The week of January 25th through January 31th.

This is awesome news! I thought it just took an extra chromosome and the keen ability to suck a mean dick, but no! Disliking Cloverfield also makes you are a retarded faggot! I've wanted to join this small yet exciting and crucial group of individuals for months. Now I can earn minimum wage pulling sodas at an ARC run Taco Bell while taking in the big bucks back in the bathroom by cleaning the glory hole with my mouth. Yes. What a world we live in! I am a retarded faggot indeed.

Please! Everyone that is currently defending Cloverfield is slowly going to turn the tide of their own good will soon enough. In time, they will hate it and then claim to have never liked it in the first place. Happened with The Blair Witch Project, happened with Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace, and it will happen with this. Cloverfield isn't necessarily a shitty movie, but it is a redundant one at best. It's the equivalent of watching a Spider-man origin story for the umpteenth time in a decade.

The Cloverfield monster is a loud-mouthed jerk. And I don't think he is going to make a blip on the pop culture radar. Close your eyes. Heck, you can't even remember what the damn thing looks like. Can you? And you call that iconic? The lot of you are too passive to understand your own grievances with film in general, and yeah, I state that as fact. Not opinion. Cause I'm a professional cracked out WWII vet that is mad as Hell, yet sort of giddy about the state of the world at the moment. I say sort of, cause, of course, there has been some sad news.

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

Ledger's Eulogizers? Boo!

Heath Ledger's death. Boo! It's as if the majority of news providers were waiting for something like this too happen. And I get the sense that they are a little too happy about it. I can't find any real emotion in their words. The copious amounts of tributes seem like soulless, black-eyed accounts from some frozen zombie mouth. Those kind words spoken in regards to the actor sound like regurgitated sound bites that have been kept frozen like sperm since the time of River Phoenix's death. Fuck Daniel Day Lewis's saliva soaked spit bath of a eulogy. He dolled it out to deaf ears twice, and he didn't even know the guy. I keep seeing crocodile tears smearing print ink in the name of the actor, but none of it is at all heartfelt. I'm not talking about you and your own personal feelings on the subject matter. I'm talking about these sites that see his death as an opportunity to get a page hit, or another page of their shitty online magazine read. We should let the man rest in peace, but no. Site after site is whoring his departed image to shill their own wares and make them feel better about themselves. I'll tell you what it is. It's this one old hag of a woman. I had to sit and listen to her monochromatic voice sarcastically bitch about reposting the eight interviews she had done with the actor over the years. It was obvious that she didn't care about the guy. She made his death sound like a complete nuisance to her. Why even go through the trouble, lady? Just shut the fuck up and stay home. No one wants to read your decade old interviews anyway. You just want to stick your foot in a door that offers no emotional solace to you. All around me I see black hearts. And it sucks. Don't take this the wrong way. I don't have a problem with the Christopher Nolan statement, someone that actually knew the guy and worked with him. Or The Dark Knight producer that spoke his peace. The people that suck are the ones running around Hollywood asking actors' for sound bites on the mater as if they are asking them what they think about Wendy's new cheeseburger. Those people should burn in the back of a sealed off Taco John's. I'm talking taco meat grease. All over their body. They are dicks.

Jim Carrey jumps off a bridge? Whoop-doo! The comedian jumped off the historic Colorado Street Bridge this past Monday and invited every single member of the press he could think of to watch him do it. After the successful bungee jump, he decreed, "This is what I have to do to compete with Brittany Spears!" Nah! To compete with Brittany Spears he'd have to Crank fuck Jenny McCartney in China town against a newspaper dispenser. This little stunt was a fun day out of the house though, and recalled a better time, when actors actually had a bit of fun with their self-image. Plus, it had a scary sense of dread to it that you can't really package and sell. You always hear that celebrity deaths happen in threes. First Brad Renfro, then Heath Ledger, but who'd be next. A lot of people were speculating that Carrey's bungee cord might snap and he'd be the end of that trilogy. Thank God, this knock-on-wood prediction didn't come to pass. We'd have ten thousand pictures of his demise to look at since the place was crawling with members from every single news outlet in America.

Door -to-Door Gorilla Feces? Whoop-doo!

Shit Senders? Whoop-doo! This site allows you to send boxes of turds at a fairly reasonable rate. Need to metaphorically shit on someone's parade? Why not ship them a shoebox full of gorilla feces. You can order Elephant poop and cow manure as well. One quart runs the $12-15 range while twenty bucks will get you a whole gallon. The shit is sent anonymously, with a card that reads, "You've been pooped on! Want to know by whom? Over!" The card is placed directly in the middle of the crap, so the receiver has to open the package and get their hands dirty. The best part of the gag is that the back of the card reads, "We'll never tell!" Funny stuff. I bet I start receiving them from various different sources any day now. To ship a box off shit off to a loved one, CLICK HERE

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

Otis? Whoop-doo!

Otis? Whoop-doo! "Absolutely brilliant!" That is what I said walking out of the theater showing this Raw Feed direct to video presentation. I love this little movie, and I can't wait for you guys to see it. It is truly something special. A shocking shit-spiral of chaos that is as funny as it is disturbing, Otis is definitely going down in the books as one of my favorite films of the year. This skittish mish-mash of sitcom high jinks and Saw like brutality offers up one of the craziest nuclear families ever seen on screen. I can't believe something like One Missed Call gets a wide theatrical release while this is sent to home vide prison. Good for you guys, though. Cause you will get to see it a little sooner than you normally would have. The movie starts out as another torture rip-off but quickly careens off that road and onto paths less traveled. The narrative twists and turns towards a conclusion that is both uproarious and a bit disappointing (only because it sets itself up for a sequel that I would have loved to see that very second). Otis features a cast of former TV stars that all give balls out performances. You can tell that their hearts are in it, and they boost this high above that certain level of mediocrity usually expected of something made especially for the home video market. Daniel Stern is great, Illeana Douglas is a hoot, and even former sitcom actor Ashley Johnson (best known as Chrissie Seaver) gives a powerhouse performance. These guys are playing fast and hard with this material. They took the script to heart and give career best performances. This film is really quite unique in the current horror landscape. I can't wait to watch it again once the DVD hits. By then I should know if the crack rock has had a diverse effect on my viewing habits.

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

Quaid in Joe? Whoop-doo!

Dennis Quaid in "G.I. Joe"? Whoop-doo! This could be cool in a Transformers kind of way. It's not going to be the greatest piece of cinema ever unleashed on our heads, but it is gearing up to be a bit of fun. I wasn't sure how they were going to make this work, but if they can pull of the C.O.B.R.A. army, then I'm sold. The best news about the project so far has been the inclusion of Dennis Quad. He is one of my favorites, and if nothing else, should boost the energy level of this stolid cartoon into at least the "watchable" category. I wasn't much looking forward to sitting through this more-than-likely bloodless endeavor. Especially after Rambo recently redefined the combat genre. Having Quad join the cast has peeked my interest a little bit. Just a little. Now I can at least sit through it knowing I will get something of value out of it. Possibly. Maybe. Ah, who am I kidding? With Sommers directing it, you know it's going to pucker-poke the nose holes of ever ticket buyer in America. Fucking makes me want to sneeze just thinking about it.

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

Bartlett? Whoop-doo!

Charlie Bartlett? Whoop-doo This a great movie that you should definitely check out. Anton Yelchin is excellent in it, as is Robert Downey Jr. But Taylor Hilton as the mohawked Murphy completely steals the show. This is like Ferris Beuler's day at school. It falls in perfect line with the John Hughes cannon. It's like some lost film from that era, and it had me smiling all the way through. Like The Breakfast Club, this is a film that will more than likely be discovered on home video. I implore you to seek it out at the theater. You'll fucking dig it. Guaranteed. Crackrock! Excuse me, I hiccupped.

Boos! And Whoop-doos!

HLMs? Boo!

Hetro Life Mate? Boo! Saying you have a "Hetro life mate" is about as cool as dressing up as one of the Reservoir Dogs. It was neat for about two seconds back in the nineties, but now it is a cliche that hurts the eyes of those around you. Stop uttering this asinine Kevin Smith catch phrase. Only he is allowed to say it, and even he stopped using those three small words around the time Josie and the Pussycats tanked at the box office. Try coming up with something new. Something that isn't so out of date it even makes your fo-shizzle talking grandmother curse the day you were born. How about "cock singing buddy". Or, "pucker poker playmate"? Anything. Please?

Guillermo del Toro directing The Hobbit? Whoop-doo! If there is one director that can equal the sheer artistic and thematic bravado that Peter Jackson was able to bring to the screen with his original Lord of the Rings trilogy, it is del Toro. He has proven himself to be a master at stage craftsmanship, and ever single one of his endeavors is interesting to look at, if not a little boring (Mimic, I am peeing on you!). While Sam Raimi's unique way with the camera would have proven to be adequate, the continuation of this series needs a visual aesthetic that only del Toro can provide. He understands dark caves and moldy rocks better than anyone on the planet. The only sad thing about him directing The Hobbit films is that he probably won't be able to get behind the lens of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Both films would be awesome with him at the helm, but I think The Hobbit will fit his oeuvre a bit better. Besides, if he was directing Harry Potter, he would surely turn those wands into a hidden metaphor about the magic of the erect penis. But, damn, just imagining the way he'd frame Hermione's shoe rack has me heading straight into this next tidbit...

Montana Bikini Wax? Whoop-doo!

Miley Cyrus seen in her Bikini? Whoop-doo! Psyche! I love people that get mad when they simply see someone's name like Brittany Spears printed as the subject of a story without even reading it. "Who cares about Brittany Spears?" "Who cares about Jessica Simpson?" "Who cares about Lindsey Lohan?" Well...You do, you dumb bitch. And you try to cover up these insecure feelings by stating the opposite. You don't want to care. But you need to check out the headlines so that you know what you aren't caring about. It's a vicious cycle that you don't want to admit. You also don't want to admit that you like looking at these pictures of Miley Cyrus in her bikini. But you do. So, the joke is on you. And it is making me laugh. Look at you looking at that picture. Bite your lip. Tell me its wrong. Tell me I'm sick. Now...Look at that picture again. You are feeling a sudden urge to check the medicine cabinet for moisturizer, aren't you? You little cock singer.

LOL (loser on line - and damn proud of it!)

The Whoop-doo Nation will see you again next week, when my replacement Miles Faddish takes over as the writer of this column. He is not cracked out or up. He hasn't served in any wars. And he still likes to dress up as Vince Vega on occasion. So he should be right up your alley. Enjoy.