It's Oscars time. Somebody wake the Grouch.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Flying Ford Anglia - The Rest of the Story

Greetings, my friends...this is Pawl Harvey, sitting in for my friend and fifth cousin, or so he claims, Earl Fando. Today, I'm visiting with you to bring you (interminable pause)... the rest...of the...(long coffee break) story.

First though, a word about Nitro Motor Oil. I use Nitro in all my vehicles, from the Model T I drove as a middle aged radio newsman, to the Lamborghi I drive when I want to pick up saucy widowed grandmothers and Madonna, when she's on the prowl. Nitro motor oil will put a kick in your car, and in...your...(wait for it) life. Now to our story.

South West Film Studios, St. Agnes, Cornwall, England, United Kingdon, Planet Earth, in the Sol star system, the Milky Way Galaxy, in the universiric quadrant of Brabulucalosiricon Twelve, fourth dimension. It was an unseasonably warm Friday, October the 26th, when security guard Reg Pewter was conducting his rounds through the studio. He was always careful to double-check everything on the Harry Potter sets and storage units. He knew that Harry Potter fans were desperate for any kind of souvenir from the films or the popular young actors in them. why it was only a year ago that one enterprising young lady fan tried to make off with Harry Potter star Dan Radcliffe's undershorts, which Dan happened to be in at the time. Reg also remembered the time two teenaged boys named Salvador and Luis tried to slip out of the studio with the shoes of young actress Emma Watson. Reg smiled to himself as he recalled that by the time he and other security agents had gotten to the little perverts, young Emma had caught them and thrashed them within an inch of their lives with a hairbrush, not because of the shoes, but because they had accidentally bumped a kitten in the shin on their way out.

Reg walked into Storage Building #27 and shone his light around the darkened metal structure. Everything seemed to be in its place. The Quidditch outfit from The Prisoner of Azkaban that made Harry look like Robin, the Boy Wonder in Batman Forever; the giant mechanical spider from Chamber of Secrets that took twenty men to operate, and smelled of Watney's Red Barrel because two grips took it to a New Year's party the year before and , unable to steer the great mechanical beast themselves, crashed into a off-license in Mousehole, and the elaborate Mirror of Erised from Sorceror's Stone (known to the Brits as Philosopher's Stone) which for some reason had wound up on the ceiling of Robby Coltrane's trailer for a whole month before anyone noticed it was missing. Finally, he checked on his favorite item, a run-down little Ford Anglia that sat in a corner, covered with a tarpulin and a sign that said "Warning! Ford Anglia!!" He walked toward the corner of the building that the beloved little sedan sat in and shone his light at it...but...it...was...(pause long enough to read Act I of Hamlet) GONE!

Gone! Gone! Gone! Like Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds on Bill Shatner's debut album, the Anglia was gone. Reg sprinted from the building to the security office, dodging Kenneth Brannagh, Brian Blessed, Helen Bonham Carter, and Captain Beany on the way. He rang the local constables and told them to come as quickly as possible.

St. Agnes Police Constable Elvis O'Herlihy arrived at the scene with his crack investigative squad. Constable O'Herlihy was a veteran of 25 years of police work, despite being only 34 years old. He had worked long and hard to build up great respect as one of the West Country's finest detectives, and to get people to stop making fun of his name by referring to him behind his back as "Ol' Swivelhips." Despite his vast experience though, he and his staff were left with an impentrably vague collection of evidence: Tire tracks that ran for 100 metres and then vanished, and a small strand of light colored hair. Baffled he paced up and down the studio lot, thinking as quickly as his too tight constable's hat would allow him to.

Suddenly, his face lit up into a sly, yet dignified grin. He had put the small bits of clues together to form an incredible story. His staff had suggested that theives had rolled the car out and then loaded it into a waiting hovercraft, but he dismissed that because the studio gated were seven millimetres too small for a standard Griffon 8000TD hovercraft to have gotten through, and that was the only size hovercraft that could do the job. No, he had a clear idea what had happened and immediately obtained an arrest warrant for one Lindsey Lohan and a certain VW Bug named Herbie.

Constable O'Herlihy pointed out the Anglia, no matter how beaten up and unreliable on four wheels, was a flying car, but such a car in its battered state would need some assistance gettign up to speed to reach liftoff. He posited that Lindsay Lohan, fresh from her success in the latest of Disney Herbie saga, but jealous over the massive popularity of the Harry Potter series, had convinced the impressionable Volkswagen to take her to the studios. There, they strapped the Anglia to Herbie's roof, thus accounting for the one set of tracks. In her rush to get back into the car Lindsay clipped her hair in the door, severing a single strand, which floated to earth beside the tracks. Analysis revealed that the hair had received several different kinds coloring treatments over its lifespan, particularly red. O'Herlihy had done it. He had solved this most peculiar crime.

Or...had...(watch Gone with the Wind - twice) ...he? For what this industrious and clever constable had not accounted for was that another light-haired individual was in the studios that morning, a deviously clever person who shared Lohan's fascination for unique magical cars and the tendency to dye their hair to get it to resume its natural luster. How do I know this my friends? Because I am the one who stole the Anglia, and even now am flying it over the Devon countryside, typing this on my Blackberry with the satellite Internet connection. The hair was mine, and the tire tracks? I quickly changed tires on the Anglia to the familar brand used by Herbie, using my years of experience in the pits at Daytona, where I spend each spring. Finally there was the tricky business of getting some pep into the rusted old Anglia. How did I manage that, my friends? Why, with Nitro motor oil, the motor oil that puts a kick in your car and in your life! Now, if you'll pardon me, I'm off to cruise Bristol for dowagers...and that...is the rest... (knit a cardigan for King Kong)...of the...(travel to Jupiter and back) ....sto...(read Library of Congress) ...ry!

Friday, October 28, 2005

Crazy world.

According to the wire services the flying car from Harry Potter has been stolen. Reports are that two women were seen close to the location shortly before the Ford Anglia was taken.


Geena Davis and Susan Sarandon could not be reached for comment.

Sulu, but with a difference

So George Takei has come out of the closet. That explains what for years I thought was merely an auditory hallucination.

I could have sworn that everytime Kirk said, "Warp factor 1, Mr. Sulu" that Sulu's reply was, "Aye, aye sugar buns."

Now, at long last, I know I wasn't hearing things.

I didn't see that one coming...

A news article I saw today notes that apparently reclusive actor George Takei is coming out. I hadn't heard about his bout with agoraphobia but it is good to see that he is taking it on without fear. I haven't read all of the story yet, let's see... blah blah "helmsman steered the Starship Enterprise", hmmm now why would that be capitalized? Is the proper name of it "Starship Enterprise" or just "Enterprise"? I always thought that it was a starship that had the name "Enterprise" but according to the AP, who are never wrong by the way, it is "Starship Enterprise", hmmm who knew. Reading on... wow "three seasons and SIX movies", that's strange isn't it. It was on television for three short seasons but had a large enough following to generate six movies and at least as many spin-offs. Let's see if I can name all of the movies. There was the one with the bald chick where they find one of the Voyager probes that has come back to destroy humanity (if we'd only known!!!). Actually that movie, except for the bald chick and lousy uniforms, was a little too much like the one where they find the NOMAD probe and it almost cooks them for being imperfect. Anyway, then there was Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan where Kirk pays the price for helping a guy, never fails huh. All I remember about that one is the weird space slugs that that one guy and Chekov get in their ears and Kirk's cry of "Khhhhaaaannnnnn" inside the asteroid. Then there was number three where they search for Spock and find out that he's a kid again. Kind of weird but hey they had to get Nimoy back or you might as well have ended the movies right there. Four was all too forgettable with all of the modern day stuff, they must have done that on a shoestring budget. Five had Spock's brother who wanted to visit God or something like that, and six was the Klingon one where they end up saving the galaxy once more and saying goodbye forever. Phewww!!! That was tough, I almost forgot about the one with Spock's brother Sybong or whatever his name was. Well back to the article...has come out as a...


In the words of Emily Litella... Nevermind.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

I Get So Bored Sometimes...

Some days, try as I might, I cannot find the strength to be funny.

Those of you who are muttering to yourselves, "That would be everyday," can go take a long bounce off a short couch.

Anyway, some days a person's just tired. No matter how many loopy things Tom Cruise says or does, no matter how many young actresses he impregnates in a desperate attempt to halt the rumours about his sexual preference ("See that people! I'm crazy about women! And without the use of psychotherapy, I might add!!"), no matter how many lame excuses Oprah gives for not marrying Steadman ("He won't sign the pre-nup!"), no matter how many strange Halloween costumes the novelty industry creates (I hear the "Stew Miller: Blogger" costume is coming out soon. It's a golf shirt with a plastic keyboard and computer mouse stapled to it), no matter how much money Peter Jackson spends to remake King Kong a third time (not counting Son of Kong, Mighty Joe Young, and King Kong versus Godzilla), you just can't bring yourself to draw attention to the silliness inherent in all these things every single day.

Well...actually I am reminded that King Kong versus Godzilla is a very silly movie. The most obvious flaw in the film is that in the original King Kong film, the astounding ape was only 40 feet tall. Whereas, Godzilla, in his original film, was a 400 feet tall super-dinosaur. Obviously this makes for a rather one-sided battle, wherein King Kong fares little better against the "King of the Monsters" than Bambi did (See: Bambi Meets Godzilla). How to keep America's number one monster from being a stain on the bunions of Tokyo's top lizard? Feed King Kong growth hormones that make him the exact size of Godzilla. After that, it's all giant-sized Japanese professional wrestling.

Personally, I wished they had used the same solution in the original Americanized version of Godzilla. Raymond Burr could have taken 'Zilla, even with the atomic breath going against him. Plus, it would have been pretty awesome to see Perry Mason shambling through a balsa wood and papier-mache replica of Yokohama. "Your honour, this overgrown lizard is a menace to socie...Oops, sorry about that, I just trod on Yamashita Park!" Oh, the missed opportunities of the cinema!

Perhaps the new King Kong could end with a battle between Kong and a giant-sized Jackson? Talk about the fur flying.

Where was I? Ah yes, some days I'm just bored. Bored. Bored. Bored.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Tickle Me Elmo? Just not in public, man!

Elmo was arrested last week for harrassing people for "tips" outside of Grauman's Chinese Theatre.

Yes, that Elmo; the furry red one with the annoying faux child voice, who is easily tickled (just try the link to see what I mean.) I've always found a Muppet who enjoys being touched to be very suspicious. Incidentally, this appears to not be Elmo's first run in with the law. He seems to have been involved in drug use, and even (gasp!) cannibalism.

I'm not at all sure about this last part. Since Elmo's is, technically, a monster, eating people would be simple murder and illegal devouring. To be a cannibal, Elmo would have to have eaten someone like The Cookie Monster or more likely Grover, who seems an easy target, even for a monster as susceptible to ticklish fits as Elmo.

I scored a brief intereview with the wayward Muppet by way of an old friendship with Animal, the drummer from The Muppet Show. Animal said that Elmo was very reluctant to speak with me on the phone, but changed his mind after Animal softened him up by performing the drum part from Rush's Tom Sawyer on his skull. One unfortunate side-effect of this persuasion was that Elmo was somewhat incoherent.

**********

Earl: Elmo, could you tell me about your run in with the police last week?

Elmo: Ha, ha, ha! I don't like to. It depresses me. Ha, ha, ha!!

Earl: Is someone tickling you there, Elmo?

Elmo: No, I was just adjusting myself and that gets me every time.

Earl: Pardon me, but...

Elmo: I was adjusting my foam nose. It always feels like it's about to fall off.

Earl: Oh...never mind then. Now, about that run in with the police.

Elmo: Well, if you must ask... I was streetwalking with Big Bird on Hollywood Avenue, when...

Earl: Wait a moment. You were what? Streetwalking?

Elmo: Yes, streetwalking. Picking up customers.

Earl: You're kidding, right?

Elmo: No, of course not. We walk up and down the street and people come up and have their picture taken with us.

Earl: Ah, yes. Of course. That's what I thought you... ahem...meant.

Elmo: Anyway, one of these johns tips me with Canadian money. I mean, come on, Canada's a nice place and all - great bacon - but a Looney is worth what these days, two bits?

Earl: Sixpence at best, I suppose...

Elmo: So I politely ask if this creep, with his "I love Stallone" shirt and the Mickey Mouse hat, wouldn't mind laying on some American money, or at least some yen, Sterling, or Euros? He started laughing and saying, "Oooh, look! I made little Elmo angry." Not a good move as in person I'm 6' 5" and weigh about 280 pounds.

Earl: You do look much smaller on Sesame Street.

Elmo: Special effects. So, the guy keeps laughing and I tell him exactly where he can stick his Canadian coinage.

Earl: I'm guessing it wasn't exactly "The word of the day."

Elmo: You got that right, buddy. The guy keeps laughing and saying things like, "What a pottymouth little Elmo has!" So, I knifed him.

Earl: You what?!?

Elmo: I stuck him in the gut with a stiletto. Actually, I didn't have a blade on me. Fortunately, Big Bird is always packin'.

Earl: You got the knife from Big Bird?

Elmo: Hey, the guy should just be glad The Birdman didn't pass me his Glock.

Earl: I see. Tell me, at what point did you and Mr. Bird realize that this oddly dressed gentleman was an undercover police officer?

Elmo: Unfortunately, that was right after I stuck him a second time. How was I to know? Anyway, he was rileing me and my friend. It was entrapment all the way. He had it coming. I was stressed. My parts on Sesame Street have been getting smaller. Tickle Me Elmo isn't exactly flying off the shelves anymore. I'm hitting teenhood. My voice is changing. I'm going to wind up as dead as The Cookie Monster.

Earl: But surely The Cookie Monster isn't dead.

Elmo: Have you seen him, lately? Ever since they put him on that low-cookie diet, he's been looking more and more like Grover, only with large skin flaps. Anyway, where was I?

Earl: Making pointless excuses for your act of random violence against one of Hollywood's finest?

Elmo: Oh, yeah! Right! I was framed! I've been hallucinating lately! My cat had kittens! My VW Bug had a flat!! George W. Bush made me do it!! Howard Dean told me it would get me the California Senate seat!! I was confused by the Superman with the gap tooth in front of the Kodak Theatre!! Tom Cruise tried to audit me!!! Katie Holmes is havng my baby!!! It wasn't my fault!!!!

Earl: Wasn't that a variation on the Belushi bit from The Blues Brothers?

Elmo: Worked for him didn't it?

Earl: I expect you'll get 10 - 20 in Lompoc.

I promised more costumes

Here we go with a few of the costumes for adults. I could go on with these from now until Thanksgiving, but I'll only subject you to one more set. And away we go...



Kaiser "Ted" Von Dipschitz declares war on fashion.



The Victorian Q-tip




(singing) "If I only wasn't lame..."



Yo, I got ya Raggedy Andy right here!!!

Earl, if you ever see me do this. SHOOT ME!!!!!

I think there may be more material in the hat than the dress.

Mansquito! Mansquito!

Ah, the Skipper and his little buddy. Wait a minute!!

Ah, the Skipper and his little buddy!! MMMMM frothy buddy.

It's all cute until someone becomes a Level 3 sex offender.

Don't ask this guy to play the bagpipes, please.

"Alright, I'm looking for a Farticus, do we ha.. who wrote this!!!!"

Who ya gonna call? If you're smart, not this guy.

Have a Happy, and safe, Halloween.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

War of the Worlds - The Expurgated Version

A few days from now, October 30, 2005-- (Voice by Orson Welles)

As I sit here at my desk, sipping a mai tai and looking out into the celestial ether, it occurs to me that I am drunker than Foster Brooks at Oktoberfest. It also occurs to me that the large red star in the night, winking like Shelly Winters after a bottle of merlot, is Mars, approaching its bi-point16-annual rendezvous with our fragile world. It looks like a giant, glow-in-the-dark marble.

I stare solemnly into the great crimson globe, mesmerized by its astral pulse and its vague resemblance to Sammy Davis Jr.'s glass eye. So distracted am I by the scarlet sphere that the room becomes deathly silent, as still as an auditorium of Mormons after a Buddy Hackett one-liner. After several moments, I am awakened from my Mai-rtian reverie by the umbrella in my drink, poking me in the eye as I absentmindedly sip the sweet nectar of curacao, lime, rock sugar, and rum. I close the tiny umbrella and return it to the umbrella stand that is my drink.

I squint again at the ruby orb. Is it me, or has it grown larger than ever before? It seems to be pushing its way closer, as relentless as Ben Affleck trying to marry a celebrity with the name "Jennifer". It seems to be growing menacingly over the city lights, but it isn't expanding. Rather, it's moving ever nearer. Like a Mack truck with brake failure in San Francisco, it's careening now, careening through the inky night towards us. Drawn as though the Earth were its opposite pole, it approaches, disasterously pulled upon our world with the tragic inevitability of the Titanic and the iceberg, or Drew Barrymore and Tom Green.

From the now blood red Martian terrene there suddenly comes a vast flock of hideous nightwings. Like shadowy birds of prey they descend upon the frail horizon. Their lights like Jack Palance's eyes, brooding and tinged with a kind of serene, yet potentially homicidal madness, gaze down upon the cities. Their raptor wings stretch out across the firmament, blocking out all light except the ever more vast and florid planet in the air and the inobscurable Cracker Barrel sign just off the highway.

With a awful cry that reminds me of Ashley Simpson's performance at the Super Bowl, flame reaches out from the gaping, Mick Jagger-like maw of these terrible Batman Begins lookalikes. It tears through the towns and metropolises, faster than a Harry Potter rumour, more vicious and irrational than a Huffington Post blogger. Smoke, like from a Kingsford grill-off, rises from the dwellings. People stagger from wreckage as if from a Michael Bolton concert, begging for swift death.

I move away from the window. I knew something like this would happen. All the signs were there. Chicago. Houston. The World Series. The world had to be near its end.

Suddenly, the air was filled with sounds of horrible alien gasping and wheezing, like a William Shatner singing Schoenberg. With spastic lurches the demon birds of Mars descended to ground, dropping in a William Hung-like dance, as if lemmings off a drawbridge. Mars receded into its normal elliptical path, as powerless now as Ruth Bader Ginsburg in a Hollywood catfight.

I turn on the radio and the airwaves are turgid with the news. The Martians were defeated because they could not handle the simplest of Earth's inhabitants. For all their death rays, anti-gravity systems, comfortable polyester knitwear, and Onstar service, they were unable to prepare themselves for something every Earthling and most Californians take for granted. They had perished at the hands of the glazed donut.

The entire invasion fleet, drawn to worldwide Krispy Kreme franchises like Beyonce to paparazzi, had choked to death on glaze sugar. Unlike the inhabitants of our world, who have built up a tolerance to this incredibly toxic substance over a period of millions of years, via the bear claw, the danish, the eclair, the cinnamon roll, and various strudles, the Martians were completely unprepared for the devastating effects massive amounts of sugar can have on one's nervous system. Their giant Martian brains exploded like 2-liters of soda on a Death Valley summer's day.

The Earth seems safe again now. Whipperwills sing again. Flowers bloom in the sunlight. Hillary Duff and Lindsay Lohan reconcile. Regis Philbin's agitation seems comic once more. Joe Biden resumes another weak bid for the Presidency. Children laugh and point. The sun rises.

Somewhere, in the distance, I can hear Homer Simpson shouting "In your face, alien scum!" Do your dance, Homer. Do your dance.

Bond, Jane Bond

I think they should have hired Yvonne Craig (Batgirl from the 60's Batman series) to play Bond, at least she's more of a man than the current choice. Daniel Craig in an interview with OK! magazine, obviously another group of dimwits, has revealed that he hates guns and obviously doesn't have any idea what a martini is. Craig admits, "I hate handguns. Handguns are used to shoot people and as long as they are around, people will shoot each other." Now, we here at DOUI in no way want to glorify guns and violence but, YOU'RE GOING TO BE BOND MAN, WAKE UP!!! Even if you don't like handguns, just don't bring it up or put the question off. This would be like Sean Connery saying he was lukewarm about women or that he fancied wearing the occasional brassiere.

Later in the interview, Craig says he likes his martinis "straight up". I'm not a alcoholic beverage expert but I can't even understand what he means. From what I'm told, a martini is usually made up of two things, gin (or vodka in Bond's case) and vermouth. Where is the "straight up" there? He doesn't add the vermouth? That's just called "vodka" for your information Daniel. When I first heard that the guy was going to be Bond I didn't know it was going to be a kinder, gentler Bond. We thought George Lazenby was a mistake, just imagine what a Bond who hates guns and can't concoct a martini would be like. (begin wavy dream lines)

Casino Royale

James Bond - Daniel Craig
Agent Q - John Cleese

Int. MI-6 Q Branch Day

Q: Ah James, good to see you again.

Bond: Q, always a pleasure. What have you got for me?

Q: (lifting a flower out of a vase) There you go 007.

Bond: (examining flower) What is it Q? Does it explode or shoot a steam of acid?

Q: No James, it's a flower. You smell it...(quietly to himself) or you stick it in a gun barrel ya pansy.

Bond: Thanks Q, this should come in handy. What else do you have?

Q: Well James we've updated your car to fit the specifications you asked for. Here it is, (painfully) your VW Bug.

Bond: Oooo, you got powder blue.

(Q rubs his eyes and looks like someone shot his dog)

Q: Yes, and we made sure it had restraints for your poodle.

Bond: Oh, Mr. Twinkles will love it so.

Q: (mockingly as only Cleese can) Oh goody!
Well James before you go would you like a drink?

Bond: Q, you're a man after my own heart.

(Bond drinks the martini and spits it out)

Bond: You know I don't like my martinis stirred Q. Now, please make me one straight up.

Q: (grabbing Bond by the shoulders and kneeing him in the groin) WHAT DOES THAT MEAN!!! WHAT DOES THAT MEAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can see failure written all over the new Bond. Do you think they can bring back George?

Just passing through...

and I saw Earl's post concerning the screwball "film experts" list. I read the article and they had this to say concerning Goodfellas:

The 1990 film, based on the exploits of real life gangster Henry Hill, which starred Ray Liotta, Robert de Niro and Joe Pesci who won an Academy Award for his performance was No. 1 in a "Total Film" magazine poll published Monday.

"Goodfellas has it all story, dialogue, performances, technique," the magazine said.

Now, taking these attributes and applying them to most movies can lead us to only one conclusion; 57.8% of the movies ever made would fit their profile for the greatest movie ever made. Porky's might be up for the award or even The Brain that Wouldn't Die. That said I bring you the 10 Greatest Movies Ever, using this formula.

10. The aforementioned Brain that Wouldn't Die.
9. Santa Claus Conquers the Martians
8. The Amazing Colossal Man
7. Bride of the Monster
6. Eegah
5. Mitchell
4. The Beast of Yucca Flats - Tor Johnson in a tour de force performance.
3. Parts (The Clonus Horror)
2. Prince of Space - can anyone forget Crank-whore, I mean Krankor.
1. Manos, the Hands of Fate - Torgo's still freakin' me out.

There you have it, the 10 Greatest Movies of all Time, and also my favorite MST3K episodes of all time. What was the name of that magazine again?

Monday, October 24, 2005

Total Absurdity...One Magazine's Attempt to Discredit Themselves in a Single Swoop.

The British film magazine Total Film has decided to go totally barmy by releasing their list of the Top 100 films of all time. Judging from the list, it was assembled by dead woodpeckers whose bodies were randomly thrown at open copies of Leonard Maltin's Movie and Video Guide, like so many darts in a seedy pub.

According to the dead woodpeckers, the greatest film of all time is... GoodFellas.

Now that you've regained consciousness, allow me to repeat that. According to the public school geek club masquerading as sophisticated film writers at Total Film, Martin Scorcese's GoodFellas is the greatest film in the history of the world.

Not Citizen Kane (although it did make the list or there would have been violence), not La Grande Illusion, not The 400 Blows, not Seven Samurai, not La Strada, not L'Avventura, not Andrei Rublev, not Aguirre der Zorn Gottes, not Rashomon, not The Passion of Joan of Arc, not La Terra Trema, not Psycho, not Les Enfants du paradis, not The Bicycle Thief, not Potemkin, not Earth, not The Third Man, not The Seventh Seal, ...I can see you've passed out again. I'll wait for you.

...not The Searchers, not It's A Wonderful Life, not Sunset Boulevard, not Raging Bull, not The Shop on Main Street, not Pather Panchali, not The General, not Greed, not Rules of the Game, not L'Atalante, not Ugetsu Monogatari, not Ashes and Diamonds, not...you can see where I'm going with this by now, yes?

Here are some other films on the top 10 of all time list:

3. Jaws
4. Fight Club
8. The Empire Strikes Back

Fight Club? Fight Club?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! (Please consider this sequence of question marks and exclamation points to be an infinite series.) Fight Club wasn't even the best movie of the year in which it came out. If I'm not mistaken, there are Pauly Shore films that can hold their ground with Fight Club.

All right, I completely overreached there on the Pauly Shore films, but the rest of my arguement is completely sound. You can see what a tizzy this whole thing has me in. A list of the top 10 films of all time with Fight Club in it, much less at #4, is not only a list never to be taken seriously; it is a list to be rhetorically stomped upon the way you would stomp upon a venomous spider had it chanced to taken up residence in your loo. After which, you would blow up the tiny, squashed carcass with napalm and bury it in a dung pile. The list, I mean, not the spider.

Who are the minds, juvenile and drug-addled as they seem to be, who came up with this list? What other lists could these twits be producing? (Cut to over-produced dream sequence with special effects by the people who brought you Robot Monster, probably #89 on Total Film's list, based on their current form:)

**********

Total Film's Top 10 actors of all time:

1. Victor Mature
2. Gene Rayburn
3. Lassie (Hey, he was a boy but he portrayed a girl, and much more convincingly than Dustin Hoffman did in Tootsie!)
4. Laurence Olivier (The publisher made us put him on the list.)
5. Buddy Hackett
6. Gurn Blanston
7. Toshiro Mifune (We don't know what he was in, but it does make us sound knowledgable, doesn't it? Was it a Godzilla pic?)
8. Tom Arnold
9. Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger
10. Arnold the Pig (He just beat out Arnold from Happy Days.)