Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Not as funny as a black ventriloquist, but still funny, are articles about trends in Hollywood and how sad they are. They are always about a dependence on sequels and franchises and remakes, and always pointing to Oscar-bait as the films that should be saving us all. It's a Mad Libs with blank spaces so specific that you can't even write "fart" when it asks for a noun (or a verb).

My brother rejected a friends request from Rupert Murdoch Must Die and called me lame. He also doesn't like my haircut. I had a bit I wanted to write, to him, post-friendage, about how I like to call it a "Hair Uncut" and pretend that my hair is actually a DVD of a teen grossout comedy, and hope that people will comb through my hair in a search for boobs, which can't be found in haircuts, but can maybe be found in Hair Uncuts.

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