A Guide to August Blockbusters Based Solely On The Movie Posters

Summer is, by far, the best season for movies.  After all, can you think of a better way to enjoy sunny, beautiful weather than by sitting in a dark room for several hours while watching other people doing things on a giant screen? No, you can’t! Since I live in LA — and thus know more about movies than anybody else in the world — I figured I would save you the trouble of researching what movies you will see this August by providing you with a brief premise for each of the big blockbusters coming soon to a masturbation den theater near you! While I haven’t actually seen any of these movies, I HAVE seen their posters, and so I can totally give a 100% accurate synopsis.

3 Images From 90’s Cartoons That Prove We Are The Most F*cked Up Generation In History

Everyone claims that their generation had the best of everything. My parents claim that they had the best music (they didn’t), and my grandparents claim they had the best wartime draft (they did). However, one thing the 90’s can definitely stake a claim to is the most disturbing cartoon. Seriously, just about every cartoon that aired in the 90’s could have single-handedly created an entire generation of unbalanced psychotics. In fact, I am fairly sure they did. 

The El at Night: A Poem

Outside the Keg, I loosed a sigh,
The frigid air cut to my core.
“It should be spring,” I dared to cry,
“Still freezing cold! Chi-town! You whore!”

It was past one, a Friday night,
And dark as Tisdahl’s crumpled heart.
I felt my mind flood then with fright,
For I had quite a trek to start.

Though I had drank with all my boys
I had forgotten what I’d known.
For I lived North, At Sherman-Noyes,
And now, alas, I was alone.

I gazed upon the road ahead
Its passage paved with glacial air
And thought, “I would rather be dead,
Then walk the way from here to there.”

But dare I face the other choice?
A risky move at better times!
“Just call safe ride!” rang out a voice!
“Or Anything! Except the El!”

But I ignored that fateful call
And soon I found myself again,
Inside an almost empty hall
Of rattling steel, upon the train.

I say ‘almost’ for there was one
Who sat across the car from me.
He sat as silent as a nun,
His forehead resting on his knee.

“Only two stops,” I muttered then.
“Yes! Only two, and then I’m home.”
Oh hope, how you do toy with men!
Alas, if I had only known!

For as the train began to fly
And travel North, to bare me hence,
This other man, he met my eye
With such a glare to give offense.

And then he stood and turned, and sort
Of slowly, he began to stride
Along the aisle, stopping short
Of where I sat; of where I cried.

For I had seen a dreadful sight!
A sight most terrible and crude.
He was riding the El at night,
Completely and utterly nude!

At last the train came to a stop
At Foster: one stop short of mine.
I lept from my seat with a hop,
And found myself, at 1:09,

Back on the road, to walk the rest.
For I had seen a gruesome scene,
And I had learned that it is best,
To stagger home in moonlight’s gleam.

Remember this! Please hear my cries,
And save yourself a horrid fright.
That comes from seeing naked guys,
Who ride the el here, late at night!

Sixty Hues of Sex, part 1

Not for the faint of heart. Or stomach.

So I was reading the NY Times the other day, as part of my daily pretention ritual, and I happened upon a section that listed the top 10 best selling books of 2012. What was the best-selling book, you ask? 50 Shades of Grey. In fact, all three books in this horrendous trilogy were on the list. What the fuck, America? What the soft-porn-disguised-as-fiction fuck?! Are we really at the point where some British chick writing Twilight fan-fiction can become a best-selling author by writing such gems as “my insides practically contort with potent, needy, liquid, desire.”*

However, as disgusted as I am by the state of American literary consumption, I am still an extremely greedy individual. So, I figured I would strike while the iron is hot. If this moron can write popular porn fiction, then I sure as shit can. So, without further or do, I present:

The Summer After Graduation: The Five Stages of Real-Life Grief

Porn: No longer acceptable on the same computer you use for work.

College is a wonderful time. In fact, you will never ever have as much fun for the rest of your life. Ever. And the moment that you arrive home after commencement, this realization hits you harder than Anthony Battle hits offensive linemen. But fear not current seniors (and everyone else, because it all ends so quickly!), for I have emerged from the other side of post-college mourning, and am here to share my experiences, so that when the time comes YOU will be prepared!

A Thanksgiving Guide to Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

Well it’s that time of year again. The time where you get to spend time with those members of your extended family who you secretly despise, and slowly commit a food-induced suicide attempt as you eat three times your body weight in stuffing and cranberry sauce. However, just because you find yourself in that sweet, sweet afterglow that only animalistic sex comfort food can bring, does not mean that the other dangers of the world have gone away. I am talking, of course, about the ever-present possibility of a Zombie apocalypse.

A Guide to Life After College: Your First Paycheck

No longer being in college is a lot like having PTSD; you cannot understand how you are expected to go about living a normal life knowing what is out there. Also, you have a deep-seeded distrust of the Vietnamese. However, all of the doubt and insecurity of post-college life is wiped away the very instant you receive your first real paycheck.