The week of September 29th through October 5th.

Like, boo! All you thalidomide babies! It's me, Spooker Washington! I'm back from the ol' bone yard, and will be doing this column for the month of October while ol' Bradford Orange is out in the spookpatch looking to carve a hole in a pumpkin.

First order of business: Whoop-doo Nation President El Rocho has deemed it necessary for me to tell you two things. One: Beer has vitamins. And Two: So does cereal. Consume them accordingly. Now, onto the business at hand. To whoop-doo, or not to whoop-doo! That is the stink-sweat of a question...

Boos! and Whoop-doos!

Cage? Whoop-doo!

Nicolas Cage subdues burglar without incident? Whoop-doo! He's our man. If nobody else can do it, you better god damn believe Nick Cage can. He didn't name his onscreen self after a Marvel Superhero for nothing. You see, this guy broke into Cage's house all Downey Jr. style. Cage didn't bust a gun out of his closet and start shooting wildly. He didn't slam-bang the guy's face into the linoleum floor. He calmly walked up behind the spaced out douche dog and whispered, "What are you doing in my house? And is that my bathrobe?" He then corralled the silent sneak into his back yard with a shoebox, much like I might take care of a mouse. Then he called the cops, cool as a cucumber. He handled the incident like a pro; completely without incident. I like that. Cage is awesome, and the Whoop-doo man of the moment. Way to go, Nick. Now lets go to Vegas and have a drink!

Boos! and Whoop-doos!

O.J.'s Rolex? Whoop-doo!

O.J. has to give Rolex to Goldman family? Whoop-doo! This guy should be stripped of all worldly possessions except a square box to tape around his genitals when he is wandering around outside, in the cold deserted streets of Barrow Alaska. I like that this judge saw something expensive on O.J.'s person and demanded that he turn it over to the Goldman Estate. That's the way it should be. This guy shouldn't have anything to his name except two pieces of bread and an Arrow water bottle signed by E-40. Even then, that's being a little too generous to this cock rag. I'm glad he's had numerous run-ins with the Karma police lately. He deserves every kick to the balls we can afford to give him. The guy is a smarmy criminal with brain damage. He should be locked up in an institute somewhere. Seriously, he's out walking the streets right now. He's probably just going to mug a Wall Street broker for another watch. Wouldn't that make the most sense?

Boos! and Whoop-doos!

Jason lives? Whoop-doo!

Friday the 13th is coming on a Saturday next year? Whoop-doo! Did I like the Halloween remake that Rob Zombie vicariously pumped into theaters this August? Not particularly. I've seen Mr. Woodcock twice, and it only once, if that tells you anything (don't be fooled by my appearance, I'd just as soon watch a comedy as I would anything else). I did like a few things about it. I liked the little kid, and felt Zombie could have stayed on that subject for the entire duration of the ride. It would have been something cool, clever, and unique. A ten-year-old slasher. We haven't seen that before. I also liked Taylor Mane, the guy that played adult Mike Myers. My deal with these films is that I like watching both The Shape and Jason Voorhees jaunt around in those masks, doing the dastardly deeds they do. Its fun. I don't know why. When I first heard they were remaking the original Friday the 13th, I was less than excited. Why? Because that film focuses on Jason's mom. This Maude chick with an ax. A sick little perverted hunchback of a soccer mom who, because her deaf stinktard of a son drowned in a lake, liked to hide under Kevin Bacon's bed while he smoked dope. I saw that shit once. I didn't need to see it again. Call the theater and cancel my tickets, right? But now, they are going to "reimagined" the entire franchise, and focus solely on Jason in this first outing. (God, I wish Peter Bonerz would come in and reimagined my life). That is great news, just as long as the buttfaced little bastard doesn't start talking in monosyllabic beeps and tones. Just as long as he's lumbering around in that hockey mask, drinking milk and spilling blood, I'll be there. I just like his overtly clumsy image. And I want to see two things in the remake, then I'll be happy. The guy is a power walker, right? Why not utilize that for once? I want to see a real time shot of Jason power walking behind a beautiful co-ed who has already spend the afternoon working out to get fit for a music video. She starts running, and he keeps up his power walk behind her. For a good long while. Until she collapses from exhaustion. And then he gets up behind her and takes that machete to her torso. Painful. I also want to see a guy secure his wood cabin in a panic after a supposed Orange alert comes across the radio. Terrorists and dirty bombs, you know? Then he finds out that Jason is in the house with him. And its six minutes of this guy wildly trying to get out of this cabin while Jason toys with him. Non-stop relentless panic. It could be super awesome if done right. The whoop-doo movie of the year. Done wrong, it will still be worth watching. At least in parts.

Boos! and Whoop-doos!

Feast 2? Whoop-doo!

Feast 2 getting closer to production? Whoop-doo! On the other hand, The Fast and the Furious 4 is also making some headroom. Boo! Vin Diesel tried to avoid ruining his career by refusing to appear in the wrong sequel. And then he did just that. Though The Pacifier was a hit, it didn't save Diesel from drowning in the pool of Hollywood excrement (i.e. The Chronicles of Riddick) that soon floated his way. He disappeared beneath a brown sludge of nothingness with nary a whisper. Seriously, I haven't heard him shouting loud as of late. That is, until he decided he wanted to reteam with Paul Walker in another vroom-vroom car crash-em-up. He's also eyeing the fourth Terminator installment. I wish he'd just stick to his lowbrow genre roots and star in Feast 2. Tell me you wouldn't want to watch one of those nasty little things fucking Vin in the mouth. I loved the original Feast. It was a good little From Dusk Till Dawn knock-off that delivered the goods. Speaking of movies that delivered the goods, Shoot 'Em Up did just that, and is guaranteed to make a mint on home video. Guess what? The sequel gets the green light! Whoop-doo! The entire cast, including Giamatti, is scheduled to return. These are lesser sequels, to be sure, but that's what makes them so much fun. We really aren't expecting them to be that good. Or are we?

Boos! and Whoop-doos!

Rose? Boo!

Rose McGowan as Barbarella? Boo! I can't believe Robert Rodriguez, of all people, left his wife for Rose McGowan. She's had Marylyn Manson's balls in her mouth. Yuck, for cock's sake. That alone makes me queasy. And now I have to watch her in every one of his movies? Where did the Mexi-can go? This is Barbarella, Rodriguez style. Shouldn't he be casting Eva Mendes or Jennifer Lopez in the role? Both of those females would dominate in what could be a Latin-fueled sci-fi epic. But no. We get a B grade actress from a horrible TV show. It's going to be loose suckage all over the screen. Bad thing is, I've talked to both Jennifer Lopez and Eva Mendes in the last month or two, and they would both be down with playing this character in Robert's film. That guy has ditched his wife, and now he is ditching the community that needs him the most. What a dick. I think I'm going to boycott this film. The first one was rotgut to sit through in the first place. Women's Lib? Ha, who needs it. Just give me libations.

Britney loses? Boo!

Britney loses custody of her kids? Boo! Poor little bittle. Ol' Brit's got a bad case of the stink tit. Seems Los Angeles Superior Court Commissioner Scott M. Gordon has deemed Brittany unfit to raise her children. Which sucks. K-Fed is a scumbag who is only doing this for the money, and to clear his greasy name. Just cause your better than a drugged out mousketter on mescaline doesn't really make you parent of the year. These kids need a mother. Britney needs to clean herself up and get with the program. It's turning into Grand Guignol, a theater for the macabre, this pop star business. We got celebrity suicide watch happening around the clock. Get back and gimme some, indeed. This story is beginning to look more and more like Ben Affleck's Gone Baby Gone every minute of the day. Look at Amy Ryan in her star making, sure to win an Academy Award performance. That is Britney in two and a half years. You know it is, kids.

Well, cornflakes, that's it for me this week. You'll see me again next week, when Ol' Crotchbone will be making a special appearance. So long, and thanks for all the batteries!

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