Why it’s important…

As far as political issues are concerned, I am of the belief that the fight for gay marriage is, if not the most important battle going on in the country, certainly in the top two or three.  This contradiction may surprise people who know that I am 1) Straight and that I 2) Feel that marriage is, at best, a somewhat silly abstraction based on a promise no sane person can honestly make and, at worst, a relationship destroying arrangement.  So, why so serious about gay marriage, Tim?  I have a variety of reasons, ranging from the noble to the completely selfish.  But let’s just focus on one of the most important reasons today.

This is a video shot recently during Gay Pride in Minneapolis by a friend of a friend (I am assuming I have permission to use it, since it was posted on YouTube).  A man was approached by a group of mostly youngish looking residents, asked if he was gay, and when he responded yes, the following occurred:

Now to be fair here, this could be looked at as relatively tame.  Nobody got hurt, thankfully.  But I don’t know about anyone else, but can you imagine the fear of having this many people following you for two full minutes, screaming at you about how the hate you and your lifestyle.  Frankly, I’m amazed that this gentleman was walking so calmly.  You better believe my skinny white ass would have been going full Forrest Gump out of there.

I think the very telling aspect of this video, though, is the age of the harrassers.  They all look to be under 16, and some of them look like they are in the 11 to 12 range.  Now there are a couple of different ways to interpret that.  One school of thought says, “Ah, kids will be kids, and they will grow out of it.”  Maybe.  However, another way of looking at this is that these kids are being taught (and yes, have no doubt about it, it something that is taught) to hate gays very, very early.  How is this happening?

Here is a clip from Fox News’ Bill O’Reilly show aired during the last presidential election:

(On a quick unrelated side note: Anyone else notice how Bill O’Reilly interviews this woman?  Respectfully, never interrupting her, making sure he chooses his words carefully when paraphrasing her beliefs?  And you just know if this was someone arguing for gay marriage he’d be screaming his head off and not letting them get two words in?  Yeah, fuck you “Fox News” and your Fair and Balanced bullshit…)

If you don’t want to sit and watch the whole thing (I don’t blame you), here are the cliff notes: O’Reilly is interviewing a woman who represents a “Marriage Group” first lobbying to have marriage defined as solely between a man and a woman.  The basic summary of her argument: Well, golly gee, Bill, you know I love the gays just as much as the next person, and that’s why we have laws about civil unions and such and such, and shouldn’t the gays just be happy with that and leave the whole marriage thing to us breeders?  If you have gays marrying each other and being all married and openly happy and whatnot, then I gotta go home and explain to my kids about gay people.!

Exactly.  And that’s why this issue is so important.  By keeping homosexual relationships relegated to “civil unions” or other pseudo-marriage offshoots, we make a statement as a society, whether we intend to or not.  And that statement is: Homosexual relationships aren’t the same as heterosexual relationships.  They are [weird/evil/different/not as important/unhealthy].  And the fact of that matter is, they’re not different.  Make friends with a gay couple, and watch them go through the same cycle of puppy love, happiness, bullshit fighting, annoyance, lust, complacency, and trust issues as any other couple, and then tell me what the difference is.  And as long as we keep marriage as some sort of “sacred” unattainable club that gays aren’t allowed to be a part of, we send a message as a society to all our children that there is something wrong with being gay.  And then, well…see above video.

Now, since I am completely unable to write anything sincere and meaningful without immediately following it up with some lame attempt at humor (a fact which the cast and crew currently working on the Fringe show are well aware), here is a video clip from an old after school special about steroids starring a young Ben Affleck, set to Benny Hill music.  Enjoy.  (Note: This video was stolen from Film Drunk, who probably stole it from someone else.  So, credit where credit is almost due.)

Fuck yeah…

It’s the Fourth of July…the big “Independence Day” in the States.  I’m not going to write a blog about the variety of complex reasons why I am extremely blah about this holiday (though, I probably need to confess here, I am a huge fan of the movie “Independence Day”).  Let is just suffice to say that, no, I don’t hate America, but getting super passionate about a bunch of invisible lines on a map because people say you are supposed to borders on the same mindless herd mentality that also makes me dislike organized religion.

But whatever.  The point is, right now I kind of wish I was one of those super hardcore, ultra-patrotic individuals, because I’d really, really, really like to enjoy the following song with no irony:

All I have to add to this is: Hamburgers…fuck yeah!

National Blog Posting Month…

WordPress has just brought it to my attention that this is National Blog Posting Month.   Hey, has anyone else noticed that there seem to be a lot more “National Something-something Months” than there are actual months in a year?  Which means every month is multiple National Something Month?  Also, what’s the deal with airline food?

Apparently, the idea behind this is to challenge bloggers to blog every day for a single month.  I for one would just like to extend my gratitude to WordPress.com for putting this idea together, as I strongly believe the world is running dangerously low on pointless, narcisstic, rambling, poorly written literature produced on the subject of “OMG my kitty is the cutest kitty ever!”  This should get the flow moving nicely.  It also served as a reminder of my poor, neglected, blog.  My lame excuse is that all of my creative energy is pretty much being sucked up by the Fringe show.  However, I accept the challenge, WordPress.  Let’s see if I can revitalize the sagging “Free Time…” with a post everyday this month.

At the very least, it will give me something to do while waiting for the porn to download.

XXX…

If 50 is the new 30, then by my math 30 must be the new 18.  Right?  Am I right?

I think I’m right.

(Un)Motivation…

I should be…

…working on the script I’m writing for this years Minnesota Fringe Festival.  Writing a play is funny business.  On one hand, it’s a medium I’ve always really enjoyed working in, because it allows me to focus on the things I’ve always enjoyed about writing, like dialogue, plot, and action, while allowing me to ignore the things I’ve never really cared writing, like long descriptions of people or things.

However, playwriting brings with it a unique challenge: everything you write actually needs to be able to happen in real life. For example, if I am writing a short story, and I want to say, “The yellow gate to the next dimension opened, and the magic gnome floated into my room…,” well, I write it, and it happened.  But if I want that to happen in a play, I can write it, but at some point, onstage somewhere, a yellow gate is going to have to open, and a magic gnome is going to have to float out of that son-of-a-bitch.  This scene could prove somewhat difficult for a director to stage, particularly since the Magic Gnome Actor’s Union is notoriously difficult to deal with.

A different sort of pressure is also compounding my work on this script.  For those of you who don’t know, the Fringe Festival is a completely non-jurored festival, which means the shows that get in are chosen completely randomly, and not based on any perceived merit.  No one in the festival has read my script, or for that matter, even know what the hell it’s going to be about, which means there is really no safety net preventing me from writing something that completely sucks balls and putting it out there for hundreds of people to criticize, mock, or otherwise just shake  their heads in sadness at.

It’s slightly stressful.

I should be…

…planning, organizing, and implementing a massive media campaign against my former employers, ISD #287.  I have, after talking with several people and doing some research, given up any hope of any sort of legal battle (for a 100% FICTIONAL account of my troubles with 287, see my previous post “SCREWED! The Movie…”).  However, I feel sick to my stomach thinking of these people getting away with what is, at the very least, a morally speaking completely fucked up move, without some sort of backlash.  I have no idea if any local papers will even care about my story, but at the very least I will write a NON-fictional account of what happened on this blog soon, and make sure I put Intermediate District #287 into the tags.  With any luck, this blog will be the second thing that comes up after the districts own website if someone searches for them.

I should be…

…working on some more blocking and finding props and set pieces for “Handle With Care,” which I was fortunate enough to get accepted into Northfield Arts Guild’s Short Play Festival, performing this May.  I’m directing the script myself, because I’m too lazy to find another director and also, why the hell not?

Actually, there is a pretty clear answer to that second question, which is that I have no fucking clue how to direct something.  I’ve taken no classes and read no books on directing.  I’ve been directed before, and that is what I am using to base all my directing decisions on.  It’s basically like trying to be a police officer based on the fact that you got pulled over one time for speeding.

Luckily, I have an amazing cast that includes Kim Hostrawser, a very talented actor I’ve been fortunate enough to be in a couple shows with; my sister April, who has stormed on to the local theater scene by managing to get cast in every single play she’s ever auditioned for; Andrew Nawrocki, who has been absent from theater for a few years now, and I am determined to single-handily reintroduce him to the scene; and lastly the ever-present Matt Damon (read: talented) to my Ben Affleck (read: not so much), Nikki Wakal.  I’ll be plugging this thing again in future blogs.

What I’m doing instead…

…is writing a pointless, mostly self serving blog and rebuilding my massive music collection that was lost when I did  a system restore on my laptop recently.  Right now Kenny Rogers is singing “Just Dropped In,” which, for some reason, seems all too appropriate for my current state of mind:

I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole and then I followed it in
I watched myself crawlin out as I was a-crawlin in
I got up so tight I couldn’t unwind
I saw so much I broke my mind
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in

At the ICU Movies…

I just arrived from my vacation (read: stay) at the ICU for cancer treatment.  It was a hellish experience, one filled with crying, crapping my own pants, and moderately hot nurses.  I will probably write on it more fully at a later date.

For the moment, however, and in the interest of full-disclosure, I need to tell you, reader, that I just got back home today, and am still absolutely fucking wasted from the drugs they had me on.  If you’d like to know how wasted, let me just inform you that it took me no fewer that half a dozen tries to italicize wasted in that last sentence.  FIRST I CAPITALIZED IT.  THEN I CAPITALIZED AND MADE IT BOLD. then i made it small but still bold. Then it was just bold. And then, finally, viola!

So…yeah…that’s how I spent the past 20 minutes of my day.

Anyway, instead of writing about boring medical stuff, I thought I’d use this space to do some….MOVIE REVIEWS! [CUE  LARGE, OVER PRETENTIOUS, HOLLYWOOD FAN-FARE HERE.]  I love writing movie reviews, and it occurs to me that I never do them on this site.  So let’s do some now, shall we?  Ha ha, isn’t that cute?  Me, pretending as if you have a choice:

A QUICK NOTE/WARNING: I was so completely blasted with either drugs or pain or illness while in the hospital that I didn’t actually finish most of these movies.  Many of them I didn’t make it through the first 15 minutes through.  One of them I didn’t even get the plastic wrap off of.  But then I figured: that’s probably not very different from the way professionals do it.  So let’s go!

Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog

Okay, quick confession: I saw this a few weeks before I got into the hospital, but I watched it again while there, and it was the perfect tonic to my suffering.  It’s short, but great.  Do you like heroes and evil professors?  Do you like singing?  Do you like Neil Patrick Harris?  Do you like the mind numbingly boring chore, laundry? (psyche! I love it!), then do yourself a favor, go to Hulu.com, and watch this very short web gem.

The world's all messed up, and he just needs to rule it.

The story is a simple one, as we follow pathologically shy but extremely ambitions Dr. Horrible (Neil Patrick Harris) as he attempts to A) Take over the world and B) Win over his dream girl Penny (Felicia Day).  His efforts on both fronts are disrupted by mega-douchebag superhero Captain Hammer (Nathan Fillion).  This short-internet only piece was directed by Joss Whedon, who brought the TV world Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly, and most recently Dollhouse, along with a bunch of others I’m sure my TV nerd friends will yell at me for forgetting.  Whatever.  According to Jim is now past it’s eighth season and the brilliant Firefly gets canned after one?  Fuck you, Satan, and  your obvious  active role in human affairs.

In the Line of Fire

I was only able to make it through like the first ten minutes of this one, again on Hulu, but here is all you need to know about those first ten minutes to make you realize you need to see this movie.  The opening scene of the movie is a guy in a car, right, and he’s super super nervous.  Like, pissing his pants nervous.  So you assume he is going to meet the bad guys on some sort of undercover assignment, right?  WRONG!  Actually he is nervous because he has recently moved to Washington and is on his way to meet his new partner…Clint Fucking Eastwood. Yeah, you might be a little nervous about that.  Anyway, after showing up late, this nobody gives Eastwood a big long speech about how he’s new to the city and his wife is pregnant with triplets or some shit and he’s trying to buy a house, and Eastwood just gives him a look that communicates three things, in no uncertain terms: A) Those excuses are gay  B) You’re a pussy  C) I was banging your mom during those brief seconds you thought you were late.  The lesson here folks: don’t be late when you are meeting your new co-worker, and it’s Clint Eastwood.  In fact, you should probably just go ahead and get to whatever spot  Clint Eastwood expects  to meet you 24 hours in advance, just so there is absolutely no confusion.

Hello, Mr. Bad Guy? This will be your reading partner for this next scene, Mr. Eastwood. Oh, and PS...this is your last scene in the movie...

Another awesome thing about this movie I almost forgot to mention: the main villain is John Malkovich! This can only lead me to assume that the movie ends with a big show-down where Eastwood and Malkovich are playing Texas Hold ’em against each other, and the following exchange ensues:

A hand of Hold ’em is being played.  Malkovich deals.  He deals the river…the Ace of spades.

MALKOVICH (breaking an Oreo cookie next to his ear) :How does it feel…BIG…TOUGH…AH-MER-AH-KAN!  Does it hoit?  That ace of spades could not…have…helped…you…I think.  (He peeks daintily at his hole cards.)  No no no no, Clint East-a-vold…that last bullet did not help you.

Eastwood stares grimly at his hole cards… an 83o which he is playing because he sucks at Hold ’em.  Then he remembers that he’s Clint Fucking Eastwood and doesn’t play queer games like Texas Hold ’em, whips out his .44, and plugs Malkovich right between the eyes.

EASTWOOD (rasping, obviously) : That bullet helped me.

I’m getting way too tired now, so I will wrap this blog up tomorrow with reviews for Friday, Confessions of a Superhero, and Hard Candy, and maybe some other shit I can’t think of right now.  So let me just end this first part with an idea I had for a movie once.  I dreamed it, actually.  It was an action movie, and it starred Clint Eastwood, Chuck Norris, and Randy Bell.  It was very very short, because they found and obliterated the villains so quickly, but when I woke up my sheets were all wet.  Also, my cat was pregnant.

My cat’s a boy.

Until next time, movie fans, the ICU movie theater…is closed!

The Tubelessness Problem… (Plus: The Joker turns over a new leaf…)

I don’t think any of us like thinking about the homeless.  I know I don’t.  It’s a depressing problem that distracts me from the important parts of my life, like deciding whether to flat-call or 3-bet preflop with QQ and the new episode of “24.”  Seriously, I don’t have time to think about depressing poor people with that shit on my mind.  But when I do think about them, it’s hard not to wonder what type of circumstances force someone into that sort of life, and what line of thinking leads them to beg, prostitute themselves, or even steal.  Recently, I got a taste of how one might do things they never imagined in a desperate situation.  (Though this taste, to be fair, came in “spoiled white boy without a care in the world” flavor.)

Tugs at your heart strings, doesn't it? I mean, it doesn't tug hard enough to make you want to do something about it...but enough to make you speed up so you don't have to look at it as long.

I recently made my second ever trip to Water Park of America, which, as readers of this blog know, is “America’s Biggest Indoor Water Park Hotel!” and also may or may not be owned by a floating-or-very-tall ancient chinese man.  Now if you have never been to Water Park of America (America’s Biggest Indoor Water Park Hotel!), you need to know that they have two different types of water slides: the regular kind where you just scoot down on your bum and/or back, and tube slides, which are bigger slides you ride down on an inflatable inter-tube.  You also need to know that the regular slides kind of suck: the joints where the pieces of slide come together have a tendency to scratch up your bum and/or back.  The tube slides, however, are the bomb, but they also have a problem: you need a tube.  The tubes at Water Park of America (America’s Biggest Indoor Water Park Hotel!) are distributed in a very random, unorganized, and wonderfully American way: it’s first come, first serve, and once you have a tube you keep it for as long as you can keep your hands on it.

So yesterday, K-Bell and I find ourselves at Water Park of America (America’s Biggest Indoor Water Park Hotel!), desperately wanting to go down the tube slides (as we had already torn our backsides up something fierce on the regular slides), but lacking a tube.  And as it was a Saturday, the evening, and plenty busy, there was not a spare tube to be found.  Every tube in the joint was in the greedy hands of some snotty eight year old or cute couple or, in rare cases, entire families, who piled onto a single tube five at a time and floated through the water park like some sort of fat, human barge.

Plan A for K-Bell and I to take ourselves out of the rank of the “tubeless” and become proud, responsible tube owners: begging.  We stood along the shores of the large pool where the two tube slides emptied it’s blessed riders out, thinking someone coming off the ride might be tube-slided out and decide to pass their bounty on to us.  The problem: there was a crowd almost three people deep waiting at that exact spot.  Of course, I thought, this is the most obvious begging spot.  We’ll never get a tube here.

So we searched for less obvious spots to set up our pity-shop.  The mouth between the stream and the wave pool…nope, already a fat lady and her fat kids standing there, imploring everyone who floated past for a little tube charity.  Moving further up the stream that went around the water park, we found fewer fellow tubeless to compete with, but also comparatively fewer tubers from which to attempt to scam off of.  It was the ultimate Catch-22.

Begging clearly wasn’t going to work.  The next level we sunk to: prostitution.  “Go up to one of these little boys and tell them you’ll show them your boobs for their tube,” I suggested to K-Bell.  I thought that was a fair trade, and would probably make the decade of some lucky nine or ten year old.

“Why don’t you find some little girl on a tube and show her your penis?” K-Bell countered.  I considered this briefly, and wondered if an evening of magical tube sliding would be worth jail time and having to spend the rest of my life knocking on my neighbors doors and greeting them with, “Hello, I just moved into the neighborhood, and I am required by law to inform you that…”

Prostitution was out.  It was at this point that I began to genuinely resent the people with tubes.  Each and every one of them just looked…arrogant.  Smug.  Floating past me, on their tubes, splashing happily.  Cocky, unconcerned in their tube-filled world.  I noticed that the lucky tubers seemed to avoid eye-contact with those unfortunate tubeless.  Why the hell did these assholes deserve a tube, when I have none, I wondered to myself?  Many of the tubers were not even going down the tube slide! They were just floating pointlessly, not even using the tube for it’s God-given purpose.  One group we walked past had their tube leaned up again the rail, covered in wet towels, while they smugly ate dinner.  What a waste!  I didn’t just resent the people with tubes…I hated them!  They thought they were so much better than us, just because they lucked out and got a tube!  Fuckers fuckers fuckers!

About the tubes: there are two different types.  Regular, and double tubes, which is like two of them joined together, Siamese style.  These double tubes could be used by two people (such as K-Bell and I) to go down the slides together.  As K-Bell noted, there were several people, usually small children, using double tubes by themselves.  Again, what a waste!  K-Bell came up with the great idea of asking two of these people to join up, and ride one of these double tubes together, so that we could use a double tube.  We contemplated this “redistribution” of the tube wealth, and although it sounded great to us, we realized that the tube owners would be unlikely to just voluntarily share one tube when they already had one all to themselves.

Though it shames me greatly, I must confess that at this point I had a dark thought: the only way K-Bell and I would ever acquire the precious tube we needed to enjoy tube-sliding goodness…was to take someone  else’s.  I looked around, trying to find someone who might carelessly turn their back on their tube, allowing me to quickly grab it in their moment of inattention and run off with it.  Or, perhaps a small child or elderly person, who wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight…it would be so easy to dump one of them into the water, and as they attempted to resurface and regain their bearings, steal away with their precious water-vehicle.

Alas, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  Eventually, realizing it was hopeless and that we would never be able to enter that wonderful, magical world of full-fledged tube ownership, K-Bell and I left the park, our heads hung low, our hearts broken, and our minds empty of any beautiful, laughing, tube-sliding memories.  I don’t think anyone with a tube noticed we were gone.

*****

A quick bonus story, unrelated to the one above except for the fact that it occurred while K-Bell and I were eating dinner that night.  This story either illustrates the difference between boys and girls, or illustrates the tragic lack of “Batman” knowledge being taught to our young.  You choose.

When I was recovering from my surgery in August, K-Bell, knowing my love for Batman, bought me one of the Batman action figures that were popular at the time due to the recent release of the movie “The Dark Knight.”  During dinner, she told me that for my upcoming stay in the hospital, she had looked for a “Joker” action figure to go with it, but was unable to find one.  She ended this story by sarcastically lamenting, “So Batman won’t have a friend to go with him.”  This ridiculous statement prompted the following conversation between us, which I am paraphrasing:

Me: Batman and Joker aren’t friends.

K-Bell: Well, you know what I mean.  Sometimes they’re friends.

Me: I most definitely don’t know what you mean.  They are never friends.

K-Bell: Sure, when you were a little kid, you know, didn’t you ever [she mimics enacting a fight with the two action figures] but then sometimes you’re all like [she mimics having Batman and Joker holding hands or having tea together or something] “Oh, hey, we’re friends today.”

Me: No.  Never.  Batman and Joker are never ever ever friends.

K-Bell: Never?  So they just keep fighting forever?  The Joker never learns his lesson or something?

Me: No.  Never

Bless your heart, K-Bell: the only person I know who has so much faith in humanity and goodness that she thinks the motherfucking Joker can turn over a new leaf.

A tribute to my lesser known Facebook “friends”…

When I started using MySpace, and later Facebook, I made it a point of pride that I did not accept as “friends” on these sites people whom I did not consider genuine friends in real life.  I wasn’t going to be accepting my co-workers cousin, my old babysitter, or random people who just happened to share keywords in the “Interests” section of my profile, just to bolster my friend count.  As time has passed, my standards have laxed incredibly, as I’ve just started accepting just about any and all friend requests, not so much because I care about having a lot of friends on a social networking website, but just because I always see the request, shrug my shoulders, and say, “Why the hell not?”

My downward spiral into extreme Facebook friend whoring hit a nadir last week, when I accepted the friendship request of “R.H.”  I have stared at his profile for a solid ten minutes straight now, and for the love of Jebus, I have no fucking clue who the hell R.H. is.  He graduated from my high school the same year I did, apparently.  Did we have classes together?  Were we best friends and I just blocked it out? (Not inconceivable, as I have intentionally blocked much of high school from my memories.)  Who are you, R.H.?  And more importantly…why the hell am I your friend on Facebook?

In my experience, Facebook friends come in three standard varieties.  They are:

Type I- Flesh & Blood Friends: These are your friends on Facebook that you have regular contact with in the “real world.”  Ironically, you very often will communicate with these friends the least on Facebook, due to your real world interactions with them.

Type II- Hurray!  I reconnected with _____ Friends: These are people who you were probably once good friends with in real life, but due to pesky physical world circumstances (moving, marriage, graduation, prison sentence) have no contact with in the real world anymore.  However, you still care about these people, and are excited to use the Interwebz to be able to socialize with them again.  These are the Facebook friends you will probably spend most of your time messaging, IMimg, wall-vandalizing, etc.

Type III- Oh, hey…it’s you.  I sort of, kind of, think I remember you.  Oh, you want to be Facebook friends?  Um…yeah, okay, I guess I don’t see any reason not to…Friends: You have friends like this on your profile, don’t try to deny it.  It’s okay, we all have them.  It’s nothing to be ashamed about.  Lately I’ve noticed I have many more of these friends than I ever would have imagined.  I literally have “friended” people that I have not sent one single piece of electronic correspondence with.  So, as a tribute to my Type III friends, and everyone’s Type III friends everywhere, I present to you a poem: “The Ballad of Tim Gage’s Lesser Known Friends”*

*Yes, poetry nerds, I know that technically a “ballad” is a poem that tells a story, and this poem does not.  But I like the word “ballad” and if you can’t handle that, please direct all your complaints to Free Time’s sister site, www.gofuckyourself.com

The Ballad of Tim Gage’s Lesser Known Friends

A Facebook Poem

In alphabetical order,

I’ll take them off my list,

and with some solemn prose

admit that they exist.

We start out with J.A.

I don’t think we’ve had chance to talk.

But according to some who know you,

you’re a bitch to all that walk.

H.C., I made you famous

when I quoted you in a blog.

Your constant right-wing status updates

make me want to kill my dog.

The next is a girl from high school,

I may have sat next to her in class.

K.D. I remember three things about you:

Nice face, great tits, C- ass.

As I mentioned in the intro,

R.H. to me is a stranger.

Are you the guy I introduced my prom-date to,

and when I used the restroom tried to bang her?

S.J. I do remember,

a sweet girl back from high school.

According to your profile you like camping, snowshoeing, and the outdoors.

That’s all I know about you.

H.K. is the daughter

of a guy I did a show with.

If she doesn’t stop sending me “Lil Green Patch” requests,

she’s getting un-friended with a quickness.

I’m getting tired now, so double time:

L.N., you had a crush on me, back yonder.

K.B., you’re friends with Nikki W.,

Y.T. you’re friends with Amber.

It’s strange to call people “friends”

with whom you never even speak.

I guess I can always hit “Decline.”

I think I’ll start…next week.

SCREWED! The Movie…

MEMO

To: Famous Hollywood Producer

From: Tim Gage

Re: Screenplay Rough Draft

Hello, Mr. Hollywood Producer. I realize your time is extremely valuable, with your days full of alternately deciding which new model of Audi to buy and snorting coke off of hooker’s chests, all the while bringing us such high quality studio fare as “Paul Blart: Mall Cop” and “The Pink Panther 2.” However, I was hoping you could take a little time of your busy schedule to look at my screenplay. I think it’s a great story: it has drama, intrigue, humor…it’s an underdog story, full of emotional resonance, sociological commentary, and all that good shit. And yes, Mr. Hollywood Producer, I’m sure we can find a way for the newest young starlet you’re currently plowing to show her tits at some point in the film.

The draft I have sent you is incomplete and just meant to wet your appetite. After all, I wouldn’t want you changing a few names around, making the movie, and then completely screwing me out of any credit! Ha ha ha, just kidding. Not really. Enjoy!

Important Note: This screenplay is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real events…specifically, events that occurred to me on on the dates of August 27th through February 7th…is completely a coincidence. The school district mentioned in this screenplay is in no way meant to resemble a real school district…certainly not the school district who’s website can be found here. All characters are also works of fiction, and any resemblance to real people is entirely an accident. For example, the evil HR director in this screenplay absolutely, positively, is NOT supposed to be this guy, who’s contact information can be found on that page.

Fiction. Got that? Good.

CLICK HERE FOR SCREENPLAY!

The impossible dream II / Coming Attractions…

So last night I had a dream that the Minnesota Vikings were in the Superbowl.  It wasn’t that exciting, though, because it was one of those dreams where I knew I was dreaming WHILE I was having the dream.  How did I know I was dreaming, you ask?  Because the MINNESOTA VIKINGS WERE IN THE SUPERBOWL!  THE MOTHER-FUCKING ARIZONA CARDINALS ARE IN THE SUPERBOWL, AND THE VIKINGS CAN’T MAKE IT ONE GOD DAMN TIME IN MY LIFE?!?!  ONE TIME!!!  Jesus…

Soon I will be writing a report about my recent trip to Las Vegas.  Pop quiz time: try to guess which one of these things WON’T be a part of my story:

A) Booze

B) Losing disgusting sums of money

C) Prostitutes

D) Baby turtles

I think you will be pleasantly surprised by the answer.  Tune in next week.

In the meantime, watch one of the greatest videos I’ve seen on the internet recently.