Tuesday, February 17, 2015

A YAYA Mega-Rant by Mercer Creed

I don't know why, but I've got cacti needles up my urethra today. Not just those big, 20-gauge, scare-the-piss-out-of-you needle types, but also those infuriating microscopic little ones you can't see to pull out but burn your skin every time you brush up against something. I've got a double-barrel full of Fuckshot and I'm going to find some asses to fill with it today.


First of all, fuck you Peter Jackson. 

I remember back when people were first talking about the Hobbit being made into a movie. "Peter Jackson HAS to do it" they cried. "He HAS toooooo" the whining whiners whined. Why? What the fuck has Peter Jackson ever done but ride the coat-tails of Tolkien's greatness? 

Look what the Hack-master did to the LOTR: surfing Barbie-doll-looking elves, Scooby-doo ghosts saving the day, NO Tom Bombadil, endless closing sequences, Sauron as a giant eye...A GIANT MOTHERFUCKING EYE! It doesnt even make the first bit of sense! Oh, if only the giant fucktarded eye could turn slightly to the right...he could have seen it coming...I dont even....

No he's fucked up the Hobbit and everyone knows it. It looks like a God-damned cartoon with no sense of internal logic or understanding of physics or gravity. How can one person suck that hard? 

He had to do it? Fuck you. Just because he looks like a hobbit doesnt mean he gets to call dibs on everything Tolkien ever bothered to jot down on the back of a napkin. I'd love to shove the Two Trees of Valinor up us ass and feed him to a pit of randy orc prisoners. 
An actual shot from pre-production. Bow removed during post-production when the crew distracted Jackson with a closet full of a Twinkies.


Oh, what are you laughing at Gorge Arrrgh Fartin'? You took some of the best fantasy novels I've ever read and turned them into the Endless Song of Shite and Ire. Did anyone bother to read your last book before it was sent to press? Fucking heroin-head Cheryl Strayed had fewer grammatical errors in her Giant Book of Lies memoir. I dont care about everyone's eye color, hair style, or how many ways you can mull wine or incorporate figs into dinner. You stopped telling a story years ago. Fuck you and your fucking gravy train. Live your fucking 15 minutes of fame because once your done laying this arse-muffin people are going to have the same reaction to it as Lost: "What the fuck was that you chodey dick-weasel?" At the very least you could bother yourself to finish your own fucking story! "I don't write anywhere but at home." Really? Fuck you. I hope you shove some rotten calimari down that swollen gullet and you die alone in the shower in a pool of your own vomit and diarrhea.




Yeah, I said it. Lost was a giant bumblefucking waste of my time. Hey "writers", learn how to TELL A STORY. Lost is the result of a generation of "writers" who have never bothered to read a book, but grew up cockstrangling themselves to Morgan Webb, Jeri Ryan, and stacks of quasi-legal manga comics. Nothing is fucking lower than a fanboi who thinks because he can fill a screen with words that makes him a "writer."  You are NOT storytellers! Look up "plot" in a dictionary. Fucking Google it if you can use a computer for anything other than finding erotic Harry Potter fan-fiction. 


Were you getting lonely Kanye? Well, I have some for  you too. Thanks for fucking up the SNL 40 year tribute show. What the hell was that douchbaggery? Music? I could bounce xylophones off the heads of cats or hand out kazoos to special needs 5th graders and record better music than you.  Tell me you're a genius one more time. I dare you...ONE MORE TIME! You're a genius in the same we tell my slow cousin he's a genius when he manages to smear some peanut butter on a mangled piece of bread. Fuck you and your whore wife. Oh, did I go to far? The last time she said anything worth listening to she was making gagging noises with the encouragement of Ray J. Congrats genius, you married a porn star. 


Fucking SNL. I barely get to see Eddie Murphy, Bill Murray, Tracy Morgan, or Chris Farley, but I have to suffer through an endless autotuned Kanye West "song?" Is this performance art? Is it good because it's so ironically bad? Could be, this is a world where people think Sarah Silveman is funny. 

Don't even let me catch the bat-guano smoking, clueless teenagers who wrote the Rolling Stone's "SNL: All Cast Members Ranked" article on the street. I swear to God I will fist you in the middle of Times Square. Rachel Dratch is #16? Did you just pull names out of a hat and list them in random order? If there is justice in the world you'll be prison-bitched by a herd of rabid stallions. 
No, you're not.


Sweet merciful Mary, that felt good. 

You know I actually thought Miley Cyrus did a great job on the Paul Simon cover. If she can reign in the Instagram shenanigans, I just might be a fan.

 




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