Postings for July 2004
THE ...INDEPENDENCE...DAY AFTER TOMORROW
Posted: Monday, July 12, 2004
You can always tell when a movie is going to blow when the reviews in the print and TV ads are one word:
"Stunning" - The Daily News.....or whatever.
Meanwhile, taken out of context, the quote probably was "What a stunning mound of shit, Cum Chokers Vol. 7 had a better plot."
"One helluva ride." - Gene Shalit
More like "one helluva ride out of Roland Emmerich's colon". If you saw Independence Day you've seen 90% of this movie. All you need to do is substitute the aliens with ice.
Riddled with cliche's, The Day After Tomorrow is just another $125 million dollar peice of Hollywood drivel.
Character development in this movie is about as interesting as watching a candle melt. Jake Jake Gyllenhaal's character starts out as a nerdy, douchey high school kid, and ends up as a nerdy, douchey high school kid. You just don't care about anyone AT ALL.
Then there's the idiotic filler. I'd call them sub-plots, but the main plot is a sub-plot. The storyline with the cancer kid goes NOWHERE. And the wolves??? I won't go and roon it for anyone, but, Jesus...was that the lamest angle EVER?!?
If you want to check out a cool Jake Gyllenhaal film, go rent Donnie Darko, or wait for the re-release later this summer. Chances are you'll enjoy it way more than Jake's upcoming project, Brokeback Mountain, the story of two sheepherding cowboys who fag out and fall in love with each other. No, that's not a goof, currently filming and scheduled for an '05 release. No homo-erotic pun intended.
-FoundryMusicDanny-
"Interesting" - FoundryMusicDanny, FoundryMusic.com
SPIDER-MAN 2: REVIEW
Posted: Monday, July 12, 2004
It's comforting to know that Hollywood can still occasionally release a sequel that not only lives up to, but surpasses the orignal. SPIDER-MAN 2 is indeed one of those sequels. This is a movie you won't mind paying $9.50 to see, Spider-Man 2 is everything that your typical sequel lacks. This movie has it all. It's not just the same old plot re-hashed to generate more box office. There's actually substance here. Not since Terminator 2 has a sequal pulled off just that.
Things have changed a little since we last saw our web slinging hero. Peter Parker has moved on to college and is trying to juggle his job, schooling and love life not to mention crime fighting. Harry Osborn has followed in his fathers footsteps as the head of Oscorp and the ever-so-bangable Mary Jane has enetered the model/actress world.
The story line revolves around loss in Peters life. The loss of his job, his girl, and some of his abilities all lead to an imploding identity crisis that leaves our great city minus one friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.
Peter's frustration insues as Mary Jane gets engaged to John Jameson, son of Daily Bugle editor J. Jonah Jameson brilliantly portrayed by J.K. Simmons otherwise known as the nazi ass rapist Vernon Schillinger (thats Shilling-GRRRR) from the HBO series OZ. Not surprizingly, Simmons manages to steal every scene he is in.
Doctor Octupus is simply mind-blowing and the fight scenes between he and Spider-Man just kick major ass, for lack of a better phrase.
We plunge deeper into the wants and needs of the characters this time around with the mantra of the two films "With great power comes great responsibility" ringing ever so clearly thoughout. Can Peter handle the stresses of being Spider-man AND a college student supporting himself? Can he also deal with the paradox that being Spider-Man means he can never have Mary Jane for himself? Will J. Jonah Jameson burn a swastika into Peters asscheeck? Find out for yourself and go see the film that is probably Sam Raimi's greatest work and will probably set some new all-time box office records.
-FoundryMusicDanny-
THE PEEPING TOOL AND THE SHIT POOL
Posted: Sunday, July 27, 2003
(FMDanny has written another masterpiece to make us all a little happier that we're NOT him. After you get done with this one, you're going to want to curl up in bed with maybe a nice glass of red wine and some pain meds...and just twirl your way to sleep, enjoying the fact that YOU don't live like this...hopefully)
*As always, the views expressed, terminology, and mental illness illustrated in this column is that of FoundryMusicDanny, and isn't necessarily shared by the entire staff*
To be honest, I don't even know where to begin. The last few days for me have been beyond idiotic. I just hope I can convey the idiocy with the fury and attention it deserves.
Day one: I wake up to poo. Yes, you read right. There's poo coming out through my shower drain and into my living room. I didn't do it. I think what happened was that the chinese people who live upstairs from me were trying to flush oranges down the toilet or something. Now as you all know, the basement is the last stop for human waste. Piss, crap, myself. So no matter who uses what water, it's all coming out of my shower and toilet. Gooooood morning, Everybody!
Usually, I use common sense, as I did here, and start to plunge the toilet. It took, oh I dunno ALL FUCKING DAY? But eventually I got it going. So I think I'm in the clear. For the time being at least. I should've known better, but, you know me, I'm a fucking retard.
So I'm sitting at my apartment with my woman. Watching the Simpsons. She doesn't live with me, but she was over today. Now, I have one of those basement apartments with those tiny little windows that barely lets any sun in, so you really can notice the change when you're not getting as much light as you should. Like a tree swaying and blocking the sun, or a cloud passing... even your landlords grown son on all fours trying to peep into your apartment.
Huh??
What??
Yep, you heard me. As I'm trying to enjoy some of Homer's shenanigans, something just tells me to look over at the window. Sure enough, there's the landlors son peeping in at me. As soon as we made eye contact he shot up and took off running like Pete Townshend getting spotted by a parent in a schoolyard.
So I'm pissed. Why is there some guy peeping in my window. This isn't some fourteen year-old, overly-horny kid who's never seen snatch or nothing, the guy is like 27. I run out as fast as I can to try and catch him, but he bolted up the stairs and started blasting "Boys Of Summer" (as if he could use that as an excuse later. You know, like "Oh I didn't here the bell.")
I just wait it out. A few hours later I guess he thought he was safe and came down to the door. He even acted all surprised that it was me.
Me: "Can I help you?"
Him: "Uh...uh....what?"
Me: "Dude, I caught you peeping into my window"
Him: "Are you sure it was me?"
(Am I sure it was him? Of course I'm sure. There are only so many people in my building with glasses and a bad moustache. He's kind of hard to miss.)
Me: "Uh...yeah man"
Him: "No, I , uh....just got home.."
Me: "Guy, I know it was you."
Him: "Oh no, I was just uh...getting the sprinkler" (there's a sprinkler close to my window.)
So whatever, I rolled my eyes and start to walk back to my door when I hear this little gem.
Him: "Y'know...I'm not a pervert!"
Wow. Did I even come close to saying this guy was a pervert? He sure does have a guilty conscience, eh? So that pretty much confirmed the whole thing for me, but we're only getting started, kids.
Guess what happens next? Five minutes later, there's a knock on my door. It's him. I open my door and say "What can I do for you now??" This is where it gets really strange. Keep in mind I've never spoken to this guy before today. He goes, "Oh..I'm sorry about before..I just...I..uh...I havn't gotten laid in like three years and I just wanted to see if you were...y'know....anyway I thought maybe you could tell me what I'm doing wrong....maybe I can talk to you or something...It's not like I dont have any money, I drive..I don't understand....." and on and on and on and on. Babbling. Rambling. Why he asks? Why can't he get a girl? Maybe it's because he's 27, living at home and likes to blast "Boys Of Summer".
It's quite obvious this young lad has some serious mental issues that need to be addressed. He finished making a guilt ridden ass of himself and I go back to my shit filled apartment. Yeah. Seems the 'ol plunge job I did just didn't quite do the trick.
Now I have a situation though. Pervert's mother is my landlord, and she's away in Greece and will be for another few weeks. Since my house is slowly filling up with excrement he's the person I now get to deal with. Yay.
His idea? "I'll call my mom in Greece." Right. Like she's gonna fly back here or something to fix my plumbing issues. She didn't leave any cash, any checks, any emergency plan, nothing. Unreal. I know this isn't my responsibility, so I start asking him if he has any money or a credit card. He claims no. I ask him what he does for a living, and he tells me "I work at a supermarket". I've got quite a champion on my hands here. He knows my apartment is flooding with the shit of seven people, and the best advice he seems to be giving me is to just live in a turd pool until his mother gets back. He wanted to see how bad the problem was and asked if he could come in to see it. He takes a look, shakes his head and says "So, do you know any girls??"
Of course the only answer from the mother in Greece is, "Well, try and clear it out." No shit eh? Just clear it out. There's an abundance of wisdom from this Greek pearl.
I give it a go. Man, I must've plunged for hours. Nothing. I decide enough is enough and go to tell the other tennant not to use any water. One problem though. They're chinese and barely speak English.
I knock on the door, and a woman comes to answer. I explain "Hi, I live down stairs? I'm having some water problems, can you try not to use any water for now?" Simple enough I thought. No big words. She just might get this down. "No sorry, no key sorry, sorry." Guess not huh. After trying so many different ways to explain this situation to her she still doesn't understand. I even just said at one point "You. No use water, ok? No use water." Thankfully the elementary schools teach the children of these wastes of life english, so now I have the pleasure of trying to translate this through a seven year-old girl. After twenty minutes of saying "DON'T USE THE FUCKING WATER!" I assume we're on the same page.
Gurgle. Sploosh. Trickle. Some fucking asslicker is using water. Now it's really bad though. I JUST told the slants upstairs not to use any water, it can't POSSIBLY be them. I decide to ring Pervert's bell again. Nobody answers. I ring again. Nothing. Now I'm thinking, gee..he must be spilling a batch imagining me and my girl doggystyle on the coutch or something. I try once more. Faintly, I hear "HOLD ON!" The door opens and, behold...you ready? THE FUCKING GUY IS IN A TOWEL. He's taking a fucking shower. I mean, how retarded to you have to be. I tell you theres a flood in the basement and you take a shower. I suppose I could take advantage of his idiocy and say to him "Hey, here's some poison" just to see if he'd start eating it if he got hungry. I found myself for the second time in twenty minutes, screaming at somebody to not use any fucking water.
Lets recap, shall we?. A pervert is trying to watch me bang. My living room is a wading pool of human waste. I think it's time to call a professinal. There's a problem. I don't have enough cash to pay for a plumber, and Pervert already said he doesn't have any either. In fact, he said he didn't want to get involoved because it's not his responsibility. I did what I had to do and borrow a check from my woman. This comes into play a little later on.
So I call Roto-Rooter at about 11:30pm. They tell me a guy will be here by 1:30am. Fine. Whatever. As long as this thing gets fixed today. By about 1am i get a phone call. It's Roto-Rooter. They tell me they can't get in touch with the plumber in my area. They kept me waiting for an hour and a half before telling me they havent even talked to the plumber yet. Great. So they tell me they'll call me when they get in touch with him. I decided to just stay up all night and start calling other plumbers at 9am when most of em open.
Finally at 7am, I get a call. It's Roto-Rooter. They ask me if I still need service. Woo-hoo! I can't wait. I'm so glad that the friggin' retarded gooks upstairs just totally ignored me and at 7:30 start taking showers. My apartment is a wreck. All my furniture is pushed to one side, and the pool is starting to get pretty goddamn deep. The flow out of the shower is immense.
9am the plumber finally arrives. Oh happy day. Does the job no problem. Now it's time to get paid. I go to give him the check i borrowed from my girl. "I can't take this." he says. Why not? Because it was a starter check that didn't have the name or address on it. Now he tell me he's gonna be by later to get another form of payment. In the end I just gave him my bank card number, even though my account only has maybe 7 bucks in it. Oh well. He don't know that.
Later that day, I get a phone call from Pervert. He has to ask me something. Fine. I wonder what this is gonna be. Maybe he'll say "Can I watch you bang your girl?"... or maybe he'll ask, "Do you know any girls??" again. Oh no, this is classic. He says, "Hey sorry to bother you, but, I just got a new job and I don't get paid until next week.....could I borrow some money??"
You've GOT to be kidding me. You're a loser who can't get laid and has to get off by trying to watch ME get some, you refuse to help with my shit-filled living room, you keep asking me if I know any girls, and now you expect me to lend you some money?? GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE. "Nah man, I'm tapped" I say.
There was so so so much more to the story, but there's only so long I can torment you with this mayhem. The depravity and sickness could go on for maybe three more columns. Hey, now that's an idea. Maybe I'll do a part 2 when his mother gets back from Greece. Let me know what you think, kids.
FoundryMusicDanny
MAKING THE BAND...OR AT LEAST TRYING TO
Posted: Wednesday, July 31, 2002
I don't know if any of you out there have ever tried starting a band, but from my experiences it's harder than Norton's dick after school lets out. It seems so simple doesn't it? Four or so guys get together, play some tunes, easy right? Wrong. It's nothing but another reason to envy the Yates children.
I'm always down to play. With anybody. It's like the lottery and you never know when you're going to hit it big. The problem is, you never do. Everybody I jam with either sucks, or they want to play some fucking "avant guard" pussy art music that sounds like the guitarist is just throwing his guitar on the floor and vomiting on it. However, I have managed to find a drummer. Or at least that's what he calls it. After you smoke an ounce of pot you think you can do a lot of things. I especially enjoy his brilliant artistic input. "Hey dude, y'know how it goes -- dun dun duh duh whuh nuh nuh nah? Try doin -- whuh nuh nuh nuh weaa nuh nuh nah nuh." Sit through three hours of that and you'll want to smash your own teeth out with a crowbar for ever enjoying Beavis and Butthead. That's fun, but my fave is when we'll be heavy into a jam and I start getting yelled at to stop playing because his fucking cell phone is ringing. Yeah, just forget about the $28 an hour we're spending in the studio and answer you're dumb fucking phone.
Needless to say we don't jam by ourselves anymore. We decided to invite a mutual "friend" of ours, who tries his luck at playing guitar as well. This dick is the epitome of a poser. One day he found a Rancid CD and next thing you know he's Johnny Rotten wearing a Master lock around his neck. I'd like to buy him the entire Nirvana catalogue with the hopes that he'll blow his fucking brains out with a shotgun. Maybe it's a good thing I don't have an album. I'd end up inspiring an entire generation to play video games and drink until their livers explode. This sorry excuse for originality immediately runs over and plugs into an orange Marshall, simply because it was orange, and never has anything to contribute except "Anybody know any Bouncing Souls?"
This happens to me no matter who I'm playing with. If it's not any of the above it's the guitarist who thinks it's a contest to see who can play better, or the bassist who just looms in the corner because everything you play is awful because he didn't write it. My advice to anyone reading this is don't waste you're time, you'll just become more bitter then you already are. Stay home and masturbate. Instead of practicing your riffs and solos, see how many times in a row you can jerk it before your dick gets a friction burn. That's a much more realistic dream to accomplish. Hell, spunk for distance. The only G-string I wanna play with anymore is the one Gauge is wearing (someone out there knows) and I want to strum it with my tongue.
If you can beat 8 feet, lemme know.
FoundryMusicDanny
xevilkidx@yahoo.com
POWER TRIP: VINDICATION NOW!
Posted: Thursday, July 11, 2002
Firstly, I must apologize to the 4 people who actually read this column for being so tardy with updating it. Reason being, well, I was busy. Working in fact. Seven days a week as a bartender/waiter in the South Street Seaport. You may be saying to yourself, "Oh yeah, Busy Billy? Then how'd ya find the time to write this column?" Read on friends...
Coming back from my lunch break one day I find the floor manager behind the bar really trying hard to make a Long Island Iced Tea. Now before I go, please realize that this guy isn't even close to my boss. He's just the floor manager. Basically this turd just watches you eat. And when you're done he lets the hostess know that there's a table available. This is not a job that commands much authority. Or is it?
Anyhow, this dirty Indian is behind the bar, and no, not the American Indian type but the filthy, rude, dot headed, camel jockey, smelly, always get stuck sitting next to them on the 7 train, Hindu. He's pouring this drink eight times of wrong. Now I don't need any customers puking on my bar so I decide to step in. All I say to the customer is "Hey if you don't like the way that tastes, I'll be glad to make you a new one." Now of course the customer wants a new one because the smelly sand monkey fucking made it all wrong.
The sultan of all floor managers now proceeds to flip the fuck out on me. Screaming at me about how he's been in the business for 27 years and he's run restaurants all over the world. All over the world? Then what the fuck are you doing in the South Street Seaport at a bad excuse for a deli as a floor manager of all things. "You don't tell me how to make drinks, you're the one who doesn't know what you're doing." And so forth and so on. Now, I realize this guy is fuming, although he was wrong, but I figure I'll be the better man and back down. I say "OK. You're right. I'm sorry." Well, that wasn't good enough for this cocksucker. Every five minutes he's walking back to yell at me. After about a half hour goes by and I thought it was over and done with.
A little later in the day he comes back and asks me how long I've been working here. I tell him, "Two weeks." I thought that was the end of the conversation. I was wrong. He goes and opens his disgusting dark brown mouth again and says, "I think it's gonna be shitty tomorrow, don't come in. We'll call you if it gets busy." Bullshit, right? Who the fuck is this dick. A few years ago he was scooping up elephant shit in New Delhi. I'm furious, so I visit the real manager, whose Indian as well. He thinks it's gonna rain too.
OK, terrific. Whatever. I'll let that shit slide just this one time. So now I'm off for a few days, and I come back to work for the first time since this little incident. The real manager isn't in yet but the almighty floor manager in. He goes to me "Who told you to come in?" all pissed off like. I say "Guy....I"m on the schedule, I'm supposed to be here." Then when the manager finally gets in, Cocksucker runs right over to him and starts chatting.
Next thing I know, I'm fired. Over what? A Long Island Iced Tea. So I go over to the guy who hired me and explain the whole story, and he sends me to a fucking place in NEWARK. This place has no business, and I end up taking about a 80 percent cut in pay. Boy I love commuting 4 hours a day from Queens to Newark. I'm positive I was fired because I'm white too. I know this installment of Brain AIDS wasn't as funny as you'd hoped. I'm sorry, I just had to tell somebody the story, and I have no friends.
FoundryMusicDanny
By the way, if you're NOT Hindu and need somebody to work for you lemme know.
xevilkidx@yahoo.com
|
|
