by Guest Judge: Grandma Dynamite, aka Marc Kandel
Nobody Expects the Court of Public Opinon!
Hear ye hear ye- Kourt is now in session. Guest-Judge Dynamite presiding. We will be taking a look today at crimes both serious and, well, trivial- but have you checked out the title of the website yet? On to Justice Dispensation:
Let’s start with the easy targets- Pee, Pee. Peterson and Pelosi- Why? Because that’s the media coverage I have to work with. Minorities who kill minorities just don’t make the front pages in this world of ours. Genocide comes at a distant third. So YOU are what I have to pour my frustrations on.
CASE 1: So you mean I can't have my cake and mutilate it too?
THE DEFENDANTS: Scott Peterson/Danny Pelosi
THE CRIME: MURDER IN THE FIRST DEGREE
THE EVIDENCE: You've read all about it- Trials are over, evidence is in, sentences handed out- everywhere but at HBS, that is...
Scottie- oh my boy, you are my hero. You prove everything I always knew in my heart about the high school quarterbacks and prom-kings of the world- deep down, you seemingly perfect assholes are lascivious rots on the human race. You don’t treat women right. You don’t have all the answers. You are NOT an example to others. You put on a show for the world and fool the easily duped, but underneath, you’re a leprous, degenerate cancer. Charlatan. Loser. My heart is warmed each night by the failure of your so-called charms.
Danny- would you believe I hate you more? Oh yes my enemy, that’s right. Why? Because you’re the fuck who bragged about it. You’re the fuck who spat out your pride in your actions in your ugly New York Goombah accent. At your core, you’re the school bully that still haunts my dreams. You have reduced a man’s entire life, his accomplishments, his contributions, and his fatherhood, to two things- he cried and begged before he died. He had the inexcusable temerity to ask for his life and weep over all the things he would never be able to do again because of your ambush. Oh, wait, that’s not all- you also managed to cast aspersions on his heterosexuality by questioning his sexual preferences. You misery. You limpdick worm. Peterson is a sociopath, tried and true. That much is clear. Did he do it? Well, the prosecution never actually proved that to my satisfaction, though I was 99% convinced of his culpability from the circumstantial evidence. So he might have a pass on the death penalty in my heart of hearts. You? Nope. No. Negatory. You not only did it, you spouted off about it. You killed somebody and you had to let the world know, just as sure as tough-guys like you have to show off your arm tattoos- that borrowed statement you had to have stenciled on your body to replace the void that is your non-personality. But the ride is over. You will notice the lack of applause, won’t you?
VERDICT: GUILTY AS SIN
SENTENCE: Your sentences have been passed by a jury of your peers in a court of law. But I get mine here and now- the sentence is life- for the both of you. It’s pretty much the sentences you have now (right up until you ride the needle Scotty)- I just don’t want either of you to die, or get shived prematurely. I want the two of you to reflect on your choices and your miserable world-view through the eyes of men getting fucked in the mouth by AIDS-riddled convicts whose only advantage over you is that they’re bigger than you. Lifelong torment dispensed by your fellow bullies- that is the wish and order of this court. Enjoy kids. Open wide. Suppress that gag reflex. Taste the bitter semen of failure. Yum.
ADDENDUM: To the kids in Brooklyn who get shot on the way home from a party or a date, all the wives and girlfriends murdered by their husbands, lovers and ex.’s for no damn good reason, all the NON-pearly toothed, non-photogenic, non-privileged, victimized masses out there that barely rate a paragraph in the NY Post, you have the Kourt’s sympathies. Somebody out there decided that evidently you are not as deserving of the same attention as Mr. and Mrs. Perfect Whitebread Kouple Krimes. It has not gone unnoticed. Rest in peace.
CASE 2: Hmmn, I've got power, a cushy job, political aspirations, connections and a good reputation for getting things done- what am I missing? Oh yes, corruption and scandal!
DEFENDANT: Bernard Kerik- My God- is there a single individual out there that can possess a modicum of power without abusing it?
CRIME: Mob connections, mistresses, misfilings, and misappropriations.
EVIDENCE: Read the papers. Jesus. I might not care so much if it wasn’t the same ol’ story over and over and over- can’t you abuse the public trust in an original fashion? Maybe using taxpayer money/kickbacks to build a private, rooftop mini-golf course for she-male nudists or purchase the oral services of the entire out-of-work female cast from “Cats” in full costume? No? Just the usual extramarital trysts with females attracted to alpha power, omitting info from your paperwork/taxes, and payoffs from Gino? Alright. That’s your prerogative, as Bobby Brown would say.
Now personally, so long as me and mine can come home from a busy day and not get a blackjack to the head or a bullet in the subway, I got no problems with your management. You want to implement a broken windows policy on terrorists, hey, if it keeps my daily dosage of anthrax and fallout down to the FDA recommended servings, you got my vote. Of course, you didn’t exactly elicit my faith when you checked out of your post in Iraq what… four, six months into the job? I’d give you another chance if it was just about your wandering prick. Just don’t use my taxes to get your dick wet at a romantic hideaway- particularly since Judith Regan has more than enough money to go dutch- she should be a bit more of a modern woman. Ask the boss for a raise, if you have rent trouble- don’t go down to Little Italy/Mini Ukraine and bypass New York’s fine, equitable, customer friendly real estate brokerage system. If I have to get financially sodomized for owning my little piece of the world, I expect everyone else to contribute to the kitty.
SENTENCE: Robocop’s prime directives will be branded on your forehead. Serve the Public Trust. Protect the Innocent. Uphold the Law. Shutdown if arrest is attempted on an OCP Managing Director. ‘Kay, scratch the last one- um… Clean your room. Next case.
CASE 3: Ooooh Hoo! Ah got t' pay mah lawyer! CHAMOWAAN!
DEFENDANT: Michael Jackson
CRIME: Selling John Lennon's "Across the Universe" to be used in crap commercials.
EVIDENCE: Jackson owns most of the Beatles Songbooks, having outbid Paul McCartney years ago for the rights and has sold songs like "Revolution" and "Getting Better" for commercial use before.
Oh, don’t worry my peach, my plum. I’m not going after you cuz of the kiddies. Nope, none of that here. This is still America, no matter what most of the Bible-Belt states say. No rape-o labels here- I’m playing this clean. Innocent until proven guilty- That’s what I say. Now my beef with you might seem a tad silly- it won’t feed the hungry in Africa, it won’t free the child labor in deepest darkest China/Korea- its not even gonna give a homeless man a blanket- nope. This is an entertainment website, and by God, my beef with you is pure entertainment. You sold John Lennon’s “Across the Universe” to be used in some fucking commercial to shill some forgettable piece of shit product. You little bastard. That’s right. That’s my problem here. You get a free pass on your alleged kiddie-diddling for the length of this missive. The evidence has not yet become true public domain and proven fact. Nope, you and I got a problem over something else.
You took a beautiful song- one of THE beautiful songs that proves the existence of the divine amongst flawed humanity, a work unshackled by time, by politics, by boundaries and you put it to work to pay legal fees. Do I have proof? Well, okay, I admit, no, I don’t. Maybe this wasn’t part of the music library you outbid Paul McCartney for. Maybe not. But still, can you tell me the name of anyone else who has the rights to the majority of the Beatles songbooks? No? Not even one? Okay. Then I’m calling you out you little bleached prick.
You took a song I respected and put it in the hands of Suits. Of 38-52 year old asswipes who survey the world through a 35th floor window and jut their lips out in a smug, shit-eating grin over the have-nots who suck up their tawdry wares. You little fucking bastard. Now I have to sit in my living room and witness the degradation of a beautiful thing for the betterment of a potbelly, Kenneth Cole-clad piece of shit who thinks his assistant’s opinion rates about one step over the toiling janitor that cleans the urinal he deliberately misses. You little fuck. Until they find the mummified 8-year old covered in dried Jacko you’re safe from the other accusations. But for now, I wish you only the worst for your deliberate destruction of greatness, now made into the standard of a product so forgettable I can’t even quote it here, as all I noticed when the commercial blared into my mind was the song, the innocent, soulful song that did you no wrong, that only existed to bring a touch of beauty into this miserable world, and you couldn’t leave it be.
“B-but… It’s only a cover of the song”, you stammer, you squeal. “Done by some stupid goat-voiced “It” band that didn’t make the cut for all the shitty “I Am Sam” Beatles’ covers. It’s not like its John Lennon singing, it’s not like those commercials using Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith and The Who’s greatest hits, all sung by the original bands.” Your right- the folks who wrote/whored those songs out are still alive- still have control over their properties- and I hate seeing their greatest stuff used for advertising fodder also, but make no mistake- you robbed a grave you tiny plastic lizard.
VERDICT: This court finds you guilty of willful destruction of white magic, of a force of good. Your sentence, until further evidence of your ped-crimes is brought to light by the justice system is thus:
SENTENCE: “Man in the Mirror” rights and songbook will be seized by the Kourt and cast out over the ocean of whores until I can net as much gelt as humanly possible, and then I will allow this once dignified, piece of your soul to be aired in a Gillette commercial. Won’t that be nice? I’m Starting with the Man in the Mirror will now refer to some pasty buzz-cut asswipe with razor burn. That touching, possibly penitent piece of self-introspection will now be a 30 second long money trap. Won’t that be nice? Maybe I’ll go after “Human Nature” next and spill it into a car-insurance ad- you know, some asshole sideswipes some poor bastard’s car and then, not stopping to leave a note, he just drives on, to the tune of DAH dah dah daaaah Human Nature... Let’s see how you feel about your few meager contributions to the human condition being torn down for the sake of someone else’s profit made on baubles that won’t last in the public’s memory for more than two weeks but will stain the meaning of the works for the people who love and need them. You little fuck. DIE DIE DIE.
ADDENDUM: If I’m wrong and this isn’t your doing then I apologize with every fiber of my being. I mean that. Only an asshole doesn’t admit when he’s wrong. But I think this one’s your dirty laundry- that’s what I think. So I’m gonna go out on a limb and call it like I see it. Prove me wrong kiddo. Please. Cuz I don’t think you can. And if it ain’t you it’s someone out there. I hunt you asshole. Justice will be served.
CASE 4: NO. It. Is. Not. Hot.
DEFENDANT: Paris Paris Paris- Paris Hilton.
CRIME: Being a persistently vapid cunt
EVIDENCE: Pick up a newspaper and try NOT to find some. Try not to hear about her for ONE FUCKING DAY. AN HOUR EVEN.
Why on Earth are you in this Kourtroom again? Honestly. What’s the deal? Why are you so relevant that I should waste one moment of the written word, of the attention spans of my fellow bitchslappers to sight such a pathetic target?
You can thank your buddy, Kandy Kane, spineless journalist of the year- Barbara Walters. You see, she focused on you as one of the most fascinating people of 2004 recently. I think she’s a pablum-dispensing piece of crap just like you, but hey, that’s just me. So why do I need to take a shot at you because someone else was handed an assignment sheet to focus on you by their network? Because I am just plain ol’ fashioned tired of being exposed to you ladling out your brand of whore-hip, gleefully pissing away mountains of cash right in front of my face, flouncing around with your publicist, treating the world like its your club and you get to pick and choose who exists, you vacuous placebo of a female. But one can hardly fault you without faulting the multitudes that find you worth emulating or paying attention to- so I’ll go easy:
VERDICT: GUILTY- of buying into your own press.
SENTENCE: You will be strapped into the “Clockwork Orange” apparatus and forced to watch the “South Park” episode that skewers you as a vapid, cum-belching road-whore so beautifully over and over and over again until it gets through to that hardened chewed gum stuck under the picnic table that passes for your mind that you do not matter, you provide no goods, no services, you give nothing back to the world that saw fit to put that silver spoon in your mouth. You have one way out. After nine back-to-back viewings, you have the option of being unstrapped and set free- if you agree to eat your dog alive, right there.
CASE 5: Oh, um, I know its been awhile, but... can I waltz back into your life and take my son away?
DEFENDANT: Billy Crudup
CRIME: the actor’s chutzpah filled request to take his infant son to meet his terminally ill father despite the abandonment of his 7-month pregnant now-ex & mother of his child, Mary Louise-Parker and her great chest, for the express purpose of diddling Claire Danes on a movie set:
EVIDENCE: Boy must be nice to be on top of the world with all that “It” guy status. And sure, you’ve got some fun performances in there. You were serviceable in “Big Fish.” I didn’t really need to see “Almost Famous” when it came out cuz I had an instant dislike for Kate Hudson, and didn’t need to watch rock stars get laid (not a good dating year) so missed ya there. But you’ve had a good run haven’t you? And you’ve gotten your hands on some prime trim by the look of it. Mmmmn. Some Co-Star action- ah, there really is nothing like Co-Star action. You’re there every day with each other, having th’ make-out scenes, working late, gettin’ drinks… Yeh, pretty good setup. And hell, nobody expects it to last, so you can be pretty much free and clear come next film opportunity. Oooh, what’s that? You were with someone else at the time? Oh, another actress. Ooooh. She looks pretty nice too. How did you meet? On a show? Your Co-Star? You don’t say! Really? Knocked her up? You don’t say! Might’ve wanted to think that one through Billy-Boy. Ooooh Waitasec. That would require some sort of script evidently. That is how you do your thinking right? Evidently your dating life is basically your rehearsal schedule. I guess its cheaper than dinner and a movie. Golly you’re charming!
VERDICT: I don’t need to hear anymore. Court finds you GUILTY of abusing your star privileges and abandoning the simple, decent principle of laying in the bed you make- hey, everybody knows you guys get more ass than a merry-go-round horse, and really, that’s all well and good, I’d do the same in your shoes- but Christ, what a fucking slime you are. Now you want to prove to Daddy in his twilight hours that you are capable of spurting children? Got news for ya Bilbo, he knows. Any male with a reasonably functional cock and a willing female partner can do that- just ask this miserably overpopulated world of ours- the real test of a man is sticking around to raise a well-adjusted, decent human being- something your ex may have a bit of a hard time doing when she’s trying to explain the mess you’ve made of her life, and why Auntie Claire always stays in the car and weeps when estranged papa visits to drop off his once a year Christmas present.
SENTENCE: So no, you don’t get to show the kid off. Mary Louise-Parker does the work; she gets to enjoy the spoils. Court forbids visitation and orders the immediate impregnation of Danes by an outside party (oh, heck, I’ll do it), whom you will be shackled to legally and physically. ‘Kay, I’m done with you.
Wow. Long docket indeed. Some quickies then:
CASE 6: Hey look Nicole! I learned how to Edit!
DEFENDANTS: Nicole Kidman and Baz Lurman
THE CRIME: 12 million payday for her 2-minute Chanel Perfume ad-basically a rehash of Moulin Rouge minus the life-sucking hours.
EVIDENCE: Wow. I just saw it Nicole- you look lovely. And the music! The Style! Who knew? Who knew nobody needed to sit through Moulin Rouge’s hours of glitter-smeared misery when it could have been encapsulated within 30-40 seconds in a quick spot between “Desperate Housewives.” Well, there you go.
VERDICT: Kourt finds you GUILTY of misappropriation of funds. SENTENCE: Defendant Kidman is hereby directed to donate her paycheck to Playboy who will then re-issue her the check in exchange for a tasteful pictorial. With a urination gallery.
Defendant Lurman- death by punjaba.
CASE 7: "Actually, I'm Greek Irish."
DEFENDANT: Colin "Bullseye" Farrell
CRIME: An unhealthy, indulgent “attachment” to Alexander the Great
EVIDENCE: check this shit out- then blink. When you open your eyes, it will still be there- really: London, Dec 11(ANI): Colin Farrell seems to have developed an emotional bond with Alexander The Great after filming Oliver Stone's epic Alexander that he spent a day weeping at the grave of Alexander's father.
"I've come to love Alexander very much, or at least my idea of Alexander. When we had a break over Christmas, I went to Greece on my own for five days, stayed at Thessaloniki, and went to visit (Alexander's father) PHILIP's tomb. And I cried like a baby. It was five of the most amazing days," Femalefirst quoted Farell as saying. (ANI)
Wow. You’re so fucking fascinating Colin. And that movie was really worth your indulgent emotional binge that probably cost more than I see in 5 years of work. I mean, hey, just look at the HBS ratings- “pretty crappy” to “sucks” all down the line- what an epic work to justify your Greek vacation. I don’t suppose you were moved enough to go down to the local cantina and, in addition to all the lil’ Greek ladies you no doubt boffed ad nauseum (cuz you’re such a Hollywood Bad Boy ™!), sample the pleasures of swarthy man tool as your character cum faux-past-life would have done (hee hee- cum). I’m sure some Greek lad would have obliged, after all, you’re so pretty (and Bad ™!).
Now the young, nubile Greek lad might have had some questions as to why some stumbling, mopey Irishman with nanny goat facial hair should claim more kinship, history and privileges with this legend than an actual native of the country, who could never hope to afford a special sleepover at his ancestor’s temple, but hey, who cares about the Greeks anyway, right Colin? I mean this is all about You, after all. Gosh you’re so talented. And here I thought it was a big deal when, while jotting one of my many notes on one of my many Post-It’s at my job, I began to realize just how much Post-It’s mean to me and went to the factory in North Carolina and threw myself in the pulping machine to experience what a Post-It goes through. Schmuck. You are an actor- Leave it on the stage.
VERDICT: GUILTY. Guilty of monumental undeserved Hubris (hey Colin, I just used a Greek word- now I’m like Alexander too!).
SENTENCE: You are hereby barred from hanging out with Oliver Stone, as his habit of assigning unusually high historical and universal importance to what amounts to an uneven library of hit and miss films has obviously rubbed off. Go die of a fever in Babylon. I'm tired of hearing about you. No army is going to follow you. And yes, like your inspiration, Alexander, you must accept the throbbing cock of despair as you realize you will always be better known for an even shittier performance in “Daredevil,” the only movie I can think of that “Alexander” has any right to make fun of. Douche. Don’t feel too bad bubba- take consolation in the fact that at the very moment I’m writing this missive, you’re probably seconds from diving into a lake of pussy the likes of which I will never know.
CASE 8: "Ahuh. Ahuh. Uh... Th' Name's Bohaand. Elvis Bohand..."
DEFENDANT: Nicholas Cage
THE CRIME: alleged obnoxious statement ruling himself out as the next James Bond as if that could EVER be a serious choice.
EVIDENCE: Now when I was first told this info, I hardly felt it was news- I see tons of speculative and false headlines on Bond casting all the time. One has everyone clamoring for this one guy to be the first black 007, other headlines have Hugh Jackman, or Colin Farrell, or a homeless bum’s fouled corpse. I could throw a chilled glass of Perrier into the casting call at this point and be taken seriously.
My real problem was with how I heard the statement- that he “ruled himself out.” Who in their right mind would suggest you? Why would you ever think you needed to be “ruled out” in the first place? Let me read the character breakdown for 007 here: Muscular yet lanky hipster doofus that can present himself either with cokeheaded frenzy or calm, collected almost stoned detachment with bursts of cokeheaded frenzy. Wow. Ok I guess you could do it Nick. By the way, my dead grandmother phoned last night, just to let me know that she too, was removing herself from the competition, as was my neighbor’s bulldog.
Okay, enough fun. I’m being hard on Cage here, and the truth is I do like a good percentage of his stuff (not much of late, but still…). So I needed the actual quote before I could bear the fangs. With a search on the web, I found that Cage did not phrase himself as I was told, and indeed, laughed at the rumor of him being considered for Bond very good naturedly, with full acknowledgement, that though a dream role, he would never stand a chance (though, I will note he said nothing about how he didn’t think he could pull it off... Hmmn).
Then he went one better, and provided some fun insight into how American actors are treated on the overseas casting chair as opposed to how we welcome our foreign friends here, when it comes to portraying historical or literary icons. Here is the quote: Cage said, "That's the thing - there's no way an American will ever be allowed to play James Bond. You can have a Brit play Batman but you can't have an American play Bond: that will never happen. As much as I'd love to, I will never be invited to that party." – quoted from article discussed in IMDB.
Good call Nick. It seems we are more than willing to give over our literary American Icons to folks who boast some British Shakespeare company experience or have done an episode or two as a Xena extra, but they can be mighty stingy about us being in their Harry Potters or Bond films. Of course, then you have the Peter Jackson’s of the world who think multinational casts are just swell. Good man, that Pete.
VERDICT: Nicholas Cage- charges are hereby DISMISSED as the Kourt finds no evidence of wrongdoing- except “National Treasure.”
SENTENCE: Yeah. "National Treasure." That’s gonna require 10 lashes. Salted. Stop doing these things. Go do “Ghost Rider” already. That’s pretty good casting right there.
I think that is enough for today’s session. A decent amount of judgments on some real news and celebrity pudding. NO PARDONS FOR GOOD BEHAVIOR- YOU ARE ALL UNREPENTANT FUCKS. AND SHOWTIME CANCELLED "DEAD LIKE ME" SO I'M A BIT PUT OUT.
Judge Dynamite is surprised and humbled at the amount of bile writing one guest column can bring up. Also how easy it is to foam at the mouth for pages and pages. But no apologies here- done bun can’t be undone. Judge Parry, I hope I have done your stomping ground some justice, albeit long-winded justice. Thank you for the use of the Court. All Rise, All Rise. Kourt is adjourned.
link directly to this feature at http://www.efilmcritic.com/feature.php?feature=1264
originally posted: 12/23/04 10:12:48
last updated: 12/25/04 18:56:07