22 November 2010

Don't be shocked by the tone of my voice, check out my new weapon, the Notes From The News

Hey there hi there ho there! It's been a long time, now I'm coming back home! I'm back and so are the newsnotes, and I have to say it does indeed feel good to be here again, dishing out the disses and serving up the snark for y'all. Thanks to everyone for being so patient and giving my alt content all the page views while I was away. Please feel free to give the regular content the same amount of page views now that I'm back! And speaking of viewing, cast your peepers on my bumpers: 

By now everybody has heard the news that Britain's Royalest Bachelor Prince William is now off the market, having gotten engaged to his longtime paramour Kate Middleton (and that he used his late mother's engagement ring to make the proposal, which is either sweetly nostalgic or creepily ghoulish, depending on whom you ask). I've had a couple of people  ask me what I think about the whole thing, and I believe I can safely say that I, beyond a shadow of a doubt, do not give a tin tinker's fart in a rat's asshole. Well, that's not entirely true -- I do and I don't. It's very nice for Williiam and Kate, and I wish them more luck in their married years than William's parents had. Certainly they're going about it in a sensible enough fashion by actually having gotten to know each other  inside and out over the past eight years -- I have always and still do maintain that if more people took this route instead of jumping on the first likely dick or pair of tits that came their way, the divorce rate would be a lot motherfucking lower. So kudos to William and Kate for getting that much right, at least. But as far as the media froth that has whipped itself up in the wake of the announcement? You know, all the usual stupid shit like what gown will she wear, will it be a traditional wedding like Charles and Diana's, who will the bridesmaids be, where will the weddin' supper be, crimbo, crimbo? Nah. Fuck that shit. It's all a diversion, a way to make being so insanely wealthy that you can wipe your ass with dollar bills (or in William's case, pound notes) look like a good and proper thing to be, even though it is by and large the insanely wealthy people of the world and their political dick-puppets who have turned the world into the economically-depressed shithole it is today. But we forget that because the media waves Kate's hand in our face, and on it is the bling of a dead woman, and we all go OOOHHHH SHINY PRETTY THING. And we forget all that other shit, because we're essentially magpies who have become used to having meaningless pablum served up to us in teaspoon-like doses, sometimes with the bonus of snarky commentary to make us feel superior to everyone else, and . . . heeeeeyyyyy, wait a minute . . . . 

Jay-Z has admitted to shooting his older brother at the age of 12, possibly so he would have something to write about at the age of 22.

Daniel Day-Lewis has been signed to star as the 16th President of the United States in Steven Spielberg's Lincoln. Day-Lewis will replace Liam Neeson, who dropped out of the role this past summer in order to take on a series of lucrative roles in shitty films because eh, it's a paycheck. Spielberg will begin filming Lincoln before lensing his other in-development project, Robocalypse. Though it would be kind of awesome if he combined the two. 

Fox has announced its mid-season schedule changes . . . and I'm sorry to announce the imminent death of Fringe, a damn good little show that, like many damn good little shows on that network before it, is getting the shafterino from Fox execs. No doubt somewhere Joss Whedon is picking up the phone to call J. J. Abrams and congratulate him for lasting as long as he did over there.

Justin Bieber won four, count 'em one two three four, American Music Awards last night, apparently for auto-tuning the word "baby" a bajillion times in place of any actual talent. Methinks Jay-Z shot the wrong teenager.

Mark Wahlberg has stated publicly that M. Night Shyamasoulman's The Happening was, in a word or two (or three or four), a bunch of shit. Upon hearing this, Shyamacowboyonapalehorseiride elected not to send Wahlberg his new script, tentattively titled OH MY GOD THIS PENCIL IS TRYING TO KILL ME. The twist ending being of course that it was the pen all along.
 Today in who gives a fuck:
  • Jessica Simpson says she cried when she found out that some dude once again wanted her to be his trophy wife. 
  • Jorge Garcia will play a "hippy geek" in J. J. Abrams' new show Alcatraz.  Whether this is a typo for "hippie" or they're just describing the size of Jorge's ass remains to be seen. 
  • The Food Network has canceled the show The Ace of Cakes. Not because it had no audience, but because it's a goddamn fucking stupid show, even for the Food Network.

Send in the Bear Jew -- don't bother, he's here, dept.: Another fake trailer has found a Blue Fairy to turn it into a real, live shitty film. This time it's the Eli Roth-parodying so-called "Clown trailer" that's been tickling ribs around the internet the last few weeks. Apparently Roth himself saw the piece and liked it so much, he's contacted the guys who did it and will now be producing their feature length version of the movie. I can't decide whether this breaks Sturgeon's Law or validates it. 

Wesley Snipes is going to jail for tax avoision (what? it's a perfectly cromulent word, go embiggen your vocabulary or something, godddammit), and at last report was en route to prison (insert "black men can't jump bail" joke here, and hi, welcome to your flight to the inner circle of Hell, would you like the window seat?). Wesley will serve three years in the joint for his crime, and will probably get time off for good behavior so long as he doesn't make any more shitty movies like The Art of War II: Betrayal while he's in the can.  

Lindsay Lohan has either quit or been fired from Inferno, the Linda Lovelace biopic that everyone was eager to see because we're all basically pervs and want to see LiLo's titties again before she croaks off. Be not disappointed however, gang. The producers have found a suitably talented replacement: Malin Akerman, who will bring her mediocre line reading abilities, her smokin' bod, and her well-practiced O face to the proceedings as soon as filming is ready to start. Or possibly before.

And now, Pajiba presents Courtney Love in The Unbearable Lightness of the Importance of Being Soft Focus Round Midnight While Humping a Miniature Disco Ball and Stoned Out of Your Fucking Gourd. Blues. Brought to you by Purina Has-Been Chow. 

. . . aaahhhhhhh, I feel better now, don't you? It's like letting out a satisfying fart after a rich meal. Which metaphor detractors may use to describe my work at some point, but screw them too. Now is the time on Nighthawk Postcards when we get the puck out of here:

Ooooooooo, that's gonna need some duct tape.


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