How Swede It Is

We're suckers for a good promotional website. Or maybe we just like to surf the web for the stuff to do at work other than work. When the boss isn't around, check out the new site for Be Kind Rewind, the upcoming comedy in which Jack Black and Mos Def re-enact famous movies after erasing all the tapes at a video store. They also coin the term "Sweding," which actually has nothing to do with meatballs or Ikea furniture. Instead, to Swede something means to redo something in your own DIY style, which is pretty much what we've been doing with the toy tributes throughout our site. You can Swede yourself at the Be Kind Rewind website, and here are some of our Swede-Ass results...

Jason is Jason X in the Friday-the-13th-in-space movie
and Steve as himself in that hairy feet movie.

What Jenni would do to star in Friday, Next Friday and Friday After Next. Y'know, they really oughta make a sequel to The Day After Tomorrow and call it Three Days from Today.

R.I.P. Quiet Riot Singer Guy

It's the biggest '80s music tragedy since Richard Marx hacked off his mullet: the death of Quiet Riot lead singer Kevin DuBrow last Sunday.

Kevin DuBrow
Quiet Riot lead singer
October 29, 1955 - November 25, 2007

The only way for some '80s headbangers to make it
back into the news is to die. Take note, heavy metal has-beens.
I'm talking to you, Kip Winger and the
dude who sings "The Final Countdown."

Now while your fists are raised at half mast and your heads are bowed at medium-bang for Mr. DuBrow (appropriately rhymes with "da 'fro"), it's worth noting that I haven't posted an R.I.P. tribute in about two months, so I've overlooked some other seemingly noteworthier deaths. Joey Bishop. Norman Mailer. Deborah Kerr. No, the "Cum on Feel the Noize" singer is more in line with our readership. Plus, Pavarotti just couldn't belt it out with the Muppet-pitched ferocity of DuBrow, and mime Marcel Marceau (rest in peace in your invisible box) was just a little too quiet and not enough riot.

Sundae School

Aight y'all. Now this is a church after my own heart. If I thought I could get me a big ol' chocolate shake at church I might consider going once a year or something.

And, of course, another reason this church is one after my own heart is becuz they're obviously saying some bullshit to get people to come in, and clearly they think people are stupid as hell.

The thing is, there are actually websites and books that this church coulda used to do something still incredibly stupid but at least a little more compelling that, yeah, still wouldn't have worked (Are those signs supposed to be advertisements? Because, lame.) but at least people might have chuckled or smiled and thought about God fondly for a minit before they remembered that going to church is way boring and organized religion is pretty much ass.

Chocolate shakes are delicious, tho. Not get my heiney back into church delicious (they'd basically have to offer me the ability to break at least five commandments at a time in some upgraded, sensually padded pews to get me back into church but um I think that kinda defeats the purpose), but pretty fucking delicious.

Amen.

Stop Objectifying My Pretzels!

With Turkey Day around the corner, it's time for me to reflect and give thanks. And what better thing to give thanks for than unintentionally dirty advertising, like this accidental nastiness from Wetzel's Pretzels?

The lunging, circumsized pretzel dog.
The little submissive chef on his knees.
The sting of a salt crystal in the wrong orifice.

Not since the ill-conceived "Cinnabondage" S&M campaign of '98
has a food court promotion generated enough steaminess
to blow up the skirt of cold-fish Auntie Anne.

Here's hoping this won't make you feel forever uneasy when you see a pretzel. At least no more uncomfortable than spending a big dinner with the family. Happy Thanksgiving!

Writers Strike Happens Too Late to Spare Us from Premiere of "P2"

After two months of not writing on this blog, I've decided to return to posting on the very day that the Writers Guild of America strike begins. That's what us writer-types call "irony."

A picture is worth a thousand words...
except when there's a writers strike.

With the exception of Chris, the entire Hands in the Air gang is made up of professional, published writers (a letter in Penthouse Forum still doesn't count as "published," Chris), so we all know how important this strike is for Hollywood's movie and TV writers. And, with the exception of Chris, we'd really rather not get stuck watching reruns of Moonlight and Girlfriends. That's what us writer-types call... um, well, I can't think of a clever word because bloggers don't have union benefits motivating them.

Anyway, here on the Los Angeles frontlines, we're seeing writers rallying against the studios. Instead of writing us good TV and movies, they're out there picketing in their red shirts, which is the color of choice for the strikers. That also happens to be the shirt color of choice for Gay Day at Disneyland, so those picketers in front of Disney Studios might want to be careful which shuttle bus they go home on. Like Jenni told me, "Haven't the writers taken it up the ass enough?"

Happy Day of the Dead