Papa's Basement

Review – Inception

admin — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 19:22:05 +0000

Inception looks like M.C. Escher had sex with Enter the Dragon.

Continuing in the Papa’s Basement tradition of reviewing movies weeks after their release date, I’ve decided to bang out a few words regarding Inception, the latest achievement from Christopher Nolan of Memento and The Dark Knight fame. Here goes:

1. After exiting the theater, please stop acting like you just saw The Godfather.

Inception is a great flick, and I was thoroughly entertained during every moment of it, but an all-time classic it ain’t. This may come as shocking news, given the fact that it currently holds the number three slot on The Internet Movie Database’s Top 250 Movies list, voted upon by the site’s readers. (As an aside, I’d like to take a moment to defecate upon the IMDB’s Top 250. Currently, 11 of the top 20 films of all-time were released in 1990 or later. The Dark Knight is listed as the 12th greatest film of all-time, Fight Club the 18th. We should all give thanks for living during such a cinematic renaissance! The summer of 2010 alone has seen both the 3rd greatest movie (Inception) and 10th greatest movie (Toy Story 3) released during its span. See? Democracy doesn’t work.) So, while I encourage you to watch and enjoy the fine piece of cinema that Inception is, if it takes you more than a few days to shut the fuck up about it afterward, I’m probably going to punch you in the trachea.

2. Just because you kept up with Inception‘s plot doesn’t mean you belong in Mensa.

Has there ever been a finer album for making love to?

The film centers around the conceit that you can enter a shared dream-state with other people and, while in this state, get them to reveal their secrets to you. Simple, right? Well, sometimes the targets of these attempted dream thefts have been trained to detect intrusions into their minds, and the only way around their defenses is to suck them into a dream within a dream. By the movie’s end, there are scenes taking place in a dream within a dream within a dream within a dream. “How labyrinthian!,” you exclaim! Not really. Yesterday I ripped Judas Priest’s British Steel to my computer (keepin’ it current) and wanted to listen to “Breaking the Law.” To do so, I clicked on the little Windows button in the corner of my desktop. Then, I clicked on the “music” directory. Then I clicked on the “Screaming for Vengeance” directory, which was located in the “music” directory. Then, I clicked on the “Breaking the Law.mp3,” which was located in the “Screaming for Vengeance” directory, located within the “music” directory. Heady stuff.

3. Why Does Joseph Gordon-Levitt have Chinaman eyes?

Joseph Gordon-Levitt (pictured to the left doing everything short of posing with Jake Gyllenhaal’s cock in his mouth to evoke the memory of Heath Ledger) is a fine actor and does a great job in Inception. I did leave the theater, however, thoroughly confused about his ethnic background. I mean, I’ve seen wider eyes in Bugs Bunny Nips the Nips. After a lengthy inquiry (which consisted of typing the name “Joseph Gordon-Levitt” into Wikipedia), I learned he’s Jewish. I’m still convinced his mom must be a goddamn Eskimo, but I’m putting an end to my search into his racial heritage before it crosses into Josef Mengele-ville. If any of you guys reading have an idea what the hell the story is with 3rd Rock, leave a comment.

4. Ellen Page gives me an erection times negative one.

I initially had a picture of Ellen Page in a bra here to drive home the point, but hell with that, I need to keep every reader I've got. Say hi to Sofia Vergara.

Not much to say here other than wonder why Christopher Nolan didn’t go with an actress who doesn’t require computer effects to look like she’s gone through puberty. As I said about Rotsa Ruck Revitt above, she’s a great actress and does just fine in the film, but the exchange where he kisses her because his lustful passions supposedly got the better of him is the least-plausible part in the entire thing…and this is a flick that features things like floating, upside-down skyscrapers that bend to your very thoughts. I’d rather run the words “Proteus Syndrome” through Google Images and masturbate to the results than spend another moment on Juno. Next time you’re in bed, try thinking about her instead of baseball to last longer.

So go ahead and rip me apart in the comments section for not walking out of Inception with such a massive erection that I had to hold my popcorn in front of me to hide it. It’s the best flick I’ve seen this summer, but if I could somehow make incarnate and then fingerbang The Godfather, Inception wouldn’t be fit to sniff the scent of that fine film’s juices off of my digits.

Papa’s Basement 7-24-10-Women Are the Rake

admin — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 18:17:06 +0000

Heed the wisdom of Worm.

The callers make this one to remember. We listen to the tale of a caller who found out his wife was a porn star in the worst of ways which leads Will and I to conclude that we’ll probably stay single for life (dry those eyes, ladies). There’s also some talk about LeBron and if the backlash regarding his move to Miami is (at least partially) racially motivated, but do yourself a favor and just listen for the goddamn porn star story. And to the guy whose wife revealed herself to be a porn queen…we’re still waiting for her site’s url, bub.

Papa’s Basement 7-24-10 (To download this file, right-click this link and select “Save Link/Target As.”)

Papa’s Basement 7-21-10-Ahab Had it Right

admin — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 17:13:49 +0000

It means omerta. It means rewenge. (Google that line, then watch and love the show it's from.)

It’s back. The mid-week episode of Papa’s Basement has returned, and we all are better for it. I vent one last time (well, to be honest, I’ve probably got more in me) about the murder of my Nintendo DS as Rachael listens and sympathizes by calling me a baby and titanic vagina (in so many words). She then mentions watching The Sopranos non-stop on A&E while having seen neither The Godfather nor Goodfellas leading me to inappropriately channel my frustrations and tear into her like a wild dog until she hangs up and I’m forced to finish the show alone. I’m going to make an awesome husband someday.

Papa’s Basement 7-21-10 (To download this file, right-click this link and select “Save Link/Target As.”)

Funeral for a Friend

admin — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 19:41:32 +0000

Chaplain Master Chief speaks a few words over the body.

Today, I laid to rest my Nintendo DS. It was not with me for long, but maybe it’ll be enough if you know that, in the few days we had together, we loved a lifetime’s worth (oh, Terminator references). I will now get into the circumstances of its demise and then ask for your wisdom at the end of this post.

DS and I (for the remainder of this piece I will simply refer to my Nintendo DS as “DS,” for it was dear to me as a beloved pet or small child and should be addressed with a proper name in order to reflect this) were minding our business at one of my places of employment, XM Radio. The nature of my job there, running an audio board for various sports broadcasts, requires me to not leave my post for a moment, meaning that, if nature calls, I must contact someone called a “floater” (call a floater so you can drop a floater. How poetic) to cover you so that you can visit the rest room. I try not to chug a ton of fluids while at XM so that I’m not calling the floater non-stop, but I’m usually good for one break per shift just so I don’t end up pissing into the waste basket to prevent my kidneys from exploding by the end of the night. Tonight was no different, and two hours into my shift, I kindly gave my friendly floater a summons.

He looks so natural. Almost like he's charging.

DS was plugged in and charging as the floater entered my studio, face buried in his laptop. It all happened so fast: He tripped over the charge cord, flinging DS across the room, my diminutive, electronic lover hitting the floor with a sickening thud not unlike Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby. “Mo Chuisle,” I screamed as I leapt to my fallen’s side (actually, I just walked off to take my piss anyhow, but I feared the worst). After returning and telling the floater he was free to go, I attempted to turn DS back on and my fears were confirmed: DS had shuffled off this mortal coil.

At this point I didn’t know how to proceed: I called the floater back and informed him that he had committed an act of homicide, then told him I would speak to management to see if there was any policy regarding we retarded DJs accidentally blowing up each others’ crap before contacting him again. My question to you is this: If you were me, would you ask the floater to reimburse you for the life of the DS he took? And, if you were the floater, would you feel angered by this request or accept it as fair? Leave a comment on this page or Tweet your answer to @papasbasement. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to swimming in Johnny Walker and re-watching the first minute of the clip linked below for the 1,000th time. Because that’s how I heal, broseph.

Papa’s Basement 7-17-10-Scott Baio Raped and Killed a Girl in 1990

admin — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 18:05:06 +0000

When it comes to putting deez nuts in your mouth, I'm in charge, Charles.

I discuss my Twitter flame war with “celebrity” Scott Baio (I use “celebrity” in the same sense that the dogs who played Lassie were also “celebrities”). Turns out, he’s a colossal prick (in other news, water is wet). The Papa’s Basement gang also takes the FCC’s yearly indecency compliance quiz on air because it’s funny in a really, really sad way to hear just how stupid the body that governs the means by which I make my livelihood is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and punch myself in the dick repeatedly for typing the words “Twitter flame war.”

Papa’s Basement 7-17-10 (To download this file, right-click this link and select “Save Link/Target As.”)

(For those of you that didn’t catch the title’s reference, because it’s too hilarious not to share.)

Movie Review: Cyrus

admin — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 17:03:27 +0000

Sorry, ladies: I should have posted a 'squirt alert' before springing a picture of such fine studs upon you. It probably looks like Slimer flew through your panties now. Forgive me?

This was supposed to be a review of Predators. Ever since the co-host of Papa’s Basement, Rachel Oehring, issued a scathing review of that film on my radio show last week, I had been champing at the bit to see it, love it and wave my appreciation of it in her face like a piece of dog shit on a stick. I also figured a review of a popular film that was only a week late wouldn’t exactly hurt traffic to my site.

For reference: Allison.

The big day was supposed to be Wednesday. I had contacted a few male friends (and only male friends) because bringing a woman to Predators would have been asking for an awful time. They’d have either grimaced their way through it and halfheartedly pretended it wasn’t so bad afterward or vocally expressed their displeasure every five seconds throughout. In retrospect, that sounded eerily similar to me describing a girl’s reaction to anal. An hour before Predators‘ showtime, however, I got a call from my brother that he and our friend Allison were going to go see Cyrus in a few minutes and I was invited if I wanted to join them. Usually I’d have said “piss off” and continued with my plans, but Allison is a close friend of the family that we don’t see often. Plus, she’s had some health issues recently, so I’d feel pretty guilty if she kicked the bucket in a few weeks and I had skipped seeing her one last time to watch a sequel. I called my friends, told them we’d see Predators soon and girded myself for Cyrus.

Oh, you sweet guinea treat.

The premise of Cyrus is fertile comedic ground: John C. Reilly plays John (clever), a divorcee who leads a life of paralyzing loneliness. At a party he meets Molly (the still-überporkable Marisa Tomei) who sees past his depression and falls for him. Everything seems to be going great for John until he encounters Molly’s son Cyrus (Jonah Hill Feldstein. Yep, that’s Jonah Hill’s real name), who displays an unhealthy, almost Oedipal level of attachment to his mother. The rest of the movie plays out as a standard romantic comedy involving lovers dueling for a woman’s heart…except one of those dueling is the woman’s son.

It all sounds so promising, doesn’t it? John C. Reilly in the throes of depression. Jonah Feldstein in an almost-incestuous relationship. Marisa Tomei repeatedly checking herself for lumps on camera (I made that one up). Sadly, the movie never makes up its mind what direction it wants to take its premise in. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a futon: A shitty, uncomfortable comedy that unfolds into a shitty, uncomfortable drama. And please, don’t think I feel this way just because it was a subdued, indie film: Nothing gives me a bigger hardon than being a titanic prick about “understanding” a film that was too refined for other people. For example, my appreciation of Freddy Got Fingered is legendary.

So skip Cyrus this weekend, which you were probably going to do anyway because you’d never heard of the goddamn thing to begin with and Inception looks amazing. It’ll be there waiting for you on Netflix in two months (and hopefully streaming, because I couldn’t tell you in good conscience to use a DVD delivery slot on it). In the meantime, if you want a laugh from John C. Reilly, check out this clip of him in Talladega Nights. Now that’s entertainment fit for my refined palate.

Papa’s Basement 7-10-10-Mad Mel

admin — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 15:32:28 +0000

Riggs foils another one of Murtaugh's notorious pack rapes.

So, remember that tape we mentioned last week featuring Mel Gibson screaming at his ex Oksana Grigorieva about how she dresses like a whore and would get “raped by a pack of [N-words]” for it? We have the audio this week and dissect it like the damn Zapruder film. Listen and find out why we end up comparing Mel Gibson to Ned Flanders. (Also I may or may not end up doing an impression of the latter saying the unspeakable “n.” Okay, I do). Rachael wraps things up with her review of Predators and talks about her sinful lifestyle that involved spending time with men she’s not married to. Slut. She deserves to get raped by a pack of…hey hey!

Papa’s Basement 7-10-10 (To download this file, right-click this link and select “Save Link/Target As.”)

I’m Not Gay for Watching True Blood (But You Are)

admin — Fri, 09 Jul 2010 19:55:15 +0000

(And the fact you stared at this picture for 27 seconds isn't helping your case.)

Twilight. The Vampire Diaries. The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod. Team Edward. Team Jacob. Team Coco. If you’re anything like me, you, too, are having a hard time keeping track of all the weird, vampire-centric shit that’s hit the market the past few years. I’m here today to make the case that you give one of these what-does-it-say-about-me-that-women-fantasize-about-getting-the-blood-sucked-out-of-them-by-Robert-Pattinson-yet-I-can’t-get-one-to-agree-to-a-run-of-the-mill-threesome shows a try, though: HBO’s True Blood.

The hottest Anna Paquin's ever looked. I sure Siskel's happy that one of his last reviews was a thumbs 'way up' for Fly Away Home.

I wanted to be above True Blood. God, how I wanted that. An ex of mine was way into the show, to the point of dressing as its protagonist, Sookie Stackhouse (played by the gap-toothed and generally weird-faced Anna Paquin), for Halloween. There’s nothing I relish more than despising, or at least being ignorant of, the things that people close to me love most, and getting to post “Who are you supposed to be, again?” under each picture of her in costume on Facebook is a memory I will treasure forever. Months passed. The relationship eventually ended (thus freeing me to watch the show) and, about the same time, a friend, who had downloaded True Blood illega…er, purchased the show’s first two seasons on DVD from the good, Christian folk over at HBO.com gave them to me to view. By the end of the first, episode, I was hooked.

True Blood‘s premise is intriguing: The Japanese have invented a synthetic blood they brand “True Blood,” which frees vampires from relying on humans for sustenance, allowing them to “come out of the closet,” so to speak. Now openly living in society, vampires serve as a metaphor for several minority groups, ranging from blacks (vamps are considered dynamite in bed, though those that sleep with them are stigmatized as “fang bangers”) to gays (there are dedicated vampire bars and the right for vampires to marry humans is a hotly debated issue) to…well, okay, they pretty much parallel the blacks and the gays. I mean no one accuses them of stealing our jobs, eating cats or having big noses and controlling the entertainment industry.

I usually go for chicks that look like they could be wanted by INS or blow something up in the name of Allah, but I have a soft spot for gingers.

Thankfully, the show doesn’t get by on a cute premise alone: The writing, character development and pacing are all top-notch. Oh, and there’s non-stop fucking, too. Unfortunately, a lot of said fucking involves Anna Paquin, but if you squint hard enough, you can imagine the face of one of the show’s more attractive actresses on her decent body (like Deborah Ann Woll, the redhead on your left).

“So John,” you might be asking, “the show’s third season is currently on HBO. Should I immediately subscribe in order to get in on the action because I emulate you on every conceivable level?” Not so fast, sparky. Remember when I mentioned things like “character development” and “top-notch writing and pacing” that characterized the shows first two seasons? Yeah, not so much this time around. It’s like they replaced the writing staff with a bunch of second-graders who rattled off a list of things they’d thought would look cool on a tv show and built around that. “So, you want the vampires to eat blood ice cream and drink blood soda? Check. And you want werewolves added to the show, and the vampires fight the werewolves? And add 10 new characters, but don’t focus on any of them for more than 20 seconds because things would get boring? Sounds good!”

If you want to give True Blood a shot, check out the show’s first season and move on from there. I suppose I could also tell you to read the books the show is based on (The Southern Vampire Mysteries) but: 1. I haven’t read them 2. They have shitty cover art according to what I just saw on Wikipedia and 3. Telling someone to read a book feels as modern to me as advising them to cure a fever by getting some leeches to “suck out the devils that inhabit their bloodstream.” Maybe this season of True Blood will right itself and end up awesome. I give it the same odds as me finally getting that threesome.

Papa’s Basement 7-3-10-The Battle of Taco Bell

admin — Sat, 03 Jul 2010 16:54:58 +0000

Mickey Rooney. Actor. Legend. Asian.

There comes a time in every man’s life when, pushed too far by the tyranny of evil oppression, he must stand and fight back. Nat Turner knew it. David Lee Roth knew it. And, as I screamed “F*ck you, you fat f*cking c*nt!” at a man outside Taco Bell who had wronged me, I, too, knew it. I tell the harrowing tale of my heroism which, somehow, segues into Mel Gibson’s latest rant where he uses a word that is better left to professionals like RZA. We conclude by discussing how the tradition of racism is alive and well in Hollywood and, just to keep things lighthearted, pitch movies that would have been better had they contained overt racial hate. (Grumpy Old Men featuring Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon screaming the “n” word at kids on their lawn, anyone?)

Papa’s Basement 7-3-10 (To download this file, right-click this link and select “Save Link/Target As.”)

Papa’s Basement 6-26-10-Two Worlds, One Cup

admin — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 03:09:41 +0000

1. This is more beautiful than the birth of the Baby Jesus to me. 2. I'm mentally fucking retarded.

I admit it: I got fully swept up in the whole Team USA World Cup mania because I have a weak, hive mind (and will embrace anything that allows me to gamble even more). The gang watches and reacts to the US – Ghana game live for the duration of the episode (I correctly predict the US will lose because “Ghana out-blacks us”) and Rachael discusses her love of Helen Mirren’s new topless pics in New York Magazine (located here) which remind me of a grandmother attempting to wash away her feelings of disgust after being raped…yet still fail to turn me on. Color me puzzled!

Papa’s Basement 6-26-10 (To download this file, right-click this link and select “Save Link/Target As.”)