Merry Christmas, you filthy animals

I was just sitting here at my computer at 1 in the morning when I wandered on over to YTMND.com and saw this: here. Now, I realize I already did a blotry about Rent, but this is just supposed to be a short little entry so bear with me. Aside from being a pretty good gag, this YTMND page made me realize something. Rent advocates measuring years in something other than minutes, which struck me as rather counterintuitive. It starts out recommending "sunsets" and "midnights," which seem sort of reasonable. But then things really get out of hand. We're asked to measure a year in inches and miles, which I have to say, is pretty hard to do. I'm fairly certain inches and miles are measures of length, while a year is a unit of time. In fact come to think of it, a year is already a measure of something: the amount of time it takes for the earth to complete one orbit around the sun. So this talk of measuring a year seems pretty crazy.

Anyway, the Rent finally suggests, well, "how about love?" It advocates using "Seasons of Love," to be precise. I honestly think this is bad advice and won't work, but what do I know? I'm only the best blogger who ever lived. Now, it may seem as though I'm really unfairly hating on Rent here. But in truth, I don't despise Rent more than I despise most things in the world. Which is with the burning hatred of 10 million suns.

Rent Blows

So I was trying to think of a good blog topic for today's blotry (blog + entry), but I couldn't think of one. Then I decided to think of a bad topic for today's blotry, and the first thing that came to mind was Rent.

Like most things in my life, Rent revolves around gay people. Actually, only about half the people in this movie are gays, but pretty much all the characters except the Jew have Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome, or AIDS. See, in this movie, you get to have one defining character trait, so if you blow it on AIDS, that's it. The Jew's a Jew, so he can't have AIDS. But Rosario Dawson's just generically ethnic, so she has AIDS. So too does the vaguely Kurt-Cobain like rock-star. I say vaguely because they look sort of alike; Kurt Cobain was a talented musician and singer. The only exceptions to this rule are the black lady who is simultaneously a lesbian (can you get any more marginalized than that?) and the transvestite who also has the AIDS.

Now, the minute I typed "transvestite," I bet you thought of a guy who dresses like a woman. I think Hollywood only portrays that kind of tranny and not the other kind because there's something vaguely embarrassing about a woman wanting to be a man. I mean, I can sort of understand why a man would want to be a woman: the underwear, the shopping, the physical attractiveness. But men are, as a rule, hairy, ugly and gross, with weird growths and lumps (breasts are really the only good sort of lump and women have those.) So any woman who wants to be a man clearly has something wrong with her. It might also be that male to female transvestites are just more common in society at large, but I think I've already established why that is.

Anyway, the transvestite (I can't remember the character's name and I'm tired of writing out "transvestite" so the character's name is Ricardo Guerrera from now on. Wait that's no good. How about Ignacio Cabrera?) eventually succumbs to the dread disease (look I'm not spoiling anything, everyone with AIDS is doooomed!), and I'm pretty sure he's supposed to be an allegory for Jesus. I mean, they were both Mexicans. Ignacio and Jesus, I mean. Well I'm sure Ignacio Cabrera was Mexican, but I'm pretty positive Jesus was too, all the Mexicans here in SoCal can't seem to get enough of that guy! Jesus, I mean, not Ignacio. I don't think Mexicans like gays very much, as a rule. So Igancio Cabrera dies and everyone's sad, most especially his boyfriend, Jesse L. Martin. Now, this is where things get confusing, because although Jesse L. Martin's character is apparently gay, he goes for the transvestites (damn). I can never get all of this straight, because it seems like some people who cross-dress pretty much just do it to be rebels, but others actually want to be women. I'm not sure which one Ignacio Cabrera was, but I bet there were some awkward conversations there. Because I mean, what if your wife (or husband, props to all 2 of my female readers ((or wife because there's nothing wrong with that))) insisted on dressing like a man (or woman?), and wearing the beauty products associated with that gender. Wouldn't you be a little put out? I know I would be. Actually, I'm so cripplingly lonely I'd take anything without a penis at this point.

Ok, bit of a tangent there. Anyway, the rest of Rent involves a horrifically embarrassing piece of "performance art," a seemingly interminable, meandering plotline, and a laughably maudlin "death" scene that has some of the worst dialogue I've heard since George Lucas attempted to pass off his Anakin-Padme love scenes as something other than high comedy.

None of the characters is likeable. The filmmaker and musician characters spend a year working on "projects" that are so bad, when I saw/heard them, I stood up in the middle of the movie, ran up to the front of the theater, and peed all over the screen. Well, I didn't, but it would have been an appropriate response. The white lesbian is a grossly incompetent performance artist ( granted I don't think any performance artists have even been competent, that's why they're performance artists) and a slut, Rosario Dawson is a coke-whore (technically coke-stripper), Jesse L. Martin is a college drop-out, and Ignacio Cabrera is a vaguely lovable transvestite (blast). The only kind of likeable character in this motley crew is the black lesbian, who is apparently a lawyer, and is clearly just spending time with these losers because she's between cases. Well, Taye Diggs seemed like a pretty decent guy too. I might have missed something, but I'm pretty sure he was basically giving free housing to the main characters for over a year. Which is quite a lot more than they deserved.

In conclusion, Rent's message of hope and inclusiveness, while admirable, is completely undermined by its writing, which was either done by some of kind of hippie, or simply someone who completely failed to realize that being "Bohemian" isn't an excuse for being a big lazy jerk. Each character is rather despicable in his or her very own, special, unique way. Like snowflakes made of acid and poo.

When you come right down to it, I would probably rape Emma Watson (but please don't call the police)

STATUTORY RAPE OK?! Jesus, sometimes you people. I mean, that's not such a crime is it? Well, actually it's a capital felony, but really there are worse things in the world. Did you know Great Britain's age of consent is 16? Which means, as of this writing, we're exactly 137 days away from legal intercourse. And that's just great news.

I mean seriously how can I fail? Look at the competition I'm up against:
Daniel Radcliffe obviously can't keep his wandering eyes from young Emma's burgeoning bust, but he's got the acting ability of a plank of wood. Not even a big plank of wood, mind, I'm talking about a pretty small plank. And it's not even well sanded, it's got holes and knots in it and stuff. Sure, he probably knows some black satanic magic, but c'mon. This is the guy who's so awkward he couldn't even ask out not-that-hot-but-made-50-times-hotter-by-her-unexpected-Scottish-accent Cho Chang. Now I realize my inability to separate ficticious characters from the actors who portray them has probably become disturbing (as if an article about rape weren't disturbing enough), so I'm gonna move on.

And that guy plays Ron Weasley? I don't even know his name, he's that insignificant. I will squash him like puny bug he is. But if I remember my chronology correctly, in the Order of the Phoenix, Ron and Hermoine have an incredibly hot, graphic sex scene involving at least five bodily fluids, thirteen sexual positions, and a small shetland pony. Then they finish off with a donkey punch. Haha, donkey punch. Obviously, I must kill him before such a scene is filmed.

Anyhoo, as I was saying, how I can fail? My only real opposition is sexy sexy Ralph Fiennes, who for some reason pronounces his name "Ray." If that pisses Emma off a tenth as much as it does me, he's doomed. Plus I remember him eating Ed Norton in Red Dragon, which was pretty dick of him. AND I heard at one point he took to shooting Jews from his balcony. Or was that in a movie? Either way, the guy's a douche. And Emma's got class.

Oh, I almost forgot. Stanislav Ianveski. Viktor Krum. This guy's a total brick.
I don't know guys, I think he might squash me like puny bug. Between those gigantic slabs of meat that he calls hands. At one point is the movie, he turns around, stares into the camera (into your soul) and says, "You haff no business here. This tent for champions." In the most hardcore accent you can imagine. Jesus.

So, maybe Emma and I won't be getting together. Well, I can always settle for Fleur. She's hot, French, and legal. Well, she's a little weird looking I guess. But she has pretty nice boobs. Boobs in motion here. Um, there are boobs in this video, so don't watch it if boobs freak you out. You gay. I think the guy in this video must be a gay too.

At this point, I realize I've written two Harry Potter themed blog posts, but the first one involved perverted sexual deviance, and this one involved...perverted...sexual...deviance. Ok, well they're similar, but come on. Sirius Black boning Remus Lupin is lightyears removed from hot Emma Watson. Right?