I know that Jim Varney died of lung cancer a few years ago. He’s the guy who played Ernest in those movies and commercials. You know, the ones where the hillbilly pokes in the window and shouts HEY VERN!
If you think about it, we’re all Vern. Ernest is shouting all this stupid crap at us, over and over.
But if we were Vern, wouldn’t we lock our doors? Or latch the windows shut?
Sure, Ernest was an idiot, but letting him back in over and over, what does that say about us.
Maybe Vern left out packs of cigarettes?
Glad Max guides his oxcart along the well-worn trails of Nepal, smiling and greeting his neighbors and countrymen.
Before the collapse of civilization, Nepal had been socially backward. Mostly subsistence farmers with poor access to technology, advanced medicine, and education.
There were a lot less annoying tourists and drugs and other crap that came with modernization. The old ways were back and here to stay. Nice and quiet.
Which made Max glad.
Every now and then, post-apocalyptic weirdos in leather BSDM gear drove up form Australia and caused headaches. And eventually drove off of cliffs.
Which made Max even gladder.
Nobody knows why Godzilla keeps attacking Tokyo, but the insurance companies learned their lesson after the first time.
They tried to add “zilla” to the end of “Act of God” in their policies, but that didn’t quite work out with Kanji characters. So, they said that Godzilla had used his atomic fire breath on the building that warehoused all the records and paperwork.
When that scam didn’t work, the insurance company called the bankers and worked up a deal.
“Godzilla destroyed our vault and records,” the bankers said.
They pocketed the cash, fled to Singapore, and lived happily ever after.
When I go to sleep, I play camping sounds on my phone.
Crickets, a crackling fire, owls, and frogs fill the air.
It helps me to dream of when we’d go camping long ago.
Back at Crystal Lake.
Yeah, there was this Jason kid that we harassed and drove into a homicidal fury. He put on a hockey mask and chopped up a bunch of hot teens.
Thank goodness I was a pimply nerd back then. Jason just passed me by without a single look. Dude just snickered. Jerk.
I still came down with poison ivy. Man, did that suck.
I saw all three Spiderman movies.
Then, I saw The Amazing Spiderman. It’s a reboot of the original.
The sequel just came out. So, I went to see it.
Pretty soon, there will be reboots of Spiderman movies that are still in the theater.
And reboots of Spiderman reboots.
Every movie will be a Spiderman reboot.
Hollywood will keep hitting the reboot button until the power supply burns out.
Do you smell smoke?
Yup. They burned out the movie-going public.
Too many Spiderman reboots.
Hollywood goes back to the drawing board.
“We need something original!” they shout.
And reboot Superman.
The Lorax told The Onceler that he spoke for the trees.
A few months later, all the trees were gone, and The Lorax was out of a job.
He lifted himself into the sky, where he flew back to the PR firm he worked for in New York.
“Well, that ended badly,” said his boss. “And those trees haven’t paid any of our invoices, either.”
The Lorax was handed a “rehab” account to get him back on track, and he did well with it.
Then, a tobacco company.
“Shit,” said The Lorax.
“You again?” asked The Onceler, smoking a cigar.
The Find A Grave site has no information about the legendary animator Ray Harryhausen.
Why the mystery?
Well, when Ray died, his colleagues wanted to pull out his bones and replace then with a poseable metal armature. That way, they could create stop-motion puppetry animation with him.
That’s disgusting, I know. And terribly inefficient in this age of computer-generated special effects. They could just create a digital Ray Harryhausen.
But you just don’t get the same impact with CGI as you do with a practical puppet. It isn’t too real. It’s fantasy.
The cops arresting them for grave-robbing?
After the party ended and everyone left, Mary put the kids to bed.
George Bailey counted the money again.
It was more than enough to cover the savings and loan.
“I’ll take care of that,” said Uncle Billy, scooping the stacks of money into a basket.
“Fuck no, you goddamned stupid drunk!” shouted George. “You’ve fucked this family for the last time!”
George took Billy’s keys away. “You’re fired!”
Then, he had Bert the cop drive him into town so he could put the money in the safe.
“Merry Christmas, savings and loan,” he mumbled. “Take me home, Bert.”
Tonto sick of getting shot at.
This time, Tonto hire crazy paleface to put on white hat and ride white horse to draw fire from Tonto.
Hiring Mexican to wear black and ride black horse was mistake, even if Mexican work cheap and use sword.
He go back to Mexico, call himself Zorro now.
Do he once thank Tonto? Hell no.
Tonto sick of getting shot at.
Tonto just want to make enough to go East and write poetry. Maybe wear black beret instead of dead animal on head.
For now, just follow crazy paleface.
From behind. Far, far behind.
Near the end of the movie Soylent Green, Charlton Heston’s character weeps as he accompanies his elderly friend to the suicide center.
The tears are genuine. E G Robinson was dying, and he told Charlton about it before the shoot. Charlton wasn’t acting… the emotion of the impending death of his friend was overwhelming.
Also, the whole “processing the dead into food” thing was genuine, too. The movie was over budget, so the producers cut the catering budget by eating hundreds of extras killed in various accidents on the set.
Accidents. Uh huh. Right.
Charlton laughed, and asked for seconds.