Thursday, July 28, 2005

I Like Two People From Illinois.

As an upstanding citizen, I am admitting to a journalistic mistake in my last entry. I incorrectly stated that Abbi hailed from Ohio when she actually came from Illinois. I have changed the misinformation. In my defense, I think that whole fucking area is pretty much the same all the way to the Rockies, so the boo-boo was bound to happen sooner or later. And of course, as Abbi mentioned, Illinois is the home of Badass Clintonista of my Heart. Swoon.

To make up for my transgression, and because my friends are horrid and lack the maturity to actually blog, Abbi has been invited as a correspondant. This immediately makes Weenie Enema higher quality, though still reeking of profanity-laced wonderment.

Now, I am NOT pleased that the New York Post, the singularly greatest piece of orgasmic journalism, was unfairly disparaged in the previous entry. To substantiate my point, I give you a select group of Post covers:

So so true. The French are good for absolutely nothing but bulldogs and crepes.

It evokes so many emotions, mainly the ones concerning chortling and snickering.

I wish they still had Alexander Hamilton on their cover. That's really my only beef.
As an aside, how HOT is Tom Brokaw?

I have apparently developed a reputation of starting countdowns and not finishing them. This is heinously untrue. Announcing the Best Fucking Movies. Ever.

10. Starship Troopers

It has horrid dialogue. Denise Richards never learned how to act. Casper Van Dien's jaw takes up the whole screen, though it is chiseled incredibleness. The plot is cheesier than Fishies. And yet. There are at least 12,000 bug things that explode with green shit exploding out of their corpses. Doogie Howser turns into a Nazi. It's so much better than the book, though I am the only person I know that thinks that. Legitimately the most fun you will ever have watching a movie. Oh, and some guy gets his brains sucked out. Literally.

Bug plasma!

Denise Richards + automatic weapon = green shit coming out of bugs.

9. On the Waterfront

Marlon is really hot when he plays adulterous Polish wife beaters. He's even hotter when he pretends to be a former boxer that clicks beer mugs with Eva Marie-Saint and says, "Dink." I'm not going to mention the Contender speech. It rules, everyone knows that. And it's the only time I can think of where you can legitmately say that Rod Steiger is hot. Well, duh. He's supposed to be related to Marlon. And there are pigeons! Oodles of them! <3

What a sweetie bojangle. If he was canine-like, he would be a pug, no question.

How dumb do you have to be to point ANYTHING at Marlon Brando?

Streetcar could have been on the list, it's equally as badass. However, I felt that there could only be one Marlon movie here, as it would just get redundant. Same thing with the Arnold movies. I could have listed 4 or 5 Arnold pictures, but I'm being courteous.

8. To Kill A Mockingbird

God. Damn. I hate Southern accents, I really do. I think they subtract 20 or 30 points off your IQ. The one exception is this movie. It's apparently okay if you're six and living in a pastoral Alabama town. Gregory Peck is the only person I have ever seen with the ability to make you want to jump him and make him adopt you simultaneously. Most importantly, this is the ONLY only ONLY movie where Robert Duvall is hot. I think Boo Radley is supposed to be disabled, but Robert makes him sexy.

I just passed out. Boo!

This is a cat named Boo Radley. OH MY GOD. Do you remember in The Babysitters Club that Watson Brewer had that fucking psycho cat named Boo-boo? Did I manage to have the word 'boo-boo' in this entry twice under entirely different circumstances? I rule.
7. A Beautiful Mind

Russell Crowe is incredible. He may indeed be deranged/angry/cunty when the camera turns off, but when that bitch is on dot dot dot. Gladiator could have made it on here, except that Russell doesn't trim his armpit hair and it looks like there are squirrel tails under his arms.

There will literally never be another moment in time where math will turn me on.

He makes my heart melt. I pledge undying allegience to the Aussie of my Inner Crevices.

6. The Bodyguard

Fuck you all. This thing is amazing and I could watch it forever and a day. Best Kevin Costner movie, although Waterworld puts up a fight. Yeah, Whitney's playing herself, but she does it so well. I saw this when I was seven in theaters, and I turned to my dad and asked what ejaculation meant. It was a turning point in my life.

...Is his penis on fire? Why isn't he upset? I don't understand. Frown.

I wouldn't sleep with him, but I would not opposed to him protecting me with his life.

5. In the Bedroom

I'm baffled why nobody has heard of this. It's so fucking intense. I can't actually say anything about the plot except that Sissy Spacek bitch slaps Marisa Tomei. I don't know what it is about movies that take place in Maine, but they basically all rock. Except for the weird Stephen King adaptations. Shiver.

Nick Stahl went from The Man Without A Face to The Man who Got his Yellow Testicles Ripped off in Sin City to The Man Who Diddles Marisa Tomei's Bread Box. Kudos.

I heart Tom Wilkinson. Except when he's trying to rape Scarlet Johansson.

4. My Girl

We've broken into the Top 4, which means that the tearjerkers are coming up in force. Although I cried during...all of the other movies except for On the Waterfront. Hmm. This may be too much of a trend to ignore. Anyway, Macauley Culkin has forever ruined bee hives and mood rings for me, and Dan Ackroyd delivers the line of his career: "...There were just too many of them." God. I need to finish this before I start wailing.

"Will you think of me? You know, if you don't get to marry Mr. Bixler."
I'm a mess.

3. Last of the Mohicans

Quality. This movie has everything you could ask for: Yanni music, Daniel Day-Lewis in heat, historical fiction and tomahawks everywhere. Find me a more gorgeous movie. I dare you. And wouldn't you know it - the French end up fucking shit up. In a bad way.

Dov'e the Indians who are trying to gut us?

I think Madeline Stowe found them.
So good. I knew this girl who's a total cunt who said it's violent. She doesn't get "it."

2. Terminator 2: Judgement Day

To explain why my writing has deteriorated throughout this countdown, I offer you a story. I have a Stud Notebook. Malsta Coppenrath put in two studs. One was a guy from the band Thursday, the other was John Cusack. The entry for the guy from Thursday was coherent and well-written. The one for Mr. Cusack deteriorated rapidly after two lines and just involved her writing "Fuck me, John" over and over again. Love makes writers illiterate. Or something.
Badass. noun. state of being. terminator 2.
There is absolutely nothing bad about this movie. Arnold's lacking acting skills find their niche in an emotionally devoid robot. The script is incredible, and if anyone tells you that it's an action film, they deserve to be strung and quartered. This is a drama about humanity. Or lack thereof. Best movie ever. Wait, I thought there was one more spot left? Oh, indeed there is. However, that movie is about the senses, this is rational love and respect. Somebody needs to get me the DVD. My video is warped from repeated playings since 1991.

"I am a cyborg. Living tissue over metal endoskeleton."

"I know now why you cry, but it is something that I can never do."
Sigh of happiness.

1. Beaches

If there was any doubt that I am the most predictable thing this side of Roseanne, this should end the speculation. If you took the tears I have shed as a direct result of this movie, you would have 53 gallons. My best friend in high school looked exactly like the girl who ends up dying, so there's probably some intense emotional shizzle behind this choice, but it doesn't take away from the fact that this is the only movie that I can watch with Bette Midler.

Laugh now, you're going to get cardio myopathy, mother fucker.

Proving to EEG that there’s more in Illinois than Hillary Clinton’s hometown

We also have bar fights and our own white trash version of Fight Club. (Oh wait, Fight Club was white trash.) Ok, so we don’t have this in Illinois, but I speak for the Midwest in general. (But I’m not going to talk about the hot guy from the Cleveland Indians.)

I know EEG will remain forever faithful to her trashy Post, so I'm taking this opportunity to point out this article from the Times about the popularity of cage fighting in the Midwest. Really, you have to read the entire thing to get the true picture Michael Wilson is trying to paint of the Midwest. A guy named Chris is the promoter of this "human cockfighting" event, and Wilson is quick to point out that Chris' "sister, in a lacy halter...walks the cage between rounds..." I see those eyebrows raised in incestuous wonderment.

And how did this all start? “’My goal that night was to beat up the biggest tourist I could find,’ said Nate Hawn.” And of course, as all reality TV show stars and Lindsay Lohan already know, it didn’t matter if Nate had any talent. Somebody said to him “You’re exactly what we’re looking for.”

Vernon Brown from Sioux Falls City seems to have missed the Fight Club memo. "'I always say, "Where's the rule book?" They keep giving me a sheet printed off the Internet that says no eye-gouging, no fishhooks, no fingers in bodily orifices.'" Everyone, together now, The first rule of Fight Club is...

In conclusion, I have this to say: In a vast land of cornfields, cow, pigs, poop, and Land of Lincoln license plates, for Illinois and Midwest natives, getting sweaty and bruised and even bloody using various ancient East Asian techniques doesn't sound so bad. But really, no fingers in bodily orifices? Why bother?

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

If Helen Keller Was Souless.

Before I forget, I would like to extend my gratitude, eternal thanks, et cetera to Abbi Leman, who, as far as I know, is the first person ever to link to Weenie Enema on her blog. I have since added her blog to my list of amazing sites/blogs, and I feel everyone should check it out. As she is considered my superior, she undoubtedly possesses better writing skills, especially in the technical arena, and anyone who successfully escapes from Illinois to the middle of drag queen central deserves mad props. I am done with my plug.

I'm fully aware that I will receive death threats and heaping mounds of fecal matter at my door for disparaging this, but this kid is blind and plays video games.
Let it be known that I am not anti-blind people. I heart blind people, and if you have a blind kid like Brice who manages to excel at videogames and subsequently delivers crushing ego blasters and sexual inadequacy issues to weirdo geek people, more power to them. However, this is fucking ridiculous on a number of levels.
Number one, what parent in their right mind gives their blind child a VIDEO GAME SYSTEM. From what I gather, he received one at the age of seven, ruined a whole bunch of game controllers in fits of rage, and then after 15 years was good enough to beat people that could actually see the game. Who the hell thinks that's a good idea? "Oh, my child is close to clinically depressed because he can't do anything that other children his age can do. Lets taunt his condition by giving him a game that relies on SIGHT." Baffling.

At least Stevie does something constructive.
Number two, once Brice, who understandably has anger management issues from not being able to see Sub-Zero punching the shit out of him, started ruining his game controllers, wouldn't that be a huge clue that maybe video games and blind people don't mix? Furthermore, it appears that Brice's recipe for success is memorizing fight combinations and getting guidance from what the characters are saying to each other, which means that he would never be able to play actual GOOD video games with plots, like Super Mario Brothers. Sorry Brice, the mushroom people do not make noises as they plow into the defenseless mustachioed overall man.

Lastly, you'd think the one perk to having a blind child would be that he wouldn't be spending hours in front of the television. And yet, Brice must sit in front of that thing constantly, albeit not actually looking at the screen. There are so many other stories that are significantly better than this one:
E. E. Grimshaw Memorizes All 100 Senators in History Class with Teacher That Looks Like Neckless Dick Cheney.

E. E. Grimshaw Sees Chocolate French Bulldog, Follows It for 19 Blocks.

E. E. Grimshaw Tried To Buy Paul Anka Cover Song Album, But Found It Overpriced.

If given a chance, these stories could take the world by storm - and then some. Brice obviously should get the Braille version of "East of Eden." That book is badass.

Tomorrow will be the list of the 10 best movies of all time. The top pick will obviously be no surprise, as it involves the beach. Dun dun dun.

I've said too much.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Chelsea Clinton: The Love Child of Mr. Ed.

I believe one of the very first posts on this blog dealt with my anger that the Ed Klein book claimed that Hillary became pregnant with Chelsea because Bill raped her. I was understandably miffed, as Hillary and I are soulmates and I feel her pain when such a rumor comes out. When I told one of my comrades about this, the anonymous chum gave me a bemused smile and said, "Maybe she was raped by a horse." Easily one of the bitchiest and most amusing things I have heard in the last three months or so. The reason I bring up this moldy news topic is because Chelsea has appeared in the news once again. Apparently a Kenyan official believes she is worth approximately 40 goats and 20 head of cattle, and has reportedly offered said amount of livestock to Bill for her hand in marriage. Several things about this story perturb me (in a good way).
Number one: Why isn't this getting ANY coverage?
That fucking blond girl that got it up the pooper in Aruba is STILL in the news, even though her corpse has probably been eaten by manatees by now. Everyone in the goat story is alive and available for comments.
Number two: Why hasn't anyone gotten ANYBODY'S opinion on this?
All we have here is the crazy Kenyan guy's story. I personally would LOVE to know what Chelsea thinks about her value in terms of animals. Given that I am temporarily unknown to the greater public, I would still be insulted if an African official offered less than an army of bovines for my hand in marriage. In fact, I feel I am worth however many cows I have personally eaten at Burger King...which would undoubtedly be the said bovine army. Better yet, what does Ian Klaus think about this? If my girlfriend was being publicly courted, I'd probably be immature enough to release a bitchy statement about how I went to Stanford and I could fucking buy a country of cows for Chelsea. But no. This story has the potential to be AMAZING and no one is doing anything about it. Even Hillary, who has to filter out every syllable that comes out of her mouth so she doesn't fuck up her Presidential destiny could release a politically correct statement about this.

"Bill and I are extremely touched that an unknown African official has taken a sexual interest in our only daughter. Unfortunately, we promised Sidney Poitier that he would be the only gentleman of African descent allowed near our child. But...thanks!"
I would kill off a species to prove my love for that woman.

A clinically insane assistant editor at the Wall Street Transcript has insisted I finish that dumb slash pointless soundtrack countdown. I am not pleased about this, but maybe if I do she will buy me those strawberry Mentos thingies. I rather enjoy their existence.
Just as an aside, if you go to the official Web site for Mentos, they have a pimped-out bird talking ghetto. I do not speak the language of the streets, so I'm baffled as to what Mentos is trying to get me to do. After clicking random buttons, I was directed to wht appears to be an assortment of pseudo rap albums by birds. If anyone can figure out what this site's purpose is for, I'd love to hear it.
So grudgingly we go back to the countdown.
7. Crybaby

Best John Waters movie ever. Best Johnny Depp movie in terms of hotness defined. Best Ricki Lake movie ever. This entire fucking thing is a list of bests. The soundtrack is almost irrelevent, but it's incredible rockabilly badassness. There is icing on this cinematic cake in the form of one of the ugliest human beings to ever be put in front of a camera:
Fuck. There are no pictures of this thing. It ruins my entire premise. Rest assured, she looks like an ugly stick got stuck on her. Iggy Pop has a scene where he's naked in a tin washbasin. It would be hot if...he was hot.

That took it out of me. I am quitting for the day before I have nightmares about Mentos birds killing me with their bling.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Terri Schiavo Update: Still Dead

I swore on Bette Midler's life that I would continue my soundtrack countdown today, rather than drown in a self-imposed exile of immaturity over the fact that nobody but me ever contributes to this technological haven of incredibleness. no matter.
6. All Dogs Go to Heaven.

Haha, I found a picture of a Wendy's toy from 1989. <3.
This movie had at least one astounding song that the orphan sings in an attic, but I haven't seen this masterpiece in years. I do remember though that I was reminded of that amazing scene in the end when Itchy leads a pack of wild dogs down the streets of New Orleans when I was at the dog run and this pug named Sir Henry Piglet III started a mass canine revolt. I thought it was the greatest thing I had ever seen until I saw Mr. 50 Cent in a Burger King. Think about that for a moment, if you will:

oops. wait.

His boobs look fake.
I'm sorry, I'm venting about the A cup and the B cup again. Meh. But he's dumb as bricks, there's really no denying that.
He was in this:

I was really close to putting a picture of Lil Kim there, but I've already surpassed my tasteless quota for the day. Oooh yeah. The list.
7. Jurassic Park

There are three things going for this movie. One of them is the John Williams score with "Journey to the Island," which I tried to convince the scrawny fuckstick that manned the PA system in high school to play when I came up to bat, but since he was a fuckstick I was stuck with the Baha Men. Number two is Joe Mazzello, the subtle sex symbol in this movie.

Fucking find me someone that could look that hot after being roasted on a high voltage fence. There was legitimately a period of about two months in 1995 where the idea that Joe wasn't going to marry me would leave me in unspeakable depressions. We were meant to be. Then he went to USC, got a Facebook account and WON'T FUCKING FRIEND ME. Hiss. If I wasn't so intent on impregnating myself with his seed, I would forget all about him.
I think he actually got geeky after puberty, so maybe this is for the best.
Number three is that fucking amazing dinosaur that spits ink in Newman's face. I have been trying to find a picture of that thing for months, but to no avail.
The last three soundtracks are irrelevent, for I am exhausted. I had to talk to a realtor who had guano breath today, which always takes the life out of me. Besides, I can't concentrate when I have that hunky sex kitten from Jurassic Park in my head.
Before I go, it's time to honor the only good thing about France: their chocolate bulldogs!

He looks incomplete, like the guy at the end of The Sixth Day. Starring Arnold "Austrian Sex God" Schwarzenegger.

It would be noble if it wasn't so damn bat-like in nature.

As soon as I saw this, this was literally the first thing that popped into my head: "The better to hear you with, my dear."

I swear there used to be a Nickelodeon show with things that looked like that.
Tomorrow we will be discussing the Basenji, Egypt's gift to mankind.