Summer Movie Sequels

Here's something that I have held in a draft archive for almost two months, waiting for my previously mentioned art department intern Eileen to finish her job. Her job was to create some movie posters for me, a task she clearly didn't complete. She only finished one, and promptly took a leave of absence from her duties. Alas, I must forge on without her and my much anticipated movie posters...

(Originally dated 3/1/2010)

So last week I saw that a the wheels are in motion to film a sequel to Zoolander. I'm always a little bit apprehensive when thinking about seeing a sequel to a film, because more often than not its atrocious and a waste of my very precious time. Then I got to thinking; if all these sequels are going to inevitably huff balls, why not let me write them? I'm not guaranteeing a box-office smash, but at least it wouldn't make me feel like clawing my own eyes out. So I'm going to give you some movie sequels that I think would be considerably better if they were written and directed by yours truly. Summer blockbusters with a hint of SBB...

Pretty Woman 2: My Girlfriend Is a Hooker

Richard Gere reprises his role as successful businessman Edward Lewis in this sequel, that starts just after 2 weeks after the original (You might be asking yourself how I could fathom putting Richard Gere in the role of a 35 year old man set in 1990? Don't you fret; let's just say our producers are going to be keeping Just for Men: Touch of Gray in business for a long time). After realizing the he loves Vivian Ward he takes he on an extravagant and blissful trip to the Caribbean. Now they're back in the real world with real world obligations, when it suddenly hits Edward like a sledgehammer to the chest: My girlfriend sucks other men's penises for money.

Godfather 4: Mrs. Doubtfire

We all think Don Vito Corleone died towards the end of the original Godfather. Guess again bitches, because as it turns out it was all a ruse to get a truly objective view of how his son Michael would run the family business. In this seemingly final movie in the Godfather saga, we see how the strength of both a crime organization as well as a family are held together by their aging patriarch in a nanny costume. (Since Marlon Brando has been dead for 6 years Robin Williams has been approached to play Don Vito/Mrs. Doubtfire)

Friday Night Lights 2: 19 Year Old Dad

Picking up a year after losing in the Texas football state championship game, the teammates from Permian High School have begun to come to terms with the reality of being a poor kid from an economically lagging town in West Texas. Working midnight shifts at the highway gas station seems only temporary, that is until their girlfriends start getting knocked up. Wamp Wamp.

 Hotel Rwanda 2: Penthouse Pool Party! 

In the original  Hotel Rwanda viewers were shocked and taken aback by the Rwandan genocide, and many were left feeling uncomfortable and confused by the historically accurate scenes that unfolded in front of them. My fan-friendly, lighthearted sequel is in no way based in fact, but merely will serve as a speculative piece that displays what I assume happened immediately after the original film. The militant Hutu's and the surviving Tutsi's put aside their differences and decide to throw a rooftop bash in this homage to the beach themed films of the 1950's. Who knows the type of wackiness that will unfold in this sun-soaked, fruity drink packed extravaganza...

Putting asses in the seats since '09

SBB

Tokens and New Best Friends

For all of you beautiful little bitches who have had the privilege of meeting me in person have probably made the very keen observation that, for the most part I only surround myself with people who look, think, and act exactly like myself. This isn't necessarily something that I actively tried to do, but its also not something you hear me making a fuss about either. Let's be honest, I just don't have the time to approach the world through the scope of anything but a collection of stereotypes, and considering the fact that stereotypes are usually spot-on, I feel like my attitude is not only a time saver but a real price performer to boot. Regardless, how did I arrive here? I would imagine that it has something to do with the fact that I grew up in River Forest, or that I attended private Catholic schools for almost 20 years, which essentially has made it so that my closest peers will always be an unvarying group of white kids. I'm not a hate mongering hermit, all I'm sayin' is that diversity is kinda gay. Don't blame me, blame my parents, blame the khakis; shit, blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-a-alcohol for all I care, its just the world I exist in.
 
Now I'm not saying that I don't have non-white friends, in fact that couldn't be further from the truth. I have like 2.3 black friends as well as an Indian friend, so suck me sideways. And if we're going to keep up the stereotyping trend we might as well label them as the tokens. If you don't know what a token is you're probably either Amish or you've spent the last 12 years living in a fucking cave, either way I'm not sure how you came across my blog, but I'm glad you're here. Don't ask me where the term token came from. Do I look like Mr. Webster to you? Google that shit for yourself. My best guess is that the name has something to do with skee-ball or arcade games, but that's just a shot in the dark. Either way, since we don't have any etymology for the term token, I'll just give you Hollywood's definition. Behold, scenes from the Oscar nominated film Not Another Teen Movie...


And...

As you can probably tell, the recipe of my life only calls for one ethnic friend at a time. You may be asking yourself, "How can you justify only having one non-white friend at a time?''. The simple answer is that places like the Taste of Chicago and the NBA All-Star Game tend to make me uncomfortable, but in order to appear tolerant I will give you the cut and dry non-xenophobic answer; token friends are inherently solo in nature, and to bring another one into the mix would be doing them the injustice of stripping them of their title. In reality, being my token friend is a big responsibility because they need to be my one stop shop for all things that I have generalized about their culture, and by that I mean basketball, rap, and potential subliminal messages in Cosby Show re-runs. I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'.

This had me thinking, could I ever be a token? I know for a fact I can fulfill a stereotype, after all, when I'm getting dressed in the morning I try and ask myself what outfit would make people think I fell out of a Kennedy family Christmas Card. I have no problem being a walking billboard for white people because deep down I know that khaki's look great on me and that Hall & Oates are a fucking dynamite duo, but being a token means more than being just a white poster boy. The real question is...to whom can I be the token? And it just so happens that I think about this opportunity all the time. By now it should be pretty evident that even though I'm a textbook definition of a white person, my life would be exponentially better in my opinion, if I could just hang out with R. Kelly. Allow me to explain...

Even though I grew up in Polos and saddle shoes, at a very early age I developed an affinity for everything Hip Hop related. I believe can be directly attributed to the jockeys over at 107.5 WGCI and the amount of R. Kelly they were playing during my formative years. Regardless, R. Kelly has fascinated me from the first time I heard "Bump & Grind". I appreciate him for his musical talents, but I adore him for his relentless quest to find a middle ground between the harmonious and the down right stupid. Dos Equis can have "The Most Interesting Man in the World", because SBB has R. Kelly, "The Most Ridiculous Man in the World".

"I don't always have sex with 17 year old girls, but when I do, I take a whiz in their fuckin' hair"

If I'm going to be anyone's token white guy, I'm going to be R. Kelly's resident cracker. I just know that every waking day would hold the promise of something spectacular yet undeniably stupid. He could be looking me straight in the eyes and sing about how he's going to make mouth babies with my sweet old Grandma, and as long as he has a microphone in his hands the only thing I'll be able to say is "Damn R. Kelly can sing". That's why I think me and Mr. Kelly would get along like 2 peas in a pod; I wouldn't just judge him for his faults, but just do my best to bring out every ounce of his diamond encrusted and incredibly melodic inner retard. Something tells me that as his token white guy I would be able to regularly bear witness to spectacles of ridiculous proportions. To think what it must be like to show up at a club with R. Kelly; I can only imagine that its pretty similar to being one of the golden ticket holders and walking in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, but Mr. Wonka is wearing an enormous white mink coat and telling his harem of girls to suck his hairy gumdrops.

I may just start out as the token white guy to him, but I honestly see a wonderful friendship blossoming from our ordeal. At first I may just be answering questions from him and his friends such as "Yo how you work this mutha fuckin' internet?", or "Ay Joe, what the fuck is tennis?". After a few months of being his white people encyclopedia I will have built enough rapport with to go out and clown at clubs with him and essentially become part of his inner circle. I wouldn't just be there to answer questions about the Anglo-American people, but I believe they would probably parade me around town and make me do white guy things, like dance funny amongst black people (2:18 into the video) or eat panini's. I will retain most of my white guy moxie, but Kells will look at me as I'm pouring champagne all over some woman's tits and he'll say "Damn Joe, we're like brothers from a different mother, like Mel Gibson and Danny Glover". Then I'd turn to him and say "Ni@@a Please!". He'd hesitate for just a second then burst out into laughter, and understand that we can do things like that with each other now that I'm not just his token, but his best friend.

C'mon and braid my hair,
SBB

Shoutouts, Census, and Hobo tour 2K10

I'm sorry that I've been a little lackluster when it comes to the frequency of my posting  in the last few weeks. I know how all you wonderful followers love for me to blast money-shots of intellect into your noggins, but we're going to blame the lack of recent posting on my art department intern whom I will refer to as "Eileen". We're going to call her that, not in the respect of anonymity, but because that's her name and I want everyone to be mean to her. Oh well, on more important notes, I have returned and that's all that really matters.

Before I start I want to give a shoutout to a follower who I just became aware of in the last week, proving that not everyone in this world is a supreme doucher and that SBB has a extensive reach . BW, this one's for you, and don't for a minute think that I have forgotten that your girlfriend once named your penis Princess Sophia

I'm sure you have become aware of it by now, but the whole 2010 Census has really begun to chap my ass raw. "Have you filled out your Census form yet?", "10 questions takes just 10 minutes"; no I haven't filled out your census form, and the guilt trip isn't going to have me hurrying to finish it either. They might be wondering why I, like many others choose to ignore this simple civic duty and go about the rest of my day, and I can give you a number of reasons but I'll just stick to two. 1.) I'm an adult and I've got shit to do, and 2.) The needs and wants of others usually are not a concern of mine. So no, I will not be filling out the census.

What annoys me the most is the sheer relentlessness that the census bureau displays. I get a new reminder in the mail every single day, and having been through 4 years of college I already knew exactly what to do when someone gives you a random piece of paper, and that is to either instinctively do the Heisman on that dork handing out the flyers or accepting it and immediately throwing it in the first garbage can you can spot. Also, the constant barrage of television commercials with that fat, sweaty, just out of bed yet extremely active ubercitizen is starting to weird me out too. This guy is gallivanting around his neighborhood playing with kids and helping roll a woman in labor on a gurney and guiding her through her contractions; shouldn't there be a doctor or midwife there to step in and say "Excuse Mr. Man Tits but before you try and touch the baby can you please go take a fucking shower?". I know I'm supposed to fill out the census because its part of my duty as a citizen, and so government funds get appropriately distributed. After all we wouldn't want to leave anyone out, but that gets me thinking that there must be one group of people that do not get represented at all. That's right, I'm talking about the homeless...

Now don't get your panties in a bunch thinking I've gone all liberal on you, I assure you I have not. I'm just trying to make an astute observation about the homeless, and after 4 years at Marquette I'm pretty sure that along with my Bachelor's in Finance I should have received an honorary Doctorate in messing with the hobos.

The homeless community, or as "Malt Liquor Aficionados" as I like to refer to them, are a strange group, something I have realized in the last few years when I lived across the street from the Milwaukee Rescue Mission. For those of you who aren't familiar with the Rescue Mansion, it is essentially the hobo Mecca, where they all congregate while enjoying Flamin' Hot Cheetos and Newports, truly the finer things in life. If you have the impression in your head that all homeless people are like the dirty faced bums from the 1930's who lived in boxcars and carried all their possessions in a handkerchief tied to a stick you wouldn't exactly be correct, but you certainly be wrong either. These days there happens to be quite a vast dichotomy of hobos, and they are quite an interesting species. There's the Nam vet who keeps to himself and just sits on the sidewalk, the wannabe Nam vet who unleashes incessant jibber-jabber about the cruelty of the government yet somehow forget that most of their problems started when they dropped out of high school, and the "just don't give a shit" hobo (my personal favorite) who has accepted the fact that he's homeless and fully understands the humor I find in his overall state of being. These particular hobos are the ones that are more likely to do tricks for you or have a funny sign in order to get a few handfuls of change. True American entrepreneurial spirit if I do say so myself.

Now if Milwaukee is the previously mentioned Mecca of hobo activity then my neighborhood has an active hobo splinter cell. Until I moved to Lakeview I never imagined that amongst the famous architecture, historical baseball stadium, and scenic lakeshore there would be a bum population, but there's one particular neighborhood corner that is a hotbed of vagrant scalawag shenanigans, and it just happens to be around the corner from my apartment. To illustrate what I'm talking about, here's a picture I took last Friday. Let me assure you that people have serious concerns when they see a kid tiptoeing up to a passed out bum poised to snap some photos of him, because its exploitative and ultimately only funny to people like me, but fuck those guys because I've got a blog to write. (Notice that even in his midday slumber this particular bum refuses to let the tallboy of Old English out of his homeless clutch.)

What I found to be one of the most interesting aspects of the bum population is the strange amount of brotherly camaraderie they have; hobos seem to all be best friends, and I guess it makes sense because they need each other to pool their money together and buy menthols or a 5th of red raspberry Mad Dogg 20/20; life as they know it hinges on the collective. During the summertime in my neighborhood these rascals sit outside along Lake Michigan drinking  together while watching the joggers run by, all while speaking their indiscernible homeless banter only understood by them. Like I said before, their camaraderie and need for each other is rather strange. Its almost like watching an extremely destitute fraternity the way they hang out, arms across each others shoulders while pissing their pants and singing the beautiful songs of their youth. However, this camaraderie that seemingly ties together all the bums in town can only last as long as a pack of Black and Mild's or a bottle of Wild Irish Rose. The homeless are a fickle bunch, and I am not the first person to realize that watching bums argue in their mush-mouth language over the last cigarette until it escalates into a all-out fist fight is one of the funniest things a human can bear witness to (bumfights anyone?). The fact that stinky bearded men can be best friends one minute and mortal enemies is something I personally find intriguing, and getting to watch the transformation in their soggy minds firsthand is truly something special. Call me crude and down right low, but watching homeless men do silly things like punch each other is funny and there's no way around it. To see grown men attempt to wail on each other, only to fall down in a drunken stupor like a baby taking its first steps will always get a chuckle out of me. Its not funny because of the fact they don't have a place to sleep at night, or because they have a mental illness and no family to take care of them, its funny because they're yelling nonsense in the middle of the daytime and they smell like poo. So next time a bum asks you for some money for food (booze) give the poor chap a dollar, and remember that no matter what brought that goofball to where he is today, know that however he chooses to spend his vagrant days, its only a matter of time until hilarity ensues.

One final shoutout for this post, but this video was sent to SBB by longtime follower, first time contributor Matt Harmon, so enjoy, bitches...

Snappin' necks since 2009,
SBB