Burgundy LaRue

And then those same people wonder why you don't talk to them anymore. Like anyone with a shred of sense wants to be associated with such idiots. No thanks, life is already hard without having to deal with that level of fuckery.

The real tragedy: that we could see this coming from 100 miles away. A waste of everyone's time and Trayvon is still gone.

As soon as I heard that they were asking for clarification on manslaughter, I knew it was a wrap. Zimmerman better go underground and not as so much look at a black person for the rest of his life. I wouldn't be surprised if something bad happens to him before the year is over.

So Batman is Liberatian, more or less?

Sha-mon! Tooooooo soooooon.

Salisbury and Merrill Hoge need to be strapped to a rocket and blasted into the farest corner of the universe.

Ah, the FSW v Gonzo showdown. Good times. We'll have to prod someone into having a fight this upcoming season for our amusement.

What's all the racket? *reads rant* Buy Me a Burrito >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Steal Me a Taco. Your call, Dewar. JS.

While I didn't have that take on it, I can see it. For me, it showed how typical Bruce's life would have been. As the only child of flithy rich parents, he would have led the life of a spoiled socialite playboy who finally meets his dream girl in Selina, and in turn inherit the Wayne billions. He would have been the male counterpart to Veronica Vreeland--flaky, flighty, essentially nice but shallow and devoid of true meaning. It's why I find it fascinating that whenever the Justice League goes to alternate worlds, Batman is one of two characters who basically remains the same (Lex Luthor is the other). His parents' death is such a strong part of his psyche, it can't be altered no matter what.

Wu-Tang really does have all the answers.

Come on. Don't be THAT person. NO PUPPY BROTHERS!

I really wish more big-time directors and actors would look toward making micro-budget movies. Let's see how creative they can be with just a few million instead of their usual 'equal to a small country's GDP' monies. William Friedken has redeemed himself with Bug and Killer Joe (gotta watch that at some point), and they were made for pennies by Hollywood standards. Soderbergh is always up for a challenge like this. Matthew McConaughey is showing what a good actor he can be when he's not going for the easy payday those rom-com movies give him. Nicole Kidman is always best in small, on the fringe films. It forces out-of-the-box thinking. I wish more big-name talent would do that.

The overall hatred toward McNabb is something I don't understand. Has he ever been liked since being drafted? I'm not aware of any such time. He was an above-average QB, which makes him worlds better than Salisbury if memory serves. But the mere mention of his name sends folk into a tirade. Strange.

I'm working on my Reading Exchange book, which I'm liking a lot. I think I'll get into some YA reading after that.

There is no way I sat through this bleeding ulcer of a film and I don't post my review again. If I suffered, all of you will suffer with me! ******************************************************************************************* DOUBLE THE BAKER, HOLD THE PLOT MITCHELL YEAR: 1975 DIRECTOR: Andrew V. McLaglen Joe Don Baker. The name, outside of a few roles, most notably his turn as Sheriff Bufford Pusser in the original Walking Tall, probably brings a slight chuckle from anyone who recognizes his name. While he's not an obvious punchline, I don't think anyone regards Baker or his career highly. He's sort of given the brush-off, it seems, as what tends to happen to C-list stars as time passes. Baker isn't the worst actor, or even a particularly bad actor. He was solid with decent material and early in his career, brought good physical presence to the screen. It's just that somewhere along the way, he went off course with some bad roles. For an actor who wasn't a master thespian or incredibly handsome, he had no margin for error. In a decade that saw a number of non-conventional looking men become stars—Pacino, DeNiro, Hoffman, Nicholson, Hackman—Baker could have become more of a player. I don't know why it didn't happen. He could have been some variation of Eastwood or Bronson, the vigilante bent on payback or the cop who's had enough of the corrupt system. He may have even been able to put out a few comedies, like Smokey and the Bandit. He was on his way to that, and then he wasn't. It's a shame, but a classic example of someone who for whatever reason, didn't quite make it to the top. My next two reviews will cover a pair of Baker's worst cinematic outputs. ********************************************************************************* Baker plays the title character in this movie, a drunken slob of a plain clothes police officer. He's sleeping off his latest stupor in the back of a squad car when a call comes in to check out a murder that just took place at the home of attorney Walter Deaney (John Saxon). Deaney shot a burglar in cold blood and planted a gun on the gun to make the murder seem justified. The uniformed cops accept Deaney's explanation, but Mitchell senses something else is going on and plans to investigate. However, his police chief tells him that the FBI is keeping tabs on Deaney and his dubious dealings; therefore, he's their business. To distract Mitchell, the chief assigns him to follow James Arthur Cummings (Martin Balsam), a shady businessman with mob ties. Mitchell isn't interested in Cummings and still goes after Deaney—until he learns that the cousin of Cummings' mob friend wants to use Cummings' ports to smuggle stolen Mexican heroin until the states. When he needs more backup to help him fend off the mob, Cummings tries to bring Mitchell into his fold. What you quickly learn in watching this sorry film is that Mitchell is a no holds barred bastard of a degenerate. He's a drunk. He's slovenly. He has porno magazines scattered around his dirty apartment. The dude is an amoral waste of space and he's a loser at his job. No one in the police department likes him. His boss would likely fire him and why he doesn't is beyond comprehension. Mitchell only gets things done if his greasy ass gets lucky and he stumbles into solving a crime. Watching Joe Don Baker running and scaling walls is the stuff of hilarity. He looks like he's about to have a coronary at any moment. Just two years after Walking Tall, Baker's physique had already taken a major nosedive. I could feel his veins hardening by the minute in this movie. A diet of cigarettes, cheap beer, and margarine will do that to you. Baker became the doughy jowl version of Buford Pusser and it's sadly comical to watch. Meanwhile, Mitchell receives a visitor in the form of Greta (pre-Dynasty and pre-Yanni Linda Evans), a high-end call girl to distract Mitchell and shake the slob cop off his tail. When a guy only has beer or vodka to offer as drinks, you know you he's straight class. (makes gagging noises) Mitchell spills beer on Greta just before getting her drunk and sleeping with her. What a gentleman. He's a keeper. Next is what has to be one of the slowest car chases I've ever seen. There are hearses that move faster than Mitchell chasing Cummings as he's being driven by his butler Benton (post football career Merlin Olsen). They go onto a dirt road and eventually, a red Mustang runs Mitchell off the road. This is just sad. After getting beat up by some thugs that I assume Cummings sent his way, I find myself cringing in agony as Mitchell has a romp with Greta. I could have went my entire life without watching poor Linda Evans having to pretending that Baker was sexy enough for her to get naked for. They're rolling around and we see Mitchell pick up three cans of Schlitz using his foot to grab the plastic holder. As he sets down the remaining beers, a quick shot to a half-used bottle of baby oil is seen. FUCKING BABY OIL. JOE DON BAKER AND FUCKING BABY OIL. And yeah, this is happening while country singer Hoyt Axton is singing in the background. What in the entire fuck? Oh, damn this mess. I feel abused. I'm going to be sick. (vomiting noises) (rinse out eyes with bleach) Greta and Mitchell get into something resembling an argument and Mitchell drags her into the precinct to be booked by the actor who played Deep Throat in The X-Files. That bit is the most interesting part of the whole movie. Meanwhile, Cummings tries to bribe Mitchell, who says he can't be bought and assumes that Cummings was paying for Greta's services to set him up. We learn that Cummings had nothing to do with Greta. Actually, Greta was hired by Deaney, who is also trying set up/bribe Mitchell. It doesn't work. Mitchell is a rank bastard, but he can't be bought. His outsides may be dirty, but he's clean at the core. Yay. So now we get Cummings setting up Mitchell on a drug deal gone bad while he and Benton make their way to the marina to hop a boat and run for Mexico. Mitchell gets roughed up a bit, but he has some backup in a helicopter come for him while he blasts some bad guys to meet their maker. The foot chase scene here actually went faster than the earlier car chase. After shooting four guys in the chest, Mitchell hops on the helicopter and chases after Cummings and hope to get the Coast Guard to help. Woo-hoo. And the exciting copter/boat chase where Mitchell sacrifices one of the pilots due to his own laziness as Benton manages to shoot the guy despite the boat moving at a good clip and the guy being in a helicopter. Geez, where are the laws of physics when we need them? Doughboy Mitchell manages to shimmy down a rope to the boat where he and Benton get into it. Some gut punches are thrown, and Benton nearly throws Mitchell into the Pacific. But Mitchell rips out Benton's intestines with a grappling hook and Mr. FTD is fish bait. That leads to Mitchell disabling the boat and Cummings trying to convince him that they can split the million-plus dollars he has on the boat. As Cummings comes out, Mitchell blasts the guy, even though Cummings wasn't trying to shoot it. Jeez, so he doesn't take bribes. He just kills folks in cold blood. Whatever, geez. Mitchell makes it back to his dumpy apartment, and instead of the intruder that he thinks is in there, he finds Greta. Apparently, she's in love with the guy. WHAT? Gorgeous Greta wasting her paid-for cooter on Mitchell? That slob? Hell no, hell never. No one believes it. Mitchell smells marijuana on Greta and decides to haul into the station for arrest. The end. Yeah, that's how this infected third-degree burn of a movie ends. *slaps forehead* In case you're wondering—and why wouldn't you? (HA!)—you may be asking: What happened to John Saxon's character? Apparently, this MST3K version is heavily edited and didn't show it, but Deaney dies in a dune buggy accident with Mitchell somehow involved. Hope I didn't spoil things for you. (snickers) I won't be looking for the uncut edition. This one has given me more than enough. (holds nose) WHAT AN OUTHOUSE OF A MOVIE. So much crap. Where do I even begin? You've got a plot going with Saxon that gets dropped for no reason. You've got an Oscar winner in Balsam, slumming it up and trying to keep a stiff upper lip. I don't know what made Olsen think that being caught in this film was a good idea. Not that Olsen ever became much more than great athlete turned mid-level actor, but he deserved better than this. Evans has never been been mistaken for Bette Davis in the acting department but even for her, she was near comatose here. And she had to make out with Joe Don Baker. Good grief, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. He just drips bacon fat all over the place. He's absolutely vile. I can smell him through the screen. Pig feet in pickle juice set outside in August, if you must know. Maybe Evans had to get stoned before shooting their love scene, in which case I give her a pass. She must have needed the paycheck bad. Everyone must have. No way anyone read that script and thought: This is a good movie! I'm going to hit the big time with this one! Just an appalling mess of a film that should be ashamed of its mere existence. Any TV cop drama from this era is miles better than this. And let's not forget Hoyt Axton warbling the title theme with a wink and a smile as he downs another shot of Wild Turkey. My, my, my Mitchell, hanging around the criminal scene. What the hell? Damn this mess! (starts gagging again) And keep in mind that I watched the MST3K version. Can you imagine if I had subjected myself to the straight movie, no Crowbot chaser? (shudders) What a turd. Some version of it is in the 100-movie Action Classics pack from Mill Creek Entertainment. I wouldn't advise watching this. Do it at your own risk. I'll be lying down with a cool cloth on my forehead. Just after I pour more bleach in my eyes. Sweet, cleansing bleach. May you help me forget.

I had a great time watching it! I can't believe I hadn't heard of it before. It came out around the same time that another Hatcher film, The Cool Surface, debuted, which I watched on VHS a long time ago. Now that was dud, some soft-core tripe veiled as a psychological thriller. It didn't work, needless to say.

Ugh, I thought dancing babies died with the cancellation of Ally McBeal. And that's why I drink Coca-Cola. Pepsi's lame in every way.

The AT&T commercial where the little girl talks about turning her brother into a puppy bothers me. The girl is so nonchalant in casting a spell on her unsuspecting sibling, thus turning him into some carnival side show and presenting him to her class for show and tell. It just feels wrong, and how does it tie into selling phone service anyway? I don't like it.

I don't know about that, with several players and executives being popped for drunk driving. I expect Goodell to bring out his hammer soon on that.

Someone will need to talk RandomAct off the ledge. Who's the closest to him? Poor guy.

I can play nice when the moment calls for it. Just don't get used to it. Don't reach for no hug, and don't speak when we in the club.

To be fair, I'm ragging on you. But this guy would win hands down in most votes.

Gimmicks never die. They're just repackaged in different colors to make more money from the sheeples. If you need help in this matter, my cut is 15%.

Home Jersey! DEAN must have fixed it. Very nice!

Poor, beatdown Pistons fan. When Rasheed Wallace as an assistant coach is your second best signing, well. . . *waves white flag*