Bloggasm

Dearest Carlos,

Or should I just call you Ned? That is, after all, your real name. Anyway, I love the show. Never have I had so much fun repeatedly yelling, “Oh no he didn’t!” at the screen with such fervor. However, I have a few pointers that will guarantee an even more successful career.

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A lot of people out there wonder how screenplays get made into movies. Well, it’s a long tedious process, and if it’s something you want to get into, here’s a step-by-step process: Pitching Mother.

This has probably circulated all over the internet already, but I have to post it here for the few of you who haven’t seen it: Fear of Girls.

As someone who loves documentaries, I really didn’t like the self-indulgent crap-fest known as Supersize Me. That’s why I found this article interesting: “Super Size Me” filmmaker angers some with speech at high school:

Filmmaker Morgan Spurlock gave a profanity-laced, politically incorrect speech to several hundred high school students, and not everyone was lovin’ it.

…

In his hourlong presentation before 700 students, Spurlock joked about the intelligence of McDonald’s employees, using an Indian accent as he imitated a cashier trying to figure out how to ring up a Quarter Pounder. He also joked about “retarded kids in the back wearing helmets” and teachers smoking pot in the balcony.

Ok. Are you ready to laugh out loud?

There actually were special education students in the back row. Teachers led them out during the hourlong presentation.

via Sister Toldjah

Pajiba sums it up pretty well with this sentence:

Washington is in fine form here, though it’s a role he could do in his sleep: smart cop, full of righteous fury, good guy but no angel, willing to buck the system to get his man, etc

Washington has been held up in role after role as this one-step-above-the-rest black man. He has become the Super-Duper Magical Negro of Hollywood.

Liberals loooovve child molesters.

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In other news, he’s taken to honoring Fox News women in exclusive interviews, and the end result is an all-out middle-school blatant flirting match. I felt like I was in Ms. Patterson’s homeroom class all over again.

…figuratively, of course. Their fiction selection this week is just as good as last week’s: A Better Angel, by CHRIS ADRIAN

I made a lot of trips back and forth to the pharmacy, and imagined the little man in the back filling the bottles from two big coolers of bright, pure drug, and dreamed of following him back there to put my mouth to the spigots, because I was sure that if I could just ingest enough then the angel would be permanently transformed—and if it happened also to be enough to kill me, so be it. I was sure that she would take me someplace bearable. How she hated those little bottles.