I just thought of a killer idea for a movie. It's called...Dead Tired.
What's it about? It's about the best idea anyone has ever had on this planet EVER! It's about a serial killer who kills sleeping people...in his sleep!! Great fuck what a terrific idea!
There will be a sequel called Dead Tired 2: The Son Also Rises. The twist in that one will be the serial killer kills EVERYONE in his sleep...not just other sleepers. And the "son?" It's the child of the original serial killer! Whatta fucking amazing twist! Ernest Hemingway wishes he had my talent.
In the third installment of the quadrilogy -- Dead Tired: Wakey Wakey Eggs And Bakey -- the killer is a chef at a bed and breakfast and he smothers people with scrambled eggs. Holy shit what an amazing series of films this has turned out to be!! William Faulkner can eat a dick!
The last movie in the series will end up being called something stupid like...oh, I dunno...something retarded like Dead Tired 4: A Lesson Before Dying. That's because after saving the world with the genius of the first three films I decided to gracefully bow out and begin work on the film adaptation of the Bible starring Tom Hanks as Jesus, Danny DeVito as Baby Jesus and Kirk Cameron as Pontius Pilate.
Jesus Christ I'm a fucking nerd.
March 30, 2008
March 27, 2008
Are you wavin' the flag at me?
I should be reading one of the many books assigned to me for class or working on one of the two papers due this coming Monday, but instead I'm here to pay my respects. I meant to do it yesterday but couldn't (mostly due to laziness)....
Are you wavin' the flag at me?
If you read the obit, it mentions a nasty scene from Kiss of Death. Reading about it does not do it justice. I named one of my characters in Hearts after Widmark. The character is a nutjob. Perfect.
Everybody: do yourself a favor and go rent Kiss of Death as well as Pickup On South Street. It's one of my top three film noirs and one of Martin Scorcese's favorite flicks (he wrote an essay included in the Criterion Edition) Also check out Night and the City, which was a flick notable for a pretty famous noir shot:
See ya on the flip side, Skip....
Are you wavin' the flag at me?
If you read the obit, it mentions a nasty scene from Kiss of Death. Reading about it does not do it justice. I named one of my characters in Hearts after Widmark. The character is a nutjob. Perfect.
Everybody: do yourself a favor and go rent Kiss of Death as well as Pickup On South Street. It's one of my top three film noirs and one of Martin Scorcese's favorite flicks (he wrote an essay included in the Criterion Edition) Also check out Night and the City, which was a flick notable for a pretty famous noir shot:
See ya on the flip side, Skip....
March 23, 2008
5 reasons Hot Fuzz is the best movie ever
Okay, this was supposed to be 5 reasons Hot Fuzz is the best movie ever but I could only find one clip that I needed. So now it's...
FIVE REASON HOT FUZZ IS THE BEST MOVIE EVER (MINUS 4)
FIVE REASON HOT FUZZ IS THE BEST MOVIE EVER (MINUS 4)
March 22, 2008
nerd stuff
I have a new favorite website.
Film Drunk.
I swear, I don't don't how I sleep on all the cool shit you can find on the internet. I mean sure! I love being a Furry as much as the next guy, but there's so much MORE!!! (Please note that I am not a Furry. If you don't know what a Furry is, look it up. And then kindly note that I am not a Furry. Thank you.)
All sorts of cool junk on here. First, the trailer for The Foot Fist Way. Fucking hilarious...
Then a post about the douchenozzle actor from Never Back Down. Apparently he has the same philosophy on fighting as this frat boy cocksucker I almost had to kill at Towson: if you act like you're not scared, the other guy will be scared to fight you.
Finally, the trailer for Pineapple Express, new flick from Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg (the guys who wrote Superbad). I swear the part where James Franco puts his leg through the window...I almost lost it.
Film Drunk.
I swear, I don't don't how I sleep on all the cool shit you can find on the internet. I mean sure! I love being a Furry as much as the next guy, but there's so much MORE!!! (Please note that I am not a Furry. If you don't know what a Furry is, look it up. And then kindly note that I am not a Furry. Thank you.)
All sorts of cool junk on here. First, the trailer for The Foot Fist Way. Fucking hilarious...
Then a post about the douchenozzle actor from Never Back Down. Apparently he has the same philosophy on fighting as this frat boy cocksucker I almost had to kill at Towson: if you act like you're not scared, the other guy will be scared to fight you.
Finally, the trailer for Pineapple Express, new flick from Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg (the guys who wrote Superbad). I swear the part where James Franco puts his leg through the window...I almost lost it.
March 17, 2008
The Little Mermaid 2: Ariel's Revenge
I've worked on and off on a romantic comedy script since 2003. It's finished, technically -- copyrighted and all -- but last year I decided it wasn't up to snuff. For those who read it back in the day, the backbone is pretty much the same: two kids named Wes and Jessica are in love but neither is willing to admit it until the end when Wes gets off his ass and says something. It ends happily with a punch to the balls and a kiss.
I changed a lot.
For starters, it was called Get The Girl for a long time. I thought Get The Girl had too much of a male machismo sound to it so I think I'm gonna call it Kiss The Girl as an indirect (kinda) reference to The Little Mermaid. To explain: there is a female character who -- unlike the rest of the cast -- is still bright-eyed as far as her outlook on love goes, and in the third act she makes allusions to The Little Mermaid to prove her point that true love still exists. If you're scoffing at the idea of me referencing The Little Mermaid, that's the point; Disney movies have the fairy tale endings that real life doesn't always supply, but what's the point in living if you're not wishing for a happy ending, right? Anyway, the cynical young adults come to their senses and -- yay! a happy ending! I have a killer idea for a closing shot, too. It involves light snowfall, a kiss and Santa throwing down with some cops.
So, some major changes...
I moved the time setting from college to a few years later, made Jessica balls out funny, made Wes less of a tool, and made Wes' best friends considerably more rambunctious (and incredibly hostile). I added a love interest for Jessica (not Wes) and made Wes' love interest (not Jessica) more likable. I added a female character to act as a foil for the sausage party that was all over the last draft. I stole a plot line from Full House. I added a running gag about new Disney versus old Disney and re-inserted the comic book store scene that everyone thought was funny except me. I added partial male nudity (because you gotta give something to the ladies if you want them to go, right?) and excised about 150 curse words (including two "cunts," thus making it a true family affair, right?) I added the physical beatdown of a 2-year-old man by a ten-year-old girl. Finally, I wrote a brand new kick ass ending. And I wrote it drunk.
I'm planning on finishing this revision up in time to enter it in the Scriptapalooza competition but that may prove to be impossible with school and all. Regardless, I'll post it here when I'm done.
Happy St. Patrick's Day, ya Irish pricks!!
I changed a lot.
For starters, it was called Get The Girl for a long time. I thought Get The Girl had too much of a male machismo sound to it so I think I'm gonna call it Kiss The Girl as an indirect (kinda) reference to The Little Mermaid. To explain: there is a female character who -- unlike the rest of the cast -- is still bright-eyed as far as her outlook on love goes, and in the third act she makes allusions to The Little Mermaid to prove her point that true love still exists. If you're scoffing at the idea of me referencing The Little Mermaid, that's the point; Disney movies have the fairy tale endings that real life doesn't always supply, but what's the point in living if you're not wishing for a happy ending, right? Anyway, the cynical young adults come to their senses and -- yay! a happy ending! I have a killer idea for a closing shot, too. It involves light snowfall, a kiss and Santa throwing down with some cops.
So, some major changes...
I moved the time setting from college to a few years later, made Jessica balls out funny, made Wes less of a tool, and made Wes' best friends considerably more rambunctious (and incredibly hostile). I added a love interest for Jessica (not Wes) and made Wes' love interest (not Jessica) more likable. I added a female character to act as a foil for the sausage party that was all over the last draft. I stole a plot line from Full House. I added a running gag about new Disney versus old Disney and re-inserted the comic book store scene that everyone thought was funny except me. I added partial male nudity (because you gotta give something to the ladies if you want them to go, right?) and excised about 150 curse words (including two "cunts," thus making it a true family affair, right?) I added the physical beatdown of a 2-year-old man by a ten-year-old girl. Finally, I wrote a brand new kick ass ending. And I wrote it drunk.
I'm planning on finishing this revision up in time to enter it in the Scriptapalooza competition but that may prove to be impossible with school and all. Regardless, I'll post it here when I'm done.
Happy St. Patrick's Day, ya Irish pricks!!
the stuff spleens are made of
I did six Irish Carbombs in about twenty minutes the other night. Man, they hit me like a fat lady's shit hits dirty toilet water: hard and messy (I would have said hard and wet, but that would allow you to imply I wet myself. I didn't wet myself). As a newly aspiring drunk I don't like to mess with the trivial matters of spilling drinks and hitting on unattractive females with sloppy boobs hanging out of their halter tops. Rather, I like to work for the sudden blackout. Unfortunately I guess I have too much Irish blood in me (read: I'm tubby) and it takes quite a bit to make me hit the floor with the grace of a beached walrus. I walked six blocks to the hotel, drunk texted a couple people, gave a homeless man five dollars because he promised to try and impress Jodie Foster before January 20, 2008 and wrote. I worked on new ideas for a screenplay until about 4am. That went a little better, as I thought of a brand new way to kill people: death by flaming brick in the face. Okay, so that makes no sense. Lemme explain:
I had a dream Thursday night. I took some notes in semi-script form....
Opens outside. Clear blue skies, bright sun but clouds give some cover.
A little league baseball game. A pitch, a swing and a hit. The ball sails through the air. Players, coaches and supporters all crane neck and turn bodies to follow the ball as it hurtles through the air.
A huge GUST sweeps across the field. The flying baseball stops dead and drops a hundred feet to the ground, plopping in center field.
We PULL WIDE to show the entire field, the surrounding fields – we see the specks that are players – blue, red, green, black and white uniforms, little specks in the distance, all standing still.
The following disaster is nearly impossible to describe.
A warm wind follows – like the warm breeze one feels moving from an air-conditioned house into the August air outside.
The tops of the trees bend, then break.
The sound of a thousand trees snapping in one instant, like dry twigs under the feet of a black bear. The forest seemingly collapses in on itself.
Seventeen seconds of silence.
A flash of orange light. Gray smoke. Blackness.
Twenty-seven minutes of night at 11:30 on a Saturday morning and all hell breaks loose.
The sounds of missiles whizzing through the atmosphere on their way to the ground – explosion after explosion without fire or the booms! one expects from bombs, missiles or any other explosive device. Like single passenger airplanes smashing into the ground.
Screaming and plenty of it.
It felt like I had been shot in the thigh. I reach down. Burning hot, wet.
Still, blackness accompanied by the sounds of flesh and bone being pounded into the ground, as if by a mallet wielded by a mythological giant.
When the smoke and dust and dirt wafted away, when the sun reappeared I saw what the explosions-with-no-sounds really were.
Trees and branches of trees stuck in the ground as if sharpened pencils into soft clay. God know how far in. Uprooted from the ground, balls of dirt, roots and grass sticking up thirty, forty feet in the air facing the sky.
I looked around. Dozens and dozen of people injured. I didn’t know then but only sixty some people had dies in the entire park, only two hundred were injured – of those only about fifty needed to have limbs amputated. Good numbers when you look back.
I don't know who it was, but someone was sprawled out on end of the infield, a brick embedded in his skull. I looked to the only brick structure in the park -- the brand new restroom facilities, a football field away. It wasn't there anymore. What a lucky kid.
I looked at my leg. Disgusting was the only word. The feeling came up from my bowels and quickly made it’s way past my teeth and onto the grass at my feet.
The incessant buzzing of large machines surround us. Steady humming, whirring. All around me.
I don't think we're alone.
I had a dream Thursday night. I took some notes in semi-script form....
Opens outside. Clear blue skies, bright sun but clouds give some cover.
A little league baseball game. A pitch, a swing and a hit. The ball sails through the air. Players, coaches and supporters all crane neck and turn bodies to follow the ball as it hurtles through the air.
A huge GUST sweeps across the field. The flying baseball stops dead and drops a hundred feet to the ground, plopping in center field.
We PULL WIDE to show the entire field, the surrounding fields – we see the specks that are players – blue, red, green, black and white uniforms, little specks in the distance, all standing still.
The following disaster is nearly impossible to describe.
A warm wind follows – like the warm breeze one feels moving from an air-conditioned house into the August air outside.
The tops of the trees bend, then break.
The sound of a thousand trees snapping in one instant, like dry twigs under the feet of a black bear. The forest seemingly collapses in on itself.
Seventeen seconds of silence.
A flash of orange light. Gray smoke. Blackness.
Twenty-seven minutes of night at 11:30 on a Saturday morning and all hell breaks loose.
The sounds of missiles whizzing through the atmosphere on their way to the ground – explosion after explosion without fire or the booms! one expects from bombs, missiles or any other explosive device. Like single passenger airplanes smashing into the ground.
Screaming and plenty of it.
It felt like I had been shot in the thigh. I reach down. Burning hot, wet.
Still, blackness accompanied by the sounds of flesh and bone being pounded into the ground, as if by a mallet wielded by a mythological giant.
When the smoke and dust and dirt wafted away, when the sun reappeared I saw what the explosions-with-no-sounds really were.
Trees and branches of trees stuck in the ground as if sharpened pencils into soft clay. God know how far in. Uprooted from the ground, balls of dirt, roots and grass sticking up thirty, forty feet in the air facing the sky.
I looked around. Dozens and dozen of people injured. I didn’t know then but only sixty some people had dies in the entire park, only two hundred were injured – of those only about fifty needed to have limbs amputated. Good numbers when you look back.
I don't know who it was, but someone was sprawled out on end of the infield, a brick embedded in his skull. I looked to the only brick structure in the park -- the brand new restroom facilities, a football field away. It wasn't there anymore. What a lucky kid.
I looked at my leg. Disgusting was the only word. The feeling came up from my bowels and quickly made it’s way past my teeth and onto the grass at my feet.
The incessant buzzing of large machines surround us. Steady humming, whirring. All around me.
I don't think we're alone.
-----
If any of you fuckers makes a comment about this being a rip-off of Signs, do kindly stick a fist in your ass and keep it there. Anybody in the know can clearly see I'm ripping off Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Uh, derrrr.
March 13, 2008
Hangman II
The blog before this had its roots in what follows....
I'll never be good enough to quote Mr. Eisold
If I spoke your name would you know?
Your name in numbers: 5 4 8
Obvious.
You're oblivious.
Keep your fucking thoughts to yourself.
It's easy; the rest don't pretend and they never cared in the first place.
Still, you care for them like a mother for a child
I'm sitting here praying you're okay
And does it matter?
Take your time, goodbye.
I'm gone.
I'd say that's pretty damn good considering I was three sheets to the wind and it was 5am. Ernest Hemingway I ain't, but that's not half bad. If I knew a fucking thing about poetry I might make a decent sixth-rate hack coffee house douche nozzle.
Okay, so maybe I'll just stick to prose.
That's it for tonight. I have a load of other blogs planned, including the one where I talk about the time I screwed Britney Spears on a shit-stained toilet in an Arby's restroom.
I'll never be good enough to quote Mr. Eisold
If I spoke your name would you know?
Your name in numbers: 5 4 8
Obvious.
You're oblivious.
Keep your fucking thoughts to yourself.
It's easy; the rest don't pretend and they never cared in the first place.
Still, you care for them like a mother for a child
I'm sitting here praying you're okay
And does it matter?
Take your time, goodbye.
I'm gone.
----------
I'd say that's pretty damn good considering I was three sheets to the wind and it was 5am. Ernest Hemingway I ain't, but that's not half bad. If I knew a fucking thing about poetry I might make a decent sixth-rate hack coffee house douche nozzle.
Okay, so maybe I'll just stick to prose.
That's it for tonight. I have a load of other blogs planned, including the one where I talk about the time I screwed Britney Spears on a shit-stained toilet in an Arby's restroom.
March 12, 2008
Hangman
Watch me be so bold:
This is your name:
-----------------
So; why the fuck did you ever pretend to care?
This is your name:
-----------------
So; why the fuck did you ever pretend to care?
March 10, 2008
the duet
This night started out so young, so bright;
With you in dreams. Dancing, singing.
It's 3:25 am. And I don't really care if I was dead right now so,
How long will it take you to find me?
Fuck, I think I could love you one day if you'd let me;
But there's nothing you'll do about it. Nothing I'll do about it.
It's been two summers and I thought this was different;
I thought you cared, isn't that why you showed up?
I've been reading these stories all wrong.
When you said maybe you meant never.
Kurt said: "I hate myself and want to die."
And then, Wes: "Prove me wrong, prove you give a fuck."
But you won't. Watch.
This isn't meant to rhyme.
It's 3:29 am. And hopefully I'm dead.
Your sunshine keeps me alive.
With you in dreams. Dancing, singing.
It's 3:25 am. And I don't really care if I was dead right now so,
How long will it take you to find me?
Fuck, I think I could love you one day if you'd let me;
But there's nothing you'll do about it. Nothing I'll do about it.
It's been two summers and I thought this was different;
I thought you cared, isn't that why you showed up?
I've been reading these stories all wrong.
When you said maybe you meant never.
Kurt said: "I hate myself and want to die."
And then, Wes: "Prove me wrong, prove you give a fuck."
But you won't. Watch.
This isn't meant to rhyme.
It's 3:29 am. And hopefully I'm dead.
Your sunshine keeps me alive.
March 6, 2008
hooray for nothing
It's 4:45 and I'm at work with fifteen minutes to spare, so I decided to blog.
"Why Nick," you exclaim, "Shouldn't you be working?"
The answer: No. I should not. You see, I am the busiest, sexiest bee in the bunch and I have finished all my work for the day. Granted, it's all bitch work, but I'll have you know I do bitch work better than any bitch.
I was supposed to go to New York this weekend but I can't. Stupid school. Stupid, stupid school. I have a quiz Monday morning (and a paper due for the same class, plus a rough draft of a paper due after spring break), I have a mid-term Monday night, and have to finish two books by Wednesday. I just called Jason and Lauren to say I couldn't go and I know deep down inside Jason wanted to strangle the inside of my throat with his penis. He didn't say that, but I know that's what he wants to do. Anyway, that sucks.
(Ha...get it? I'm ssooo clever!)
I finally get to the point where I can manage panic attacks and anxiety in general, thus allowing me to move about more freely in life and what happens? I can't go to NY because school is like that prostitute that wouldn't wear a werewolf mask while you banged her because it's "weird" (Although it was a treat to hear a prostitute scream lycanthrope over and over as she stuffs hundred dollar bills down her pants).
I'll cheer myself up by posting this:
I mean, come on!! Who won't want a Blu-ray player once this fucker comes out?!
"Why Nick," you exclaim, "Shouldn't you be working?"
The answer: No. I should not. You see, I am the busiest, sexiest bee in the bunch and I have finished all my work for the day. Granted, it's all bitch work, but I'll have you know I do bitch work better than any bitch.
I was supposed to go to New York this weekend but I can't. Stupid school. Stupid, stupid school. I have a quiz Monday morning (and a paper due for the same class, plus a rough draft of a paper due after spring break), I have a mid-term Monday night, and have to finish two books by Wednesday. I just called Jason and Lauren to say I couldn't go and I know deep down inside Jason wanted to strangle the inside of my throat with his penis. He didn't say that, but I know that's what he wants to do. Anyway, that sucks.
(Ha...get it? I'm ssooo clever!)
I finally get to the point where I can manage panic attacks and anxiety in general, thus allowing me to move about more freely in life and what happens? I can't go to NY because school is like that prostitute that wouldn't wear a werewolf mask while you banged her because it's "weird" (Although it was a treat to hear a prostitute scream lycanthrope over and over as she stuffs hundred dollar bills down her pants).
I'll cheer myself up by posting this:
I mean, come on!! Who won't want a Blu-ray player once this fucker comes out?!
March 1, 2008
HOT DAMN!!
Juno comes out on Blu-ray and DVD April 15th! I can't wait! Well, I can. And I guess I sorta...you know, have to. But I'm very excited. So excited I could post a cover image (click on it and magic makes it bigger!).
Other cool movies slated for a Blu-ray release this year include Bonnie & Clyde, No Country For Old Men, Independence Day, Dogma, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and The Shawshank Redemption.
Inexplicably, Short Circuit is getting a Blu-ray release too. Sure! Why waste time prepping Jaws, Taxi Driver, The Godfather, Psycho or The Wizard of Oz for high definition when you can give us insane detail on Johnny 5's treads and...whatever else robots are made of. Sheesh....
Other cool movies slated for a Blu-ray release this year include Bonnie & Clyde, No Country For Old Men, Independence Day, Dogma, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and The Shawshank Redemption.
Inexplicably, Short Circuit is getting a Blu-ray release too. Sure! Why waste time prepping Jaws, Taxi Driver, The Godfather, Psycho or The Wizard of Oz for high definition when you can give us insane detail on Johnny 5's treads and...whatever else robots are made of. Sheesh....
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