Well that didn’t take long.
The so-called-artists of Subway apparently don’t exist in their advertising department.
Take a look at their latest commercial:
Why am I up in #arms, you ask? Jimmy Fallon (and Justin Timberlake) already took a crack at this last month:
But what should I expect from a place that makes sandwiches?
So we’ve already seen this:
Natalie Portman and Ashton Kutcher
And we’re about to see this:
Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis
And we used to see this:
Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis
And we want to see more of this:
Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis
But please… never this again:
Ashton Kutcher and Justin Timberlake
There’s a new flick riding into town next week entitled The Lincoln Lawyer:
I didn't get the name 'til seeing the poster. Thanks, Poster.
It’s based on a book (Hey Poster, now that we’re buddies, you got my back on this one, right? Cool…), and if I learned anything in all my years as a writer is you need to make your characters’ names unique. They need to stand apart from each other.
(SIDENOTE: Yes, I am an as-yet-unpublished writer, aside from this blog. The reason I’m not published isn’t because I haven’t finishing anything I’m completely happy with yet… It’s because I have authoritis.
*bows head* *tips hat*
Pardon the interpuntion.)
For example, use names like Mickey, Ted, and Louis. As a reader, these names can’t be quickly mixed up.
(SIDENOTE: How pretentious is Author! Michael Connelly for naming his main character Mickey? That’d be like George Lucas naming his main character George Skywalker instead of — oh…)
So it’s left me wondering why in the backseat of a Lincoln would the film’s producers cast three (sandy) blonde-haired, blue-eyed guys that look very similar in the same movie? You get not only Matther McConaughey as Mickey, but Josh Lucas as Ted, and Ryan Phillippe as Louis:
Three Peas in Courtroom Thriller
The only actor missing is this guy:
He's been voted, "Most Likely to Have You Naked by the End of a Song."
Because The Lincoln Lawyer already has this guy:
Nope. Doesn't count. He has green eyes.
(UPDATE: Check out pic at the end.)
When I begin to investigate the nature of something which I do not initially understand, I take a deep breath, and prepare myself for the unexpected. As is the case with the concept of furries, I took a deeper breath, and held onto it for dear life. Who knew what I’d find.
To begin, allow me to share what prompted this study (via AOTS):
Whenever someone goes to painstaking lengths (I say painstaking because I’m lazy, you see) to create, um, a recreation of this calibre for no real reason, my curiosity is peaked. Why would anybody make their own version of Dick in a Box for one? For two – why as anthropomorphic animals?
Immediately, I went to the best source of all truth and accuracy on the web – Mr. Wikipedia himself. And right off the bat, I was amazed to discover what I understood about furries was completely off. I’ll get to that in a second.
My opinions had changed because my perception had been changed:
Originally, I had believed that all furries were sexual in nature and creepy in general, and my reaction to the above videos was not cast in a favorable light. But according to Ms. Wikipedia (I changed my mind about the site’s gender as well, because she’s always right), I learned this:
Many members of the furry community feel that the overly sexual component gives the rest of them a bad name, and may use the derogatory term “furvert” to describe such people…
The term “yiff” is most commonly used to indicate sexual activity or sexual material within the fandom—this applies to sexual activity and interaction within the subculture whether online (in the form of cybersex) or offline…
Most furry fans claim that these media portrayals are misconceptions, while the recent coverage focuses on debunking myths and stereotypes that have come to be associated with the furry fandom…
So as it turns out, those videos aren’t sexual in nature. They’re just creepy in general.
(I’m kidding, of course, because who am I to judge. Do you realize how difficult it is to type with paws?)
He should have been an Ewok.
(Here is the legit video from Hulu.)
Ladies and germs, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!
Andy Samberg and Justin Timberlake’s return in their latest SNL Digital Short Dick in a Box Part 2! Motherlover!
Vodpod videos no longer available.
I’m not that lucky in life when it comes to the ladies, so you’d think my subconscious would make up for it at night, right?
I was living in L.A. again, working at a super-sized version of Best Buy that felt a little more like a Costco, so maybe it was at a Costco that had a Best Buy-styled electronics department. Anywarehouse… it was before the holidays, and I was helping a woman locate a copy of “Little Miss Sunshine.”
As I rounded the discount bins, I spotted her:
Gosh, golly, gee, she sure is purdy
I made some comment that the woman I was helping was looking for one of Amanda Bynes’ movies (she wasn’t in “Little Miss Sunshine,” but see my previous posts about my failing mental functions), and she perked up and walked right up to me. Well, she sort stumbled toward me.
She smiled that winning grin: “You’re hot.”
I was taken aback by her candor. “Well, so are you.”
The shopper reminded me that she needed to find that DVD for a Christmas present.
Amanda stepped stumbled closer to me. It became clear to me she was more than a little tipsy, and since she’s seems like such a sweet girl in real-life, I’ll sugar coat her speak from here on out: “I wanna fudge you.”
The woman’s jaw dropped. Who knows what my face looked like. She sidled up to me and slipped her arm around my waist, resting her head on my shoulder. “Will you take me home?”
The woman rushed off to complain to my manager, and my manager being the awesome manager he must have been (or maybe he was a complete apple), assessed the situation and sent me home. So I resided to the fact of driving Ms. Bynes back to her place. As we made our way to my vehicle, she announced that her mother and brother were with her, and I’d also have to drive them.
En route to her abode, she stared at me from the passenger seat, hazy and wobbling. Her mother and brother argued in the back seat. Upon arriving at their apartment building, we ascended a wide spiraling staircase to find that they had no furniture – only matresses spread out all over like some heroin den. She invited me inside.
At this point, I already began the betrayal of myself, and sought out to only get her cell phone number as she lead me to her Serta perfect sleeper. “Yeah, I’ll have to get your number so we can hang out sometime.”
As she rested on her springed laurels, she started saying a string of numbers.
“That’s too many for a phone number.”
“I’d put good money on it that your better than Justin.”
“Justin?”
“Timberlake. I bet you fudge better.” (NOTE: That sounds grosser than it should.)
“How about I give you my number, and then you can call my cell and I’ll have your number.” I fiddled with my mobile and started reciting my ten digits.
She stood up and leaned her back against the wall. She slipped the strap off one of her shoulders revealing her right muffin.
“I should really get going.”
And I woke up. Brain, why do you forsake me even when I’m sleeping!?
INGREDIENTS: Four tall Coors Lights and half of a three-day old cajun crust pizza.
Gather ’round, gather ’round, kiddies… it’s time for another one of Uncle Sean’s drunk stories… this is a tale about how to go out with a bang… or not to, depending on how you look at it…
After moving back to Michigan from Los Angeles, I was out of work but willing. Your Aunt Becky worked at a night club in Royal Oak that I had frequented prior to leaving and during my return visits home. They needed someone to run the pair of dance floor servant stations (and by run, I mean run back and forth and get ice and replenish other supplies). I was their man. This story isn’t so much about my first day (which happened to be an *NSync concert before they blew up… see SIDENOTE at bottom of post). It’s about my last day working there (well, my first last day… I went back a couple more times to help or when I needed money).
I had announced to all it was my last day, and everyone was sad to see me go. One of the order loaders arranged it so that I would get a bottled water filled with vodka so I could make drinks for myself through the night. And partake of it, I did.
The funny thing about drinking while working in a night club is that people tip better when you’re on the same playing field as them. I would help out the bartenders from time to time when I was slow and they were swamped. This night was no exception.
A patron came up and ordered a shot called Red Wings. “What’s that?” I asked.
“Cranberry juice and Jaeger,” she responded. She ordered three shots. I asked if one was for me, and she said to make it four.
Did I ever tell you Jaeger is my death nail? Each of the liquors have a varying result in my actions, but they are consistent. Jaeger is the anomaly. Jaeger answers the next morning’s question – “Why did I do that?”
The woman came up shortly after that, and ordered another round. Coupled with the screwdrivers I’d been downing, this is the last thing I recall.
Later, your Uncle Jay (who also worked there) and Becky would recount to me what followed. As the night winds down, it’s my job to count out what items were left, to dump the ice trays, and do general cleaning. I don’t know what time I disappeared, but Jay took care of my bars as well as his.
After the place closed up, my manager had a brainstorming session with Jay and Becky that went something like this:
“Perhaps he got in a fight, and the bouncers didn’t recognize him, and they threw him out?”
Jay and Becky shook their heads.
“Well maybe he met a girl and ditched this place with her?”
A pair of negatives again. “That’s not the type of person he is,” Becky explained.
Jay piped in, “Check all the toilets. He’s hugging one of them.”
Surely I was. Upstairs, in the employee stalls. Becky knocked on my door. I remember that her voice sounded like an angel.
I pulled myself together and made my back to the main floor. It turned out there was a concert the next day, and we had to set up all the chairs. That was my penance. If only that was the type of person I was…
MORAL OF THE STORY: Red Wings Team = good. Red Wings Shots = bad. Unless by “Shots” you mean “Scoring Attempts” then = good, again.
(SIDENOTE: Justin Timberlake and crew came out dressed in spaced suits to the Imperial Death Marchfrom “Star Wars.” Their costumes made them look like the guys in colored hazmat suits in those old Intel commercials. Girls had to be pulled out of the crowd from passing out. Insane! Who passes out at a night club anyway… never mind.)
Picture this, only worse.
Here’s the latest from The Lonely Island a.k.a. SNL’s Digital Shorts. The other Dude is Jorma Taccone – he was in “Hot Rod” with Samberg.
This one’s sure to explode.
It will blow up huge.
It’s like the second coming of “Dick in a Box.”
(And guess who the guy doing clean up in aisle three is…)
I have not seen “Madagascar.” I will not see “Madagascar: Escape 2 the Same Continent That Madagascar is Part Of.” I also have not and will not see “The Love Guru.”
Notice any similarties between these two clips other than the fact I want to put my head in a vice and hook one of those NASCAR bolt removers to its crank?
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