I'm going to put it right out there and tell you that I hated this movie. I can't think of another movie that I so strongly hated within the first ten minutes of viewing. This film has terrible writing, unbelievable dialogue, and it didn't help that I hated all four of the main cast members - and when I say "hate" I don't mean that I strongly dislike them. In this instance, I mean like I am vehemently opposed to seeing their faces. I mean like when I do see their faces, I boil over with insurmountable rage. I should also mention that I did not even finish this movie because I felt more concentrated apathy and disinterest in the first five minutes of this movie than I have in a complete year. The orange was this film and the juice that was squeezed out was 100% pure hate. One could argue that my review of said film is faulty because I did not fully evaluate the product, but that is a stupid point of view. If I bought a car that fell apart before I even got it off the lot and rated it poorly, anyone who argued with me would be an asshole. 30 Minutes or Less is a fucking terrible movie and I couldn't wait to tell everyone I know, regardless of how little I watched of it. When I first saw Schindler's List, I had missed the first 40 minutes of it and somehow it was a fantastic movie. Who knows, maybe 30 Minutes or Less turned it around and became a coherent film after the ten minutes I watched. Based on all the dick jokes in the first couple minutes, I ejected the disk, pretty sure I wasn't missing a film gem, a life-changing cinematic event. This was garbage a moron wouldn't even like.
This next section is going to get rough. Jessie Eisenberg successfully ruins another movie by having been cast. Aziz Ansari has enough screen time to remind me that I hate him, despite stepping out of his underling role on NBC's Parks and Recreation. He burns through my patience within five minutes of talking. Danny McBride and Nick Swardson rounded out my hatred for this movie only because I am angry that they are so successful in a career path where people have to look at them and listen to them. Is that fair to reflect not on their performances in this movie, but on their real-life persona? Who cares - if you can spend five whole minutes watching anything with either of these two in it, then get the fuck off my review site because you are not familiar with "good." Let me quickly round out why I hate Danny McBride and Nick Swardson: I hate Danny McBride because redneck humor starts and ends with Jeff Foxworthy, not to say that Foxworthy isn't funny (he isn't), but everything McBride contributes just seems like a disgusting visualization of joke that was previously delivered, but was delivered conversationally as a joke. Danny McBride does not tell jokes, he assaults you with a concentrated bolt of the two things he knows: dick jokes and profanity - his bread and butter. Danny McBride doesn't even act, he just shows up and his mouth spews that shit that is his films. Nick Swardson hasn't contributed anything to society that didn't involve stupid voices, urine, pot, or feces - all four pretty much average out for how I feel about him, as he goes to sleep every night, probably feeling pretty accomplished in what he has done in life. Fuck this movie and everyone in it.
Score: 0% (four out of four actors that I hate)
Written by Mike
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Campbell's Hearty New England Clam Chowder
It is not often that I get sick, but when I do I am not unlike other humans in that I require comforting while my body heals. One of the things that comforts me during this time of immunal-refurbishing is soup. I enjoy soup, but only two kinds: chicken noodle and clam chowder. Yes, I realize that chowder is not really soup. Chowder is chowder, but it is like soup in that it is served hot in a bowl, mostly liquid, and I eat it with a spoon. For this purpose, clam chowder is soup and my second favorite kind of soup.
So there I stood, in the soup aisle of the supermarket, ill in body, but excited in spirit at the prospect of purchasing what would soon be a fantastic, hot meal. Of all the cans of potential candidates for my soup purchase, I had chosen Campbell's Hearty Clam Chowder. Its label boasted true warmth and deliciousness - and why the hell not? With such a giant spoon, so much larger than the puny utensils of mortals, filled with so much fucking clam and potato and MY GOD, it was a beautiful sight. I would have been a god damned fool not to choose this New England panacea, blessed by King Neptune himself.
I grabbed the biggest can of clam and potato goodness, bought it, and drove home. At each stoplight I glanced at the passenger seat to make sure my tasty co-pilot was still safely confined in the shopping bag. It was ever-important that nothing happen to that can. I was sick, god damn it, and that can was my miracle cure. The second I arrived at home, my kitchen was called into duty - it was my command center and heating that soup was my mission. My rusty can opener almost stymied my progress, but through sheer hunger-fueled rage, I got that bastard to work. The metal was pierced and the smell of clam and potato leaked into the air. Actually it didn't smell like I imagined it would. There was no aroma of sea-side wonder, or heartland potato. I pretended I wasn't bothered as I slopped the pale slime into a pot and placed it on the stove. The waiting - oh good god, the waiting was awful. I was so hungry, doubly so because I was so damned excited about this soup!
I heard a bubble from the pot and quickly grabbed a ladle and slopped some of this thick, potentially delicious elixir into my waiting bowl. I snatched a spoon and filled it with potato and clam and sauce, raised it to my mouth and… was disappointed. The soup had no taste. It was as if Campbell's had replaced all the potatoes with soggy pieces of tube sock and all the clam with erasers. I slopped some on a napkin which touched the bowl and in the five minutes of misery I would have otherwise called "eating," the soup had GLUED THE NAPKIN TO THE BOWL. I was effectively eating glue. Thanks, Campbell's. Thank you for the tube sock, eraser, glue soup.
If I had a time machine, I would have jumped into it at that moment and gone back to twenty minutes prior to shout down the aisle of that supermarket, "DON'T GET THAT SOUP. IT IS TERRIBLE AND LOOKS NOTHING LIKE THE LABEL!" To which original timeline Me would have replied, "That's stupid, look how much fucking potato is on that spoon!"
Rating: Zero. Zero fucking cans of soup out of five, because what I ate wasn't soup.
Written by Mike
So there I stood, in the soup aisle of the supermarket, ill in body, but excited in spirit at the prospect of purchasing what would soon be a fantastic, hot meal. Of all the cans of potential candidates for my soup purchase, I had chosen Campbell's Hearty Clam Chowder. Its label boasted true warmth and deliciousness - and why the hell not? With such a giant spoon, so much larger than the puny utensils of mortals, filled with so much fucking clam and potato and MY GOD, it was a beautiful sight. I would have been a god damned fool not to choose this New England panacea, blessed by King Neptune himself.
I grabbed the biggest can of clam and potato goodness, bought it, and drove home. At each stoplight I glanced at the passenger seat to make sure my tasty co-pilot was still safely confined in the shopping bag. It was ever-important that nothing happen to that can. I was sick, god damn it, and that can was my miracle cure. The second I arrived at home, my kitchen was called into duty - it was my command center and heating that soup was my mission. My rusty can opener almost stymied my progress, but through sheer hunger-fueled rage, I got that bastard to work. The metal was pierced and the smell of clam and potato leaked into the air. Actually it didn't smell like I imagined it would. There was no aroma of sea-side wonder, or heartland potato. I pretended I wasn't bothered as I slopped the pale slime into a pot and placed it on the stove. The waiting - oh good god, the waiting was awful. I was so hungry, doubly so because I was so damned excited about this soup!
I heard a bubble from the pot and quickly grabbed a ladle and slopped some of this thick, potentially delicious elixir into my waiting bowl. I snatched a spoon and filled it with potato and clam and sauce, raised it to my mouth and… was disappointed. The soup had no taste. It was as if Campbell's had replaced all the potatoes with soggy pieces of tube sock and all the clam with erasers. I slopped some on a napkin which touched the bowl and in the five minutes of misery I would have otherwise called "eating," the soup had GLUED THE NAPKIN TO THE BOWL. I was effectively eating glue. Thanks, Campbell's. Thank you for the tube sock, eraser, glue soup.
If I had a time machine, I would have jumped into it at that moment and gone back to twenty minutes prior to shout down the aisle of that supermarket, "DON'T GET THAT SOUP. IT IS TERRIBLE AND LOOKS NOTHING LIKE THE LABEL!" To which original timeline Me would have replied, "That's stupid, look how much fucking potato is on that spoon!"
Rating: Zero. Zero fucking cans of soup out of five, because what I ate wasn't soup.
Written by Mike
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