I Saw LAND OF THE DEAD Before You!

...and it was rad, but when there's zombies right there on the movie poster you don't need me to tell you that. Reviewing this movie would be like using 1,000 words to convince you that Rebecca Rojimn looks better without clothes than with, when all you really need to make that point is a finger to point at the screen when X-Men is on. Oh no, I'm not here to talk about the movie...I'm here to talk about one of the rarest and most celebrated events that one should ever hope to be blessed enough to attend.

The free movie preview.

You know what I'm talking about if you've ever been the 12th caller to your local pop station. Radio stations give away free tickets to advanced media screenings of upcoming films. Since my acting teacher is part of the above-mentioned media, he gets these free tickets to every movie, and we've worked out a deal--he keeps the ones for the movies that have talking, I get them for the ones that have head explosions.

You can't bring cameras into the theatre, and the lack of pictures really takes away from this article, but let me try to paint the picture for you. Normally, when you go to the theatre, you pick what you're going to see, but when you have a free ticket, you're going to see whatever the hell that movie is, whether it's your normal cup of tea or not. I don't know who was giving out these free movie passes to the public, but I'm pretty sure it was the same guys who cast the group of friends in Afterschool Specials. There were people of all shapes, sizes, ethnicities, and ages there--old white men and little mexican babies--but dispite thier gender differences, they were all tied together by one common bond: none of them had ever seen a horror movie. Do you think the ninety-year-old Turkish sultan behind me knows which Friday The 13th movie Kevin Bacon was in? He needed a team of translators just to order the popcorn. There was one woman there who we thought was just getting into the spirit of things by dressing up like a zombie, a la Star Wars premiers. However, as she got closer, we noticed that she was just a normal person who was about 107 years old. We kept a close watch on our brains regardless.

The middle row of the theatre was plastered with "reserved for media" signs, and since Homemade Fireworks is a Web site I figured they probably meant "me." Since the majority of the tickets were given out by radio stations there was this radio DJ there , and I'm convinced that his sole purpose was to make sure everyone in the theatre hated him in as less time as possible. I have no idea why and I'm not making this up, but for some reason the radio DJ was dressed as Indiana Jones...but since he was about 50 pounds overweight he looked more like the boulder that chased him in Raiders. I was seriously thinking about yelling out some Indy lines at him when he got on the mic, until I remembered that the person in front of me in line wasn't dressed up and still looked exactly like Redd Fox, meaning Indy was the most normal person there. Now I'm not saying Redd Fox is a bad looking man, but I should probably mention that the person in front of me in line was a white woman.

Land was no original Dawn, but it was pretty damn sweet nonetheless. I'd make a side-by-side comparison of it to the recent Dawn remake if the recent Dawn remake would ever come up from sucking my wang. Until that day happens, and trust me, I don't see it happening any time in the near future, let me leave you with this...it doesn't matter what movie you're seeing, if you're seeing it at a free movie preview, the ambiance alone adds at least a star and a half. And it doesn't matter what mall parking lot carnival you've won a goldfish at, you'd probalby catch less diseases making out with the carnie that gave it to you than from sharing an armrest with someone at the free movie preview.

Excluding me, of course.

The Sidewalk Art of the Underprivileged

Sometimes, when the comedy is elusive and the jokes just aren’t flowing, inspiration must be sought. When I’m in this situation I don’t pussyfoot. I turn straight to the poor. Poor people are comedy gold. Bring poor children into the picture, and Dave Chapelle better think about adding a few banana-peel slips to his Rick James shit if he wants to go toe to toe. TV’s Bill Cosby was right—kids DO say the darndest things! They draw some pretty hilarious shit too. When they haven’t ingested anything besides Food Lion store-brand soft drinks and second-hand smoke for the last few months, things go from hilarious “ha-ha” to the kind of hilarious that causes your mom to pull you aside and remind you that it’s not polite to stare. Check this out, bitches:




From a safe distance this playful little pavement mural looks like a whimsical collection of mirth and merriment from the magical mind of a child, but while the sidewalk art’s tractor beam of insanity slowly draws you in, you come to a frightening realization as you approach: “That’s no moon. Its a space station.” Let’s take a closer look at some sidewalk chalk art from the hands and minds of the children living at Charlotte’s most prominently underprivileged apartment complex. Please note that in the above sentence, the term “Charlotte’s most prominently underprivileged” can be interchanged with “my.”






Wow. I’ve always thought that kids’ drawings were reserved for their favoritest things ever, like dinosaurs or lightsaber battles. I don’t remember exactly what I was drawing on my Trapper Keepers in the back row during social studies, but I guarantee it wasn’t coupons.

You know you’re the head of a broke-ass household when your kid is so into discounts that he fantasizes about them in his chalk art. Don’t get me wrong, I went batshit crazy when Harris Teeter knocked their PBR tallboys down to 89 cents, but I didn’t come home and write about it on the pavement. Shit, I didn’t even draw a picture of Katie Holmes’ tits on my driveway after I saw The Gift, much less the fifty cents I saved by buying the large popcorn and the drink together.





Considering that the word “discount” is celebrated three inches to her left, I’ve decided that the picture of the girl crying her eyes out is our artist’s self-portrait. Or, it’s very possible that the artist is from the richest family ever, and her bedroom just happens to be right beneath my bathroom. Either way would explain the crying.





The.

Well said, Corky.





Look—kids don’t just write the word “Anis” in the parking lot. They just don’t. I don’t care if this kid’s mom and dad are both the world’s leading butt surgeons, this is just not acceptable.

Right now you are reading an article written by a guy who lives at an apartment complex where the word “anis” is prominently written in a parking space. And it never fails—that space is always the only one that’s ever free. Whether I’m coming home or going out, I always seem to get stuck with it. Motherfucker, I pull in and out of the “Anis space” so many times a day that by definition I could probably accurately be called homosexual.

In all seriousness, you don’t have to be Indiana Jones to see the hidden message here. Discount…picture of a girl crying…followed by the words “the anis. Ahhh!!!” Looking back, I probably should’ve phoned Social Services after viewing this sidewalk art. There’s more than enough evidence in it to get a conviction. Instead, I stood around and laughed about how that thing towards the top of the third picture down totally looks like a penis.