“watchmen” snippets

Are you kidding me, Trace? Are you actually going to write about this?

Shut up, you. I got me a bee in my bonnet. I can’t stop. I need to ramble aimlessly. So shhhhhh now, Voice of Reason. Go to sleep. Nighty-nighhht.

~ So here we go. We went to a matinee of Watchmen this weekend, more out of curiosity than desire. Three hours later, sadly, we were left with neither curiosity nor desire. For anything ever again. We were brittle empty shells. Soulless spectres. Even worse, really cranky. Honestly, watching the Watchmen do nothing that even remotely resembled watching was a truly enervating experience that I’m sure will attract tons of people who long for enervation and make heaps of money for people who already have heaps of money, and, well, congratulations to all involved, but whatevs o’plenty from this li’l lady. Super-hero or comic book movies are generally not my thing. Too much of a fan-boy vibe going on for my taste, although I do like Christian Bale as Batman and I like Tobey Maguire as Spiderman. Still, I don’t chomp at the bit to see these types of movies; I don’t line up at midnight in latex and a cape. No. I’d rather save that for when I go to see The Reader. With this movie, I strolled in at 10 a.m. to a surprisingly empty theater, considering all the hype, and was glad for the emptiness so that as time slowed and slooowed and then flat-out stood still, I could sigh loudly and say things to MB like, “I am really tired of his blue penis” or “Ooh, hello, Mr. Bottom” or the more all-encompassing, “I hate this movie.”

Fleghh. I’m realizing I don’t even have the energy to give this movie an actual review and yet, I keep clicking away, I think to purge my sense of gyp that I spent three hours in the presence of these characters and I just did not care about them. Inevitably, someone will now email me and say, “Well, why didn’t you just leave?” to which I will say, “Uhm, because there was still popcorn in the bag? Duh, wiener.” Now I am aware that I am probably supposed to care about this movie, nay, probably even like this movie, but KAPOW! I say to the people who think I’m supposed to like it. Three crawling hours could have easily been edited down to a swift 90 minutes; should have been edited down, you know, just to be slightly more humane, and still I would not have cared one eensy little bit. I despaired over the acting of that chick who played whoever the heck that chick was. I don’t even know. The Chick, the main chick. Oh, you know. With the long dark hair and bangs? Yeah, her. She’s part Natalie Portman and part Xena Warrior Princess — both of whom are better actresses, by the way. Yes, even Xena. Whenever I closed my eyes in the face of the carnage — which I did a lot, because, yamahama, that movie be gross, pippa — it bothered me that she sounded like Drew Barrymore, a good actress, an actress I like. But, you know, she looked hot, so I’m sure all the little dudes and the lesbians will be quite happy. She did get naked with a shockingly geeky Patrick Wilson, an actor I enjoyed in Little Children and not just because he got naked in that movie, although I do remember his bottom quite well and it was smaller in that movie; he was a tad chunkier here, obviously from the steroids he took to become whatever superhero he was in “Watchmeh” because, again, I just don’t care — as you can tell by how much I’m writing about this — so I don’t even remember his name. Supernerd or something. Oh, wait. His name was Dan. Yes, Dan. “Save me, Dannnn!” And, really, I tell you true that “Dan” is a much better name than whatever retarded superhero name his character had. It was something like Supergoggles or Wiseass Owl or something. So I like Dan better. I mean, do you think you’re more likely to be rescued by someone named Supergoggles or Dan? I thought so.

~ Oh. So Dr. Blue Balls. What UP, dude? I see that you’re blue. And not in an “oh I’m so sad” kind of way, but actually physically blue. Aqua, even. Your entire body is just a minty fresh tube of freaky. Clearly, there is an urgent need for medical intervention with your condition, and yet you wander about, blithely doing as you please, ending the Vietnam War, flaunting your minty fresh penis and whatnot. But me, I sit there in a darkened theater staring at you and worrying that your entire circulatory system may very well be gravely compromised. I’m not a doctor so I don’t know the medical solution here. Supplements? Ginkgo Biloba? Something, certainly, but you need to care; you need to be proactive about your own health issues. All I can do is point out what I see, from my layman’s perspective, and what I see is so obviously problematic, it doesn’t take an expert to discern it. Beyond your circulatory impairment, those milky white eyes of yours just scream raging unchecked cataracts, if not total blindness. And they don’t move. Your eyes do not move. They are frozen milky white marbles and, you know, if I were talking to you, they would drive me crazy because I could never be sure if you were actually even looking at me, which I would find very cold and alienating. People in general don’t like that. It may very well be a medical problem but, interpersonally, it manifests itself as a possible mental/emotional problem. This kid I knew in grade school never looked at you when you talked to him and, later on, guess what, he ended up diagnosed as some kind of dangerous whack job. It was really sad, but we all simply nodded our heads at the rightness of it all. Really, I’m just sayin’, Blue Balls, that your frozen milk eyes make friendship with me, at least, highly unlikely. And, might I add, Natalie Warrior Princess left you. So there’s that. Oh. Let’s not forget, too, that you seem to suffer from some form of super-gigantism that is both sudden and intermittent. One moment, you’re human-sized; the next, you’re building sized. Could not hang with that, no way. I would certainly not want to clothes shop for you and throw my money away. Nor would I let you drive my car unless it was a convertible. Nor would I have sex with you because my fancy place is not so much a convertible. Size might matter, Blue Balls, but sudden size really matters. Owie owie owie. Poor Natalie Warrior Princess. It’s becoming so obvious why she left you for Wiseass Owl, isn’t it?

~ On that same basic topic, uhm, okay, I’m confused. Sometimes you wear clothes. You were in a suit at one point and I simply assumed The Chick dressed you since this was before she left. Then, sometimes you’re naked. This seems to be your preference as if you are weirdly proud of your freaky blue member. Other times, and this is where I got confused, hon, you wear a thong. Now I’m not even going to get into what I think about giant blue men with milky eyes who wear thongs — this isn’t about that. It’s about the logistics, the physics, of your thong because, from what I could see, your thong had a front but it didn’t have a back. From the front, thong. From the back, bare blue bottom. No, no. This isn’t possible. Thongs, Peaches, do have backs. Small backs — strings, strips, bands — yes, but something that holds the flimsy little thing onto the wearer’s body. Your thong, on the other hand, was some kind of space age miracle thong, magically cupping your disturbing turquoise stones whilst leaving the vast panorama of your fanny unmarred by strings. The physics of this just don’t work. There’s obviously some ancient and sinister voodoo going on with all of this and I, for one, reject it outright. You simply cannot walk around in a Colorforms thong, Blue Balls, and expect society at large to embrace you. A comprehensive medical and behavioral evaluation rendered by competent, trustworthy professionals could prove elucidating in your case. Just sayin’.

~ Oh, hahaha. As to the actual movie, pippa? I seriously have no idea. I prefer the moral ambiguity of real life not to taint my superheroes quite so much. That’s just me, I guess. Look. I’m dumb and shallow. If I go to a superhero movie, I want to root for someone, not pray for the total global annihilation of everyone and everything I see onscreen.

And, AND, I don’t like to see my superhero’s minty fresh penis.

But, hey, you like giant blue dongles? Go for it.