Month: August 2014

Homicidal Tendencies

A few weeks ago I decided to count up the amount of people I had killed over the past five years.  I’ll be honest, I was expecting a pretty high number, but upon giving it some thought I have to say I was really shocked.  I wasn’t prepared for just how prolific I had been.  I was also pleasantly surprised by my diversity in victims: men, women, children, animals (I like to skin these); black, white, Asian, European, Inuit.  I’ve done ‘em all.

It was also pretty alarming just how little can spark me into an apathetic killing spree.  Let me elaborate.

In fact, this happened only a few weeks ago…

I’m driving back to my house and trying my best not to kill anyone.  I’m taking it easy in my beaten-up car and obeying all the signals and demonstrating good lane discipline.  It’s a little rainy and the road is wet, but visibility is good and the traffic is moving along nicely at this time of night.  Then… it happens.  Out of a clear blue sky some air-headed pedestrian strolls into the street and takes the full brunt of my front grill.  The guy disappears under my front tyre and I bump uncontrollably over his collapsing body.  Looking in the rear-view mirror, it’s clear this guy is now nothing more than an abstract smear on the road – and I’m in utter bewilderment at the stupidity of the fucking idiot that has just broken my ‘no killing’ attempt to get home.

I go off in total anger.  To hell with it… why am I bothering to conform to a society of people that can’t even cross a road safely?  Selecting the semi-automatic that I like to keep fully loaded, and with wild abandonment I let a few rounds off.  Without even aiming I manage to take down a few people walking into a nearby park.  I hear the screams (that always accompany my target practice), and I’m immediately urged to stop the car, select my silenced MP5 and let the big dogs hunt for a while!

That night I killed around sixty people.  Sick, eh?  To be honest, what’s really sick is the amount of stories I have that run along this same adrenalin-soaked vein.

There was an occasion when I stumbled upon a woman cooing at what I thought was a baby in a pram, it turned out to be a revolver!  The crazy bitch lunged at me with a scalpel and I had no option but to empty an entire clip into her skull.  One time I was following this guy I needed to kill, got a little sloppy with my execution method and ended up taking out a dozen or so police officers.  I was riding a horse (whom I had been with for many adventures), that got spooked by a rattle snake and bucked me off – I retaliated by giving my new Winchester rifle a run out… I had to buy a new horse after that incident as things got a little messy.

Trust me, this shit happens all the time, and usually someone, or something, gets dead.

I don’t blame myself; I blame how the social order I live within has raped and desensitised me to the vile criminal behaviour I frequently indulge in.  I blame movies and how the power of celluloid has corrupted my mind with visions I can never forget.  I blame music for providing the torture and emotional hobbling the movies simply couldn’t get done.  I blame my parents for wiring me this way, and then my wife for allowing me to become such a vicious and competent killer – Christ! She even brings me tea whilst I’m butchering and dismembering whoever ‘deserves’ it that day!

Perhaps more than anything, I blame a guy who went by the name of zllEnVyllz.  He was the bastard that introduced me to this world, he got me set-up with the right equipment and tools, he encouraged me to select certain scenarios to experience and thrive within.  He more than anyone else told me it was okeydokey to kill, and then laughed at my attempts to best his efforts.

Such savagery takes up a lot of my time and I’m kind of addicted to it all now.  Looking at what I’ve become, and the monster that dwells inside of me, I often wonder why I ever agreed to buy that damn Xbox from him!

Paul Millard 2014   (Gamertag:  MacNu1ty)

… And if you were wondering, the games were Grand Theft Auto 5, BioShock, Hitman Absolution and Red Dead Redemption.

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A Trifecta of Awful Movies – Elysium, R.I.P.D., Gravity

movie-posters

This all happened over one weekend… actually, it was within a twenty-four hour period that I watched these movies – three movies that will forever be nothing more than a complete waste of my time and effort (such as it is!).

Let’s try and get this over with quickly, and start with the first shitty-arsed puppy that wandered into my DVD player and took a dump.

How anyone can make a film in which your direction stops any sense of performance from the likes of Matt Damon and Jodie Foster is simply beyond me.  In a similar vein, I struggle to understand how the same person who wrote and directed the intergalactic, funny racism, fest District 9 (which is well worth a watch if you haven’t already), can also produce such a spiteful, pox-ridden 109 minutes of shit-awful cinema.  It seems Neill Blomkamp leads the way in both, and clearly had a few bills to pay by making Elysium.

It’s awful, and in so many ways.  The premise is one that is so well trodden it recently had new carpet laid.  Earth has gone to shit, all the sexy, rich people have built a new Earth (which is a Halo-type thing called Elysium and is really sparkly and stuff), one man who lives on shit Earth but wants to be on Halo Earth makes a stand for reasons that I’m now too bored to explain.  Seriously, that’s the movie.

The special effects may be very cool (as were those used in any episode of Heroes – and look how that turned out!), but the story and characters are just poor and trite.  Why is it that “bad” Earth always looks so dusty and beige?  Also, why is it that the better place has to be made of titanium and LED’s?  Why is it that the main baddie always relies on a single, unstable, counterpart to execute their diabolical plans?  Can we not come up with something a little more different?

Speaking of different, let’s look at the main players.  You have Matt Damon’s character that is fuelled by his own self-preservation for most of the film, until he has a heart-felt moment of realization that leads to perhaps the most obvious and predictable self-sacrifice I’ve ever seen.  Jodie Foster plays a female Dick Cheney and employs a voice that is almost impossible to place (and hilarious to listen too), and then there’s Sharlto Copley – everyone’s favourite weirdo – his character is perhaps the worst of the three, and again suffers from the same vocal bullshit as Foster.  Let’s be honest here, the South African accent is staggeringly poxy at the best of times (Lethal Weapon 2, anyone?), and offers nothing in the way of being either sinister or dangerous – it’s just annoying.  Why not get a little British up on that thing?  We all know a good Brit accent is the scariest when it comes to portraying a messed-up, yet strangely intelligent, psychotic.  As the villain of the piece, you would think he would run with it (as the guy is clearly a gifted actor), but no, and by whoever’s design he keeps it one-dimensional and similar to those baddies you get on an episode of Ultimate Force.

Predictable, jarring, and stupid – avoid Elysium like it’s a UKIP representative.

With a similar waft of shit, I then went on to watch R.I.P.D. and was once more utterly spellbind by the quality of dreck it offered.

Only marginally better than Elysium, it suffered so many of the same problems.  With a story that was nothing more than a slight reworking of The Frighteners, or Rentaghost, this movie deals with an alternate, spectral, universe that us mortals are unaware of but exists in the same space as it were.  This realm is maintained by a police force, much like our own, and is made up of dead cops (which is very cost effective vis-à-vis training and staff development).  Once more, a baddie wants to mess around with the mortal world and hatches a cunning plan to do whatever he does to achieve whatever it is he… sorry, I’m bored writing this.

We again have some reasonable special effects (think Men-in-Black, rather than The Hobbit), and a stable of thoroughbred acting talent in Ryan Reynolds, Jeff Bridges, Kevin Bacon and Mary Louise-Parker, who all manage to make the most of some pretty awful dialogue the team of writers came up with (6 in total!).

The director on this one, Robert Schwentke, tries his best to tame the gaggle of voices that clearly marred the script, but fails to find any consistency with either the universe or the characters.  However, the saving grace this film has is an overriding sense of never taking itself too seriously.  Again, this has a faint smell of Men in Black, and offers the movie a much frayed lifeline away from complete oblivion.

With this said, and if I was going to watch any of these movies again (and I won’t be), I would plumb for R.I.P.D.  Jeff Bridges is always worth a watch and never fails to provide a little something in the way of performance, and Mary Louise-Parker is also good value for money but for very different reasons… va-va-voom!

And so we come to the point where I enter the marginalised world of those who fucking hated Gravity, and thought it was stupid and idiotic in every conceivable way – and in a few ways that haven’t been conceived yet… that’s how inconceivable the stupidity of this movie is.

If I had a penny for every time someone has told me how great this movie is, well, I would only have about 46p, but it would still represent a lot of people who loved this film – I’m just not sure why.

Was it because of the visuals?  Well, they were certainly nice to look at and gave an awesome sense of how important we are down here, but so hopelessly unimportant up there in the galactic wilderness.  Maybe it was The Clooney and Sandra Bullock?  George and Sandy (to a degree) do give a nice performance, but nothing that would get you teetering on your seat and clawing at your partner in tense frenzy.  Special effects?  Again, they were nice, well-crafted and unremarkably typical of so many films that have come before it (Sunshine, Armageddon, Serenity, etc., etc.)  So what else?

It may have been how the movie pretended to give a visceral and realistic representation of a catastrophic accident in space, but pretty much ignored all aspects of physics whenever the plot needed it too – I particularly liked the way in which a place that is known to not have any gravity, suddenly gets a dose of gravity in order to provide a sentimental moment (exactly why couldn’t Sandra hold on to George??).  I also liked how the two astronauts, who you could assume have spent a significant amount of time together in training for their mission, seemed to know absolutely nothing about each other.  Is that realistic?  Is it what the director, Alfonso Cuarón, was going for?  Is it even remotely plausible?  Or is it another loophole taken in order to flesh out the plot?  Shit, even the guys in Deep Impact shared a beer and spent time getting to know each other before they took to the skies.

And no matter how hard I tried, I could not get close to Sandra Bullock’s character.  How the fuck can you have a half-hearted astronaut?  Everything about her felt like a student working in Blockbusters, when in fact they really wanted to get back to campus and do something they actually enjoyed.  The first five minutes where you watch her try to repair a satellite, moan about not getting it done and huffing and puffing about how difficult and time consuming it is, made me pray for the accident to come and kill her!  Do NASA really employ 14 year-old, whiney, obnoxious, emo car mechanics to fix their space shit?  I’m no expert… but I’m guessing they don’t – so fuck off back to Twilight!

I could go on but I’m starting to bore myself again; and quite frankly, this film stank out my living room so much I actually started to realise how good Elysium was!

Anyway, with the end credits of Gravity, my weekend of sci-fi was terminated with the resounding roar of an Airbus 777 carrying sick babies from Africa, plunge into a special needs school as it was being visited by the entire Royal family.  It was fucking monstrous, grotesque to the extreme and wholly implausible.  And if this is the state of current sci-fi, then we shouldn’t be surprised by the countless comic book movies appropriating the genre.

Thank fuck for television… and its repeats of Star Trek, X-Files and Firefly!

Paul Millard 2014

Oh… and here’s Mary Louise-Parker

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Norm Macdonald tweets about Robin Williams

Robin Williams Norm Macdonald

 

A transcript of Norm Macdonald’s tweet from this morning, about meeting Robin Williams was the first time…

 

It was my first stand-up appearance on Letterman and I had to follow the funniest man in the world.

I was a punk kid from rural Ontario and I was in my dressing room, terrified.

I was on the phone to a friend back home when the funniest man in the world ambled by.

There was no one else on the floor. In shock, I told my friend who just walked by. Only the funniest man in the world.

I guess he heard me say his name, cause in an instant he was at my side.

He [acted like a] Jewish tailor, taking my measurements. He went down on his knees, [and] asked which way I dressed.

I told my friend on the phone that the funniest man in the world was on his knees before me, measuring my inseam.

My friend didn’t believe me so I said, “Could you talk to my friend, sir.

The funniest man in the world took the phone and for ten minutes took my friend’s Chinese food order!

I laughed and laughed and it was like I was in a dream because no one else was there. No one.

[He said] the place was out of Moo Shoo Pork, and there was nothing he could do about it!

He angrily hung up on my friend and I was about to thank him when he said I hadn’t even tried the jacket on.

Then the funniest man on earth dressed me, a complete stranger, and I remember he ended with a Windsor knot.

He spoke mostly Yiddish, but when he finished he was happy with his job and turned me to a mirror to present myself to me.

No one witnessed any of this. No one.

The funniest man alive was in my dressing room [for] a good half-hour and was far funnier than the set I had to do soon.

When he left my dressing room, I felt alone. As alone as I ever remember feeling.

Until today.

Unacceptable.  

 

RIP to a true original of the species.

 

Paul Millard 2014

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Robin Williams

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I was awoken at 4am this morning by a text message from a friend who informed me that Robin Williams had passed away.  He was 63 years-old.  As I write this, most of the international news agencies and media outlets are confirming suicide as the probable cause of death.

For those who did not know the genius of his comedy, go check out A Night at the Met with Robin Williams.  It was recorded in 1986, showcased Robin at his absolute best, and won a Grammy.  Quite simply, it’s a performance that once seen, is never forgotten.

For those who did not know the genius as his acting, go check out The World According to Garp.  Filmed in 1982, it’s a wonderfully subdued performance, and testament to the largely forgotten “coming of age” movie genre – a genre that was rife in the 1980’s and encapsulated the teenage years for most of today’s 40somethings (myself included).

I honestly can’t think of anything more to say.  In short, it’s a tragedy that Robin has gone so soon… and anyone who loves comedy, and knows their history, will feel the awful gap in any humour being found this morning.

RIP Mork from Ork

Paul Millard 2014

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Be My Virtual Saviour

A lot must be considered when picking the right religion to be on-line ordained into.  Due diligence is key to finding the right path to enlightenment, and whilst it looks very easy for those tambourine-rattling, devil-dodgers on Songs of Praise and The Only Way Is Amish, a degree of actual commitment and clarity of mind is critical for spiritual success.  My personal journey began on a Saturday morning, and only after I had managed to sit still for a full five minutes without the need to check football scores or snipe on Twitter.

During a rare moment in which my kid wasn’t trying to break my spirit and with absolutely nothing better to do, I managed to reach a strange inner stillness – the kind you get when idly watching the fat bloke in your office stuffing a KFC into his monstrous face.  Almost without thought I reached out to my laptop and clicked the Google icon.  Courageously battling the obvious urge to immediately watch porn, I entered the mystically sensitive sentence, ‘Ordain me, bitch’, and sat back.

I was now locked into a sea of organised beliefs, all clambering over themselves to stake a claim on my soul (such as it is).  This is when the real inflection and quest for the glorious and the divine began in solemn plight.

There were so many to consider… The Universal Life Church, Spiritual Humanism, The Open Ministry, The Pacific Life Church, First Nation Ministry, to name but a few.  If enlightenment was on the menu, then I was starting to feel a little stuffed – a feeling said fat bloke from the office will never experience.

The Universal Life Church was very appealing and offered a lovely line in redemption, soul saving, and a very reasonably priced Ordination Package.  For a measly $26.99, you could own a “… beautiful credential for your wall, a clergy badge, a plastic personalized wallet card credential, parking placard, and a Minister Window Cling.”

As an opening offer this one was hard to turn down.  $26.99 for all that lovely plastic shit!  It was tempting.  However, I was soon turned off The Universal Life Church upon reading what I could get from the Spiritual Humanism site.

Not one, but three packages to choose from!  $14.95 would get you the Basic Clergy Service Pack (Really… who wants to be a basic clergy?), the Advanced Clergy Service Pack came in at $39.95 (now we’re getting somewhere), and finally the Deluxe Clergy Service Pack walked on water at $89.95 (I want to be a righteous weapon of God, please?).

The deluxe package was bringing all the good shit, Ordination Certificate, quality ID badge, manuals, CD-ROMs and lots of other stuff including a whole mess of baby naming certificates, marriage certificates, affirmation of love certificates, to name a few.  Ok, so an official pardon certificate for molesting altar boys was not included, but I’m pretty sure you could have ordered one via their online store.

Now, you would think that my quest for cost-effective enlightenment was over, and deluxe divinity was awaiting my PayPal account?  Hell no.  Much like the road to Damascus, my journey would be long, difficult, and littered with the occasional mound of donkey shit.  So with this in mind, I made myself another torturous cup of coffee, laboured hard to open the second bag of chocolate, and pushed my twisted and gnarled body back into my wonderfully comfortable sofa (cross-shaped), and flicked on the TV.

In between episodes of The Real Housewives of Orange County, I continued my quest.  The First National Ministry had a very basic web design, and for those blessed with a higher calling, they seemingly failed to make use of higher jpeg resolutions.  The Pacific Life Church appeared to be more interested in selling T-shirts and tote bags to religious zealots with healthy bank balances.

… and as for The Open Ministry, well, they looked cheap and nasty – religion for the pound shop brigade.

In short, the more I searched for the perfect religion to be ordained into, the more I was getting side-tracked by the lovely Heather and Tamara from Orange County – two women that once ordained, I fully intended to brain-wash into my new cult.

Holy shit… I would need to sort out a cult!

All of that organization and grooming I would have to do.  I would need to find a compound to preach from, stock up on food and water – enough to outlast any police stand-offs.  Where the hell was I going to buy Ak-47’s and rocket launchers from?  It was all getting too much.  I’m naturally lazy and shiftless, hard work is something I try to avoid at all costs.  Seriously, I get a little clammy when asked to do the washing-up, how was I going to handle the logistics of my congregation’s eventual mass suicide?

Un-nailing myself from the sofa, I paced the room in lonely contemplation and inner reflection.

Suddenly, as I walked past my DVD collection, the enlightenment I sought was blasted into me like the sound-waves emitted from a celestial chorus.  Falling to the floor, with the tears of a thousand sinners upon my cheeks, I gathered myself up and three minutes later was ordained into the one religion I could fully commit too.  I was now a recognised minister, capable of marrying people, christening kids, procrastinating spiritual advice, and a worthy foot-solider awaiting the Rapture.

I could now drink White Russians, go bowling anytime I liked, wander around in a bathrobe and generally mimic one of my all-time favourite movie characters – safe in the knowledge that I was doing all of the above in the name of spiritual harmony, wellbeing and sanctified lethargy.

The Church of the Latter Day Dude is my sunbeam, and in The Big Lebowski I had found my shepherd.

Rev. Paul Millard – 2014

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