Saying that he would rather witness a live decapitation than watch two people kiss on screen, twelve-year-old film critic Dustin Huffman lambasted the film industry with an interminable slew of “ew”s.
“I watched Ready Player One and the book was definitely better than the movie, because there were too many kissing scenes in the movie,” he explained. “Ewwwwww.”
In the past few months, Dustin has garnered the attention and respect of scores of cinemaphiles, thus beginning to dominate other venerated critics on Rotten Tomatoes and Roger Ebert. Many accomplished film directors have begun to pay attention to Dustin’s insightful complaints, conceding that any movie that depicts any level of sexual contact between consenting adults is too “ewwwww.”
“I sincerely regret having that beautiful Sicilian woman take her clothes off and kiss Michael Corleone in The Godfather,” lamented Francis Ford Coppola. “It’s been more than forty years since I made that movie, and now all I can think of is ewwwwwwwwww. The film is utterly without redeeming social value because the ew-factor is too high. The Godfather III is even worse because there’s even more kissing, but at least they’re cousins.”
Ironically, however, Dustin’s parent’s found last Monday a massive amount of pornography on Dustin’s computer. “I never thought I’d have to install a firewall or whatever you call that,” said Ariana Huffman, 43. “He was always saying ‘ew’ to everything ranging from broccoli to bestiality, so I thought he’d be naturally repelled by our evolutionary instincts and be voluntarily celibate.”
Reporters attempted to interview Dustin, who declined to comment and explained that he had more important things to do than to deal with our silly questions. He was last seen playing with a fidget toy while blowing someone’s brains out in virtual reality.
Dog-tired from work, my wife and I decided to pamper ourselves at the fancy-looking Hannibal’s Restaurant, the only place in the world where you can legally consume human flesh. Fiasco. We were made to wait half an hour before our pimple-faced waiter handed us a knife, which we used to cut off our own love handles. Needless to say, the service was bad. He should have sliced us up himself.
And then there’s the bleeding. Nothing to stem the bleeding, and they didn’t even make blood pudding, so it was all wasted. We just bled profusely and got all dizzy due to loss of blood pressure and we couldn’t get water to swallow our ibuprofen because they would’ve made us pay for that overpriced Evian shit.
And then there’s our faces. Why would you slice off your customer’s nose before you serve him appetizers? And so I couldn’t smell the rest of my meal. There I was, waiting thirty minutes for a meal that may never come and which I will absolutely never smell. Inexcusable. We had to gouge out our own eyes to finally get the appetizers (again, they should’ve done it for us) and then we were too blind to find where our noses were, so my wife and I ended up lunging at each others’ faces in the dark before our lips met and we finally chewed off each others’ tongues and had a taste of something nice and raw.
That was two hours of our lives and $250.34 we’ll never get back. Overall, a terrible experience. And I don’t know why the waiter is still alive. Steer clear of this place.
BLOGOSPHERE—Lacking the joie de vivre to take up meaningful hobbies like sewing and spelunking, a woman visited her husband’s blog ten years after its inception. “I had no idea that Ronald has been writing about me,” Sheryl Sans-Blurb, 47, said after reading an article entitled “Wife Makes Historic First Visit to Husband’s Ten-Year-Old Blog”. “Otherwise, I would have visited his blog a long time ago.”
“I’ve been writing about you for quite some time already,” replied Ronald Dump. “You’re always drinking milk and watching TV beside me while I type about you on my 17-inch laptop.”
Notwithstanding Sans-Blurb’s unforgivable negligence, blogging experts remarked that the visit is a rare event that will go down in blogging history. “It’s almost like some law of nature,” said one WordPress reader. “Spouses seem to be as averse to visiting each other’s blogs as they are to discussing the intellectually stimulating intricacies of tax law. They never do it.”
Unbeknownst to Dump, Sans-Blurb noted that she will never again visit his blog. She opts instead to continue to do whatever she’s been doing for the past ten years of her life, because it is just that much more interesting.
BLOGOSPHERE—Saying that he will kill himself if he doesn’t get more than two ‘likes’, blogger Ronald Dump, 32, went on a massive liking spree in a last-ditch effort to achieve fame and fortune, subsequently developing Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.
“I spent more time ‘liking’ everyone’s blog than I did watching porn. That is unprecedented,” declared an inattentive Dump, who continued to ‘like’ everyone’s post while he talked to reporters. “I will do this until I get more likes. If I don’t, I will kill myself.”
Dump rudely avoided eye contact throughout the interview as he winced in pain clicking ‘like’ buttons. To ease the pain, he periodically sipped on a tumbler of single malt whisky with the help of his other hand. “This is also unprecedented,” he mumbled with a cigarette in his mouth. “I usually use my other hand for recreational purposes while the first hand clicks on pornography. But I’ve discovered that that’s a real waste of time, and blogging is more important.”
The single malt, in tandem with a Tupperware full of Xanax, also serves as a means to take his own life should he not become an internet celebrity. Additionally, Dump has set a large revolver in his desk drawer and lots of ammo in case his firearm jams. “I swear to God I will blow my brains out,” he said. “Fucking ‘like’ me already. I ‘liked’ you. What the fuck else do you want?”
Unfortunately, Dump has had no ‘likes’ since he ‘liked’ everyone’s blog. He is nowhere to be found and has not answered our phone calls since Monday. While he may simply be suffering from writer’s block, the assumption is that he has killed himself.
Dump’s last words were, “I would rather kill myself than ‘like’ myself.”
HOLLYWOOD—Saying that he doesn’t care what other people say about him, a gay man bravely donned a quintessentially heterosexual black blazer and button-down shirt Friday morning.
“I am wearing a heterosexual suit and serving straight up daddy realness,” declared LeBar. “I don’t care what society says about me. I have panache, energy, nerve, individualism, and suaveness.”
Georges LeBar, 57, spoke at length about mankind’s heterophobic herstory. “Straight men have been nice to us, and we totally fucked it up. For hundreds, if not thousands, of years, we’ve burned and kicked and lynched and drowned and mutilated them before throwing them to the lions and torturing them with pickup trucks and banishing them from society and raping everyone and their mothers. The modern man is different. We have compassion for our straight brothers, and we’ll take a leaf from John Stuart Mill’s book.”
LeBar added that gays should stop calling straights “breeders” and “maggots” because such derogatory terms are “fucking stupid.”
He declared, almost condescendingly, “Being a man is almost an act of treason in a gay-dominated society. But to all my straight buddies hiding in their man caves, it’s okay. Just come out. We’re all friends.”
Calling each other “irrational” and “annoying,” potato farmer Tom Bruise and his wife Lucy quickly resolved all marital conflicts by not talking to each other. “It totally works,” said Bruise. “Ever since we resolved to shut our respective traps, I’ve been angrily washing the dishes while she texts her friends, and we get along just fine.”
The couple reported increased sleep quality since they stopped talking to each other. During bedtime, they would face opposite directions with their eyes wide open in the dark. “The empty gap between us on the mattress keeps growing, and I keep feeling that I might fall off the bed,” the husband said, elaborating on his marital life. “And the sex is awesome. I jerk off and eat Doritos all day. Awesome.”
Lucy explained to reporters, “My husband doesn’t want to talk, and that’s fine. He’s just being himself. As his wife, I support him and his being himself and everything he does. He can be his own sad little bitch self who fap fap faps away ’til the second coming.”
Tom and Lucy indicate that, since remaining silent, the resentment that has festered in their marriage for the past five years has all but dissipated. “I love her,” said Tom. “I love him,” said Lucy, rolling her eyes. “I’m so grateful we’ve decided to shut the fuck up.”
Antoine Fuqua, the director of Training Day, has made The Equalizer, an emotional drama based on the life of a depressed bald man. “It’s time for the public to wake up and see just how difficult life can be for the hair-challenged,” said Fuqua. “As a bald man myself, I can relate.”
The movie recounts the life of Tony Delcavoli (Denzel Washington). Lacking confidence due to lack of hair, Delcavoli can’t help but cast furtive glances at people with hair when he takes the subway to work. “Look at that man over there, that smug asshole grooming his beard with a fork,” he complained. “Who does he think he is?”
“Delcavoli is a brave, brave man,” said Fuqua. “You know, hairless men are 40 to 50 times more likely than the average American to be called ‘cue ball’, and I don’t take that as a compliment.”
Critical reception has been sharply divided, with Roger Ebert calling it a “maudlin piece of tearjerking nonsense” and Armond White saying that it “warms both the heart and the head.”