08 September 2010

Lost In A Roman Wilderness Of Pain, And All The Notes From The News Are Insane

I was going to the worst place in the world and I didn't even know it yet. Weeks away and hundreds of miles up a river that snaked through the internet like a main circuit cable plugged straight into the newsnotes. 

. . . or something like that. Anyway, here's the bumpers.

Starting us off tonight: Ray Bradbury is still working to get film adaptations made of Fahrenheit 451 and The Martian Chronicles, and is working on a new short story collection. Ray Bradbury is 90 god damn years old. Ray Bradbury may well be one of the most awesome human beings ever to walk the planet.

Guillermo del Toro is bringing H. P. Lovecraft's At the Mountains of Madness to the big screen. Among the actors being considered to play the lead: James McAvoy, Tom Cruise, and Chris Pine. So, this is going to be another one of del Toro's "pays the bills" movies, I'm guessing . . .

As I'm sure you're heard by now, there was a pretty serious accident on the set of Transformers 3 over the weekend -- an extra was seriously injured and hospitalized, and her personal car, which Michael Bay's production co. had hired for the shoot, was totalled. Insult to injury, dept: they paid her $25 to use the car. But is that what actually happened? A frequent movie extra says not bloody likely, and that the media is spinning this to look worse than it actually is. Gee, I can't imagine the media doing that, can you?

Meeting your beat, dept: James Franco is a chronic masturbator. Like, a five times a day chronic masturbator. There; don't say I never gave you anything. And don't ask James Franco to give you anything, because by the end of the day he probably can't.

Congratulations to funny lady Rachel Dratch on the birth of her son Eli. I have no joke here because this is a good thing. Happy days to mother and son. 

TV will eat itself, dept: McG, the world's worst McDonald's sandwich, is developing a detective show for TVabout a detective who learned his trade watching detective shows on TV. That thumping sound you hear is me, pounding my head repeatedly against my desk until the urge to weep passes.

Terry McMillan is releasing a totally unnecessary sequel to Waiting to Exhale called Getting to Happy. If she was the least bit honest she would have called it Running to Payday.

New albums available for live streaming: Weezer's Hurley, Of Montreal's False Priest, Superchunk's Majesty Shredding, plus albums by Blonde Redhead and Chromeo. And now I know I'm officially getting old, because I only recognized two of those bands.

A new upcoming book about philanthropist, sweetheart, all around good egg and NOT AT ALL A SLEAZE MERCHANT DOUCHEBAG Joe Francis tells a great story about Paris Hilton smuggling cocaine in her vagina. Hell, she can probably fit the entire nation of Columbia up the goddamn thing.

And finally: Oh sweet merciful fuck no. There is a film about Auschwitz coming out, and it was directed by the person least qualified to responsibly handle the direction and content of a film about Auschwitz and/or the Holocaust: Uwe Boll. Yeah, that Uwe Boll. The brave souls at Pajiba have the trailer, if you're interested and have no desire to hang on to your dinner. All I can say is OH SWEET MERCIFUL FUCK NO. Which I already said. And which I will probably say again.

And that's it for me. Time to kill Col Kurtz and call in the airstrike. 

. . . shit, you just can't get good airstrikes these days, can you?

Stay cool, kitties!

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