Get Yer Turtle Butts Here

I was just looking at my blog stats, and I saw that someone had arrived here as a result of the Google search term "turtle butt."

I do not wish to know why someone was searching for that particular result. What happens on teh Internets stays on teh Internets. Also in your cache if you don't clear it regularly. Word to the wise.


Picture unrelated, but kind of not.

 Anyway, I thought I'd try it. I image-Googled "turtle butt." And sure enough, it takes you to this picture:


Although I don't really see any turtle butts here.
But then, I'm not sure I'd recognize one if I saw it.

 Which is from this recent post. Which, by the way, is about economic recovery and totally not about turtles having sex. Although it does possibly use the phrase "functional reptile anatomy." It's all part of a coherent argument about fiscal policy, I assure you.


Everything is interrelated. Dude.

 I hope the person who landed at Always Drunk via turtle butts was not disappointed, although I assume he/she was. Despite Google's best efforts, there are no turtle butts to be found here.


Unless you count this.
And you absolutely should.

 Still, I suppose it's good to know that if you ever forget the URL to this blog, you can still get here via the back door - uh, as it were - by Googling "turtle butt."

Or you could, I don't know, put it in your favorites or "like" it on Facebook or follow it on Twitter or something. But if turtle butts are the only way to get you here, I'm OK with that.


I aim to please, you sick bastards.

 I just don't want to know why.

I am so going to clear my cache now.

I Challenge You

Here's some light reading for you. Check it out.

Share it with your friends.

This is the link to the full text of the Affordable Care Act, which was upheld by the Supreme Court this week:

Full text of the Affordable Care Act on HealthCare.gov

And this is the link to the full text of the Supreme Court ruling:

Ruling on National Federation of Independent Business et al. Vs. Sebelius, Secretary of Health and Human Services et al. on SupremeCourt.gov

If you read both of these documents, you will become one of a tiny minority of Americans to do so. And one of the very few who can offer an opinion on health care reform based on the source materials and not summaries, news bites, pundits' opinions, or hearsay.

Also, your head might explode.

I'm going to do my best to get all the way through both documents this weekend. That's more than 1100 pages of mind-numbing legalese. I may not make it.

I may need reinforcements.

 But if I do, I'm going to be one smug bitch about it.

Awwww yeeeeaaaaaah.

Why no, I *don't* have any plans for the weekend. Why do you ask?

Of Cookies and Karate

Oreo cookies got a lot of attention this week simply by posting a Photoshopped cookie on their Facebook page.

The little disclaimer at the bottom reads
"Made with creme colors that do not exist,"
which is the most disappointing thing I've read all week.

Yes, Oreos are gay-friendly. Who knew? A lot of not-so-gay-friendly people didn't, apparently, and some of them publicly (and often ungrammatically) vowed to boycott the 100-year-old taste treat, its parent company Nabisco, and ITS parent company Kraft Foods.

A few of the foods you'll be giving up.

As a way of drumming up publicity, Oreo's rainbow cookie was a stroke of sweet, crunchy goodness. And if you want to boycott Oreo and its makers because you don't believe in teh gays, that is your right. I don't agree with you, but that doesn't matter. Because boycotts to make a point are a time-honored and perfectly acceptable thing.

Which brings me to Chuck Norris.

Thanks to TMZ.com for the awesome illustration.

Chuck Norris - who is and long has been a proud and outspoken conservative - recently wrote an editorial for a website called AmmoLand.com in which he criticized Boy Scouts of America board member James Turley for vowing to "change from within" the anti-homosexual policies of the BSA.

Oh, Chuck.

If you click on the link above and read the editorial, it's clear that the bulk of Mr. Norris' ire is aimed at the political ties between Mr. Turley and the "pro-gay" Obama administration, and that the current leadership of this country raises Chuck's hackles more than Mr. Turley's statement or homosexuality itself, for that matter. However, he does make a point of supporting what he calls the BSA's "First Amendment rights to stand against atheists, agnostics and homosexuals."

I find this editorial disturbing. I don't like to think that someone as awesome in so many ways as Chuck Norris is using the First Amendment to justify bigotry and discrimination. I find it even more disturbing that at the end of the article, he uses the BSA as a jumping-off point to plug KickStart Kids, the martial-arts organization he and his wife founded.

My own Precocious Daughter, as you may remember, is a proud member of KickStart Kids and recently got to meet and be touched by the beard of Chuck Norris himself. It's a great organization, and the Norrises seemed to be genuinely nice and sincere people.

But he's come out in support of an anti-gay bias that he obviously believes in...and I, just as obviously, do not.

If I were to take my cue from the Oreo haters, I would now pull PDaughter out of KickStart and organize a boycott of other parents. How can I support an organization that has gone on record as supporting a position that I not only don't agree with but find offensive? If I continue to affiliate myself and my family with KickStart Kids, am I silently endorsing the opinions of its founder?

Truly, it is to derp.

I think...I should start by thinking.

I've always known that Chuck Norris is a right-wing stalwart. That didn't keep me from putting PDaughter in KickStart because she's learning karate, not political science. I can separate the man from his politics.

Although that starts to sound like the "love the sinner, hate the sin" garbage that Christian conservatives use to justify gay-bashing in Jesus' name.

Still, I can see the good that KickStart Kids does, and I can see that whatever Mr. Norris' politics, they play no part in how the organization is run. Just as I can see the good that Boy Scouts of America does, and that the men and women who participate in it overwhelmingly are good people who keep their politics - whatever they are - separate from their scouting activities.

Oh my God it's almost as if this is a complex issue with no knee-jerk answers.

Unlike the Oreo issue, which is just
nom nom nom Oreos nom.

Bottom line: We have to respect one another's right to our opinions, even if they're like fingernails on a blackboard to us. Not agree with. Not support. Not change our own opinions to conform to anyone else's. But respect the boundaries that let us all coexist even though we're essentially a bunch of clueless jackasses who rub each other the wrong way at every possible opportunity.

If Chuck Norris doesn't cross the line and start indoctrinating my kid in the ways of the Far Right, she can stay in his program.

And as long as Oreos don't turn me into a lesbian, I'm OK with them, too.

But I'll have to do extensive field-testing on that score to find out.

Nom nom nom nom nom Oreos nom nom.

Clipart Horrors

So I was looking at Microsoft clipart. Which typically consists of stuff like stylized one-eyed walking cornucopiae.

Oh, you think I'm kidding?
I have no sense of humor I am aware of.

But sometimes you find weird stuff in Microsoft clipart, too. Here are some WTF images that I found while doing searches for (almost) perfectly normal things.

For example, the search term "puppies" yielded this graphic:

I swear to you, the alt-text caption for this charming little drawing was "two playful puppies wrestling" and not "dogs having sex missionary-style." Which is totally what it is.

Searching for "food" brought up a plethora of pictures of meals, feasts, dishes, kitchen scenes, and the like. And this:

This is "German food and the Brandenburg Gate." I don't know what that dish is - it seems to consist of the breaded entrails of a small animal, including its penis bone, plus a hard roll. Germans will eat anything (cf. sauerkraut) if they think it will give them the fortitude to conquer Europe. Fine. I'm just wondering under what circumstances would one need an image of entrail and penis goulash sitting on a rock in front of the Brandenburg Gate? What would be the topic of, say, a magazine article requiring this particular illustration? I'm thinking "25 Foods To Avoid in Germany If You Don't Want to Puke on Their National Monuments."

Here's another bland, safe search term: Exercise. I found this image:

Nothing wrong that picture. But the alt-text caption says "Man doing martial arts outside for exercise." That seems presumptuous. How do we know it's for exercise? Maybe he's fending off an attacker just out of frame. Maybe it's a zombie. Maybe he's about to deliver the Blow of Eternal Sleep to some goddamn voracious zombie's windpipe. Sure, that's bound to be good exercise. But given the possible subtext (which really is pretty likely, the more I think about it), the exercise angle seems to be beside the point, which is, you know, death to zombies. You think Microsoft would at least mention it.

Speaking of goddamn zombies, you don't get many results for that search term. You do get a number of sound clips, which I didn't play because, well, creepy. Among the few images that return is this:

This is not a zombie. This is a voodoo doll of some lady who clearly has enough problems without being voodoo cursed and/or erroneously labeled a zombie. I mean, if your effigy has a janky eye and bad hair and a weird two-tone sock thing going on, clearly there is little to be gained by an enemy from poking pins in your extremities. The point is, this is not a zombie. Fail, Microsoft clip art. Fail.

Finally, we have this:

Oh, my God. Seriously? The word "DEATH" spelled out in children's blocks? I feel dirty. I want to apply a filter to my Internet to keep me from even accessing any content that might use this picture to illustrate, well, anything. Why would someone even photograph this? Why would Bill Gates make it part of his royalty-free clipart library? Why would this image come up in response to a search for "happy prancing unicorns"?

OK, just kidding. The search term was "death." It kind of flowed naturally from the whole zombie thing. But the last thing on my mind was a literal representation of the term in the style of a classic toddler amusement.

Dear mother, do come see what I spelled with my wittle blocks.

See, this is why I usually end up ripping off images from other people's websites and getting C&D letters from chicken artists. Generic clipart carries too much hidden meaning. It's part of a vast conspiracy to undermine reality and freak me out.

Unlike that Fugly.com picture up there. I'm OK with mindf*ckery. Just be up front about it, please. Kthx.

Creature Feature

I didn't get to post all weekend. I hate when that happens.

I missed you so.

I spent a bunch of time with Precocious Daughter this weekend. One of the things we did was go to the mall, since it's a bajillion degrees in Texas and walking indoors is preferable to getting your head burned off outside. She ducked into a candy store and continued her quest to eat every sticky, chewy, gummy food she couldn't have for two whole years before her braces came off two weeks ago.

Like gummy butterflies. Not bears, not worms, not penguins,
but butterflies. Because there's a huge difference, apparently.

She also beat me mercilessly, time after time, playing Wii tennis. Eventually I got so frustrated that I ended up taking a long walk and getting my head burned off outside. Yes, I let myself get upset by a little girl and a video game. I am that mature.

You're grounded until you're 26 or I learn a decent backhand.

PDaughter also beat me at pinochle, a game she had never played until last weekend. Beloved Spouse beat us both, but really, my performance was pretty miserable. It's mostly because I'm no good at counting suits, winning tricks, pulling out trump, or strategizing on the bid. Other than that, I love pinochle.

Pinochle is totally cool. If you could play pinochle,
you'd appreciate this clever and mildly naughty jape.

But the best thing PDaughter and I did this weekend was watch The Creature from the Black Lagoon.

Please put on your old-school 3D glasses now.

Alas, we didn't watch it in its original glorious cheapo 3D. But no matter. It was high time for PDaughter to be introduced to this cinematic classic, and I hadn't seen it in years, either.

Don't tell me you've never seen The Creature from the Black Lagoon. No, don't tell me. I prefer to believe the world is a better place than that. Because if you haven't seen, then you probably haven't seen its sequels, Revenge of the Creature and the totally terrible/awesome The Creature Walks Among Us.

In which the Creature invents voguing.

It's on Netflix, people. Go watch it. I'll tell you why.

1. For a cheapo 50s horror flick, it's got suprisingly sophisticated underwater photography.

2. Ricou Browning as the Creature gives perhaps the best movie-monster performance of all time.

3. Julia Adams is the curvacious Elizabeth Tayloresque heroine who, despite being on a cramped barge floating down the Amazon River, wears a different outfit in literally every scene in the movie. Take that, ladies of "Gilligan's Island."

4. Richard Denning is the greedy, credit-hogging scientist who is a total dickhead before finally ending up dead in the water (pun absolutely intended).

5. Nestor Paiva is a hoot as the batshit-crazy barge captain Lucas.

6. Whit Bissell plays a pipe-smoking scientist who serves no function in the movie and eventually ends up below deck and swathed in bandages, leaving me to wonder if Whit Bissell went on a bender in the middle of filming and had to be written out, which would be way cool.

7. The movie has a good-if-ridiculous script that actually draws a decent parallel between the work of marine biologists and man's dream of space travel.

8. The movie features mostly Latino actors playing the Latino roles, a pretty big deal for a movie made in the 1950s, considering West Side Story wanted us to buy Natalie Wood as a Puerto Rican several years later. (OK, Nestor Paiva was Portuguese, but definitely in the ballpark.)

9. There's an awesome prologue that - pretty damn daringly for the time - presents a mixture of creationism and evolution to explain the origins of the Earth.

10. The first glimpse of the Gill-Man's hand coming out of the water and then slowly going back down scared me crapless when I was a little kid and is still a money shot almost 60 years later.

Next up for PDaughter and me is Revenge of the Creature, starring B-movie god John Agar and featuring a tiny scene with a young Clint Eastwood in his first screen role. "Mystery Science Theater 3000" did this one back in the day. Not sure if we're going to take in that version or the un-MSTd original. Not sure it matters.

Love me some Gill-Man.

Got Milk? That's a Touchy Subject Right Now

Let's say you live with someone.

Someone who is not actually a cow.
This is important.

Maybe this someone is a roommate, or a live-in significant other, or a family member. Or a spouse, even. Sure, why not? What matters is that you, an able-bodied adult, share living space with another able-bodied adult.

For simplicity, I'm going to refer to this person as "roomie."

First name, Mush.

Now, let's say that you drink the last of the community milk for breakfast.

POP QUIZ!!!!!

Do you:

a) Stop and buy milk on your way home from work that day

b) Ask your roomie to stop and buy milk on his/her way home from work that day

c) Pop out to the store the next time you want milk and realize there isn't any

d) Spend the next two days whining about how someone drank the last of the milk and no one has bought any more yet

Take your time. Think about it.

Remember, you drank the last of the milk. Come to think of it, you drank most of the milk.

Or you did something with it, God knows.

And neither you nor roomie is actually a cow, so there is no fresh milk on tap.

Give up?

Yeah, me too. I give up.

Got milk? Sure, I've got it. Because I went out and got it.

It wasn't easy, but I found a place that carried it.

So. Yeah. And if you don't live with someone, I have just one thing to ask...

How does the new milk get into the house after you drink it all? Must be magic.

My Fantasy Meet and Greet

My dear friend South Side Shelly posted the classic "If you could meet anyone, living or dead, who would it be?" question on her Facebook page this morning.

If it were "living and dead," I'd totally choose
Zombie Bill Murray.

I'm in the mood to ponder that question this morning, in that I don't feel like working. And the first thing I pondered was: If "meet" and "greet" rhyme, why don't "meat" and "great"? Because I'm easily distracted.

SQUIRRELS! Playing poker! Squirrels playing poker!

Anyway, whom would I like to meet? It's hard to narrow it down. So here are ten folks I would be totally stoked to meet. That is, providing I actually got to spend time with them, chat with them, play pinochle with them maybe. I'm not looking for some wham-bam-thank-you-mam handshake in a receiving line while their eyes are already moving on to the next 300 people they have to pretend to be pleased to meet. I want quality time with these people. Maybe not with tongue or anything, but you know, at least grab a pizza. You can't really say you know someone unless you've broken crust with him or her, am I right?

OK, so here's my list, and also why I want to meet each person on it. There's no point in sharing if you're not oversharing. At least, that will be my excuse when Paul McCartney's security detail moves toward me in a threatening manner.

Chuck Baudelaire's Fantasy Meet-and-Greet (in no particular order)

Who: Sir Paul McCartney
Why: Aside from the obvious homina-homina-homina idol-worship factor, I want to tell him to stop using the damn shoe-polish dye on his hair. You just turned 70, sweetie. You're not fooling anyone. And you looked so fine back when it was graying naturally. And yeah, I'd totally call him "sweetie."

Who: Mary Magdalene
Why: To get the inside scoop on Jesus, duh. Also to find out if she was really a whore or if every woman who showed the slightest bit of gumption in those days just automatically got called that.

Who: Willie Nelson
Why: So he can introduce me to the guy he gets his weed from. Because that dude has got some stories, you know? I mean, I could just put that guy on the list, but who doesn't want to meet Willie? He's awesome.

Who: Gloria Steinem
Why: Bestest Friend has actually met Ms. Steinem, and I'm insanely jealous. She is a brilliant, complicated, polarizing woman, and I want to steal her secrets for being those things. Gloria Steinem, not Bestest Friend, who of course is all those things as well. But I've already met her, silly.

Who: Bill Clinton
Why: I've heard he is one of the most charismatic men on the planet. I dig charisma. And I want to know if it's true what they say about his wiener.

Who: My maternal grandmother
Why: My mom's mom died before I was born. And her relationship with her parents was apparently, um, touchy, so I know almost nothing about either of them. I'd like to hear Nadine's story, and I'd like to know what I got from her. Maybe she was crazy like me. It's good to go back to the source on these things.

Who: Abraham Lincoln
Why: I really want to know what he thinks about this vampire hunter nonsense. Seriously, WTF? I think that's what he'd say, and that would be amazing.

Who: Oprah Winfrey
Why: To demand money. I mean, she's got it leaking out of the sofa cushions. She could peel off a couple of million for me and her ass wouldn't even feel the difference. And she's inspirational, influential, yada yada. But mostly I want her to give me money.

Who: Bob Dylan
Why: Hello? He's Bob Freaking Dylan. OMG.

Who: Erin Moran
Why: She was Joanie on "Happy Days," and now she lives in a trailer park. I just want to know how that shit goes down. Did she never learn to type or fix computers or get certified in something? You've got to have something on your resume besides loving Chachi, that's all I'm saying.

That's my list. Your turn.

Herding Cats Is Too Easy

Sometimes I think my dreams are a collection of circles. And all I have to do to make them come true is gather them up and count them all.

Of course it's not impossible. It's just very, very difficult.

Oh, and when that's done, then there's just the matter of pushing out the inny bumps and pushing in the outy bumps. No sweat.

And that's all it takes.

Let me know how that works out for ya.

You Say Potato, I Say Meaningful Economic Recovery

This morning Beloved Spouse - in response to something he read in the paper about the economy - asked if I thought were better off financially than we were before the last Presidential election. To which I replied, "Sorry, let me wipe up that coffee I just spewed all over your shirt through my nose."

Here, let me blot it up using this pile of paper towels
I just happen to have lying around.

Yeah, right.

Although I voted for President Obama in 2008, and will likely vote for him again this year because Mitt Romney makes me break out in a rash, I'll be the first to say I haven't personally felt the mighty rumblings of the earthquake of prosperity since he took office. In general he has scored much higher on the "killing foreign guys who piss us off" scale than on the "what are all these numbers to the left of the decimal point on my bank statement?" scale.

I have some of these.
They're filled with chocolate, right?

The thing about these election-year polls is that they're looking for signs that consumer confidence is up and people feel they can vote issues besides the economy, like whether or not the candidates are complete douchebags. But I think they're looking for answers in the wrong places. The pollsters are looking for people  to say things like "I have a great job" or "I'm putting money in savings" or "I'm now able to hire a nanny from a second-world country."

I'm not saying those are bad indicators. I'm saying that, given the recession we've been through and the flaccid state of the recovery, maybe the pollsters should pull back and consider what "recovery" actually means to some of us.

Why yes, I'd love to use myself as an example.

I am America, after all.

If I had unlimited funds - and by unlimited I don’t even mean if I were rich, I just mean if I didn’t spend the last three days before each paycheck treating Snickers bars as a luxury item - I would spend money on certain things. Like earrings. Seriously, I would buy a dozen pairs of earrings a week if I didn’t have to buy toilet paper. 

They are not interchangeable, you see.

I like earrings. They’re sparkly and pretty and they hang from the one part of my body I don’t feel self-conscious about people looking at. I have awesome earlobes. If there were earlobe porn, I think I could really make a splash. 

And I don’t want to hear about earlobe porn, even if it does exist, which I’m sure it does because God in His glory has yet to create anything that cannot be fetishized by someone, somewhere. It makes you wonder about God.

Am I right?

Anyway, I also like earrings because they can be bought in nearly infinite varieties without spending a lot of money. Or by spending a whole bunch of money, which is a tremendous waste of same. BelSpouse once bought me a pair of earrings for Christmas that I discovered - because he doesn’t understand how online banking works - cost about $200. They’re very pretty, but I hardly ever wear them because I’m afraid to lose them and also because I don’t have any entire outfits that cost $200.

On the other hand, BelSpouse bought me a pair of earrings shaped like turtles with little turtle legs that actually move. They cost a fraction of what the fancy Christmas earrings cost, and I wear them all the damn time. They are seriously adorable. Their little turtle legs move! That’s what I want in my accessories: not precious stones or intricate artistry - I want functional reptile anatomy.

That's also the name of my Doors cover band, by the way.

I would be terribly upset if I ever lost one of my turtle earrings. Not because of their monetary value, but because I love them and I would miss them. I would be terribly upset if I lost one of my $200 earrings, too. Mostly because if I lose something that’s worth a hundred bucks and fits on my fingertip, it should be a couple of tabs of acid or some of Johnny Depp’s pubes, not a piece of overpriced jewelry that someone as irresponsible as myself had no business wearing out in public in the first place.

Or a hundred chances at something really interesting happening.

I could go out and buy 20 pairs of earrings for $200, easy. And if I had $200 that was pure gravy - that didn’t have to be kid’s shoes or a phone bill or Prozac or dish soap or whatever is going on that makes the toilet leak out the bottom every time I flush - that’s just what I’d do.

And I would make sure to buy some I wasn’t really sure I was that crazy about.

Or, you know, the toilet paper ones would work here, too.

See, sometimes I hate making my purchases count. Not that I want to get ripped off because I’m not paying attention - like how sometimes Target charges more for a two-pack of something than it would cost to by two of the same shit separately, as if they think we’re idiot Walmart shoppers who wandered in looking for whatever nasty crap Walmart sells that I wouldn’t know about because that place is freaking evil incarnate and I don’t shop there.

I'm sure Sam Walton was a lovely man
who seldom ate his own children.

But I digress.

I do pay attention to what I’m buying, and I do enjoy getting a good deal. But what I hate about perennially being on a tight budget is having to do things like weighing the relative merits of a can of store-brand new potatoes and the Del Monte potatoes that cost ten cents more but maybe the store-brand ones are so inferior in quality that the extra ten cents is worth it, or maybe I can get away with the cheap ones because they’re just damn potatoes and how can ten cents possibly make them taste like anything else?

Why do I even need new potatoes?
I'm sure I could find gently used ones that are just as good.

I want to just spend the extra dime without thinking about it and not have to worry about the quality of my goddamn new potatoes, is what I’m saying. And I don’t like having to agonize over every single purchase so that I don’t feel I’ve shortchanged my kid out of a year of college if I happen to make an unwise spending decision.

Squeeze it, or the terrorists win.

Now, how many pairs of inexpensive earrings do you think exist in the average shopping mall?  Hundreds? Thousands? Some of them are just butt-ugly. Some of them are pretty cute. And some of them are really, really sweet. And I - because of my level of consumer confidence (remember how we were talking about that?) - feel compelled to pore over every single goddamn pair in the mall to make sure I’m getting the best possible goddamn earrings available for the money. Because if it turns out I don’t have a costume-jewelry orgasm every time I wear them, or they don’t match every outfit I own, or they have like an Indian curse on them or something, then I could be out upwards of eight dollars.

Zut freaking alors.

So here's economic theory according to Chuck Baudeliare: To me, luxury isn’t being able to go into Neiman Marcus or Tiffany’s and pick out a piece of jewelry that costs more than my mortgage payment just because I thought it was a pretty shiny object. It’s being able to drop a few bucks on a pair of earrings that may not be the most special things in the world but only reasonably cute, and not feel guilty that I bought something without performing a complex cost-benefit analysis on it.

If I could, I’d go out and buy 20 pairs of earrings, of which maybe only half of them were something I’d wear every day. Maybe a couple of them would only go with that one outfit that I wear a few times a year. Maybe I’d wear a couple of them once and decide they don’t do anything for me. Maybe I’d even look at one pair and decide to never, ever wear them because I don't know what the hell I was thinking when I bought a pair of hot-pink eagle-feather dangles with silver skulls hanging from them.

I’m getting tingly just thinking about such profligacy.



Having money is hot.

All I'm saying is that before we start anointing a new leader (or re-anointing the current one) based on whether we all think we're going to be able to buy a new Lexus on January 21st, maybe we should think about economic recovery in terms that are slightly less are-you-freaking-kidding-me? in scope.

Also, I'd like some earrings that are shaped like tiny lizards with little sparkly eyes. Promise me that, Presidential candidates, and I might just decide to vote with my earlobes.

I'm About to Save You Some Money

Here's today's money-saving tip:

For the love of God, do not spend your hard-earned money watching Prometheus.

I'm pretty sure the new Adam Sandler movie - which has been decimated by critics - is a better flick than Prometheus. I'll bet the plot has fewer holes, the characterizations are more nuanced, and the expectations are sufficiently low that it can't possibly be as big a disappointment as this supposed prequel to the classic badass-aliens-bursting-out-of-folks'-chests flick Alien.



Stare at this picture of the Gorn from the original Star Trek episode
"Arena" while hitting yourself with a ball-peen hammer and laying on a
bed of cockroaches, and you will have a better experience than
paying good money to watch Prometheus.

After seeing this misbegotten piece of poorly-written crap with Beloved Spouse this afternoon, I want the following items returned to me: My money, my two hours, and the brain cells destroyed in the process of trying to make sense of the massive plot holes in this shitty, terrible movie.

Ridley Scott, you owe me restitution. Bend over and let me stick a tentacle up your hack-director ass. Film it, and you'll have a better product than what I just sat through.

If you've already seen Prometheus, I'm sorry my warning comes too late. Do as I'm doing and remember Charlize Theron's perfect butt and the clips from Lawrence of Arabia as the only watchable things in the movie. If you haven't seen it and are considering it due to its great pedigree and compelling commercials...

DON'T DO IT.

See Madagascar 3 instead.


If I'm going to say WTF at, it had better be
because of a zebra singing about polka dots
and afros.

 Did I mention Prometheus is a terrible, awful movie?

OK, then.