Rant Rant Rant Rant Rant Rant, Part 2

Last night I saw a billboard announcing the impending DVD arrival of Disney’s Cinderella II: The Magic Didn’t End At Midnight. Is nothing in this world sacred?

I personally don’t care if Disney decides to go ahead and sequalize the hell out of Snow Dogs — that creepy talking canine debacle, dear God, as if. At least in that instance they wouldn’t be bastardizing a good thing.

But in my version of Cinderella, the same version you and the rest of the world saw, the magic didn’t end at midnight either. In fact, if my memory serves me, the movie continued until the Prince and his servants found the itty-bitty foot that fit the itty-bitty slipper, followed by a whirlwind wedding and some family-friendly tongueless kissing. Although no one knows for sure, we can safely assume that the story ended at least a few days, if not a few weeks after midnight.

I see what they’re trying to say, that the actual magic part of the story ended when the clock struck twelve and everything turned back into barn animals. But this means that Disney doesn’t think, or at least doesn’t want to market that love itself is magic. And what a terrible take on the whole story! How Cruella DeVilish!


The city of Karachi, Pakistan, has just got to change its name. Think about it. Karachi. KARACHI. I can think of several things this word reminds me of, and none of these things is a city in Pakistan.


1. Stephanie, captain of the cheerleading squad and known skank whore, is rumored to be infected with severe cases of both herpes and karachis.

2. Can I start you with some bruschetta or a small plate of karachi this evening? Shrimp is in season!

3. Vinnie Barbarino shrugs his shoulders and tells Mr. Kotter, “So that new kid, Karachi, thinks he’s so good with the women. I told him, ‘Up your nose with a rubber hose.'”

4. Kama Sutra Position Number 122: Bend your lover’s elbow under your karachi, thus stimulating his lower kandahar.


Downhill skiing is abso-fucking-lutely insane. You can’t sit there and tell me that those lycra-suited projectiles are doing anything other than trying to stay alive. They’re too busy trying not to die, trying not to break into seven thousand pieces of bone and cartilage; too busy pleading with their Maker, “Please, please, don’t let me die, not here, not in Utah, not in front of all these Mormons.”

American Bode Miller said, “The next thing I knew, I was down on my thigh sliding right at my coaches. I got up fast, not to try to stay on course and win a medal — it was to not kill myself, because I was going about 65 mph. I felt like if I didn’t pull it off, I would probably die [in front of all those Mormons].” He didn’t really say that last part, but you know he was thinking it.


You, the anonymous person who sent an email to each Vice President of my company, all 10 of them, informing them of my recent dissatisfaction, if you thought you were being all sneaky and shit, that you were exposing me and my evil ways, I just want to say, well, thank you. Now that everyone at my office knows I’m evil, including the CEO who was cc’d on the email, it’s like a huge fucking weight off of my shoulders! Now it’s just a matter of which VP I publicly crucify next!