever, because Marmaduke is, by it's very nature, completely and utterly un-fucking funny! Have you glanced at Marmaduke lately? I urge you to because, quite frankly, when it's not about Marmaduke sullying a freshly made bed or being too comically large to fit in his own doghouse or dragging his mustachioed owner down the boulevard, it's Marmaduke communicating with extraterrestrial beings. I'm not kidding. Marmaduke has come face-to-face with visitors from another planet. That is seriously what's going on over at Marmaduke. Ugh.

While I've got your attention, Hollywood, here are some other Sunday Funnies Favorites that should never, for any reason, not even to perpetuate your expensive coke habit, be adapted into a major motion picture:

-The Lockhorns
-Drabble
-Mallard Fillmore
-Jump Start
-Funky Winkerbean (I'm double-super serious on this one. If I hear even a rumor that some schmuck is writing a Funky Winkerbean script, I will personally go Rambo on his or her ass. I'm not joking. Funky Winkerbean is the comic strip equivalent of Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion)
-Garfield (You've somehow gotten away with it twice, now stop!)
-The Family Circus
-Dilbert
-Cathy

One I wouldn't mind if you could do it right: Calvin and Hobbes. But make it animated!

Oh yeah, I forgot: MARMADUKE DOESN'T TALK, DUMMY! HE DOESN'T EVEN USE GARFIELD-STYLE WORD BUBBLES. GAH!!!

2. Scott Pilgrim vs. The World

Another adaptation, only this one looks totally kick ass. And it's directed by Edgar Wright. I sorta can't wait.


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Saturday, March 20, 2010

Saturday Morning News Bits: corned beef, barn owls, dentistry on the cheap, and fatties.

Don't panic. You are not hallucinating. You are actually seeing the triumphant return of Saturday Morning News Bits to the pages of Giant Electric Penguin, your source for week old news. To celebrate this momentous homecoming, our crack staff of news junkies have uncovered some top notch stories. Let's do it, shall we? Let's, as they say in the legitimate media world, "news it up!"

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1. WHAT DID YOU DO ON ST. PATRICK'S DAY? DRINK? AMATEUR.

Ah, St. Patrick's Day! A day when Irish and non-Irish alike come together and celebrate the capture and subsequent gold-robbing of the first leprechaun. We celebrate this historic moment, of course, through massive amounts of beer consumption and good, old-fashioned bare-knuckle street fighting.

However, there are always those who buck tradition and blaze a new, disgusting trail of their own when celebrating goofy, mostly pointless holidays. For example, the citizens of Palm Beach Gardens weren't content breaking out the Best of Irish Drinking Songs cassette tape they purchased from Wal-mart on a whim in their college days or sucking down green-tinted Bud Light after green-tinted Bud Light. No, they desired more than that this St. Paddy's Day. The desired a corned beef sandwich eat off!

They came from all over the country. Professional, competitive eaters, who scarf down everything from hot dogs to hot peppers in record quantities.

But this being St. Patrick's Day the meat on the menu was corned beef - and lots of it.

The folks at TooJay's sliced-up more than 200 sandwiches for the eating competition. "The bread is soft. It's nice and hot, which makes it easier for them," said the restaurant's general manager E.T. Kandel. "The meat's got a little bit of fat in it which makes it easier to slide down."

I'm sorry. I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth. OK. I lied. It wasn't a little bit. It was a lot. And it wasn't just in my mouth. I had to run a damp rag over my keyboard. And my monitor. And my cat.

Hey, I enjoy corned beef as much as the next guy, in fact, the wife made some delicious corned beef and cabbage for dinner last Wednesday, but I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here covered in vomit and support a corned beef sandwich eating contest. ACK! EWW! URP! (Many thanks to the comic strip Cathy for letting me borrow those sound effects)

So, who won this contest of the damned?

The competition itself was ten minutes of swallowing and swigging in front of a crowd of about 300 people. Paramedics were standing-by on the perimeter, they say, since "choking" in this sort of competition can get a lot more serious.

About half way through the competition, the amateurs were realizing they'd bitten off more than they could chew. The professional eaters were downing their corned beef more than twice as fast.

"It's ridiculous how much they can eat," said one competitor.

In the end, the winner was Joey Chestnut, the reigning Nathan's hot-dog king, who'd actually practiced for this contest. He downed 15-and-a-half sandwiches is just 10 minutes.


Oh, God! I'm gonna blow! Give me a few minutes, please. While you're waiting, watch this horrify video of the disgusting event for yourself.
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2. OWL CAM: BETTER THAN PORN OR JUST DIFFERENT?

The success of Jersey Shore and the Keeping Up with the Kardashians Wedding Special proves that Americans will watch literally anything. But who will be the next reality superstar? Who will knock Snookie off of her gilded hilltop and steal the sparkling crown from her crumpled, orange body? Molly the Barn Owl, that's who (all puns intended)!

A worldwide audience is watching an owl in San Marcos as she tends to six eggs that are about to hatch in her nest.

Molly, the barn owl, is attracting an audience of thousands who are watching via a Webcam mounted near her nest.

Carlos and Donna Royal say more than 100,000 people have visited their Web site to watch Molly tend to her soon-to-be chicks.

Is there anything more captivating than the miracle of life? I submit that there is not. Although, while I'm submitting things, I'd also like to remind our readers that owls are birds and birds come from eggs and, if I'm not mistaken, I think people are watching a bird sit on some eggs. Hmmm.

I guess The Molly Show has had some exciting moments. In a recent episode, McGee, Molly's "mate" (Sounds like these two barn owls are shacking up. Not a great message for America's youth.), brought his sweetheart some take-out: a dead rabbit.

"I thought my kids would freak, but they loved it," said one viewer.

"My kids were really quiet," said another.


Yes, because they had been shocked into horrified silence! Sheesh!

You can watch Molly here. You can also, apparently, purchase Molly mugs and t-shirts. And, while you're watching an owl sit around, why not live chat with people who have as much spare time on their hands as you do. Fun!
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3. BEWARE THE DENTIST OF DOOM

There's nothing I love more than a trip to the dentist's office. The scraping, the poking, the drilling: who could ask for more?

I happen to like my dentist, even when he is regaling me with strange bon mots that I cannot respond to because his hand is in my mouth. He's a nice fellow and I trust him. I also like the team of dental hygienists he's put together. They are courteous, intelligent, and mostly gentle.

Not every dentist is a pillar of the community, however. For instance, this monster from Fall River, Massachusetts:

A former Massachusetts dentist is accused of putting paper clips in patients’ mouths during root canals, then billing Medicaid for the stainless steel posts he should have used.

The state attorney general announced Tuesday that a grand jury indicted former Fall River dentist Michael Clair last week. The charges include assault and battery, larceny, submitting false claims to Medicaid, and illegally prescribing drugs.

Prosecutors say Clair was suspended by Medicaid in 2002. He allegedly hired other dentists for his clinic and filed claims under their numbers between August 2003 and June 2005. He’s also accused of illegally prescribing drugs to staffers who returned medications to him.

I don't know many people who enjoy going to the dentist--my opening paragraph was dripping with sarcasm, in case you didn't catch it--and it's jerk-offs like Clair that keep people from going on a regular basis. Nobody wants office supplies jammed into their gums while they sleep peacefully in a dentist's chair.
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4. YOU'VE GOTTA HAVE GOALS

Say what you will about New Jersey's own Donna Simpson, but at least she's got direction. I still don't know what I'm doing with my life and I've been going at it for thirty-one years now. Simpson knows what she wants though. She wants to be the fattest woman who has ever lived! She's not content being 43rd. Oh no! She knows 600 pounds ain't gonna take her to the top of the sweaty, heavy-breathing heap neither. Simpson is determined to surpass the thousand pound mark and take her rightful place as the heaviest woman to ever walk this poor, pitiful Earth:

Simpson's goal is to surpass 1,000 pounds, and she's got a game-plan: eat lots of junk food and move around as little as possible.

Said Simpson in a published interview: "I have one of the largest bellies around ... On [my] website I also have videos of me in motion, because they like to see me in motion, see how my fat jiggles and moves."

Apparently you can watch Donna consume fast food on her Web site as well. I haven't checked it out, but I'm sure Simpson's site ain't as kid friendly as Molly the Barn Owl's.

OH SHIT! I just had a brainstorm explosion! I think there needs to be a very special Fat Donna/Molly the Owl crossover episode. Like, maybe Molly and Donna battle it out over McGee's latest offering (a rat carcass, roadkill beaver, etc.). Or, and this might upset PETA a little, maybe Donna has reached, I don't know, 999 pounds and she just needs a little push and live on the internet or, hell, Pay-Per-View, she eats Molly. It could work.

Until I get this Molly/Donna thing worked out, you can personally help Simpson achieve her goals:

[Simpson] says, people are not only paying to see her in all her largeness, they send her cakes and McDonald's gift certificates to help her reach her goal.

"It's something that my fans enjoy. They like to imagine me being that weight," said Simpson, who spends about $750.00 a week on food.

I've never been prouder to be an American.

(There is a longer article about Donna Simpson's quest for glory here.)

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Thursday, March 18, 2010

A Real Tragedy

More people can sing along to "Love in an Elevator" than have ever even heard of "September Gurls." Probably.



I'll miss Alex Chilton.

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Sunday, March 14, 2010

What the WTF?: Lover for a Day, Creep for a Lifetime

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In my opinion, there is nothing even remotely creepier than Facebook's Lover of the Day application. Have you seen this? Have you heard about this very much? Somebody out there saw the old Friend of the Day application and thought, "This'll probably make some people uncomfortable, but I think I've got a way to make people super uncomfortable."

For those who don't know, Facebook's Friend of the Day application chooses one of your FB acquaintances at random and posts a picture of him or her on your Wall accompanied by the message "[Random Name] is your Friend of the Day." As far as I know, the chosen "friend" is not presented with an e-trophy or automatically entered into a drawing to win fabulous prizes or cash. The friend simply gets his or her profile pic posted on your wall. Sometimes Friend of the Day users add a short message about how they met this particular friend, incorrectly believing that anybody else actual gives half a shit.

Lover of the Day serves essentially the same purpose: it chooses a "friend" at random and posts a picture of them on your wall. However, in this scenario, the chosen friend's picture is accompanied by this creeptastic reminder: "[Random Name of Person Who Should Un-Friend You Immediately Because You Are a Sick and Twisted Individual] is your Lover of the Day." Lover! Not "Love Match," which is creepy, yes, but also a little fun, maybe, but "Lover." You do know what sort of activities one participates in with one's lover, correct? If you guessed quietly discussing favorite books, films, and vacation destinations over coffee and scones, you are sorely mistaken. Lovers fuck. Pure and simple.

It was through the FB page of a "friend" of mine, one of the very few individuals whose friendship I've accepted though I have never once engaged in a face-to-face conversation with this person in my life as far as I can remember, that I discovered Lover of the Day. Once or twice a week, this young man posts pictures of young women he knows who have been chosen as his daily sex partner. Does he even know these pictures are being made public? I hope not. Perhaps it was a service he signed up for as a lark, intending to use it once, keep the results private, and never speak of it again. I doubt this is the case, however, because I'm constantly getting Lover of the Day updates from this guy. And it's always teenage girls. Creepy.

To write a fair appraisal of this vomit-inducing service, I, Matt Lawson, logged on to the Lover of the Day master database to discover who my lover of the day was and the results were quite shocking. I was paired up sexually with a female friend from high school, an innocent soul I had attended Christian rock concerts with and once harbored a short-lived crush upon, but who is now a happily married woman in her late 20's. Unlike the aforementioned Facebook chum, I had no intention of making this lover selection public. First, how bloody uncomfortable would that have made this girl to see her face plastered across my Wall with the label "Lover of the Day" printed alongside it? Second, I'm a happily married man! My wife wants me posting Lover of the Day messages in the News Feed all of our mutual friends read and comment upon every day? I don't think so.

Lover of the Day provides you with a chance to choose a new lover, however, if the first lover chosen at random turns out to be a dud. In the spirit of experimentation, I continued my quest, clicking a button that read "Choose Another Lover." I'd also like to mention at this point that the there is a button located directly below the new lover button that reads "Choose a Lover From Your Own Sex." Apparently, it doesn't matter which button you choose, because my second randomly chosen fuck buddy was a high school friend who just happened to be male. I clicked again. This time I was paired with my wife's former roommate, a homosexual male. Clicking again, I was paired with my sister-in-law. I shut down my computer soon after and took a long hot shower, which did little for my fractured psyche.

Listen, friends, avoid the temptation to discover your Facebook Lover of the Day, all right? It's weird and sick. It's for degenerates and lonely, virginal shut-ins. It's not for productive members of the human race like me and you. Now let's get some sunshine. You remember sunshine, right?

Disclaimer: I am not at all suggesting that the Facebook "friend" who inspired today's What the WTF? entry is a weird degenerate or a twisted virgin who never leaves his bedroom. He uses the application regularly and it inspired me. To be fair, I don't even really know this guy. I mean, I've seen him around, but we've never talked. You know what's really weird? He requested my friendship and I accepted it even though I'd only ever seen him from a distance and then he requested my wife's friendship. So, you know, maybe he is a little creepy, but I'm sure he's not a pervert. Right?
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Saturday, March 13, 2010

What the WTF?: An Open Letter to the International Sexy Ladies Show

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Dear Producers of the G4 Network original program The International Sexy Ladies Show,

Good afternoon. I hope this open letter finds you well. I'm doing fine, if you were wondering.

Now that we've exchanged pleasantries, let's get down to business...the business of sexy ladies.

I, as most men of my age, gender, and socioeconomic status, enjoy looking at beautiful women. It doesn't even matter what they're doing--speed-walking around the mall before it opens, dancing alone on the boardwalk at the New Jersey shore, attending an awards ceremony dressed in a gown made of plastic sheeting and hat antlers--I'll be watching. It's what I do. It's kind of my "anti-drug" if you will. Some people better themselves through further schooling or religious enlightenment. I ogle hot chicks.

As of late, however, I've found myself bored with this endeavor. It isn't unusual on occasion for me to wonder, "Is that all there is? Have I really observed insanely attractive women participating in every kind of activity that insanely attractive women can conceivably participate in?" That, International Sexy Ladies Show, is where you come in.

You've created a place where every red-blooded American male can come and observe sexy ladies on an international level. No longer must we concede to set our sights merely on those hot chicks living within the borders of the boring, ole US of A. Your globe-trotting peepshow has made it easier then ever to watch hot, sexy ladies from around the world do all sorts of crazy shit! From a young women in the Czech Republic slathering herself with melted chocolate in a sun-dappled forest glen to a half-dressed Japanese teenager eating strawberry after strawberry after strawberry! From bikini-clad Korean girls competing to be crowned The Sexiest Chick in South Korea to a couple of Russian babes in their Sunday best giving a mud-covered tank a warm, soapy sponge bath! For this, International Sexy Ladies Show, you are to be commended.
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Your program, however, contains a sinister second component, a component that has become all to familiar in the world of reality clip shows: the panel of C-list comedian commentators. Tragically, this drops your program from "best show ever" status to somewhere in the "maybe if I repeatedly jam this ice pick into my ear canal the awfulness will go away" range.

And it really isn't the celebrity status, or lack thereof, of your panel of quipsters that's the problem. It's the jokes. Most are simply lazy, obvious, and glaringly unfunny. Some, though, aren't even jokes, but, rather, observations, and not particularly clever ones. For example, a recent episode of your program contained a clip of two bald, sexy German lasses being stripped down, slathered in shiny pink paint, and made to pose as mannequins (or "real-equins," as the show's narrator insisted on calling them) for the delight of a bunch of horny department store shoppers. Halfway through the clip, comedian Edwin San Juan (yeah, I'd never heard of him either) steps onto the screen and says the following:

"I like their haircuts. (beat) They're bald. (beat) Like me. (points to head, which is, in fact, bald)"

Where's the joke? That's right: there isn't one. First, do you think there was anyone in the audience wondering why Mr. San Juan liked the German ladies' haircuts so much? "Wait, why does he like their haircuts? Is he gonna tell us? Is this gonna be one of those LOST-style cliffhangers?" Of course not! We get it. They're bald, he's bald. There you go. There's your hilarious quip. Second, why did he have to point to his head? I'm not familiar with Mr. San Juan's act, but is this something he does often? Does his audience need him to drive those points home so blatantly?

Look, G4, you've got a great show here, it's just suffering from something I call the Totally Awesome Idea/Supremely Shitty Execution Syndrome. I'm going to be honest, if I want to see comedians poke fun at weird, pop culture ephemera, I'm going to tune in to the fine programming at Video Hits 1. You think I'm going to watch a show in which 2007 Last Comic Standing winner Jon Reep cracks wise about naked Italian babes bowling when a few channel flips away VH1's got Michael Ian Black taking Furby down a few pegs? There's no contest, man!

Listen, I don't enjoy it when the worlds of sex and comedy are blended. Every time a buddy of mine wants to show me a collection of porn bloopers he's found on the internets, I politely decline. When I want to laugh, I go to YouTube and watch people fall down. When it's time for sex, it's time to get serious. Your show, with it's goofy narrator and boring comedians popping up every two minutes to listlessly spout dumb jokes, does nothing more than confuse my penis.

Yours truly,
Matt

PS More clips from that reality show where sexy Korean girls try to give dudes boners, please!

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Thursday, March 11, 2010

What's Next for James Cameron?

James Cameron's Avatar was a bust at the Oscars, but it's still raked in more money that I care to look up very easily on the internet, so Hollywood's still aching to know what Cameron's got cooked up for us next. Thing is, they haven't got a clue. But we do. Take a gander at some upcoming projects we made up and are pretending James Cameron's considering.



1. Titanitar: A team of conflicted scientists working for an evil multinational corporation in the early years of the 20th century uses steam-powered nanocomputers and baroque magical incantations to inhabit the bodies of giant luxury liners. Their goal: infiltrate a clan of sentient luxury liners in the North Atlantic and convince them to hand over their giant iceberg made entirely of the fictionally-named hardtogetium ice ore. Expect lots of smoke stacks inserted into portholes, whale bottoms, and female vaginas as that's how the luxury liners have sex and having sex is how luxury liners breathe.



2. Terminitar :A team of conflicted scientists working for an evil multinational corporation in the middle years of the 21st century uses jargon-filled scientific soliloquies to explain to the viewer how they have inhabited the bodies of bodybuilder cyborgs. Their goal: infiltrate a clan of sentient human beings from the past and convince them to hand over their leather jacket (I haven't seen Terminator, but a leather jacket features prominently on the poster) made entirely of givemeabreakium. Expect lots of cgi graphics inserted into eyeholes, robot bottoms, and female vaginas as that's how the bodybuilder cyborgs have sex and having sex is how bodybuilder cyborgs breathe.



3. Abyssitar:A team of conflicted scientists working for an evil multinational corporation in the middle years of the 20th century uses breathable liquid to inhabited the bodies of submarines. Their goal: infiltrate a clan of sentient sea creatures and convince them to hand over their copy of the Pamela Anderson sex tape made entirely of imgonnacumium. Expect lots of Tommy Lee's penis (I haven't seen Pamela Anderson's sex tape, but Tommy Lee's penis features prominently on the cover) inserted into mouthholes, floozie bottoms, and female vaginas as that's how Tommy Lee has sex and having sex is how Tommy Lee breathes. Read the rest of this article.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

The 82nd Academy Awards: Do You Even Give a Crap?

I watch the Academy Awards every year without fail. What can I say, I love the art of film. Then again, the Oscars have about as much to do with the art of film as Larry the Cable Guy has to do with the art of stand-up comedy. Why then do I love the Academy Awards so much? Is it the glittering fashion parade? The transcendent spectacle that is a sunglassed Jack Nicholson whooping it up front row center? The corny jokes delivered by second-tier stars like Cuba Gooding Jr.? What about this gilded turd compels me to devote over three hours I can never have back to it? Do I love movies that much or do I just hate myself?

I don't have an answer for you, loyal reader. All I can say is don't call my home tonight between 8 and 11 because I will be otherwise engaged. That's right, tonight is Oscar night and that means I'll be off the radar, unless, of course, something unexpectedly wacky occurs, forcing me to log onto Twitter and share my witticisms with all 50 of my beloved followers.

I've noticed, however, that this year I'm not as jazzed about the Oscars as I usually find myself. I've tried to get excited, but I can't seem to do it. As of right now, I'm more looking forward to the smorgasbord of appetizers my wife is preparing than the actual awards ceremony. Why this lack of excitement, you ask. Well, I blame those blue bastards from Pandora.
Look, I saw Avatar. I didn't see it in 3-D, so maybe I didn't experience the film how James Cameron intended, but I think I got the point. The special effects were neat and I liked some of the battle sequences, but overall the whole thing was kind of meh. You know? The story was hackneyed, the dialogue was awful, the acting was amateurish, the alien creatures that weren't Na'vi were yawn-inducing, Giovanni Ribisi was playing his character from The Other Sister, etc., etc. I never figured out why the scientists were even using avatars. The Na'vi knew the avatar-people were fakes, so why did Sigourney Weaver and her crew even play Dress Up Like The Natives? Stupid.

But, listen, a lot of people enjoyed Avatar and that's fine. You enjoy Avatar, America. Here's the thing though: I've got this sinking feeling that it's going to win the Academy Award for Best Picture and, honestly, I don't want to stay up for three hours just to have that be my grand finale. Before this year's Golden Globes, I wouldn't have given a second thought to my yearly viewing of the Oscar telecast. Then, after watching James Cameron grace the stage, not once, but twice, I thought, "Oh no. There goes Oscar night."

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach is a tape worm. Maybe James Cameron won't take to the stage tonight and reclaim his throne as King of the World. But I bet he will. And you can bet that around 11:15 PM, I'll be angrily puking up some spicy chicken wings.

Anyway, here's a quick list of my personal Oscar picks in the major categories, followed by who I think will actually win the award.
Best Picture
My pick: Of the nominees: District 9; Of all films from 2009: Fantastic Mr. Fox
Who will win: Avatar prolly. Ugh.

Best Actor in a Leading Role
My pick: George Clooney (Up in the Air)
Who will win: Jeff Bridges (Crazy Heart)- I've heard good things.

Best Actress in a Leading Role
My pick: Helen Mirren (The Last Station)- I haven't seen the film--probably never will, if I'm being honest--but that old lady is H-O-T! Damn!
Who will win: Sandra Bullock (The Blind Side) or Meryl Streep (Julie & Julia)
Best Actor in a Supporting Role
My pick: Christoph Waltz (Inglourious Basterds)
Who will win: Christoph Waltz (Inglourious Basterds)-Quite simply the best performance all year.

Best Actress in a Supporting Role
My pick: Vera Farmiga (Up in the Air) - She hasn't been getting much love at the award shows, but I thought she was great.
Who will win: Mo'Nique (Precious: Based on the Novel 'Push" by Sapphire...phew!)

Best Animated Feature Film
My pick: Fantastic Mr. Fox (though I absolutely loved Coraline and Up as well)
Who will win: Up

Best Director
My pick: Quentin Tarantino (Inglourious Basterds)
Who will win: Kathryn Bigelow (The Hurt Locker)-I actually hope she wins, because she'll be the first woman to win the Best Director Academy Award and that's pretty sweet.

Check out GEP's official Twitter feed during the 82nd Academy Awards for our instant reactions to the proceedings in Hollywood.

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Saturday, March 6, 2010

What About Jon?

It's been awhile since we've checked in with our old buddy Jon Gosselin, but after last week's announcement that his ex-wife, Kate, would appear on Season 10 of ABC's dreadful, confusingly- titled Dancing with the Stars (Yes, you read that correctly, Season 10! This hunk of garbage is entering it's 10th season!), I was curious to find out whether or not Jon had anything lined up. The last time I'd seen Gosselin on TV was when America's sweetheart, Nancy Grace, was berating him and his fake-diamond earrings on The Insider, which is apparently an actual television program and not a Tim and Eric-style goof. Kate Gosselin and her weave are getting a second change at reality fame," I said to myself, for I was alone, as I usually am. "When will it be Jon's turn?"

Let's face it, it's been tough going for everybody's favorite Ed Hardy-shirted, half-Asian mega douche. First, he lost his lawsuit against TLC, the basic cable station that used the disintegration of his marriage to make millions of dollars. Next, ex-girlfriend, Hailey Glassman, as well as Kate, discussed the size of Jon's penis with the press, as if that were something anybody on the planet actually cared about (Glassman told the publication, Steppin' Out, that Gosselin's member was "tiny, tiny, tiny," while in the pages of US Kate divulged her nickname for it: stubby. Classy, ladies. Real classy). Then there was that insulting offer from Playgirl.

I'm not going to lie. I was one of the first people to jump on the Eff Jon Gosselin and His Endless Douchbaggery bandwagon. Hell, I paid hard-earned money to take my parents to a Jon and Kate live appearance. I bought a family photo adorned with verses from the Bible for $20. I met the Gosselins face-to-face and told them that I liked their show. I think my bitterness was more than justified. But when a man's dick gets dragged out and verbally assaulted in public, it is opinion that the things have kind of "jumped off the rails" as they say. I don't know who "they" are, but I assume they're train conductors.

So, Jon, I want to apologize. I've said some horrible things about you and your deteriorating parenting skills and your stupid tiger shirts and your sense of entitlement, but no more. No, as a man with both thinning hair and a penis (though not one as allegedly miniscule as your penis), I've decided to stop insulting you and instead offer up some ideas on how you can make your own Kate Gosselin-style career reboot. Obviously, Season 10 of Dancing with the Stars is out. It might get a little awkward backstage. Season 11, maybe? But why wait for a phone call that may never, ever come. Here are some serious ideas that you can pounce on right now.
1. I have an inkling that you are already prepping for my first idea, even though I haven't heard any solid reports at this time, but how about appearing on the next season of Vh1's Celebrity Fit Club? You are totally qualified. One: you're not an actual celebrity. Two: you're not too terribly overweight. Three: you come across like a real egomaniacal jerk-off. It's a perfect marriage. I think a couple more impromptu vacations to France with Michael Lohan, a couple more rich, Parisian meals out, and you'll have a gut worthy of Video Hits 1, my friend.

2. Four words: Celebrity Chili Cook-Off Challenge! Heard of it? Of course you haven't, dummy, because it's an original concept I've been developing in my free time for the past three years. I don't want you to get too excited, but Bravo is interested, and by "is" I mean "will be" when someone actually returns my calls (The ball's in your court, Bravo). Here's the idea: A bunch of celebrities make chili and a panel of judges picks the best one. It's so simple, I can't believe Mark Burnett has done it yet. And he better not. I know you read this blog, Burnett, and if you steal my idea, I swear, I'll get you. Sleep with one eye open, sir.

Not convinced, Jon. Well, try this on for size. I'm thiiiis close to getting Canadian pop superstar Justin Bieber to sign on. And Wendy "The Snapple Lady" Kaufman has shown interest. Bobby Brown won't stop blowing up my phone. Get in on the ground floor on this one, Goz. Can I call you Goz?
3. I don't know if a lot of people know this, but you are a funny dude. I've seen this cat live on stage, everybody, and let me tell you, whenever Kate actually let him get a word in, he was electric! He has this laid-back style that almost sounds like he's talking in his sleep. But he's fully awake! Seriously! So, why not hit the road with a stand-up act? Workshop some jokes, perfect your craft, create a solid set, then take the logical next step: HBO special. I've already got the title: Jon Gosselin: A Joke Tellin' Jokes. It's self-deprecating. People love that. They also love boob jokes.

4. Get your old job back. There's no shame in becoming a private citizen again. Even better: start your own business and work from the home. You can be with your kids all the time. While your ex is off dancing with stars and hocking her stupid books, you can be at home with the brood. Just being around them will guarantee that when Hannah grows up and writes that tell-all memoir, you come out as the hero. (Hey, Hannah, I got the title for you if you want it: Growing Up Gosselin: How TLC Ripped My Family Apart and Put Me Through College)

5. Become a spokesman for dick enhancement pills. It'll show you have a sense of humor about your stubby little pecker. And they really work. I mean, that's what I've heard.

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