Joe Pesci Reviews Those Who Wish Me Dead

Those Who Wish Me Dead Review: Angelina Jolie's Throwback Action Movie | IndieWire

I was doing a stakeout of Bob Baffert’s place in Boca when Marco interrupted my business with a text. The asshole decided that was a good time to ask me if I wanted to do another movie review. His timing is worse than my first wife, who sent me a fax to tell me she was breaking up with me right before I went on trial in a double homicide case. No . . wait . . that was my first lawyer . . even worse!

So I called Marco and I asked him what movie he wanted me to watch for this oh so important movie review. You know what the ingrate says to me?

“I just watched Those Who Wish Me Dead and holy shit did it blow! You’ve GOT to review it for the blog!”

The balls on this guy! He wanted me to forget the fact I lost half a million clams because Bob Fucking Baffert decided to treat his horse like it was A-Rod . . . and instead . . watch a movie that is a complete waste of my time. And then he told me Angelina Jolie was in it, and I said okay. It’s probably for the best since that silver haired prick Baffert has better lawyers than I do.

Those Who Wish Me Dead Reviews - Metacritic

Before I get started with this review, you should know I’m scoring it a perfect four out of four stars because Angelina Jolie is in it. And while Marco may be a stuttering prick, he was right about the flick. It really does blow, in spite of Angelina, who should win an Oscar, just for existing.

Those Who Wish Me Dead Is A Straight Shot of Adrenaline

For Those Who Wish Me Dead is a movie title I can totally relate to, so points for that.

Okay, so in the first scene, Aiden Gillen and his associate pose as fire inspectors. When the lady of the house answers the door, they ask if her husband is home. When she says yes, they tell her that the house may have a gas leak and they ask if they can check it out. It’s the oldest trick in the book, and it works like a charm, every time. Trust me on that.

So once dat guy is outta da picture, we learn there is another guy who needs to be quieted because of some top secret shit. This fellow is what they call a forensic accountant, which in laymen’s terms means bad news for guys like us. He knows they’re after him so he skips town but of course they find him, but his kid gets away.

Those Who Wish Me Dead Movie: Showtimes, Review, Songs, Trailer, Posters, News & Videos | eTimes

That’s when we get to meet Angelina, who plays a smoke jumper named Hannah Faber in this buttfuck of a town in Montana. I was familiar with the term- smoke jumper-but my definition is much different and since Angelina is supposed to be one, I’m gonna stick with my definition. Anyway, Hannah has a lot of guilt because she fucked up and and some kids died in a wildfire because of it. So she drinks whiskey and jumps out of flat bed trucks for fun in order to bury the pain. I really love that.

How to Watch Angelina Jolie's 'Those Who Wish Me Dead' | Entertainment Tonight

Jon Bernthal plays a Sheriff who basically just takes scenes away from Angelina, because his wife actually inflicts more damage on the two villains than he does. Fucking Sheriffs, it’s always the same thing with those guys!

So this kid who just lost his father runs into Hannah in the forest and holy fucking shit if that isn’t every twelve-year old boy’s wildest dream! I mean, if my old man woulda had to get offed for me to meet up with Angelina in the woods? I’m sorry Pop, but I ain’t gonna be twelve forever, yanno?

The ending is predictable shit. The bad guys get killed, the good guys win and Angelina is the only reason this movie wasn’t a complete waste of time.

Oh yeah . . I’m supposed to tell you there are spoilers in this post.

Da End

 

Winning By Pinocchio’s Nose

Medina Spirit | 2022 Kentucky Derby & Oaks | May 6 and May 7, 2022

With Medina Spirit’s Kentucky Derby win now being called into question after traces of the steroid betamethasone were found in his system, it’s clear the sporting world will stop at nothing in pursuit of glory. Trainer Bob Baffert claimed the horse has never been treated with the stuff because most sports figures are just frustrated politicians.

Pete Rose has been telling and re-telling a thirty year lie that changes with each new book deal. Dopers everywhere- from the four major sports to the Olympics- always play it like that guy in the show Cops who insists the drugs aren’t his. College recruiting reads like an episode of Law and Order. Little leaguers pretend to be smaller while college players pretend to be bigger and the Patriots . . . well, yanno.

Back inside the brutally simple time known as the ’70’s, NASCAR driver Richard Petty issued a sporting proclamation that has proven to have more lasting power than his hat . . or his legendary career for that matter.

“If you ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying,”

Without a twenty-four hour social media dragnet to collect every last dangling participle of an athlete’s most innocuously lonesome thoughts, the checkmate of a raging morning after headline was still a twinkle in every sports voyeur’s eye. Petty’s southern drawl was saved the slings and arrows of our current day claw machine which would have issued the “Breaking News” headline at three in the morning. After which Twitter would’ve split in two like the Titanic, sports debate shows would’ve argued over whether Petty should be suspended and Petty would’ve read a PR crafted apology that was about as heartfelt as a zombie flick.

The thing is, his simple syrup was a sporting truth long before he let it pass go. Need some proof? Okay why not . . .

Fred Lorz's lift and the rat-poison runner – Tale Runners

Fred Lorz lapped the field at the 1904 Olympic marathon in St. Louis by completing the race in three hours and thirteen minutes. Only problem was, he hitched a ride with a passing car for 11 miles of the race. When reading about Lorz, my question was, “There were passing cars in 1904?”

ECC | [New York Giants baseball player John J. McGraw, walking on

Before San Francisco Giants outfielder Barry Bonds’ noggin grew to twice the legal limit in the name of bad science, there was John McGraw. The New York Giants third-baseman played the hot corner like a gangster. A middling player who would later make his Hall of Fame bones as a skipper, McGraw was notorious for slowing opposing runners down by whatever means possible; from tripping them to latching on to their belt loops. How much fun would instant replay be with this guy around?

Michael Beschloss on Twitter: "Black Sox Scandal emerged from 1919 World Series, which ended 95 years ago today: http://t.co/BrVVhglnZF"

 

Several key players on the 1919 Chicago White Sox canoodled with New York mobster Arnold Rothstein, after which they threw the World Series against the Cincinnati Reds. The worst part of it is, the infamous Black Sox scandal kept one of the all-time greats- Shoeless Joe Jackson- from reaching the Hall of Fame after his ban. The second worst part of it is they made a movie about it in 1988 called Eight Men Out in which John Cusack proved he is not nearly as good at throwing a baseball as he is at holding up a boombox.

Dora Ratjen - Wikidata

Dora “The Explorer” Ratjen finished fourth in the women’s high jump at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin. Turned out, Dora’s real name was Hermann. Those fun loving kids known as the Hitler Youth talked Hermann into hiding his balls in order to compete as a woman. I’m thinking their game plan didn’t include a fourth place finish . . .

From Heroes To Villains': CCNY Basketball's Dramatic Fall From Glory | Only A Game

The 1951 CCNY point-shaving scandal involved seven college basketball teams, with the Beavers squad leading the way. The players involved prevented their clubs from covering the spread until one player refused to play along, after which the jig was up. To think, today’s college coaches- whose cheat sheets are part of the recruiting process- would shrug at this quaint little racket.

The East German women’s swimming team dominated the sport from the late ’60’s through the early ’80’s. Which . . I mean . . it took the IOC that long to figure out these gals were loading up on their carbs by filing them with steroids? Of course it did, because they were even dirtier than the culprits!

Like it or loathe it, as long as there are sports to be played, cheating is going to be a part of the equation. Because the risks are always going to be outweighed by the rewards for a whole lot of athletes who don’t care how they become somebody, just so long as they do. And I don’t much give a shit if they choose notoriety over nobility.

Just leave the horses out of it.

 

When Football Meets Festivus

Miami Dolphins 2020 Draft - 1st Round Draft Picks Since 2000 - The Phinsider

This Thursday night, the NFL will prove once again that professional football is playing chess while all the other sports are playing checkers. More fans will tune in to watch an event where no game is being played than will watch the World Series or NBA finals. From its humble beginnings, the NFL Draft has become America’s second most favorite sporting event behind only the Super Bowl. And the added bonus is that Tom Brady can’t win this one . . I don’t think.

The first NFL Draft took place in 1936 at the Ritz Carlton Hotel in Philadelphia, inspired by an all out bidding war, a mayoral candidate out of Inver Grove Heights, Minnesota and the Brooklyn Dodgers. The NFL was comprised of nine teams at the time, with Stan Kostka- a star running back for the University of Minnesota- being the coveted prize. Rather than signing right out of school, Kostka decided to hold out. He even ran for mayor of his hometown before inking a deal with the Brooklyn football Dodgers for the princely sum of $5,000 dollars. When some owners cried foul, a selection process by which college graduates were chosen by teams was agreed upon, and the draft was born.

The presumptive top pick in the 2021 NFL draft- Clemson QB Trevor Lawrence- will sign a four year contract for somewhere in the neighborhood of $35 million when the Jacksonville Jaguars make their selection. And he won’t even have to run for mayor to get it.

I just figured out who Trevor Lawrence looks like | SECRant.com

The only Vegas lock is that Trevor Lawrence will be the first overall choice as God, Central Casting and Mattel intended. After which a quarterback feeding frenzy will ensue since the prevailing opinion is that getting the quarterback right is more important than electing a President. Don’t take my word for this, just ask 2016.

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Quarterbacks are the belles of the ballers, since every club dreams of plucking the next Tom Brady out of a bag of maybes. Of course, back in 2000, nobody knew Tom Brady was going to be Tom Brady, seeing as how he was selected with the 199th overall pick. But that doesn’t stop teams from trying, and usually failing. And this year, no fewer than five quarterbacks . . and perhaps as many as six or seven, will be chosen in the first round alone. It’s the Waiting For Godot Theory, where teams let Jesus take the wheel . . . so long as he can sling the ball, use complete sentences and stay out of trouble for at least ten minutes.

The Odell Beckham Jr revival tour: How a flashback to New York supremacy has left NFL wanting more | NFL News | Sky Sports

Historically speaking, wide receiver is another popular position even though the failure rate for first round receivers is higher than Snoop Dog was last Tuesday. Choosing a first round receiver is akin to buying the latest Apple product. You’re going to pay way too much for something you want but really don’t need. The Odell Beckham Jr. Rule states that a first round wide receiver should possess more playoff wins than hair colors in order to be worth the investment. The Browns did make a playoff run this year . . . after OBJ got injured and was out of the lineup, so there’s that.

NFL mock draft 2021 (4.0): Oregon's Penei Sewell prepares for a reunion and the 49ers make a surprise QB choice; trades and other first-round predictions - oregonlive.com

If you’re looking to maximize your Maximus, you gotta go big or you might as well go home. Offensive linemen are like the dorky girl in that eighties teen comedy who gets a makeover during the musical montage. When most of the popular girls- quarterbacks and wide receivers- have already peaked, the O-linemen are just getting started. If the Miami Dolphins selected Oregon left tackle Penei Sewell based entirely on the image above, I would be totally on board. He’s the winner of my Rick Ross Boss Award. I mean, he’ll beat the Jets twice just by fixing that stare on their asses!

NFL Draft Preview: Florida's Kyle Pitts headlines deep, but not elite, tight end class

Then there’s Kyle “The Unicorn” Pitts. He’s a tight end/receiver hybrid who is currently the “IT” player this football holiday season. He wins the Johnny Come Lately Award for this year’s event since he’s the new kid in town and everybody loves him most of all because there are only a couple days to the draft and not enough time to hone in on some other can’t miss prospect. The only critiques I can offer as far as this kid is concerned is that he doesn’t play quarterback, and he didn’t play for the U in Miami. I would be over the moon excited if Miami ends up grabbing him at 6, but please . .don’t tell Penei Sewell I said that.

None of this matters, of course. Because trying to predict how a college player’s skills will translate to the next level is akin to teaching a cat how to wake you up in the morning without using their claws. It’s why your guess is as good as the so called experts who write up dozens of mock drafts over the course of a year . . each one wronger than Khloe Kardashian’s Instagram page.

As long as the Dolphins don’t select Stan Kostka, Imma chalk it up as a win.

Mortal Coils, A Cuppa Kafka And Bengal Tiger Express Lanes

Life ain’t simple.

I’m not talking about how absurdly inconvenient mortality tends to be. What was it that Kafka wrote? The meaning of life is that it stops. So there’s no use ranting about the inevitable, even if I resent the fact that Ryan Seacrest and Kelly Ripa are going to live forever.

Nah, this ain’t big picture stuff I’m talking about. This is B-movie soapbox . . it’s direct to Prime Video. Because I’m talking about the little impediments that get painted across your Zen windshield on the regular. Things like a bill you weren’t expecting . . pain in the ass neighbors (I know, that’s redundant), traffic, and long lines at the grocery store.

The bills represent death to me. Every time I get a bill, it’s as if the grim reaper dropped in and is like Sup? Because there’s not a thing you can do about it, you have to eat it. You could run away to the Keys, but what good would that serve since you’d only come home to even more bills?

To think that we meet our neighbors when we get to heaven? Is a hellish proposition.

To say traffic blows is to win the Oscar for Big Fucking Understatement. I once dated a girl who confessed that she “loved traffic” because it helped center her. Come to think of it, her confession came on our last date. Because I can’t be with someone who spins positive shit out of traffic. I will get with a serial killer before I’ll do that. And the serial killer is going to be way more interesting.

Long Lines In a Grocery Store . . The Musical!

It’s not even the line that pisses me off. I can wait . . I’m not on any Most Wanted posters, that I know of. I’m not ecstatic about having to wait in line to pay a bill, and it sure as hell doesn’t ‘center’ me since I’m not a psycho. But standing in line at a grocery store separates us from the Bengal tiger, and I dig that. It reminds me that we’re not the top of the food chain, because if that Bengal tiger was shopping, the line would be much shorter.

So it was on Saturday afternoon that I prayed for that Bengal tiger to make the scene and maul the fuck-head in front of me (Editor’s Note: I use a hyphen to elucidate just how much of an asshole this guy truly was). Was it fair to judge this individual based on such a small sample size? No fucking doubt about it.

A few examples of his fuck-headedness? Sure, why not . . .  (Editor’s Note: My spellcheck didn’t correct me on that word because it’s in complete agreement with me).

  • Keeping his phone on speaker, thus allowing his conversational skills to dumb down the world around him.
  • Wearing a “No Fear” t-shirt. And here I thought the United Nations had banned them.
  • Skinny jeans. Sorry, maybe this makes me an old guy but . . no. Dudes? Just. No.
  • Every other word is “like”. As if Merriam Webster ain’t dead enough.
  • P.F. Changs . . . Healthy Choice Power Bowls . . Chia Seeds . . Almond Milk . . Chocolate Lucky Charms .  . and okay, one or two of these in your cart is not a crime. All of these in your cart? And then add in all of the above? Guilty.

So it was quick thinking on my part to turn the ordeal into a musical . . in my head . . of course.

Opening Scene: The antagonist is mauled by a Bengal Tiger. 

The End

The musical part of this equation was taking place inside my head. Uncentered and unsettled but very much in time with the bluesy palette of Bobby Caldwell. It was a modest accord to which I was willing to oblige since committing murder is the ultimate bill. So I imagined myself firing up a turntable and letting its silky logic set the ground rules.

The bonus came with not making the Most Wanted List, which is . . like, pretty good too.

 

 

Stay Simple . . Ponyboy

When it comes to comment threads, I don’t partake. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been a joiner . . outside of of that one summer in high school when I went with my girlfriend to a nude beach and almost went blind. Worst ten minutes of my life. Or maybe it’s the expectation that bloggers need to immerse themselves in the thread if they’re true bloggers. Like, who in the blessed hell comes up with rules like that? And are they the same peeps who decided it was okay to allow anyone onto a nude beach?

To paraphrase the late, great Vito Corleone, it makes no difference to me what other bloggers do. If they write a post with the express written intent to grow a thread, that’s their business. But for me? I like to keep things simpler than Simon on a budget.

So it went against my norm when I began reading comments on YouTube recently. You see, reading comments on this platinum patch of piddle earth is seriously redundant shit. As it is, you age five times faster as soon as you log onto the site thanks to all the time you’re usually wasting. And while this may not be scientifically proven (yet), Imma go with it.

It gets worse. I even began commenting to certain comments, which repulses me more than I can tell you as I read this sentence back to myself. I’ve kept my thread count to a minimum on the platform, since I’m usually logged on to find somethings (Yes, plural. I’m a professional). But as with any site worth its ad revenue, you’re gonna stumble across more rabbit holes than a Warner Brothers cartoon. And I have.

And then this happened . . .

On April 9th, Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh died at the age of 99. On the same day, superstar rapper BMX died at the age of a lot younger than that. In life, you would be hard pressed to find two more disparate individuals. In death, it was the same. Because whereas Philip died of 99, BMX died of a drug overdose.

And then I clicked on a tribute video to Prince Philip and while you may be thinking that makes me uncool . . more to the truth it’s because I’m uncultured. I knew way more about BMX than I did about a man who lived a history book. After the video had concluded, I scrolled down. One comment after another paid tribute, not to Prince Philip but to BMX. And many didn’t leave it at that, nope. They disparaged Philip while mourning a rapper gone too soon. As if the Duke of Edinburgh was responsible for the demons of a man he never even met.

I was perilously close to throwing down on these cretins before I realized it was my fault for having visited the comment thread in the first place. It was as if the Universe had tapped me on the shoulder, imploring me to Stay in your lane, schmuck! For one thing, I was honored that the Universe had taken time out of it’s uber-busy day to personally reprimand me. And for another, the Universe was absolutely right.

And for one last thing . . the Universe sounds a hell of a lot like Mel Brooks.

 

 

 

 

Joe Pesci Movie Review: Dangerous Lies

Lemme start by giving a great big middle finger thank you to Marco for finally finding the time in his scary busy blogging schedule for anotha one of my movie reviews. When he got around to calling me the other day, the cocksucker said it had just slipped his mind, can you imagine that? Slipped his mind . . . fucking guy!

Anyway, so he calls ta ask if I wanted to do a movie review and I was all excited because he’s been on a Jason Statham kick lately so I figured cool, I can watch that crazy fucking Brit kick the shit out of da bad guys for a couple hours. Oh wait, sorry. . I forgot I’m living in an age when people are offended by that kinda language. Shit, who am I kidding . . he’s a crazy fucking Brit!

Spoiler Alert: A certain asshole blogger who shall remain nameless told me I should include dis in my movie reviews, so as not to spoil tha movie for anyone who ain’t seen it. Whateva . . .

Well there ain’t no Jason Statham in the movie I watched. There ain’t a crazy Brit, or a crazy accent or even a crazy story line to get excited about in this predictable as fuck movie that felt as if da writers were kidnapped from that Lifetime channel. Yanno the one, where all the movies feel like commercials that Nicholas Sparks wrote? Fuck!

Basically, the story is about this chick who’s waiting tables until some guy decides to rob the joint. I had a big problem with this because I mean  . . who da fuck robs a restaurant? Shake down the owner? Sure. Torch the place when he stops paying up? Absolutely. But like, rob da place? For what? Eighty bucks and a bacon cheeseburger ta go? Amateur . . .

After this, the movie gets dumber than a bag of dicks. This chick is friends with some old guy who ends up leaving her everything in his will and get this . . da guy ain’t even banging her! And it’s a good thing he croaks, because ha boyfriend is majoring in “How to shit your pants in a job interview”. Turns out, he’s much better at spending the old guy’s money than he is at making his own. This chick has worse luck than my Aunt Rosemary, who once married a fashion designer because she wanted to get pregnant and well . . you probably know where I’m going with this . . .

So the chick and her degenerate boyfriend move right into the old guy’s house. It’s a big old house outside Chicago that hasn’t been updated since Richard Daley’s father was Mayor. I did a quick inventory and I figured I coulda fenced the contents of this particular abode for a cool million . . if I was in a hurry. So yanno . . these two stupid ass kids are loaded!

None of it matters because they can’t stay outta trouble. And get this . . they ain’t starting any of the trouble! After the old guy dies, they find a shitload of cash in the attic and they freak out . . as if that doesn’t happen all the time! Then they find diamonds in the old guy’s safe deposit box and they freak out . . as if THAT doesn’t happen all the time! Then they find a dead body in the garage . . as if THAT . . aww shit, you get da picture!

Thing of it is, they coulda been free and clear if they knew how ta read a hairstyle. Lemme explain. There’s this imbecile who shows up at their door early on pretending ta be a real estate salesman named Hayden even though his hair is obviously East New York hoodlum. It’s obvious this guy wants what they lucked into but instead of digging a ditch in the desert and getting rid of the pain in the ass, they become the suspects! I guess what they say is true, about youth being wasted on the dumbasses.

Anyway, in the end the imbecile dies, and so does the asshole boyfriend. Oh, and the lawyer for the old guy . . she dies too, after they find out she was part of the plot to kill him off . . . as if THAT doesn’t happen all the time! So everybody dies except for the chick. In da last scene, the detective comes by to say hello and the chick is very pregnant. She’s gonna raise the kid in the big house . . the one not named prison. So they spend a few minutes wondering where da fuck the diamonds went and as the scene fades to black, the water sprinkler shows us they’re buried in the garden.

Lemme tell you, that shit doesn’t happen all the time.

 

 

Standing In Line With The Voices In My Head

It took me more than fifty years to figure out that habits don’t necessarily have to be wrong in order to be enjoyed. Yeah, I know all about the value of good habits but I can’t say I miss them since, well . . . I haven’t really had ’em. But seeing as how I’ve cut bait with some not so good ones, that can be considered a good habit, can’t it?

I had time to ponder such things as I was spending half a day in a grocery store checkout line. Okay, it was only about twelve and a half minutes, but when you’re as impatient as I am, it’s really the same difference. I should be thankful for the supermarket interlude since it allowed the voices in my head to braise some thoughts and add some spicy logic to the mix. Here’s what I cooked up . . .

  • I don’t consider impatience to be a bad habit, but I’ll put it here since certain people do. And I can’t help it if those certain people possess the urgency of a slug.
  • Understanding, or lack thereof by yours truly. (See above).
  • I used to miss smoking, like . . all the time. Now I only miss it in contextualized renderings that rarely have anything to do with reality. Like for instance, if a zombie apocalypse ever happens . . Imma be stocking up on nicotine for the end. And then I’ll get to smoking the fuckers till I arrive there.
  • Back in the day I used to drink several times a week because, truth be told, it was part of my brand. I was a really good time with a few drinks in me. Problem was, the good time had no boundaries and I usually woke up in the morning with more sins to account for than the Lannisters. But with age, and hospital visits, comes wisdom. And now I partake once a week. Twice if I’m being really inconvenient with the truth. Turns out that wisdom? Ain’t nearly as much fun.
  • There was a time when I used to believe there was nothing better than a smoke riding shotgun with my drink. Hell, I still believe that. I just don’t marry the two any longer since I possessed not a wit of moderation in the coupling. Turns out that wisdom? Well, you know . . .
  • Back in the day I used to go to sporting events all the time. A handful of baseball games, an NBA game or two, even some football and hockey tossed in the mix. Fast forward to 2021 and it’s been a hot minute since I attended a live game. Why do I mention it here? Because I’ve come to realize that attending sporting events is a bad habit in this day and age. You’re usually paying way too much for much too little when watching on TV makes so much more sense.
  • Political debates have become a bad habit, so I’m glad I kicked it to the curb back in the Clintonian Period. It’s easier to order a roast beef sammie at a vegan restaurant than it is to achieve a peaceably agreeable political debate. Believe me, I’ve tried . . . on both counts.
  • Cursing used to be a real bugaboo for me. I’m sorry, I don’t know what the blessed fuck got into me, using the term bugaboo . . .
  • Pain pills were my bad romance once. Damn me for leaving them.
  • I save running for last, since it’s my best habit. I’m thirty years in, having taken up skiing as my gateway drug before experimenting with a couple jogs, after which I was hooked. And while it ain’t ever gonna stop me from missing a starched martini served up with a fresh pack of smokes, I do so enjoy the supple Zen it provides, sans the sticker shock attached to those daze of yore. So as it turns out, the habit I’ve clung to the longest happens to be a good habit.

Who knew?

Sticks And Stones Ain’t Got Nothing On This

I recently decided to research the term “Karen” because as an avid fan of YouTube, you could say that I was compelled to deconstruct the mythological expression. You could say that, but this post was mostly just about killing some time. Check that, murdering it. So I consulted Wikipedia, because nothing says “I wanna broaden my horizons with the least amount of effort possible,” like a Wiki search. And man, did I get so much smarter . . I mean dumber. Both.

I learned that the term may have started on Black Twitter, and I’m not gonna lie. I had no idea that was a thing. Does that make me a Terry? Yeah that’s the male equivalent of a Karen and I wasn’t about to research that one any further since my head most certainly would’ve exploded in the doing.

Turns out, Karen has a history. And I’ll refrain from making a snide remark about my own personal Vietnam of a relationship with a woman of the same name. Oh shit, too late! Anyways, the current pejorative is basically an (comm)ode to anyone who specializes in wasting someone else’s time and then makes a federal case out of it. It’s a toot to the bittersweet, a chupa to the cabra . . a laming of the shrew.

The term has become synonymous with drama mamas who insist on talking to a manager and bullying health-care workers and preventing neighbors they never knew existed from entering their apartment building and coughing on strangers and having Target tantrums and otherwise boring us with their inalienable right to be really fucking annoying.  It would, however, take several iterations before “Karen” came to achieve Instagram infamy. Wanna take a quick trip down mercury lane? N’kay . . .

Miss Ann– This term was used in the Jim Crow era. Black people would refer to white people who used their privilege as ‘Miss Ann’. If you ask me, this one would’ve made a really shitty hashtag. Miss Ann sounds like a nanny, or an elementary school teacher. And a virgin at that. Nah.

Barbecue Becky– The term “Becky” was born in the 1992 hip-hop classic Baby Got Back. And it might have stood the test of time if someone hadn’t added Barbecue to it along the way. After which it sounds like something you’d find in the American Girl Doll catalogue.

Cornerstore Caroline– I’m pretty sure this was the name of the bakery run by the final winner of “Cupcake Wars”. Not that I . . uh, ever watched that stupid show.

Permit Patty– Wait, I thought this was Peppermint Patty’s fun loving sister. The one who was written off the show after sleeping with Snoopy.

It was rumored that the 2019 tropical storm Karen possessed hidden meaning, mostly because it was hilarious to assume such a thing. I’m of the belief it was a crazy coincidence, and I’m fairly certain that if the meteorologist who named the storm had been reached for comment, he would have re-iterated as much to the media . . and his ex-wife’s lawyers.

And if you haven’t been sufficiently turned off by the idea that mean people everywhere have successfully  commandeered a common God given name, look whose bob the meme-ologists have decided to pin “Karen” to.

Kate Gosselin Old Hair | Blog Pendidikan

I don’t know about you, but if my name was Karen, I’d be furious at the thought that they’re profiling my ass with Justin Bieber head shots.

Rest assured, the derogatory nature of the term has its fair share of critics. Like for instance, anyone whose name is actually Karen. And anyone who happens to be married to someone whose name is actually Karen. And the Dalai Lama, him too.

Is any of this fair to all the Karens out there who are just trying to live their best lives without feeling the need to resort to using college nicknames when in public? Of course it isn’t. But society has always operated on a whim and a plier, so there’s that. Alls I know is that if some guy named Marc goes viral after pitching a hissy fit in a Whole Foods because his Prime account ain’t being recognized, I’m changing my name. I’ll go with something that is antonymous to controversy of any kind.

Geraldo . . yeah, that’s it.

 

 

 

 

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Good Housekeeping: Magic Dancing, Show Lists and Super Sunday’s Best

Imma do something I don’t believe I’ve ever done here on Sorryless and put Tuesday to its proper use with some housekeeping.

As you know, me and Dale had a great deal of fun with our Rushmore Series. And as so often happens, from that idea came others. This past Sunday, I might have hit on one of those others. It was supposed to be a stand alone post about a girl named Liz from Magic Dance. And then Dale asked if perhaps this might become a series. And so of course it got my mind working overtime. And speaking of overtime, with apologies to the re-worked 5-9 side hustle musical spill that made the scene this weekend, it only made me go looking for the first and best original song. Love that Dolly.

Anyways, yeah . . more Rushmore references. Go Dolly!

As for the official title of the Sunday series, I think Imma go with Magic Dance. It has legs to stretch in the form of a weekly jaunt, but please don’t ask me where it leads because the truth is, I’m only halfway through my second installment. But I have plenty of ideas jotted down, so stay tuned.

I’m always happy to take any suggestions you guys throw my way for a Friday shout out on Heroes. You can send them to my email or just put them in the comments. Either way works for me, and I’ll go read up on what you gift me. And as always, mochas gracias to you all for making Fridays such a fun place to be.

So . . Heroes on Fridays and Magic Dance on Sundays. Which leaves my Tuesdays open to whatever I feel like making ’em. And now that my blog housekeeping is out of the way, how’s about a short list of shows I dig on, with a couple that I really don’t? Sure why not . . .

The Wire- I finished this one a short while ago and I miss it every day since. Back in the day, a friend proclaimed this to be the best show on TV. Like ever. I shrugged it off as mere hype . . until now. Let’s just say it’s on my short list of favorite shows I’ve ever watched.

Hollywood- This mini-series on Netflix might be the worst show I’ve ever tuned in to. If given the choice of being water boarded or having to watch a full season (I think we lasted two episodes?), Imma drink up.

Cheers- I went back last year and watched the full series, seeing as how I had dropped the habit after like five seasons back in the day. I find it to be one of the best shows ever made. The setting belies all the many issues it took on, without being preachy in the least.

The Office- If 2020 was good for anything, it was binge watching shows I’d lost touch with back in the day. It’s pure genius, but I doubt it would pass muster in these overly sensitive times.

The Boys- I dug the first season, so I was excited to hear they were coming back. And then I lasted exactly one episode of Season 2. Meh. Maybe I’ll venture back to see if I was wrong about this.

Mr Robot- This one is strange. I loved the first three seasons, but after tuning into the first episode of the fourth and final season, I was less than impressed. As with The Boys, maybe I’ll tune in to see if it was simply a slow start.

Queens Gambit- Anya Taylor-Joy is why I got hooked on this story about a chess prodigy. It’s one thing to play a character who’s off their rocker and it’s a completely different thing to play a character who harnesses that rage, keeping it just below the surface. Taylor-Joy’s performance carries the day. And it got me playing chess again, so there’s that.

Reckoning- Ugh. That’s it . . just ugh.

Flack- My favorite new show of 2021. It joins Dead to MeGoliath and The Politician as the show I look forward to. Smart and fast moving dialogue, scenarios that make you go “Damn that’s wrong!” and a sexy ensemble? What is NOT to love?

As for Super Sunday’s best? My cats Jack and Wednesday got off to a dubious start by picking the Chiefs. Somewhere in the heavens, Mr. Speaker is shaking his head in disgust, seeing as he was 6-1 in Super Bowl picks. Regarding the game itself, we got Brady moving to Florida not to retire but to win another Super Bowl. And maybe it didn’t hurt nearly as much as the other ones because New England was watching right along with us Dolphins fans. But while Mahomes suffered his worst defeat as a pro (which is unbelievable in its own right seeing as he’s been in the league three years), he makes Caravaggio out of broken plays like few others ever could.

I tuned in to the second half with my frosty sidekick and some personal pan nachos, and so I missed the halftime show and most of the commercials. Of the ones I did catch, The Boss won my vote for the time being with his way back Jack Kerouac.

As for next year’s Super Bowl prediction? I have that other Florida team, the Miami Dolphins taking on the Matthew Stafford led Los Angeles Rams, who become the second straight team to play a Super Bowl in their home stadium. The road team Dolphins pull it out with a field goal at the gun 33-31. After which Robert Kraft moves the Patriots to the Sunshine State in a last ditch attempt to break their Super Bowl-less streak at three.

The 4th-ish Annual Sorryless Super Bowl LV Preview?! (Results May Vary)

Myth-busting Patrick Mahomes vs. Tom Brady: The five worst Super Bowl 55 narratives for Chiefs-Buccaneers | Sporting News

In the week leading up to the big game, Tom Brady announces he’s a vampire, after which author Stephenie Meyer offers to write a three-part life story. The Chiefs file suit, claiming European products are superior to American made- thus giving Brady an unfair competitive advantage. The Bucs counter by asking for Mahomes to produce his birth certificate, claiming he is actually a Martian. The Chiefs quickly drop their suit as a result.

League news goes heavy metal throughout the week, with one standout headline after another.

  • Texans QB Deshaun Watson is traded to CBS where he will star in a reboot of a long running series on the network. When he asks which series it will be, his agent replies “It’s Elementary, my dear Watson,”
  • Aaron Rodgers announces he is retiring from football so he can host Jeopardy and drink scotch. Simultaneously.
  • The Jaguars announce they will be moving to London, but are rejected. “We already have football teams that kick the ball around and don’t use their hands,” explains Prime Minister Boris Johnson.
  • The Los Angeles Chargers are bought by the Kardashians for $2.6 billion. Their name is changed to the Vuittons and they are relocated to a more spacious locale: The Kardashians’ backyard.

The game is being billed as the sexiest matchup since Brad Pitt and Angelina’s first date. And the first thirty minutes live up to exactly none of that hype. As the half comes to an end, Tony Romo is shocked by the scoreless tie and remarks “Nobody saw this coming!”. To which Jim Nantz replies, “That’s what she said” and is promptly terminated by CBS which puts out a statement decrying the remark. The network assures its viewers that degrading remarks about women will not be tolerated. The halftime show’s opening act then begins its set with “Bitch goes down for a dollah”, after which the Weekend takes the stage and performs for exactly that long.

When the teams take the field for the second half, it’s Tuesday afternoon and Mahomes is still AWOL. So is the Chiefs offense, which accumulates minus 81 yards and is trailing 2-0 after the referees chip in to buy Tom Brady’s team a safety. Brady promises the officiating crew seats in his cabinet when he becomes President.

In the fourth quarter, Tampa Bay scores twice; first on a twenty eight yard pass from Brady to Julian Edelman. The referees come together to review the play after KC objects to the fact that Edelman does not play for the Bucs and is actually seated two rows up in the north end zone. The call stands and less than a minute later Brady is sacked and loses the football before he can pull it back in. Nonetheless, after another review Brady is awarded a touchdown for pain and suffering in what is deemed the “What the Tuck Rule”.

Kansas City replaces Chad Henne with actor Ryan Reynolds. Andy Reid will later admit he didn’t realize Reynolds was even on the roster. “He’s a great locker room guy and he always brings donuts in, so I wasn’t asking any questions,”. Reynolds then proceeds to throw for 311 yards and three touchdowns before accepting a lucrative offer to become the Green Bay Packers new quarterback.

Tampa Bay storms back and leads 37-21 with thirty five seconds remaining. On the cusp of winning his seventh title, Tom Brady takes the snap and is about to kneel down when he breaks his hip. The Chiefs recover and call a timeout. As Henne runs back onto the field, Mahomes makes an appearance. He explains that someone placed a tire spike in the parking lot of his hotel, blowing all four tires. “It only took AAA eight hours to respond, which is record time for those guys . . .”

Bill Belichick produces tape from a spy-cam he installed in the parking lot that reveals the culprit bears a striking resemblance to Tom Brady. The quarterback denies all charges, claiming he was in his cryogenic chamber at the time of the incident. Commissioner Roger Goodell settles “Deflate-Gate 2” and “Spy-Gate 3” by removing the Chick-fil-A concessions from both the Patriots and the Buccaneers home stadiums. The inimitable Jason Whitlock will later opine, “Brady and his former coach now have more gates than a posh California suburb,”.

Mahomes enters the game and promptly throws a forty two yard touchdown strike, after which the Chiefs complete a two-point play to close the deficit to eight. The KC wunderkid then recovers the onside kick himself and delivers yet another forty two yard score. He follows this up by running in the two point conversion to tie the game . . . with his eyes closed, while running backwards, and reciting poetry. In Mandarin Chinese.

The Super Bowl goes to overtime and the Chiefs win the toss. Mahomes tosses his third forty two yard score in as many throws and Kansas City becomes the first team to win back to back titles since Brady and the Patriots accomplished the feat in 2004. The Bucs ask for a recount. Brady asks to be driven to a blood bank. Chiefs coach Andy Reid asks for a double cheeseburger with fries and a Coke.