Hey check out this new extended trailer for the new Fast and furious where the furious are puzzled at the new Dom Toretto
Hey check out this new extended trailer for the new Fast and furious where the furious are puzzled at the new Dom Toretto
Logan is better known as Wolverine, the Canadian mad man with claws who spends his new movie, Logan, as a guy named James even though his friends call him Logan and strangers call him Wolverine if they’ve heard of him.
Logan is fucked up big time in this movie, forcing Hugh Jackman to act with a limp the whole time for probably the first time in his career. In this chapter of the book of this character that’s shaped like a paw, Logan is still alive in the future year of 2029 with his friend and fake dad Professor X. In this he meets a little girl who is exactly like him yet he is still surprised to find out she’s his daughter, probably because the only school he ever went to only taught him how to beat up weirdos and not freak out any time someone looks at him funny.
This movie is a lot like Bad News Bears because it’s about a little daughter helping out a drunk middle age daddy who doesn’t seem to even want a daughter. The little girl in this one looks less like Tatum O’Neal and more like a young Lukas Haas, actor and charter member of Hollywood’s original Pussy Posse.
This movie is also like Terminator 2 in a way because there’s tons of stabbing and a guy protecting a kid, and also kind of like Little Miss Sunshine because there are quite a few road trip sequences and drugs. For you Spielberg fans there’s even a touch of Hook in that there’s some powerful kids hanging out in a clubhouse which Logan goes to in a tuxedo like Robin Williams in Hook.
There were so many stabbings in this movie that I’m surprised it’s not rated S. But seriously, when a movie stars at least 3 people with claws there’d better be wounds, and boy were the movie ambulances you never see burning rubber over the few days or whatever that this thing took place.
This future in this movie isn’t half bad except for this army of guys who all have robot arms doing whatever it is they feel like all day long. And every car is made by GM/Chrysler in the future. That sucks because my family has been about Fords since the ’90 Taurus wagon.
There’s one good eating scene at a stranger’s dinner table and one good bathroom scene, which are good numbers for a major motion picture.
This ain’t the kind of X-Men movie with blue chicks and karate aliens and shit, it’s more raw and that makes sense because Wolverine like his meat raw and his beer cold. Oh Canada indeed.
I’d give this movie 23 “stab wounds” out of 28 “ADR grunts” and would recommend it to anyone who is looking to prank someone religious.
The naughty night noticers at NASA recently peeped 7 new planets that were probably pretty obvious to aliens better than us. This is exciting news for a race of beings who have always fantasized about travelling to other planets to mark our territory by instinctively pissing everywhere only to receive eye-rolls from the natives who have such big eyes that the eye-rolls are are obvious, leading us to retreat back to the more piss-friendly Earth in utter embarrassment.
Now that it might be possible to chill somewhere other than here, there are a few things I’d like to see in a new planet. Since there are probably infinity planets out there, the likelihood of there being one that matches my specifications is 100%.
My ideal planet includes…
Safer volcanoes. Ask anyone–dead or alive or Highlander–where they’d want to hang if danger weren’t a factor and you’d hear two answers: the mesosphere and in a volcano. Volcanoes are way too dangerous to party in so I’m hoping the ones on any new planet is full of savoury goos and sweet foams that would be a pleasure to bop within alongside a selection of our finest party animals.
Sour oceans. Our oceans are renowned for being heavily seasoned with our favourite french fry flavour, which is pretty boring for those of us with sophisticated palettes. I prefer something with zing which is why I’d like oceans with notes of citrus and tamarind.
Better trees. These days it’s rare to come across an Earth tree that bears fruit I can actually fuckin eat. If all our food on the new planet came from trees we wouldn’t need money, and could spare the lives of native hogs and beefs, forcing them to race each other instead.
Better caves (and plenty of them). I need a planet that provides built-in housing so we don’t have to waste time, money and drywall in making new ones that only treasure hunters and dukes can afford. A good cave system heated by hot springs and cooled by the gems would increase quality of life way more than any Tom Hanks movie ever could.
Better stuff in the desert. Nomads often refer to their local desert as “the beige bitch”, which is awfully disrespectful. Perhaps they’d treat our new deserts better if they were to include things like vines, thorns, and Gatorade.
More moss. If you live in the city like I do you might as well forget about ever seeing moss the rest of your life. Moss lets you live the lizard life and provides food, a pillow and green/brown tones that could influence your next design project.
Policing by big birds. I’m a freak for fantasy so the idea that we could be policed by giant birds of prey really puts a buzz in my balls. Plus, rather than discriminate against people of colour, bird police will target the rat-like among us who probably need a reality check anyway.
Chiller gravity. Lighten up, you know? With looser gravity we can finally standardize the mattress, rid ourselves of the oppressive sleep number system, and do away with terrible Yelp reviews of hotels that are forced to commit their fleet to either side of the Mohs scale.
At the end of the day, there would be zero problems on Earth if there were tons of warm, mossy caves and better trees. If you want me to run for election I’m totally down but must warn that I’ll never stop swearing.
Now that Dongald is Grand Moff of her United States, we Canadians aren’t so eager to hop longitudes to enjoy American roads and avenues named after famous trees. We used to get excited at the prospect of prancing into the Eagle’s nest to buy legendary cereals, eat at restaurants with big food, and drop major coin on cheap milk thanks to your rock bottom food standards. But with the oven now preheated to “Hell”, we’ll probably be spending our Queens on local grease instead.
There are still a few things worth boinging the border for and that’s basically the thesis of the piece unless you’re more visual than visceral, in which case we invited you to enjoy the proceedings from a font standpoint.
Check these things out:
This one’s pretty simple: There are more people in the United States than in Canada. More people = more hair; more hair=more haircuts; more haircuts=more experienced barbers; more experienced barbers=better barbers; better barbers=better haircuts; better haircuts=better TV; better TV=popcorn sales; popcorn sales=corn profits; corn profits=more money for corn masters; more money for corn masters=happier corn masters; happier corn masters=more sex; more sex=more babies; more babies=more hair; more hair=more barbers.
It’s also worth noting that Vidal Sassoon arrived in the United States in 1965(!).
There’s no denying that America’s gaga for God-god, and while tons of Yankee dudes and dudettes are loudest when yelling at Him inside their own heads during evening prayer, many more prefer to broadcast their praise from within immense crystal churches in stunning 4K and Dolby Stereo Surround Sound.
Our local Jesters of Jesus are more modest preferring “ministry miniseries” over “bethel blockbusters”. Our northern worshippers aim for a ceremonial tone that jives with stodginess of the Bible herself. I mean, you wouldn’t put a lacy bra on a beef’s udder now would you?
If you really want to see some praying, head over to the U.S. where billboards scream the Bible’s best, and real deal barkers pack immense complexes with fans and state-the-art wireless PA systems. Sometimes you gotta realize that money is best spent amplifying the voices of god’s faves as opposed to helping those god has deemed unfit to have money.
Most of the world hates the same things as America, such as crud, wasps, goo, and the flu. But for some reason they’re the only ones who have a problem with socialized healthcare. That means that every trip into the Fab Fifty is a potentially dangerous mission where even a cute cut could translate to millions of dollars in wallet damage.
If you like to live dangerously, there’s no better way to put your blood at stake than by going to a place where guns are sprinkled into the landscape like salt on a baker’s apprentice’s fake pretzel. If you’re looking to roll the dice but can’t find a flock of glocks to get spicy with, ramp it up by getting a simple scrape then running around nude in the American woods. Try to survive the system and your numerous infections. If things get dicey you can return home to your Canadian doctor who has no idea if you’re rich or poor unless you wear one of those hats with the logo of your car on it.
Okay thanks for reading! Now it’s time for the OFFICIAL glennmacaulay.com blog after show:
A good movie sequel is like a hot roast coming out of the oven after you just ate the same roast. The new roast has great potential because no matter what it is fresher than the first roast, but then maybe you’re not as hungry because you already had one roast. This is the kind of meal that I experienced when I saw John Wick part 2 now in theatres.
John Wick: He’s a man, and he’s two movies. Everything you loved about him and it is back because John Wick is back in John Wick 2 where Wick is back on the job as the world’s most unkillable killer.
He hates his damn job but whenever you kill someone people get pissed so John has to keep doing his job or he’ll die from getting killed by another guy who wants revenge even though he’s the hardest to kill in the world. The bad guys want to kill him so bad but they and us know that John Wick is the best killer in town. The only way to kill a guy like this is for everyone in the world to try to get him and that’s sort of what happens in this movie. It’s a bit weird because in the world of John Wick most people are killers who use gold coins instead of money to get a nice New York hot dog or to pay another guy from doing something for them.
Wick shoots his way through tons of guys and only two girls at the speed of a tornado and looks as cool as he is sad as he travels from New York City to Rome to New York City again for more action.
The fact that this is an urban movie is a real treat for people living in the country because they already think everyone in the city wants to kill them and this movie does a good job at keeping them scared of that.
If the first Wick was about his doggy, this one was more about John Wick. Before the movie my real brother told me that his dog grew up and became his guard dog in this movie so I expected to see the dog eat someone but sorry, all it does is hang out, no big deal.
John Wick doesn’t eat anything in this movie but one of the bad guys has a great scene where he nibbles a very tasty looking artisanal french fry that brought back memories of the bald guy from Matrix eating a steak in front of the agent who was a tough guy to kill, like John Wick. That’s a pretty interesting connection for movie fans who are more like sleuths than regular watchers like me.
The soundtrack has nothing for me to add to my iPod so here’s a rap I wrote that would’ve been ultra cool during the closing credits, with a rude beat I found on the Internet that you can use to sing along:
Light the wick, I’m talking John Wick
Forrest Gump? Nah, what are you, sick?
He’ll shoot your skull to make sure that you die
He’s got a suit on his back and a gun to his eye
He aims straight and never runs out of guns
It’s Keanu baby, hunk sandwich on action bun
One gold coin might buy you a drink
John Wick 2 a Titanic that won’t sink
John Wick, get up get down, everybody dance
Chapter 2 homie just give it a chance
Action packed no need to skip it
Take your sweetie to the movies, get a ticket ask guy to rip it
I’d give this movie 11 “loaded guns” out of 13 “but I thought we don’t support guns”. I’d recommend it to anyone who needs to hide somewhere for two hours.
After last year’s successful 25 songs in 25 days special Advent Calendar 2015, I’m back in 2016 with a video Advent calendar that will blow your bows off. Let’s do it!
Check back each day and you’ll be treated to a new treat as new videos get added to the playlist, or go back if you’ve missed one–there’s no right or wrong way of doing it. Unless you don’t do it at all. That’s wrong. Thanks, GLenn
I can’t blame you for imagining every surface of my home being taken up with olives and gems. While I certainly dedicate a large portion of my counter tops, floors, and shelves to all things brine and shine, I do make plenty of room for the goblet of serfdom–the humble jar.
It’s my philosophy that any combination of jars in the home should feed off each other like a celery garden at the foot of a waterfall that eats celery. Of course my most famous jar combo–the one that earned me Jar Star ’03–is my Swear Jar and Prayer Jar. I’m frequently asked at banquets how I manage my jars and as a strong believer of free information and sharing of resources I’m happy to oblige this once, if not to prove I’m a worthy recipient of a Lifetime Achievement Jar’ward at this year’s fete.
My swear jar is different than the more common, profit-based models that take money out of the crumb-infested pockets of foulmouthed youth and into the mint-addled purses of the parenthood. My Swear Jar contains innovative new swears that I hope will add a bit of “oomph” to our language, and thus our art.
It’s very straightforward, but to give you a more inside look here is what was in my swear jar the week a big dog bit me:
A prayer jar is a file system meant to keep track of one’s demands toward whatever God they constantly seek the autograph of. I find these jars an excellent opportunity to try out some of the new swear words from the swear jar. Here’s what you would’ve found in my prayer jar that week.
It’s Halloween and I should be fearing things like worms and poison, but instead I’m completely frIgHtenTend of losing my wallet, the brown bill buddy that contains my most important inanimate elements (except my jock strap, eh boys?).
On a normal day–one of those 1.5 poos, 3 meals, watch the trailer for John Candy’s Delirious again kinda days–you don’t even notice you have a wallet because it’s always there, like the prevalent hope that gravity will be dethroned as the force that dominates our physical world. Another example would be how you never stop and think that your face is technically all zits until one actually wriggles its way to the surface seeking the light of the moon.
I’ve been made more aware of my wally because last week I lost it for six hours, and in that six hours I couldn’t even think straight let alone follow through on a dare I was issued, which was to shoot a ham like a basketball into the CEO’s office toilet screaming out “PAY DAY, SON”.
Now that we’ve established today’s theme it’s time for…
Now that we in the First World have hit “Peak HD”, we can no longer rely on crystal clear images to blow our minds. It’s this sailor’s opinion that we must look back upon the brain blasters of old to reignite our imaginations, ensuring we’ll never been short of ideas for Pixar movies.
Looking past the amazing properties of yeast, and snakes getting boners, I’d like to table a re-ignition of paradoxes that once dazzled the olive-soaked, unexposed-to-canned-chili brains of robe-clad youths in Ancient Greece. Here are two modern examples suitable for transcription into your next yearbook quote.
It’s the fourth of July and you throw a party called “Bourne On The Fourth Of July” where you watch Jason Bourne movies on the fourth of July, but you also want to celebrate the “Bourne On The Fourth Of July” celebration by watching “Born On The Fourth Of July” on the fourth of July during “Bourne On The Fourth Of July”, while also honouring the fourth of July.
The verb “soil” means to “make unclean”, and is often used in regards to human piss, thus to “soil” something could refer to “pissing” something, notably pants or underpants.
The noun “soil” is the brown crumbles that cover our planet and help plants grow. Many plants grow above the surface of the soil, thus soil could be referred to as “underplants”, a colloquial term that makes reference to human underpants.
If I were to say “I pissed my underplants” that would mean I’m watering my plants, but if I were to say “I soiled my underplants” I could mean I watered my plants but ALSO I added my soil to an existing mass of soil.
TLDR: Soil is dirt and to piss, underplants is soil, soil the underplants, piss the soil
I’m not sure I know what a “paradox” actually is but at least I’m contributing to the Internet and not lookin’ at it like you.
Ever since the last LOTR movie disappeared from the big screens of regions across the crust, the only way I’ve been able to re-capture feelings of action and adventure is by doing barrel rolls in the turnip patch next to the motorcycle repair shop.
“You’ll always have the books, Glenn,” whispered Gandalf, removing his hat and lowering himself atop the tiny oak toilet in Bag End, signalling the end of another long quest.
I know that, but whenever I read I always imagine my male protagonist having the face of Judge Reinhold and the talent of Joe Montana. Granted, that just about equals Viggo Mortensen but it’s not all the way there, and he’s the ONLY sword swinger I want to picture prancing the prairies when I’m paying my respects to the Lord.
Isn’t it weird that books can last forever but movies have a shelf life similar to that of a line of cheeses that have different shelf lives depending on what level you purchase? Cracker Barrel C1, Cracker Barrel C2, Cracker Barrel C3…, each one would have different strengths and weaknesses in terms of flavour and shredibility like the asexual characters of the Mario Kart universe.
This has been your introduction to CHEESE & WHINE & WINE… now onto the main event:
Today I’m grating some whine into a glass of “Penis Gnar”, the latest unconventional pinot noir from those rebellious vintners at Statutory Grape Estates.
The whine I’m pouring is “Politics”, which I’m only plopping on so there’s record of my opinion on the matter should I win the raffle that explodes all my personal electronic devices in exchange for unlimited touching at the world’s best museums.
If my carefully curated social media channels are to be believed, Donald Trunp is a tit honkin’ fuck face who hates everyone except his family, whiteys with thick wallets, and women who aren’t regular. If he truly is that bad, wouldn’t he have eaten somebody by now? Does this mean I need more varied friends? I like to think I’ve got a gaggle of great grownups geared toward good gravy, goofy gigs, and green gags but do I ever learn anything? Of course I do, I love all those guys. If I’m going to try new things it’s not going to be friends; my thing fling will be with new types of noodles and a deeper understanding of Photoshop’s lasso tool.
That’s it, I’m done! I packed roughly three features into one important post. By doing so I’m now qualified to enter the Burger King Blog King Derby where the winner receives a custom 3D printed straw relative to the size of their lips, and keys to their local BK. Honestly, all I want are the keys themselves because they’re made from a tooth of the only known dolphin with an overbite, and that sort of thing makes for good stories if you’re like me and don’t know how to talk casually to your dentist.