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January 8, 2009 |

By Brian Prisco | Eloquent Eloquence | January 8, 2009 |

Well, another year upon us, another chance for massive disappointment with popular entertainment. I’m actually going to take an unusual tack for myself, and think positively. I KNOW, right. This whole new outlook on life is a little weird on me, too. I had a bit of a health scare over the holidays, and I let my crazies get out of the pen and go running up my scribblin’ hand. I’ve decided to take the reins on my life, and unleash my stress and anxiety in a healthy manner. At undeserving celebrities robbing me of the opportunities I don’t deserve, and yet still richly covet. Like that time when Daddy threw the whiskey bottle at the referee? Remember that time? Yeah. Good times.

I see that most folks’ resolutions of the last of The Twenty Aughts is to write more comments here. Well, good. More people reduces the likelihood of the comments section breaking down into flamewars and orgies. Hey, if I believe I can lose 60 pounds, I gotta go full fucking hog in my insane beliefs.

I’m a little disappointed in my cinema-going self this year. With the approach of Oscars, I need to get off my ass and watch some more stuff. So far, my top 10 are: Slumdog Millionaire, In Bruges, Young @ Heart, Zack and Miri Make a Porno, Teeth, Poultrygeist, Wall-E, The Wackness, The Promotion, and The Wrestler. Which just proves how little I’ve seen, and how grossly unqualified I am to voice my opinion in a public forum. But if that festering santorum Ben Lyons gets to blather on, then son, my words are just as bond.

There was a metric shit-ton of quality quotes, so I thank you. I was going to do a Top Twenty or Fifteen this week. But then, I got tired from my new meds, and decided, fuck it, you get eight. And then Stacey got winedrunk, pissed all over my Facebook wall, and made poor Dan drive me home blacked out where I threw up on his car.

And that’s how we ended up with these:

10. Sorry, I kind of jump into nerd fights like a chubby shark on chum. — twig

(Seriously, Jerce, twig, and PaddyDog are like some sort of Helcat Furies, delivering whipcrack vengeance upon those that dare cross them. These are St. Architeuthi’s Angels, and Jay’s kind of like Bosley.)

9. Perhaps Owen Wilson should star in a vampire movie, a role that actually REQUIRES him to suck.

This movie was fantastic…for me to poop on!


Triumph — Loose Cannon

(I hate Owen Wilson. Watch Bottle Rocket and The Minus Man. Realize the motherfucker can act. Now watch every movie he’s made since. Gaaaaah! Straighten your nose, take your fucking stupid dog movie paycheck, and stop Wes Anderson from acting out his goddamn private school fantasy of fucking the colored hired help and start writing good movies again. The gap you’ve left has given Stiller an opening. BLOCK IT!)

8. An orgasm during childbirth is VERY different—I would imagine—than associating sexual feelings with your child. But Freud would say that was normal. Which is a good thing, according my Uncle Larry. But I would trust him; before we started dating he was a pedophile. — boo

Damn, I meant to say “wouldn’t”.

Don’t trust pedophiles, kids. They always fuck you in the end. — boo

7. Ah the Anchorage oboe and the Bangladeshi bassoon, that takes me back to innocent days before I appreciated the finer arts of lovemaking, before the maturation of the act from a partnership into a true team sport. Even the Vancouver violin and Egyptian accordion fade to distant memory after one has experienced the masterful apex of the Global Symphony of Nations. It requires two hundred very flexible volunteers, three goats, fourteen types of nacho cheese, a can of tuna, the skull of a dodo bird, the mummified corpse of Charlemagne, 47 uninterrupted hours and a single strand of natural red hair plucked from a virgin.

The act has only successfully been completed six times in history, and only twice without fatalities. — stipe42

(Out of the crazy clusterfucker that broke out thanks in no small part to our dear Boozehound of vile sexual terms, that glorious masterpiece emerged. It’s like the literary equivalent of those crazy ass Body Worlds exhibits of the beef jerkied corpses of post-Mad Dog hobos. I don’t know what the fuck I’m looking at, but goddamn it’s sure insane.)

6. I saw the Angry Whopper commercial last night during the game, and I was puzzled as well. Is this a new trend? Does it come with Frowny Fries and a Murder Shake? Will the 15-year-old at the register punch you in the face when you order? Color me curious. — Nicole

(Back in my halcyon burger chomper days, I saw the Angry Onions on a Red Robin burger. It felt like a challenge. Angry apparently means “dipped in weak-ass Dorito batter.” And while I disapprove of the Frowny Fries (fried foods are never sad — only the aftermath), but a Murder Shake? It’s gotta taste like the Shamrock Shake, because if you don’t put liquor in me, I WILL FUCKING END YOU.)

5. Don’t confuse Vulgarians with Vulgans.

“Live long and prosper, shit-cock!”

Then there are the Vulvatarians, who I can’t remember if they are a religious group, or are simply named for what they can or can’t eat. — Darth Bane

(I can’t help it if it started with the Eloquent Darth Corleone, and continued up to our grand Darth Brooks, but please, I assure you, dubbing yourself a Sith title does not guarantee you EE status. Now, combine that with a muppet….)

4. Fat community? When did we organize? — Marra

3. I don’t go to Harry Potter films because I want to bitch about the differences between the book and the film. I go to meet pre-teen girls in my hippogriff costume. — bucslim

2. That Perez Hilton book will be in bargain bins of all book stores in two months, tops.

And Perez Hilton will be in the bathroom of a bargain bookstore at 2:00 a.m., bottoms. — firedmyass

(His book is going to be on the best seller list. Because do not forget. Retreads (the new term for retards in this our friendly Ohnein) only buy one book a year. And they already bought Twilight last year. And Dan Brown’s not due to do another book until Nicolas Cage stops making National Treasures and stealing his thunder.)

1. I asked my friend, a dog-lover, if she was going to see this movie. I was shocked when she said no, but her explanation was priceless:

“The dog always dies at the end, unless he’s really good at sports.” — mc

I was tempted not to give the top prize to you because it wasn’t your quote. But fuck it. We take credit for stuff we didn’t write all the time around here. For fuck’s sake, sixty-three percent of my articles are actually pirated directly from O Magazine. True story.

mc — who unfortunately is not mc chris — please give us a list of your resolutions in the order you are going to break them, your best set list from Rock Band 2, liniment for my Wii Fit injuries, and the address and shirt size where you would like the convergence of T-Shirt to arrive. Send it along to dustin at pajiba dot com.

Me? I’m going to continue to eat heathy, walk 10,000 under the command of Oprah, and worship at the altar of comedy with my Snuggie cult robes. Seriously, Billy Mays and that HobGoblin are running the new Scientology. And it’s sparkly clean and bedazzled.


The Top 10 Comments of the Week / Brian Prisco

Eloquent Eloquence | January 8, 2009 |

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