There's a certain shop in a certain downtown mall (oh, why bother being evasive? It's the BOSE electronics shop in the Rideau Centre) that I've passed many times. It sells electronics, home entertainment systems, you know the type. The largest screen in there is a big one, and every single time I pass that store, the Adele concert film is on. I've heard some of her music, and it's okay... but playing it over and over again must drive the store employees bonkers. And I feel like I've seen the whole concert already.
Erotica is an eyebrow raising genre, but what do you suppose would happen if a big name author who wasn't known for writing it gave it a go? Dan Brown, the fellow behind The Da Vinci Code, has written sex into his previous books, but would it end up having his main character describing the inner secrets of the Kama Sutra while in the middle of reaching their... happy place?
By the same token, military-techno nut Tom Clancy (back before the quality of his writing took a fast plunge off a cliff) is best known for his spy thrillers, not to mention stopping the narrative so that he can explain precisely where a piece of military hardware is built, how it's made, and so on and so on, frustrating the reader to no end. He's written sex into his books from time to time (and comes off as something of an adolescent when doing so). Would he end up writing a solo erotica scene where the heroine decides to pleasure herself with a vibrator, and would he feel compelled to describe exactly where it's made, the amount of time it takes for one vibrator to be made, the shift worker putting it together, and what said shift worker thinks about their job and the moral implications of putting such devices together? By this point, of course, the readers would have tossed the book away out of frustration and disgust at how the author isn't getting anywhere...
And while we're at it... would Stephen King, writing erotica, be unable to get away from his horror influences? Would such a passage come across in this way? She groaned as he plunged into her, thrusting deep. Clarisa dug her fingernails deep into his back, arching her own back in pleasure, driving her body against him. He cried out, but not in the way she expected. The scratches she cast on his back had drawn blood... and fire erupted out of the scratches. He screamed and howled as his body set ablaze...
See what I mean?
We need to round up all of the Elvis impersonators in the world and have them dropped onto a deserted island in the middle of the Pacific so that we won't have to come across a guy with bad sideburns singing Love Me Tender in a really cheesy jumpsuit on the street. Who's with me?
I want to go back in time, find the person who coined the phrase baby bump, and smack them. Then go further back in time and prevent them from being conceived, thus preventing that idiotic term from ever being coined.
Is the sole purpose of a high ranking officer in a Dirty Harry film merely to look like he's about to blow a gasket every time Harry gets to sending a crook on the fast track to hell?
Just what does Ryan Seacrest actually do? And how much blood did he have to shed to become famous? And to whom did he sacrifice said blood to?
The emotional depth of the Kardashian family reaches an astonishing one eighth of a millimetre total.
Is Kathie Lee Gifford secretly a Looney Tunes character (Lady Drinksalot)? Would calling her that be an insult to Bugs, Daffy, and the rest? Would they drop an anvil on me? Hit me with an Acme sledgehammer? Launch me out of an Acme cannon?
What is it about public libraries that draw in morons who like having conversations that others can hear over the music they're listening to on their headphones? Were these morons raised by Neanderthals? No... Neanderthals had better manners.
Memo to Hollywood: please stop adapting Nicholas Sparks novels. And just for good measure, don't let Michael Bay direct another movie ever again.
Since Stephanie Meyer has decided against continuing the infernal Twilight franchise, will she start up another series called The Noon Saga, about immortal succubi? And then would that be followed by The Afternoon Tea Saga, which would, of course, be about immortal teenaged afficionados of Earl Grey tea?
Often we see videos for sale in a convenience store that we've never heard of, featuring actors who are long past their prime. One of these days I'm expecting to see a film starring Steven Seagal, Vanilla Ice, Pia Zadora, and Carrot Top called Dear God, Buy This Movie, The Loan Sharks Are Coming To Break Our Legs.
Someone needs to muzzle David Foster. Celine Dion wasn't nearly so obnoxious in her early years, then she met Foster, and all of a sudden, every song had to be over the top, over done, and breaking wine glasses. I swear, the man has never heard of being subtle and understated. In his world, a song must have a thousand voice choir and a thousand-violin orchestra accompanying the lead singer, and must outdo every song before it...
Speaking of Celine, I'd like to thank the city of Las Vegas for taking her off our hands. I'd also like to apologize on behalf of all Canadians for unleashing her on the world. Same goes for Justin Bieber. And Nickleback. And Drake. For the record, we do have good musicians.
If Wizard of Oz were remade with members of the Bush administration, would it work out to the following casting? Dubya as the Scarecrow (no brain), Laura Bush as Dorothy, Dick Cheney as the Tin Man (no heart), Michael "Brownie" Brown as the Cowardly Lion (no spine), Karl Rove as the Wizard, and Hillary Clinton as the Wicked Witch of the West?
Why does Jason Statham insist on playing pretty much the same character over and over and over again?
Finally.... why is a raven like a writing desk?