For this weeks’ commenter draft we’re delving back into the world of film. Your job is to draft bad scenes that you would excise from otherwise awesome movies. We’ll start things off for you with Drew’s suggested pick, Butch and Fabienne’s bedroom scene from Pulp Fiction.
This week’s commenter draft is expensive items that should cost only $5. The only caveat: your picks must be ACTUAL items that people buy. No picking abstract things, such as stocks or companies or football teams. As always, pick once, then wait ten picks before selecting again.
I’ll kick things off with this:
Being out in L.A. covering the 20th anniversary Madden release stuff drummed up some gamer nostalgia, and not just for league-license-monopolistic sports titles. I still buy anywhere from five to 10 games a year but a busy schedule of dick joke writing keeps my playing time limited to three to five hours or so a week. There’s a certain wistfulness for the days in middle school when I could devote 40 hours over a couple of days to beating Final Fantasy III or Chrono Trigger. I’ve put that much time over the last four months into Grand Theft Auto 4 and am only about 54 percent completed with the main storyline. It’s great and all, but fuck me in the pants that’s a long game.
The one negative offshoot of the refinement of console games is that there’s no impetus to make decent arcade games anymore. That’s a shame, because arcades are shitloads of fun. Where else can you get your ass kicked for beating someone at Police Trainer?
You’re open to pick any game for any system. Or an arcade game. Fuck, pick a pinball game. I don’t care. Just don’t pick any goddamn PC games, you Warcraft-playing mutants. And picking Guitar Hero is just gonna get you called a fag.
My pick: Maniac Mansion (NES)
Kind of an obscure one, but I never get tired of playing through it. The overarching plot isn’t all that involved – a girl gets kidnapped and a group of friends try to rescue her. But it has something very few games of the era have – humor, characters and character development. Moreover, it’s a pretty funny and complex game with multiple endings that doesn’t gives its clues away easily (as opposed to, say, Zelda games where you got a little fucking sprite yelling at you if you pass something of interest). Back when this came out, this was all pretty novel for a console game and it still holds up well now.
This is a very irrational reaction on my part. If everyone on Earth liked everything everyone else did, the world would be a pretty lousy place to live. And yet, I’m possessed with the ridiculous desire to persuade everyone to like the things I like (“Listen to this Sugar album. FUCKING LISTEN TO IT!”), and to hate the things I hate (“What do you mean, you liked Magnolia? What are you, a fucking asshole? Let me explain to you why your feelings are unnatural and wrong.”).
This is nothing more than insecurity. If you like something, you like it. If no one else does, big fucking deal, right? What does it matter? Well, it doesn’t. It really doesn’t. Unless you don’t like the movie “Tombstone”, in which case I have no fucking idea what’s wrong with you. You should be deported, you little shit. You know nothing about fine art.
With that in mind, this week’s draft is movies you hated that everyone else liked. The movie you pick has to have received an imdb rating higher than five stars. If you’re all like, “Boy, I really hated Catwoman. What’s wrong with people?” you’re a fucking moron. Pick one movie. Be sure to explain the depths of your hatred. The movie you pick will instantly be reviled by the rest of the population, conforming to your desires. YOU MUST WAIT 10 PICKS UNTIL YOU PICK ANOTHER MOVIE.
My pick? Fucking “Almost Famous”. What a fucking piece of shit this movie was. A fucking “Tiny Dancer” singalong? Groupies with hearts of gold? Fuck you and your overly earnest bullshit, Cameron Crowe. Oooh, music is so special! Hey, thanks for the tip.
Congrats, jackass. You made the least rocking rock movie of all time. And you helped start Kate Hudson’s career. I’ll never forgive you for either transgression.
Holy fuck, I am seriously hungover. Of course that’s what happens when you drag your lazy ass off the couch to attend a friend’s birthday party on a weeknight. So what could have possessed me to do such a thing? Was it my affection for the birthday girl or the two hours of open bar featuring all of my favorite top shelf liquor, beer, and champagne? Fuck no, it’s all about the possibility for those delicious little hors d’oeuvres.
So today, while I’m burping up a delightful combination of Hendricks, Macallan, and Veuve at my desk, I’m still regretting that one last fried risotto ball I missed out on. Dear god those fuckers were tasty.
Any party can, and should, be judged by the quality of the hors d’oeuvres. Hell, I can still rank every Bar Mitzvah I ever attended on the quality of their (kosher) pigs in a blanket.
Today your task as commenters is to select the best and the brightest of delectable shrunken foodstuffs. With the first selection, I’ll be helping myself to a tray of mini latkes topped with crème fraîche and caviar. I am not joking in the least when I tell you that I could eat those little fuckers by the hundred, and if I have to prove it, I will do so happily.
The rules are the same as always, you draft one hors d’oeuvres at a time (no napkin stacking here, fatty) and wait at least ten picks before you select again.
Take it away, I’m going to reload on some mate to keep me from passing out on my keyboard.
There have been times when I’ve wanted my own entrance music. Whether I was walking into a party, running to jump in a swimming pool, or barrelling into a teenager’s vagina, I would have appreciated a signature tune being played over the loudspeaker beforehand, just to let everyone know I was en route.
Your mission today is to choose your own entrance music. This music will be played everywhere you go. It will be your Hail To The Chief, if you will. Every good hero should have some theme music. So sayeth Keenan Ivory Wayans.
My music will be Redman’s Time For Some Action, as heard in this highlight reel:
I don’t care whether it’s 1990-muthafuckin-2 or not.
You know the rules. Get to it.
Most people merely dislike commercials. I fucking HATE them. I loathe them with all the bile in my bloated liver. Hatred for ads is embedded in my marrow, programmed into my DNA, woven into the fabric of my soul.
That’s why the people who invented TiVo/DVR and satellite radio are gods. They have golden thrones reserved in heaven, while advertising fuckfaces like Big Daddy Drew will burn for all eternity because they profited from making everyone else’s life just a little bit more miserable. Ever written a jingle? Die. And then say hi to Hitler for me.
Today’s draft is for TV and radio commercials you want erased from history. And while I don’t have the track record of hating diamond commercials as much as Christmas Ape, my #1 pick is easy:
Man and woman enter a European square. Man goes to the middle of the square and shouts at the top of his lungs, “I love this woman!” Pigeons fly away from the commotion. Woman is aghast. Man presents woman with diamond. Woman whispers quietly into man’s ear: “I love this man.”
Oh, so that’s how it is? A love so deep that a man has to shout it to the world is embarrassing to you, you fucking bitch? Oh, here’s something shiny that I paid $10,000 for, maybe you wanna go out in the square and shout your love for me, too? No? Just gonna whisper it in my ear because you’re too selfish and materialistic? FUCK THIS AD.
Your picks in the comments. Wait for ten other people’s selections before choosing again.
Just in time for the Fourth, it’s time to talk a little ice cream.
I’ve been on this planet for a while now, so my method of eating ice cream has been more or less well established. I always get a cake cone and not a sugar cone. A cake cone catches drips more easily (though I often lick around the edge of the cone to prevent such occurrences. A little cone rim job, if you will). Plus, it has little nooks around the rim that fill with delicious ice cream runoff. It’s quite nice.
I also frown at any 12-year-old retard ice cream scooper who does NOT press the ice cream down into the cone, thus filling it. If the scooper fails to do this, I will use my tongue to push the ice cream down into the cone. That way, once I start biting into the cone, I be in flavor country. Aw yeah. Then I beat the scooper about the head with my wife’s diaper bag.
Not a big waffle cone fan. All waffle cones have that slit going down the middle, which channels the melted ice cream directly onto your wrist. Fuck. I’ve never gotten one of those oreo cookie cones that’s been dipped in fudge and rolled around in M&M’s. You need to be a special kind of fat person to get that.
Also, a note to the scoopers at Cold Stone: stop banging your fucking paddles on the counter. It’s fucking annoying.
Anyway, here’s your draft. Draft your favorite flavor of ice cream. I’ll allow sorbets, gelatos, and sherbets. But make it a FLAVOR. Don’t say “I love banana splits!” or something retarded like that. Pick one flavor only. Once you pick a flavor, wait 10 picks before taking another one. My pick: Mint chocolate chip.
Eat the pig… eat the pig… ZIGGY ZIGGY ZIGGY ZIG!!!
It’s hard to believe we haven’t done this one yet, but your draft this week requires you to pick your favorite NFL game ever, postseason, regular season, whatever. And it can be for any goddamn arbitrary reason you want. It need not be the best game. Shit, it can be a game where a player you hate got hurt. I’m sure the Theismann game will go early.
For most people. I imagine, t choice is bound to be tinged by homerism. For me, it’s no different. A sloppy game your team wins is exactly 18 times better than the most tightly contested games between two teams you couldn’t give a shit about. Sure, I loved the shit out of the most recent Super Bowl. It was probably the best one yet. But to me it’s not going to touch the three to five biggest victories by the Steelers over the last 15 years. If you’re able to distance yourself from your favorite team enough to pick an epically contested game, more power to you. With that kind of ability for emotional disconnection, you should probably be a surgeon or something.
My opening pick: The 1995 AFC Championship Game
Odd as it is, the two most memorable games the Steelers have played in my lifetime have been playoff contests against the Colts. Absolutely, Super Bowl XL resulted in one of the most deliriously happy moments of my life (that life, by the way: very shallow), but objectively I can admit that the game itself sucked. Really, for me, it’s a toss-up between ‘95 AFC Title Game and the 2005 Divisional Round victory in Indianapolis. Both games were instant classics that came down to the wire. Sure, you could make the argument that the 2005 game should be more satisfying, as the Steelers’ chances of winning were nigh on inconceivable, whereas in ‘95 they were heavy favorites.
But that discounts their agonizing loss to the Chargers in the conference title game following the 1994 season. The mantra for the entire 1995 season was “Three More Yards,” which symbolized just how close they got to being blown out by the 49ers in Super Bowl XXIX. The ‘95 AFC Title Game went much like the previous year’s, with the Steelers squandering a lead late in the second half, via a long TD pass from Jim Harbaugh to Floyd Turner that more than smacked of the Stan-Humphries-to-Tony-Martin dagger from the year before. That put Pittsburgh in the same position they were in in ‘94: needing a final scoring drive to send them to the Super Bowl. This time, however, they did it. Then, of course, they had to weather a nearly completed Hail Mary pass to Aaron Bailey that, if I weren’t 13 at the time, would’ve given me a Tim Russert-sized heart attack on the spot.
Some of it has to do with age. At 23, however still young and irreponsible you may be, you can’t have the unalloyed obsession with sports you could at 13. By then, you’re (at least nominally) an adult, you mostly likely have started a career, probably are in a relationship, have gained at least some semblance of perspective. When you’re 13, you really don’t have shit else to think about. These big games are beyond life and death. They get amplified to an importance that’s nearly biblical. There is no tomorrow if your team loses. It’s supremely subjective but if you know any other way people experience life, Mr. Fucking Dispassionate Robot Person, I’d like to hear it.
A roided-up Ufford takes on Ray Lewis.
This week’s draft, obviously inspired by Javon Walker’s incident, is rather simple. You pick one football player, active or retired, who you feel is most deserving of your rage. You see said player on the street, and you unload on him with all the pasty blogger fury you can muster.
I’ll start things off by taking the easy way out. A punter!
Ugh. Nobody in the history of the Redskins has pissed me off more than Matt Turk (except for George Allen and his whole “no black guys” policy, but I wasn’t really alive). He was an average punter, with a propensity for timely game-changing fumbles. But what sets off Redskins fans whenever someone utters the “Turk” name is the broken finger.
You see one day in between games Matt Turk decided to go play some pickup basketball, and because he’s a punter he couldn’t manage to get through said game with all of his bones intact. Turk claimed to have broken his finger at some point in the previous game, he just couldn’t really say when. It was a bold move to blame the injury on football, seeing as how nobody ever touched him. What resulted was a few missed games, including the playoff matchup against the Bucs.
Since Turk was also the team’s holder, that responsibility fell to one Brad Johnson. Needless to say, the game, and the season, ended thusly…
Yeah, and his brother Dan was a shitty snapper too, may he rest in peace.
I swear he would have nailed that 52-yarder.
Make your picks in the comment section, but remember to wait ten picks before selecting again, asshole. Oh, and keep your gloves up.
