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BO, FETCH ME ANOTHER TOP TEN LIST! or BO, FETCH ME ANOTHER
JAR!
How many more times am I going to have to tell you assholes? Poor
White Trash Part II is the greatest motion picture of all
time. How many, huh? It chaps my ass that I even have to dredge
this up again. I reiterate: Goddammit, Poor White Trash Part
II is the greatest film of all time. Disagree? Let me drop
you fart catchers into two distinct, and equally pathetic, categories
(with an ergo or two thrown in for good measure):
Ahem, "real" film critics. You know who you are. Unless,
itıs the latest studio-based homo-erotic rip-off of Spartacus
or coma-inducing foreign gab-fest, with their easy-quote press
books in your Palmolive hands, you guys wouldnıt know what to
make of a film, ANY film. You glamour-chuffers know who you are.
Ergo Roger Ebert, who should stayed in the gutter with RM where
he belongs (then he might still command my highly coveted respect).
Flashback: Sundance O97. My film, 100 Proof (available
on VHS and DVD from Water Bearer Films) is premiering to literally
tens of moviegoers, as most idiots choose such independent and
edgy fare as Love Jones. Ebert no-shows his own cheaply
catered book signing, so I missed him there and was too late for
the grub. Hopped up on nothing but free Starbucks for days on
end, I corner his ass on a side street of Park City. "So
what did you think of Lost Highway?" I say. Somewhat
taken aback that I don't approach him with the reverence he feels
he deserves, "Well, I, uh-" "IT DOESNıT MATTER
WHAT YOU THINK," I spit back in his face. "Gene Ross!
The greatest character actor of all time. Odie Pickett from Poor
White Trash Part II, the greatest film of all time."
"Poor what what?" our cherubic critic responds, somewhat
frightened by my caffeine induced diatribe. "You gotta admit,
Rog, Lynch could bore the balls off a pool table but give him
props for getting Odie Pickett up there on the big screen once
again, even if most viewers were asleep by the time he showed
up." "Uh, if you'll ex-" Roger looks around for
someone to drag one of us away, preferably me. "And while
Iıve got you here, how many more middle-of-the-road, say-nothing
reviews can you shit out?" Silence. "And, what the fuck
is your problem with I Spit on your Gr-." As Eggbertıs
luck would have it, my wife reminds me that Iım late for an appointment
to beat the living shit out of the useless twit who calls himself
a publicist from Baker, Winona and Ryder. (Hey, thanks for that
Variety review...SIX GODDAMNED WEEKS AFTER THE FESTIVAL!)
Whew.
Fuuuuuck you, legitimate film critics. Keep sending your resumes
to EW and hoping CNN will get you out of the pathetic
newspaper office that has the become the womb you wish you could
crawl back into. Really. Fuck you.
Pathetic category number two:
The Internet Film Critic (an oxymoron if there ever was one,
as you purple helmet-buffers never leave your goddamned computer
screens). My disdain for you is only slightly ahead of what little
sympathy I can muster. Keep hoping that the legit film critics
move into development positions in the studio system, so you too
can be legit or, worse, keep tossing-off to your reprint Plan
9 From Outer Space poster in hopes that your senseless and
self-absorbed, tongue-in-cheek "Cult" reviews will garner
you a few "hits" on your retardoSite, a St. Martin's
book deal, a girlfriend without an air pump or, dream of dreams,
a date with Michael Medved.
Internet film critics: My Fuck You is the best lay youıll ever
have. Poor White Trash Part II is the greatest film of
all time.
Next Rant: Donıt Look in the Basement is the second greatest
film of all Time
Future Rants: ? John Waters is gay? Where the hell have I been?
Dawn of the Dead: I smell an allegory aka Mall Madness.
Sam Raimiıs Crime Wave: Oh, I get it. It was supposed
to be crappy.
ream george's arsss!
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