“You may all go to Hell…I will go to Texas”-Davy Crockett
Davy Crockett’s tombstone reads: “Davy Crockett, Pioneer, Patriot, Soldier, Trapper, Explorer, State Legislator, Congressman, Martyred at The Alamo.” It fails to mention that he killed a bear when he was but a wee lad of three, but hey, there’s only so long you can go with an epitaph before you start to bore people. Crockett also wrote a book, the creatively titled, Narrative of the Life of Davy Crockett. Though it contains no mention of Silverlake, it does have an entire chapter on the proper way to wear buckskin. (”Snug, with just enough room to breath.”)
Over the years, the legend of Crockett has manifested itself in various forms. There was the Disneyfied, coonskin-cap wearing, King of the Wild Frontier, popularized by Fess Parker in such films as Davy Crockett Goes to Congress and Davy Crockett and the River Pirates. There was Davy Crockett as gay cowboy (presumably) in Davy Crockett: Rainbow in the Thunder. There was Davy Crockett as drunk existentialist, as played by Billy Bob Thornton in 2004’s maligned, The Alamo. And as 2008 dawns, with its nebulous promise of a shift of the winds, it is time to unveil the latest incarnation of Crockett folklore: the hipster Davey Crockett.
Granted, it was only Thursday night that the first intrepid, visionary coonskin-cap wearer stepped into Spaceland as though he was opening up Indian territory to Western expansion. And yes, it was just one hipster in one bar in one city. But rest assured this trend has the potential to spread like wildfire once the Harry and the Hendersons set realizes that not only can they project a new virile, musket-carrying image to their fair leggings, ladies. More importantly, they can completely alter the hipster space time continuum, sending the wookie-world hurtling back to 1955. No longer will your favorite Eastside denizens look like they stepped out of an cocaine orgy that may or may not have involved Pat Benatar. Yessir, 2008 holds the promise of a bold new paradigm. Coonskin caps. Greased hair. Cigarette packs rolled into tight white tees. Poodle skirts. Malt shop chic. As for me, I highly doubt I’ll adopt Crockett’s sartorial flair, though if enough hipsters end up ironically rocking dead raccoons for the rest of the winter, it’s highly probably that I’ll tell everyone to go hell and set out for the Lone Star state. I hear Austin is lovely this time of year.
Not only is this a tremendous victory for wearers of handle-bar mustaches everywhere, but now, men named Goose can hold their heads high and no longer will be mistaken for sundry farm ganders. And yes, in case you were wondering, this post mainly exists because there are few names in the English language more fun to type than Goose Gossage. The only one that might top it is Catfish Hunter. Ah to be a 1970’s American League Closer. (No Sparky Lyle).
After an intense scrutiny of the video for “Sensual Seduction” confirmed what a battery of MRI exams had already hinted at, neurologist Gerald Schwartz of The Mayo Clinic has decisively concluded that the rapper, Snoop Dogg, has smoked himself “retarded.”
“Retarded isn’t a term we even use anymore, but in this case it just seems to fit,” Schwartz said, furrowing his brow and waving his hands in air as though he actually does care. “Sometime around The Doggfather, Snoop’s chronic use of chronic began to take its toll. Subsequent forays in the world of pornography, youth football and whatever Doggy Fizzle Telefizzle was, are further evidence of his burn-out, “The unfortunate reality is that 98.3 percent of Snoop Dogg’s cerebral synapses are smothered in THC like birds dying on the beach after an oil spill.”
Schwartz displayed the results of the questionnaire that Mr. Dogg filled out upon being admitted to the Mayo clinic.
“Look at this!” Schwartz said, showing reporters a Mayo entrance questionnaire where Dogg had written his name: Calvin Broadizzle Deezle. “The subject is unable to properly spell his own name correctly, not to mention he’s exhibited classic schizophrenic behavior, by frequently requesting a voice box to sing into and asking the staff if they know whether or not he’s a freak. He also kept on repeating the word, “Bootsy over and over again.”
Let’s Just Cut to the Chase, There is Never a Bad Time To Post a Cover of a Zapp Album
Dogg’s former mentor, Dr. Dre declined to comment on his colleague’s medical condition, cl claiming to be too busy with his rigorous daily routine of snorting power shakes and bench-pressing baby elephants.
However, Dre’s half-brother, frequent Snoop collaborator, Warren G, opened up to reporters about his fallen friend.
“Snoop….man….Snoop likes his weed,” Warren G said, pausing, sighing and staring at the heavens. “I don’t know why people still give him so much attention. I mean, you people do you realize that he’s spit the same 16 bars in every verse since 1997? What about me? I’m Warren G. Don’t you guys remember “Regulate?” Or “This is the Shack” Those were awesome, right? ”
After initially turning down several interview requests, Snoop Dogg gathered reporters to his house out in the hills right next to Chino, to deny reports of Schwartz’s damning theories. Wearing nothing but a rhinestone studded lame jumpsuit and an electric guitar, the Long Beach bred rapper waggled his finger at the assembled media.
“You’ll reportizzle is off-fizzle…Snoop Dizzle is still number wizzle. Pizzle, bitches. Pizzle.”
Dogg then dismissed the crowd with a wave, an air pimp-slap and a villainous laugh. As for Schwartz, he contends that Dogg is slated to report back to the Mayo clinic in two weeks for some highly experimental brain therapy.
“We’re determined to try to recover as much of his brain matter as possible,” Schwartz said. We’re going to get him on a manageable five blunt a day diet with no more than two glasses a day of Gin and Juice. We’re also playing him an endless loop of The Chronic and Doggystyle and we’re also considering showing Snoop re-runs of The L Word, specifically his guest appearances as ‘Slim Daddy.”
If you need more drug info for specific reasons, such as to find out if marijuana will have any sorts of drug side effects during pregnancy, then while you should consult a doctor about the drugs you are taking you can also use the Internet to find out a lot about drugs and their effects.
If home is where you hang your hat then Silverlake is rapidly turning into the world’s largest hat rack. Over the past 12 months, it has become de rigueur in hipster courting rituals for male hipsters (homo habilus hipstericus) to trot out increasingly ridiculous pieces of vintage head-ware in an effort to woo the female species of hipster (homo habilus hipstripesicus). A trend once confined to the deepest recesses of the Cha Cha Lounge has spread like wildfire, consuming most of Hollywood and threatening as far west as the Fairfax district. As a native Angeleno dedicated to the preservation of a sane, safe city, I have decided to compile a guide designed to help ameliorate this obvious hipster identity crisis. If you or anyone you know has this problem, please take them to the nearest Lids as rapidly as possible.
The Fedora:
Unless you’re a chain-smoking, hard-as-nails 1940s gumshoe who can say the phrase “private dick” with a straight face, you probably shouldn’t be wearing a fedora. I know half of you guys went to private school with people named Humphrey and/or Dashiell, but unless you’ve actually solved at least one mystery in your life then you are forbidden from fedora-ing. And, no figuring out to the plot to Mullholland Drive doesn’t count as a mystery. Of course, there is also the fact that Will I Am wears fedoras. And nothing Will I Am does can ever be cool. Nothing.
The Derby
If I wanted to see a walking, talking, ball of hair in a derby hat, I’d just go watch an episode of The Addams Family.
The Che
Fight the revolution! One $3.00 organic fair trade cup of coffee at a time.
The Newsboy Cap
Repeat after me: just because I know every word to every song in Newsies does not give me the right to wear a newsboy cap. Sorry to be the bearer of ill tidings, you don’t look like Dave Chappelle, you look more like the guy on the couch.
The Top Hat
Okay fine, so I’ve never actually seen anyone on the streets of Silverlake wearing a top hat. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately and have concluded that the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland very well might be the proto-hipster. Think about it. Garish color schemes, check. Shaggy unkempt mane, check. Penchant for spewing pretentious gibberish, check. Indie-rock style snug trousers, you betcha. And most importantly, the Mad Hatter had no real job and spent all day every day having tea parties with his friends. Give that man a laptop, stick him at the Intelligentsia Cafe, and he’d be in hog fucking heaven.
The Trilby Hat
Pros: You have a 0.01 percent chance of getting Kate Moss.
Cons: You have to tell people you’re wearing something called a trilby hat. Also, may bring back vivid childhood flashbacks of the Scatman.
The Beret
You know what would be the coolest thing ever? If an indie rock band started writing protest songs and had like eight people on-stage, two of whom were playing the violin and one of one of which was playing the glockenschpiel. And they could be influenced by Modest Mouse and The Talking Heads and Joy Division, with a touch of the Arcade Fire and they could all dress up in military fatigues and they could call themselves The Green Berets. It all starts with the beret. It all starts with the beret.
The Trucker Hat
Sorry brah, last time I checked this wasn’t 1999. Don’t you have a taped episode of That 70’s Show to go home and watch?
Hipsters do the darndest things. First, it was the Hamburgler stripes and the Madonnoteven close “leggings and then it was the fedoras and the American apparel “lame headbands.” Incidentally, they’re actually called “lame headbands,” you aren’t being ironic, you’re just being retarded. But I digress, you see a new trend has arisen out of thin air, one that threatens to pull the hipster nation out of their collective sartorial sorrows. Indeed, as of last weekend, the Silverlake/Echo Park/Somebody Get Me Out of Here nexus seems to have adopted a new look: Hipster Willie Stargell.
It all started last Friday. I was minding my business at the Sunset Rubdown show, impressed by the incredible diversity of the crowd (Otis, Art Center and FIDM graduates!), when suddenly, a rail-thin hirsute hipster wearing a 1979 “We Are Family” Pittsburgh Pirates hat came into my eye sight. The next night at the Black Lips show, I saw two more wearing identical haberdashery, bringing the total of hipsters rocking 1979 Pirates hats in one weekend to three (And yes, I just wanted to use the word haberdashery in a sentence).
I for one I see this as good news, a ray of light pressing through that great fedora-colored cloud layer. After all, who can really argue with a cool throwback fitted? Not I. But be forewarned, to borrow from Colbert, you guys are on notice. The next time I see a hipster in a Pillbox Pirates hat he better be prepared to answer arcane trivia about not just Stargell, but about Dave Parker, Bill Madlock, John “Candy Man” Candaleria,” and even Sister Sledge. So brush up on your baseball encyclopedia hipsters. I’m taking no prisoners. And for the record, even though I’m feeling the look, you guys are way more Kent Tekulve than you are Willie Stargell.
This week marked the release of one of this year’s most anticipated rap albums, T.I. Vs. Tip., the follow-up to 2006’s T.I.’s hit King, a record that was best summarized by Ian Cohen in just four words: colossal waste of beats.
So far, the buzz on T.I. Vs. Tip has been mostly negative, with its Metacritic score sitting at a tepid 60. But I don’t trust Metacritic and its so-called “algorithms.” So I consulted with a machine that I’ve never known to be wrong, the oracle known as The T.I. 85. Indeed, only the calculator of Kings could analyze the real T.I., an artist so diverse he’s capable of doing both kinds of rap: gangster rap and Southern rap.
Yes, the TI-85 is so powerful it can solve both convoluted Calculus problems and the problem of how to keep occupied during worthless Calculus classes. (I.E. Snake, Drug War, & Tetris, games so addictive I’m surprised the other T.I. hasn’t bragged about selling them). There is only one problem. Namely that of late my ancient calculator is showing the harmful effects of laying dormant for a decade. For some reason, it will only produce out a series of random numbers. Therefore, I have no choice but to interpret the prophecy of the machine
Revelations from the T.I. (85) Answer: 73
Q: What are the number of minutes on this bloated album.
A: 68
Q: The number of minutes that I’ll never listen to again for rest of my life: (The five minutes of “Watch What You Say to Me” are pretty awesome though. )
A: 2
Q: What are the number of past their prime rappers who somehow manage to out-shine T.I. (Busta Rhymes & Jay-Z)
A: 0.001 percent% Q: What percentage is T.I. Vs. Tip, guest, Eminem of his former self?
A: 9,832 Q: How many times does T.I. call himself the “King.”
King Louis XIV: A Much Better King Than T.I. (And Probably Capable of Making a Better Album) A: 4 percent
Q: What is the percentage of the time that the differences between and T.I. and TIP are readily apparent? A: Infinite
Q: What is the number of tired gangster tropes and 2-dimensional drug-dealer stereotypes that T.I. recycles on this album.
A: 25
Q: How many rap albums have been made in 2007 that are better than T.I. Vs. Tip.
A: 16
Q: The number of bars it takes for T.I. to wear out his presence on any track.
A: Zero
Q: What is the sense of humor that T.I.possesses.
A: 3.3
Q: The score websites would give T.I. Vs. Tip if an indie rock band released a record this derivative, uninspired and straight-up boring.
In the days when the Native Americans ruled the Americas, they were known for the unique ceremonies they concocted to coax rain from the gods. Several hundred years later, a different type of rain dance has swept the continent. In an effort to illustrate the necessity of clean water supplies in Third World Countries, the brain trust of R. Kelly and L’il Wayne, (along with Wayne’s husband/father Birdman, T.I., Rick Ross and Fat Joe, have created the “Make it Rain (Remix,”) a song with an undeniably altruistic intent. Like Al Gore’s for the rap world, this kind-hearted collective understand the implications of global warming. Let me be the first to start the Nobel Nomination Process. These men need to go to Stockholm. If nothing else but to hear the first acceptance speech using the phrase “skeet skeet skeet.”
R. Kelly:
“I Be Drillin’ These Chicks Like Major Payne/When I Make it Rain, they be like ‘yo, do it again.’
What It Means: The plot of the 1995 Damon Wayans vehicle Major Payne (winner of four Oscars!) involved a man named Major Payne drilling a collection of under-aged students in the ways of the military. No one knows more about drilling underage children than R. Kelly. He’s so good, that when he makes it rain, “the chicks” ask him to keep drilling. He is very much like Exxon Mobil and equally worthy of Congressional scrutiny. “From the club to my coupe, inside my gates, up in the bedroom screaming each other’s names.”
What it Means: A master of subtlety, Kelly is referring to the copy of Munch’s The Scream that hangs in his boudoir, not a threesome as commonly believed.
“They was purty purty and I was flirty flirty/l’il dro/l’il bub/now they gettin’ dirty dirty/Don’t ax me what my name is, stupid bitch, I’m famous/You Gon’ make me aim this/I’ll leave your ass brainless.”
What it Means: The girls that Kells had met at the club were purty purty. Spectacular! Even better is his “suave” flirty flirty demeanor. The only question: Can Kells ply the “purty purty girls” with enough illicit substances to allow for an orgy that may or may not involve Golden Showers.
However, there is trouble in Paradise. These sheisty females have enraged Kelly. How can they not know what his name is? Indeed, the “stupid bitches” need to understand who he is. He is famous! How can they not have heard “I Believe I can Fly,” and what about the “Ignition (Remix).” Sheer madness. Justifiably, Kelly threatens homicide. He will shoot this woman’s brains out. Sadly, without brains, the woman will inevitably look like this.
“I’m trying to stay R&B, but these streets is a part of me/so don’t get it twisted.”
What it Means: The streets and R&B are mutually exclusive. Just ask Sisqo.
“You see I order one bottle/than I fuck with one model/then I order more bottles/now I’ve got more models.
What it Means: Here, Kelly illustrates his take on the fabled children’s book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Beneath Kelly’s smooth croon lies acomplex, yet oh-so-simple equation. If you give a model a bottle, she’s probably going to want another bottle. But if you order another bottle, it’s going to attract more models, so you’re just going to have to order more bottles. This line might also be a reference to the long-canceled 1994 Fox nighttime soap, Models Inc. “I’m from that city where the n—-z don’t play man/I take a chick to my room like Caveman.”
What it Means: Kelly is either referring to the Flintstone Kids or he might be referring to the new ABC sitcom, Caveman. Either way, it involves him using a club. “So ask your girlfriend my name, I bet she go skeet, skeet, skeet, weatherman, ’bout to make it rain.”
What it Means: The line is an homage to two things. The first is noted pop culture guru, Skeet on Mischa. The second is to weatherman, Brick Tamland, a man with an equal amount of weather acumen.
Lil Wayne: “Blat, Blat, Blat, Hey Joey, let me get him.”
What it Means: Wayne is requesting to get let out from the S&M dungeon where Fat Joe and Birdman normally keep him.
“It’s Young Money and we on like the television/The Weather Channel/But I do not Broadcast/I throw up more cash/and change the forecast.
What it Means: Actual evidence that George Bush’s trickle-down economic theory is working. For strippers. “Your boyfriend is lame, I make it rain on you”
What it Means: Guess whose boyfriend isn’t lame.
“He Never Make it Rain Like Southern California/Where’s your umbrella/now get your raincoat/baby, I make it flood/now you gon’ need a boat”
What it Means: An allusion to his favorite film, Titanic. Proving once and for all, the rumors that late at night during the peak of the Cash Money years, Wayne and the rest of the Hot Boys would have slumber parties once a week, where they would eat popcorn, sell crack and watchthat “dreamy DiCaprio fellow.” Download:
MP3: Fat Joe, L’il Wayne, R. Kelly, T.I. Birdman, T. Mac, Rick Ross-”Make it Rain (remix)
When I woke up up this morning, I was struck by the horrible realization that this is the first morning of the rest of my life without the King of Queens. Sure, I knew the day would eventually come, but I guess in the back of my mind I never believed that the network suits would actually go through with it. And yet, today I woke up and lo and behold, the jelly doughnuts weren’t as sweet, the sun wasn’t as as bright, the mail wasn’t delivered as promptly.
They say that bad things come in threes and as if last night’s disaster wasn’t harsh enough, this morning I read an article that hinted that According to Jim and The George Lopez Show might get the ax too. Et tu, ABC? Et Tu? Where in God’s name will I be able to go to tune into the lovable follies of an overweight man and his encounters with his very hot sitcom wife and their eccentric but kind-hearted neighbors and children. Thanks, network executives, for killing all my role models.
Every so often, a figure emerges that claims to be the spokesman for a generation. Indeed, The King of Queens provided a thirty minute safe haven each week, for a generation of heavy-set males to dream of snagging the chick that played Stacey Carosi on Saved by the Bell despite our clogged arteries, four chins, and low-paying bureaucratic jobs. And hell, after being forced to watch Roseanne all through the 90s, it felt good to dream big (though not literally).
Farewell Sweet King , You Shall Never Be Forgotten Today a new world rears its ugly head and life seems to have no direction. 205 episodes, nine years, and one Emmy nomination later, it’s been a wild ride. I remember those early days like it was yesterday, those periods when I foolishly that I might get tired of watching Honeymooners episodes poorly updated for the present. Yet I’ll be damned if bowling jokes never get old. The critics can have their Arrested Developments or their Freeks and Geeks, I’ll take a bored housewife calling her husband fat every single time.
The King might be Dead, but believe me, I’ll be looking elsewhere for a new hero, for a new role model, one with a similarly unrestrained waistline and a knack for making killer fart jokes. Hell, I already have some ideas in mind. As Hendrix once said, somewhere a king has no wife, but somewhere else, the wind cries I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry.
About one year ago, I wrote one of my favorite posts ever: The 10 Professional Wrestlers That You Watched When You Were a Kid That Are Probably Gay. In celebration of this most glorious anniversary, I’d wanted to do something in commemoration, perhaps a post that might lampoon the ridiculous racial stereotyping of the WWF, circa 1987. But ultimately, I felt that in order to make this sequel more Back to the Future 2 than Teen Wolf Too, I needed something…someone…special. Enter Imus, America’s favorite faux-Cowboy/bigot. Who better than Imus, to lecture us on the most outlandish racial carictures to ever emerge from Vince McMahon’s steroid-addled imagination? Ladies and gentleman, I present to you, Don Imus’ 10 Favorite Professional Wrestlers.
Disclosure: Imus’ Thoughts Do Not Reflect the Views of Passion of the Weiss ownership. Though Passion of the Weiss ownership does endorse midgets (no Brutus “the Barber Beefcake).
10. Nikolai VolkoffRussians. You can’t live with ‘em, you can’t live without him. Nikolai Volkoff was a straight shooter. None of this Vladamir Putin, I’m your friend, I’m not your friend bullshit. Nikolai Volkoff didn’t believe in Perestroika. All he needed was red USSR sweatshirt, bushy Bolshevik hat, and a red man-thong and you’d hear speeches about the proletariat until motherfucking doomsday. I just wish he’d have won his election for Maryland’s House of Representives, District 7.
9. George “The Animal” Steele
George Steele played a great retard. As far as retards go, he was at least as convincing as that Corky retard from Life Goes On. I mean, did Corky bite the tunbuckle off at every match? Did Corky have a green tongue? Definitely not. And all this despite Steele having a Masters degree. Did Corky have a Master’s Degree? Don’t think so. In fact, The Animal might be my all-time favorite ‘tard.
8. Big Boss Man
Whether he was called the Big Boss Man or Big Bubba, you could count on this former prison guard to be clutching a police brutality nightstick, wearing a confederate flag patch, and representing what it’s really like to be a good ol’ southern boy. Did he oppose segregation, did he use racist epithets? Of course not. But he certainly implied it. Honestly, he was a big inspiration for my entire radio style.
7. Demolition
Of course, Demolition won all those championships. They were dressed up like Kiss the entire time. And you know who the mastermind of Kiss was? Gene Simmons. A Jew. Demolition’s dominance in the WWF’s heavily contested Tag Team Division during the late 80s was the result of one thing: Jewish conspiracy. The Hebrews have the money, the Hebrews win the title. Coincidence, I think not.
6. . The Haiti Kid To me, this scene from Wrestlemania III sums up why I love wrestling: A black midget wrestling with an Indian midget, getting grabbed by a possibly gay redneck, standing next to a bald cracker with a microphone. The Haiti Kid was a great midget wrestler, though I was disappointed that he never held a skull or practiced voodoo.
5. Iron Sheik Personally, I preferred the Sheik’s original wrestling name, The Great Hossein Arab, but I can’t deny that the Sheik was certainly a fiery son-of-a-bitch and certainly knew how to get out the message that all Persians wear towels on their head, handle-bar mustaches and drape themselves in the Iranian flag. I’m also a fan of his his Myspace page, where he lists his favorite television shows, including Good Morning America, and Seinfeld.
4. Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake Now a born-again Christian, “Brutus The Barber” Beefcake is currently a part of the Christian wrestling group “World Impact Wrestling” playing a heel character known as Stuart “Beefcake” Healey. He has started a wrestling school. At said wrestling school they do a lot of struttin’ n’ cuttin. Pink zebra thongs are a must. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
3. Mr. Fuji
I haven’t met all that many Japs in my life, but Mr. Fuji seemed to be pretty representative of the culture. He was polite, well-groomed, vaguely sinister and frequently threw salt into his enemies eyes. I bet that he was pretty good at math too. That must’ve been what made him such a good manager.
2. Kamala, The Ugandan Giant A lot of people in the media have called me a racist in the last few weeks, which is just not true. I have lots of black friends, including Kamala the Ugandan Giant. Through my friendship with Kamala, I’ve learned the truth about Ugandans: that they wear zebra loin-clothes and paint stars and moons all over their bodies, while carrying spears in their mouths. Thanks Kamala and thanks Vince McMahon for setting me straight.
1. Sapphire Sapphire, what’s she doing on this list? Sapphire’s just a napp…she’s just a napp…wait…stay….cool, Imus, remember what you learned yesterday in tolerance class. Okay, now go….
Sapphire is a fine person. I like her very much. See America, I have learned my lesson. I’m not a racist any more. And good news, I’m available for hire.
What are the odds of this being Halfway Decent? 13 to One.
After seeing a preview of upcoming crime caper, Oceans 13 before the 7:30 showing of Blades of Glory, Tampa, Fla. resident Beth Flournoy remains convinced that Oceans 13 will easily be the finest film of the Oceans trilogy. A conclusion that in recent weeks has put her at odds with both friends and family.
“I don’t care what they say,” Flourney said matter-of-factly. “I remain 100 percent positive that Oceans 13 will tie up all the loose ends started in the first two films. What people don’t understand is that Danny Ocean is very complex man. You can’t tell his entire life story in just two movies. Did they tell Elijah Wood, hey man, you’ve got to wrap this whole Lord of the Things thing in two movies. I don’t think so.”
Attempts by Flournoy’s husband to dissuade Beth from her beliefs, were to no avail.
“You should’ve seen how excited she got when she saw the preview and George Clooney had a mustache,” Jacob Flournoy said. “I know she can’t actually think that this one is going to be good. She doesn’t even know any of the characters names other than Clooney. She thinks anything Clooney’s in is brilliant. Even The Facts of Life.
The Facts of Life: The Mullet Years
Jacob Fluornoy was not the only one in the Flournoy household convinced that their mother has poor taste in movies. Rebecca Flournoy, the couple’s 14-year old daughter also expressed displeasure with being forced to hear about Ocean’s 13 at the dinner table.
“Oh my god, my mom is so lame,” Flournoy said rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows those movies are just an excuse for a bunch of rich movie stars to go on vacation all over the world and get paid $20 million to do so. And the only people who really want to see it are women who totally want to see George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Al Pacino, and Matt Damon in tuxedos. Whatever, that’s lame. They should put Bright Eyes in the movie or something. Than I’d go see it.”
Bright Eyes declined to comment, despite his geographical proximity to the Flournoy family. Reportedly, the singer known as Conor Oborst was attending another psychic camp in Florida, trying to figure out what sort of magic potion to take to actually make a good record.
Bright Eyes: Just Like Bob Dylan. If Bob Dylan Really Really Sucked However, despite her daughter’s request for Bright Eyes to be added to the cast, Beth Flournoy claimed that the film will be perfect, just the way it is.
“This film is not about commerce, it’s not about the major studios wanting major franchise blockbusters to prop up sagging box box office, this film is about Danny Ocean saying to his gang of lovably handsome rapscallions, ‘hey guys, Andy Garcia is out to get us, let’s go fuck shit up while drinking martinis in tuxedos,” Beth Flournoy said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a trailer to re-watch.
But did they really need to decorate Don Cheadle in an American Flag jacket?
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