I was going to write this week about Tokio Hotel. I have no idea how I haven’t gotten around to them yet, but seriously, they are more deserving of an F- than anyone previously featured in this blog. They are insanely terrible. They are actually starting to catch up to Insane Clown Posse in the race to be the Worst Anything Ever ™.
They just won the MTV VMA for Best New Artist, which is impressive, considering I’ve never heard them mentioned on television before, and I’ve only heard of them through a particularly white-trash acquaintance of mine. Other notable winners of Best New Artist include institutions of crap such as Hootie & the Blowfish, Avril Lavigne, and Maroon 5, alongside such no-name go-nowhere’s as Michael Penn, ‘Til Tuesday, and Jesus Jones. Let us pray to whatever God we have, flawed though he may be for allowing Satan to create Tokio Hotel, that this band joins the ranks of the latter group, and fade into obscurity, thereby eliminating my need to assassinate them.
I wanted to write about how awful their music is, and how awful their videos are, but for the life of me, I can’t listen to or watch them for more than 15 seconds at a time. Honestly I can’t. I watched about 38 seconds of one of their interviews (which remains my personal record for looking at or hearing them) and they were such unmitigated douchebags I just wanted to cry for every moronic, jelly-bracelet-wearing wreck of a teenager getting her ears raped by their overproduced schlock.
So Tokio Hotel, for actually being too awful to even be accurately judged, you get a gigantic red F-. You deserve the next ten of them I give out. You deserve all of the hate in my black, black heart. If you want to call me and gibber at me in German to try and appeal this ruling, or send your army of shrieking middle-school minions on me, go for it. But for the rest of you, if you know of something that sucks, email me at johnnyjive@hotmail.com
MAILBAG SPECIAL: Here is an email I received last week, reprinted in all of its fraudulent glory.
SUBJ: Yer a dead man
Hey Bitch, This is Shia LeBeouf.
I took the time to read your crappy blog, I see you like trash talking people because you're not famous. Well I give you and your dumb fucking face an F- for being such a uppity asshole!! You know why I'm Indy's son and you're just a lame ass with a blog? Because I got something you don't, talent, so go ahead and hate me for it.
If you ever happen to leave that toilet you call a city and are ever in my area, and you see me, you better just walk away, because I will wreck your face. And I will, just look how fucking strong I am!!! http://innerjoejoe.wordpress.com/2008/02/22/hotness-random-shia-labeouf-maybe/
Crappily yours,
Shia LeBUFF!
Seriously, Y’all are the best readers in the world.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
George Lucas And Indiana Jones
I tried to take a vacation last week, if that helps explain the lack of posting (as opposed to my usual laziness being the culprit). But alas, there can be no vacation from suck. The fat bearded ewok George Lucas saw to that with his glorious “film” Indiana Jones And The Movie I Will Pretend I Didn’t Watch.
This movie is a fucking mess, let me get that out of the way early, in case you’re already way too retarded to figure out that I’d be talking about something I disliked in something called the F- Blog. I can’t believe this movie got made, honestly. I thought it would be another faux-pulp romp through Egypt or some jungle or wherever-the-fuck-some-damn-relic-is-this-time. Instead I got a good old fashioned eye-raping.
First we’re treated to a laughably bad dub of an aging Indiana mysteriously lisping his way through some hackneyed lines (“I like Ike” is not acceptable for last words, Indiana. Whoever wrote this, stop writing things. NOW). I know George Lucas lives on some kind of nutty ranch, but I still thought he had enough money to sync up sounds and visuals.
The first scene continues to dazzle as our Russian villainess drifts in and out of her terrible accent like a weaving drunk. Seriously, Cate Blanchett? I would expect this kind of crap from Eliza Dushku or something, but you? You’re better than this.
The movie somehow gets much much worse from here, as the viewer is treated to (punished with) the reunited Jones family being cheesy through South America together, an alien plot that I refused to accept that I was watching until I saw the crappy fucking alien at the end of the movie, and of course, Shia LaBeouf swinging through the trees of a jungle canopy with a group of terribly animated monkeys. Any one of those things would have been godawful in its own right, but this movie just piled on the horrible like I’ve never seen before.
Shia LaBeouf is supposed to be tough in this movie. Do you hate it yet? Because you should. If you don’t understand why you should hate it, based on that piece of information, than stop reading this blog, or stop having someone read it to you.
But if you think Shia LaBeouf is a dreamy hunky tough guy, or you’ve ever wished grandma and grandpa would go resurrect some dead interdimensional pieces of crap with a plastic hydrocephalic skull, or you want to see some 100 million dollar fan fiction, get your ass to whatever theater is still playing this before I burn it down.
Since I like to be helpful, here are some alternate titles for this movie. George, I will sell any of them to you for $50, or two hours of my life back, whichever is easiest for you.
Indiana Jones And The Pixar Alien
Indiana Jones And The Sweatiest Story Ever Told
Indiana Jones And The Golden AARP Card
Indiana Jones As ACTION GRANDPA!
Indiana Jones And That Shitty Kid From Transformers
You’re Welcome, Mr. Lucas, or Grandpa Suck, as I shall now know you.
So George Lucas, Harrison Ford, and S. La B. you all get an F- to share amongst yourselves, and I’ll be damned if you didn’t all earn it. If you’d like to appeal this, or get an F- for each of you so you don’t have to figure out a complicated schedule for sharing it, feel free to hit me in the face with a bullwhip/lightsaber, set a pack of crappy CG ants on me, or do it the hard way and email johnnyjive@hotmail.com
This movie is a fucking mess, let me get that out of the way early, in case you’re already way too retarded to figure out that I’d be talking about something I disliked in something called the F- Blog. I can’t believe this movie got made, honestly. I thought it would be another faux-pulp romp through Egypt or some jungle or wherever-the-fuck-some-damn-relic-is-this-time. Instead I got a good old fashioned eye-raping.
First we’re treated to a laughably bad dub of an aging Indiana mysteriously lisping his way through some hackneyed lines (“I like Ike” is not acceptable for last words, Indiana. Whoever wrote this, stop writing things. NOW). I know George Lucas lives on some kind of nutty ranch, but I still thought he had enough money to sync up sounds and visuals.
The first scene continues to dazzle as our Russian villainess drifts in and out of her terrible accent like a weaving drunk. Seriously, Cate Blanchett? I would expect this kind of crap from Eliza Dushku or something, but you? You’re better than this.
The movie somehow gets much much worse from here, as the viewer is treated to (punished with) the reunited Jones family being cheesy through South America together, an alien plot that I refused to accept that I was watching until I saw the crappy fucking alien at the end of the movie, and of course, Shia LaBeouf swinging through the trees of a jungle canopy with a group of terribly animated monkeys. Any one of those things would have been godawful in its own right, but this movie just piled on the horrible like I’ve never seen before.
Shia LaBeouf is supposed to be tough in this movie. Do you hate it yet? Because you should. If you don’t understand why you should hate it, based on that piece of information, than stop reading this blog, or stop having someone read it to you.
But if you think Shia LaBeouf is a dreamy hunky tough guy, or you’ve ever wished grandma and grandpa would go resurrect some dead interdimensional pieces of crap with a plastic hydrocephalic skull, or you want to see some 100 million dollar fan fiction, get your ass to whatever theater is still playing this before I burn it down.
Since I like to be helpful, here are some alternate titles for this movie. George, I will sell any of them to you for $50, or two hours of my life back, whichever is easiest for you.
Indiana Jones And The Pixar Alien
Indiana Jones And The Sweatiest Story Ever Told
Indiana Jones And The Golden AARP Card
Indiana Jones As ACTION GRANDPA!
Indiana Jones And That Shitty Kid From Transformers
You’re Welcome, Mr. Lucas, or Grandpa Suck, as I shall now know you.
So George Lucas, Harrison Ford, and S. La B. you all get an F- to share amongst yourselves, and I’ll be damned if you didn’t all earn it. If you’d like to appeal this, or get an F- for each of you so you don’t have to figure out a complicated schedule for sharing it, feel free to hit me in the face with a bullwhip/lightsaber, set a pack of crappy CG ants on me, or do it the hard way and email johnnyjive@hotmail.com
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The Real World
Okay, time to once again level my sights on something that sucks, and revolutionize our very culture as a result. This time I’m calling out The Real World, a poorly named departure from reality and shame entering it’s 300th season on MTV. Get ready for suck.
The basic concept of the show is as follows: you take the seven most desperate people you can find at Senor Frog’s, invite them to take time off of their jobs as receptionists and out of work actors to come live in the worlds tackiest house in whatever town seems cool and hasn’t been used yet, give them unlimited alcohol, and then film them. How did this ever get made? I blame the terrible competition on TV at the time this concept was introduced. Wings, you have failed the American people yet again.
I have a new idea for your crappy spoken word introduction, Real World producers that are assuredly reading this blog every week looking for ways to make your show more horrendous. Ready? Okay!
I just don’t understand the appeal of this show. It is like any other reality show, but with less likeable contestants, and no actual point to it, like the others where someone can win or lose or get kicked out (except when people leave The Real World because of drugs or drinking, which is always hilarious). So with no purpose or competition, there is no conflict other than the intense suckiness of all the denizens of the house. But there’s conflict aplenty, in the form of slurred cussing and sloppy sex, due in part to the copious amounts of alcohol being foisted on the shameless morons.
I’m trying to figure out the target demographic for this show. I think it’s people that wish they had awful roommates, but instead live alone, and want to know what it’s like to live with a bunch of idiots that don’t have personalities. Or maybe it’s targeted at people who want to turn on the TV and immediately have a reason to go on a shooting spree. Those are huge untapped markets, I would assume.
And The Real World can’t blame its suckiness on pioneering a genre, ever. The other early reality show was, in fact, much much better. I’m talking about Cops, of course, also known as The Wacky Adventures Of Meth! Cops is still my favorite reality show to this very day, while The Real World is still the most boring one ever made (yes, worse than The Hills, but only just barely). So if you want to blame someone for creating the formula for an extremely boring reality show that doesn’t involve tasing meth addicts, blame The Real World.
So for creating terrible reality TV, crapping up the airwaves for nigh on 20 years now, and for making boring people all over the country want to go on reality TV to debase themselves, I am giving The Real World a big fat F-. If you would like appeal your grade, or just drunkenly yell at me, then cry, then go have sex with your roommate in a hot tub, or if you just have a good idea for something else that sucks, I can be reached at johnnyjive@hotmail.com
The basic concept of the show is as follows: you take the seven most desperate people you can find at Senor Frog’s, invite them to take time off of their jobs as receptionists and out of work actors to come live in the worlds tackiest house in whatever town seems cool and hasn’t been used yet, give them unlimited alcohol, and then film them. How did this ever get made? I blame the terrible competition on TV at the time this concept was introduced. Wings, you have failed the American people yet again.
I have a new idea for your crappy spoken word introduction, Real World producers that are assuredly reading this blog every week looking for ways to make your show more horrendous. Ready? Okay!
“This is the heavily edited story-
of what happens when seven highly confrontational personal trainers-
are forced to live in an eyesore condo together-
and abandon all semblance of manners or shame-
and start getting drunk.”
You’re welcome, producers.
of what happens when seven highly confrontational personal trainers-
are forced to live in an eyesore condo together-
and abandon all semblance of manners or shame-
and start getting drunk.”
You’re welcome, producers.
I just don’t understand the appeal of this show. It is like any other reality show, but with less likeable contestants, and no actual point to it, like the others where someone can win or lose or get kicked out (except when people leave The Real World because of drugs or drinking, which is always hilarious). So with no purpose or competition, there is no conflict other than the intense suckiness of all the denizens of the house. But there’s conflict aplenty, in the form of slurred cussing and sloppy sex, due in part to the copious amounts of alcohol being foisted on the shameless morons.
I’m trying to figure out the target demographic for this show. I think it’s people that wish they had awful roommates, but instead live alone, and want to know what it’s like to live with a bunch of idiots that don’t have personalities. Or maybe it’s targeted at people who want to turn on the TV and immediately have a reason to go on a shooting spree. Those are huge untapped markets, I would assume.
And The Real World can’t blame its suckiness on pioneering a genre, ever. The other early reality show was, in fact, much much better. I’m talking about Cops, of course, also known as The Wacky Adventures Of Meth! Cops is still my favorite reality show to this very day, while The Real World is still the most boring one ever made (yes, worse than The Hills, but only just barely). So if you want to blame someone for creating the formula for an extremely boring reality show that doesn’t involve tasing meth addicts, blame The Real World.
So for creating terrible reality TV, crapping up the airwaves for nigh on 20 years now, and for making boring people all over the country want to go on reality TV to debase themselves, I am giving The Real World a big fat F-. If you would like appeal your grade, or just drunkenly yell at me, then cry, then go have sex with your roommate in a hot tub, or if you just have a good idea for something else that sucks, I can be reached at johnnyjive@hotmail.com
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