Money is the Root of All Easels!

As you know, I went to the HeroesCon this weekend. Emotional, touching, blah blah blah. You heard all that. Now for some tough love.

Bitch, you have to paint faster!

Mark Brooks is better than me. I'm statin' the obvious with that, I know, and I'm fine with that. But he isn't SOOOO much better than me that I should hang up my spurs and give someone else my Sheriff of Art Town badge! But what does make him better than me is that he did THIS painting in 2 days and sold it for over $9000!

"Was that fast? I thought that was fast."

Two days.

$9000.

Me likey.

Ok, I am not commanding $9000 for a painting yet. But it's coming. But this isn't about the price per painting. This is about time.

Mark and I don't use the same medium, much less the same style. He objectifies women while I paint tasteful portraits of everyday people.

Could go in the lobby of any school in America!

So, yes, we're different. But I can still put a few more works out each year than I do now. In fact, there is a simple formula for how much work an artist should create.

Ok, before you "true artists" start whining about that fact that art is "not about the money," I'm gonna stop you right now with a very sincere "bite me." I KNOW it isn't about the money. But I DO want to make enough money to live comfortably and so do many artists out there. Writers, painters, magicians, balloon animal makers, dancers, and sculptors all love what they do. And most of them would like to be able to do nothing but this passion without distraction or worry. That requires money or bringing back the barter system. So, if you send me a speech about art being in my heart I'm just going to print it out like a picture of the pope and play Sinead O'Connor on it.

Nothing compares to being batshit crazy!

So, here is your formula:
x = How Much Krugerrand You Want Per Year
Avg = The Average Selling Price of Your Work
Whoa = How Many Paintings (novels, screenplays, sculptures or balloon penises) You Need to Sell
WTF! = How Many Paintings (books, dance-offs, knitted ponchos or published chick lit short stories) You Need to Create

Whoa = x / avg
WTF! = Whoa x 2


Let's say you want to earn a meager 25,000 Krona a year. And your average price per painting is 250 Krona. That means Whoa = 25000/250. You need to sell 100 paintings per year to make the amount of money you want. But wait! There are very few people who sell 100% of what they make. So, let's say you do better than average and sell 50%. That means that you actually need to create 200 pieces. WTF!?!?!?

Now, since I want to make roughly $872,743 a year painting and because my works sell at an average of $14.32, it means that I should go kill myself now.

Or, I suppose I could just paint faster.

I guess I should stop writing and get to it. Papua New Guinea isn't going to buy itself!

Of Nerds and Men

This weekend I went with Godson and Captain Poker to a comic book convention in Charlotte NC.

See...right there. One of three things just happened. Either:

1) You said, probably aloud, "Oh boy! He's going to talk about the HeroesCon! Let me put my role playing dice away and see what he has to say!"

or, 2) You leaned over and said to your wife/husband, "Hey, this guy went to that Comic Book Convention in Charlotte." And they responded with, "Didn't your weird cousin go to that?"

or, 3) You got as far as the words "comic book convention" before your eyes glazed over and the rest of the words ran together like the last three Mission:Impossible movies.

Keep reading. I promise you two things: Insight and jokes. What do you have to lose?

So, let me be honest with my original opinion of a Comic Book Convention. I've never been to a comic book convention in my life. They have come and gone and I have had little desire to be surrounded by losers who have no real lives and have immersed themselves so deeply into comic books that they want to be surrounded by other losers who have no real lives and have immersed themselves deeply into comic books. Hey, to each their own, but you went a step too far when you decided to dress like a Wookie...in the Summer!

He might look like this on the outside...

...but he's THIS on the inside!

Then, I got an invite to go to the HeroesCon with Godson and his father, Captain Poker. Hey, I love comics. I love super heroes. I think that the Batman is one of the greatest characters in all of literature. I had to wonder if my shunning of the comic book conventions of past years was some sort of self image thing. Besides, I love my godson, and Captain Poker has a bigger place in my heart than damned near anyone in this world. How could they both be wrong???

Upon entering on Saturday, I was stunned at the number of people there. It was like the NC Fair, but everyone was jammed into the first three floors of the Charlotte Convention Center. If you don't like people, you would have flipped your nut just entering this place!

But I noticed something else.

These people were polite. Incredibly polite. It was like being surrounded by an entire Who village. They made space for you to pass. They said excuse me. They walked in lines. They were friendly. At the fair, you're lucky if you don't get stabbed, much less pushed or shoved. I wasn't jostled once! People smiled at me and made eye contact and compared stories and shared where the shortest lines were. They laughed with each other. They were in good humor despite standing in lines for an hour or longer.

Here's an experiment: When the fair comes to town, choose a line that is moderately long. Maybe it'll take you 15 minutes to get to the ride you want. Now listen to the people around you, the people who are also waiting. If you don't hear about 20 people whinning about the wait I will buy you a zepplin!*

And there were, of course, costumed folk.

A couple of days ago I would have said that anyone in a super hero costume at a comic book convention is just trying to claim their 15 minutes of fame. But get this: These people don't get paid. They don't get fame. They don't hand out business cards trying to solicit stand-in work or work at birthday parties or stage work. They just walk around and let people take pictures with them and hold babies and pose together. And did I mention that these people create their own costumes? And they still have to pay to get into the convention? And that, while they want to enjoy the convention as well, if you want a picture with Batman or Superman or The Wonder Twins they will stop whatever they are doing, smile and shake your hand, and then strike a pose with you??? AND NOT CHARGE YOU A DAMNED NICKEL!?!? Did I mention that my sister was one of these costumed freaks?

Lady Deadpool, why can't I quit you?

I watched my godson walk around and talk to grown ups. He got people to do sketches for him. He interacted with adults in a way no tween buried nose deep in their smartphone could. I was proud of him. And, as an artist, watching him talk to and admire other artists did me proud.

 I'd seen some of the most amazing art, done at incredible speeds. I'd seen the most gracious people. I'd seen writers and actors and admin people working together to make the most hassle-free event I may have ever seen. I watched Mark Brooks paint this, which later sold at an auction for more then $9000!

It took him TWO DAYS!!! I have got to get faster!

And then, there was Stan Lee.Then..We sat in a panel discussion and waited for Stan to appear. If you don't know who Stan Lee is then you probably haven't even bothered to read this far into this post. Even I think he's a demi-god and I was about to make fun of everyone here. But when he walked out onto that stage...


Captain Poker is a strong man. He's raised two amazing kids. No offense, other parents, but his two kids are 95% likely to be better than yours. He's lived through some crap and come out stronger. I'm proud to know him, but not so proud that I won't make fun of him when he deserves it. Stan Lee came out onto that stage and I watched Captain Poker's eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. Or a man in a strip club who just got a stack of singles from his wife to "do with as you will, my love."

There was no desire to make fun. There was no looking down on him. There was, strangely enough, pride. And a little envy. And Captain Poker was not alone. I looked around the room and listened to the questions people asked and the comments people made. No one gave Stan Lee god status. No one was over the top crazy with their adoration of him. No one acted like he was the second coming. But they did love him. And you could tell that he loved them all back. He gave advice and told stories and made jokes and people laughed and listened and a few even took notes. Stan, himself, was a curious combination of vain and humble that I can only dream of being able to pull off.

And by the time everything was over, and I was in my car on the two-hour drive back to Durham, I swore two things: I would never look down on by brothers-in-comics again, and I will DEFINITELY be going to next years HereosCon.

Hell, maybe I'll even dress up.

Excelsior!

*Zepplin not included

What Name Should I Give My Scooter?

I have never had so much trouble naming a vehicle. It's orange and awesome, and I can't think of an appropriate name to save my life!

Carrot? Heathcliff? Human Torch?

I'm not alone in the vehicle naming thing. Bestest names all of her vehicles, too. I've named everything I've ever owned, from bikes to cars. I even named a skateboard I owned as a kid. His name was "Speedy." I rode it twice. The first time I rode it was riding downhill on my belly like Superman. The second time I rode it was downhill standing up like a dumbass. I hit a very tiny pebble and then I was flying through the air like Superman, but not as graceful. I might have been wearing my underwear on the outside, though. I did that sometimes. I changed the name of my skateboard from "Speedy" to "Old Shitty" I also changed the sex from male to female. My problems with women go all the way back there. Sorry ladies.

My next vehicle was a bike. I named him "Silver" after the Lone Ranger's horse. I tried to jump Silver through the window of one of my friend's bedrooms. It didn't work. Silver was my main stunt bike. I jumped that bastard over ramps, ditches, off a wall once, onto the hood of my mom's car, and once right into the Eno River. My next two bikes, Magnum and The General Lee, reflected two things: TV shows I liked and a very serious lack of originality. 

Then, I got Mary Ann. My first real car. Mary Ann was a primer grey '78 Cutlass that my dad bought for about $200 and then fixed up himself. I named her Mary Ann because she wasn't dolled up like most of my friends' cars. She wasn't even properly painted. I thought she was more Mary Ann than Ginger. Mary Ann (the car) got a lot of action. If CSI did some DNA testing in there...Let me just say this. Don't give a 16 year old boy an 8-cylinder steel beast as a car unless you want to risk bringing home grandchildren!

I had a red Ford Tempo named Endora. If you have any idea where that comes from then congratulations. No one got got it at the time.

I had a white Geo Storm that I bought with my buddy Tony. Why would my giant ass by a tiny Storm, you ask? Because Tony's white and he bought a black one. I'm black and I bought a white one. Get it? Get it? Ah, Air Force, I miss not being responsible for anything other than the safety of a bunch of nukes. Everything else was carefree and laissez faire. But not the nukes.

I named the Storm, I shit you not, "Whitey". I hit a deer with it, had it repaired, painted it blue and then called it "The Storm." Our relationship was never the same.

My greatest ride was a huge green Chevy Blazer that I named Beverly because by this time any name I could come up with reminded me of a girl I knew and not in a good way. But I didn't know any Beverly's at the time so I could say the name without cringing.

A silver bike that I named Leslie, after the silver-haired Leslie Nielsen.

A old black Honda Civic that I named Harriet after Harriet Tubman because the car was old and black and Harriet Tubman was old and black (though, honestly, I don't know how old Mrs Tubman was at her heyday. And would you call the transporting of more than 70 slaves and being the first woman to lead an armed assault a "Heyday"?)

A sleek new road bike that I call Blue Thunder. Guess what color it is.

And now, an orange 50cc scooter. Marigold? Lava? Garfield? Orangie?

Orange things are stupid. Except my scooter, which is actually pretty bad ass. Or, "adorbs" as my Bestest calls it. I'll take it. I just need to name it.

Vulcan? Hephaestus? Kool-Aid? Sunkist?

Gonna go spend the next three days thinking about every orange thing I can!

7 Prequels We WANT to See!

Darwin, you hack!

Last week I made an incredibly compelling argument for why prequels suck. So compelling that you may be seeing it in a magazine or in your English Lit classes at Harvard one of these days. It was that good.

Still, there were a few examples of good prequels. Not many. In fact, there were only three: The Godfather II, the latest Star Trek movie, and the Hobbit.

But I don't think it has to be that way. I think there are some movies and books that BEG to be prequelled. Is that a word? Maybe you'll be seeing that in your Harvard classes too!

LIST OF THINGS THAT SHOULD BE PREQUELLED: A Highly Intelligent Piece of Literature Recommended to All Harvard Students, by Geraud Staton

1. Gilligan's Island
Don't tell me I'm the only one who thought it. JnnyB thought it. Are we the only ones? Wasn't it a strange group of people to be gathered together on the Minnow? Didn't Thurston Howell have his own yacht? He must have! And even though the Minnow wasn't a high-priced sailing barge, I'm there was no way the Professor could have afforded such a cruise on his salary. And in what world would Ginger, who represents Mean Girls everywhere, have befriended the nerdy and awkward MaryAnne?

I suspect something else is involved. And I point the finger at Gilligan! No one can be that inept. I smell a ruse...

Nine months before that fateful day, Gilligan MacGillicudy is sailing alone. A highly competent sailor, but something goes awry. His gear goes, as sailors call it, wonky. He gets lost in a mist. Then, he appears on a mysterious island. While there, he explores. He manages to defend himself against beasts, a polar bear, and the island's mysterious denizens. He meets a smoke monster and the smoke monster tells Gilligan to bring a very specific list of people to the island, for they need to audition for the role of the next protector through a series of laff-a-lympic-type tomfoolery. The show will be called Lost On Gilligan's Island.

I will gather them by seeming inept, oh great smoke monster!

2. Super Troopers 
This police romp was very funny. But have you ever wondered how they got together in the first place??? I mean, they must have gone through a police academy or something, right? And maybe they were all there at the same time. That would be HILARIOUS! I mean, no one's done that before. A bunch of silly cops WHILE THEY ARE GOING THROUGH THE POLICE ACADEMY! That's genius!!


Maybe one of them can make crazy sounds or something. That might be pushing it. No, I don't think that it is. I want someone who can sound like a siren AND a ringing telephone AND a robot.  Oh my god, this is going to be priceless!




3. The Origin of Species by Charles Darwin
Is it just me, or did Darwin leave a lot of unanswered questions? What a hack.




4. How the Grinch Stole Christmas
The Grinch is one sad, angry sonuvabitch. I can't help but wonder: what made the Grinch such a sourpuss? I mean, Darth Vader, sure. Everyone was curious, but not THAT curious. Everyone knows that power corrupts, so Darth's turn to the dark side wasn't so strange. Not to mention that Emperor guy. We all knew he had something to do with it. The Emperor was a douche! If you didn't see that coming then you were a fool.

But the Grinch? He has no Emperor pulling his strings. He has no real power, unless you count the power to throw a giant pine tree through a chimney. I've tried to do that and let me tell you, that shit is HARD! It took me, like, 14 tries. Pine needles were everywhere!

So, if there was no Emperor and no power to corrupt him, what made the Grinch such a dick? (whom I think was named Raymond Grintskowski but people just called him "The Grinch" when he was a quarterback at Whoville High...which might explain his throwing arm)

During World War Who, Captain Raymond Grintskowski was serving on the Star Bellied Sneetch Machine Wing when he was assaulted and stranded behind enemy lines. He and three of his men, Private Where, Lt. Y. Gothere, and field surgeon Dr. Who, remained hidden successfully for 7 days and nights. Then, on the eve of Christmas, Captain Grintskowski decided to risk the crew so that they could steal some roast beast. It was Christmas, afterall. But they were spotted and tried to flee. Y. Gothere and Private Where were killed by thrown birdcages, while Dr. Who stepped into a blue telephone box and was never seen again. Capt. Grintskowski cracked up at the loss of his friends and swore he would never again risk anything for the sake of Christmas.

Then, he bought a dog. I don't know why he bought a dog. Maybe he was going to eat him or something.

No! Don't go in there!!

5. Firefly: Inara Learns to *%&#
Is it just me, or don't we all want to see what sort of stuff she learned? I mean, she's supposed to be the most sought after companion in all the region, right? Why? What the hell does she know? What can she do that is so amazing? I want to see! Maybe she should write a book about it called "50 Shades of Browncoats." I'd read it.

The first one is free!

6. Back to the Future 
Time travel is tricky. But a prequel that takes place AFTER Marty McFly is long dead, but for some reason Doc Brown is still alive and then he goes back to when Marty is still alive but before he knew Doc Brown and they go on an adventure where they go to the past but after Marty's parents are already together. But something goes wrong and he can't get back and he has to stay stuck there until Scott Bakula can come in, take over Marty McFly's body, teach him some valuable lesson and Quantum Leap them both back to where they are supposed to be.


I don't think it would be confusing at all. It would clear up a lot of stuff.




7. The Smurfs

Did you know that "Smurf" is the sound someone makes when they
have a mouthful of something and they try to talk? "Smurf smurf smurf smurf!"

Note: See how easily I could have made that dirty and didn't?

Where the hell do these little bastards come from??  They ain't natural! Why does Gargamel want to eat them? Do they taste like blueberries or something? No one knows.


Well...someone knows...


It's 1984 and Franciscan Monk Reynaldo Gargamel was out picking blueberries. He smurfin' loved blueberries! What he didn't know was that they had been using DDT on this blueberry patch. He took the blueberries to his monastery, and showing great restraint he saved his berries until later, first sharing his haul with the other 99 monks. Very smurfy, indeed.


Unfortunately, the DDT was manufactured by the Umbrella Corporation of Racoon City. Gargamel went to sleep and when he woke up everyone from the monastery had turned into tiny blue monsters. Not smurfy! He felt so guilty, he's been trying to gather the smurfing bastards ever since. Unfortunately, Gargamel is cracking up and he sometimes thinks the Smurfs are the blueberries he once loved so much and he tries to make pies out of them. We'll smurf more about that in the prequel sequel.




So, there you have it, Harvard. My list of Prequels we want to see. 


If any of you have some other ideas you want me to include in my Harvard packet, just put them in the comments section!


G

Why Prequels In Movies and Literature Suck

Put your reading glasses on. Pull out your pipe. Get your sports coat with the patches on the elbow. We're going to talk literature. By literature, I mean any form. Books, movies, screenplays, anything.
Cross your legs: no, not at the ankle. At the knees. Back straight. Feel like a douche?

Good, let's get started.

Prequels suck.

This poster is so much more interesting!

Let's start with Prometheus. It was not terrible as much as it was lackluster. But as a prequel, it may have ruined the Alien franchise. The Aliens are deadly, frightening, gross and apparently very intelligent. Yes, I'm interested in where they came from. Yes, I'm curious as to why such a powerful race hasn't taken over the entire known universe. Yes, I want to know what a world filled with these beasts must be like.

But don't show me unless it's going to blow my fucking mind!

Prometheus did not do that. Prometheus made me think that perhaps I was mistaken about how bad-ass the Alien race actually was. It also made me think that $7.50 is a lot for a movie.

This is the baddest mofo there ever was!

Prometheus is not alone. Star Wars...oh Star Wars. Darth Vader was arguably the greatest menace the universe has ever seen. He is frightening and powerful and cool. When I was a kid, I didn't want to be Luke Skywalker. I wanted to be Lord Vader. I used to hear the Imperial March in my head as I walked down the street.

Now when I think of Darth Vader all I see is this:

I'm one bad-ass mofo! It's all the midichlorians I did in college!

I don't give a rat fart about Caprica. I KNOW the Cylons are coming. Everything you try to share with me pales when compared to what I know is going to happen: Those Cylon bastards are going to blow up a lot of planets, kill a lot of humans, and chase what's left of the human race across the galaxy like a man chasing a mosquito through the apartment. I find I don't really care about a girl who is confusing her real self with her virtual reality self.

Young Indiana Jones. Negative.
Young Sherlock. Bitch, please.

A good story starts where it's supposed to start! Stephen King did not start The Stand with "General so and so thought that creating a super virus would be a great idea. He and his assistant spend the next 100 pages creating the virus so that it can be released in another 200 pages." He started it where it needed to be started. And there will not be a prequel to the Stand. Do you know why? Because even though we may be interested in some of these people's backstories, what we really care about is the original story.

Cormac "I'm gonna depress the shit out of you" McCarthy doesn't start his books off with a bunch of explanation and tripe. You get down into it. If the characters have something interesting and important in their background, we learn about it as the story goes on. We do not need to read "No Country for Youngish to Middle-Aged Men" in order to find out why Anton Chigurh became a hitman. You don't want to ruin his mystery, his majesty, his power. If we find out he was sold by his father to work as a sex slave for a British spy and then he had to live in a cave and blah blah blah, then the odds are he won't be as frightening and we will be left with this:

I'm gonna become one badass hitman. My mom says I can!

You're curious, but do you want Janet Evanovich to ruin the mystery that is Ranger? Do we care where Remington Steele came from before he walked into Remington Steele Detective Agency and took it over? Do we want to know what the parents of the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants did before they had kids? Good lord, no!

Now, look, I'm not arguing that every sequel is pure shit. My argument is that they are a let down, that they don't actually elevate the original story, that the explanation itself either takes away from the magic of the characters, or that the delivery is so terrible that you stink up the original. I mean, did you SEE Hannibal Rising? Holy stink jobs, Batman!

Alright, let's here your rebuttals. There have got to be some out there. Head to the comments and fire away!

G

Art, Dead Cats, and...I Just Threw Up In My Mouth

Look, art is about perspective. Art is about allowing someone to see the world in a different way. It should open your eyes and make you wonder. I get all that. What I'm having trouble understanding is why THIS:

...is art! Are you KIDDING ME?!?!?

You can read the whole story here, if you don't mind being disturbed and a little creeped out. I'll sum it up for you in case you're eating your breakfast cereal right now.

This piece of "art" was created by a Dutch "artist" by the name of Bart Jansen. Bart lost his cat. It got hit by a car. That's sad. That's very sad.

 I've owned a cat. Hell, even though I try to deny it I STILL own a cat. Beau is bad-ass. He hunts rabbits and snakes and hobos. He's tough. If I liked cats more I would love this all-black little war machine. I don't like cats, so my love for him will have to remain a smoldering admiration that lasts until I step in his hairball vomit or get ready to lay my head down on the eviscerated remains of a sparrow.

Bart, who calls himself an "artist", really loved his cat. He named him Orville. Maybe Orville hunted rabbits and snakes and hobos. Maybe he didn't. All that matters is that little Orville is hunting in Valhalla now. This is sad. Losing a beloved pet is no joking matter. It sucks to lose a pet. Especially one you've had for a long time. My heart goes out to Bart.

At least, it did.

Then, after a period of mourning, Bart decides that he should take his beloved cat, Orville, hook him up to some electronics, add some propellers and make a god-damned helicopter out of him. And he flies! It's a remote controlled helicopter! Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz! Whoomp Whoomp Whoomp Whoomp Whoomp Whoomp! Whatever helicopter sound you want. Insert it here. Close your eyes and hear it. Then, open your eyes and look into the face of a dead-ass cat.

You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me?

He should have just made Orville sing "Puttin' on the Ritz" or something. That would have been way less creepy. Instead, he flies this thing around like it was the least creepy thing in the world.

Is that offensive? Yes! I don't fly my dead grandmother around like she was Inspector Gadget. This isn't Pet Semetary.  Sometimes, dead's better. Put him in the ground. Put his ashes in a jar. Don't stuff him and put him on your mantle. Don't hang him on the wall over your bed like he was a prize stag you shot. And, for god's sake, don't attach rotors and wires and...holy shit, are those landing skids???

This isn't love. This is something you do to someone's cat that you hated! This is what you do when you arch nemesis has a beloved pet, and that pet dies, and you dig it up and turn it into a helicopter and fly it around in his front yard until he cracks up. And he will. He will crack up like Leonardo DiCaprio on Shutter Island.

Is it enough that this thing is flying around like a member of the Justice League? Nope. We're also going to call it "art."

This thing was unveiled at the Kunstrai Art Festival in Amsterdam, home of the world's greatest red light district. I'm sorry...I meant to say Kunstrai "Art" Festival.

Red light district or dead cat? Red light district or dead cat?

This:

Hey, big spender!

or this:

You should make up your own mind. That is what art is about, right? It's subjective. I guess. But let me warn you, if you think that a dead cat hovering around like a twisted version of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier is art, then don't be surprised if one day you stop at a traffic light, look to your right, and see a guy hovering three feet off the ground on his dead grandmother's back. Hey, at least he's wearing his seatbelt.

Geraud

10 Alternate Titles for Snow White and the Huntsman

I had high hopes for Snow White and the Huntsman. The special effects from the trailers looked amazing. Charlize Theron was as beautiful as a Summer mojito. Chris Hemsworth was working his scruffy hotness like a pro. This should be the perfect date movie. I gathered TheWife and we went off for what should be the greatest love/adventure story since Romancing the Stone.

Some of you will like the movie. Hell, some of you will LOVE the movie. The ones that love Snow White and the Huntsman are probably going to be the same people that loved the Twilight movies. This movie was a grade school project, where seven 3rd-graders wrote a story and their bored parents got together and created some kick ass special effects for them. "Look, Timmie! You and your friends wrote this! We're going to put it on the refrigerator!" Unfortunately, that refrigerator was a movie screen in front of me and my peers.

So, why did it suck so bad? I'll tell you why, but there's going to be SPOILERS: Here's my review.

Snow White and the Best Build Up Ever: The first 10 minutes of this movie was A-MAZING! The story was engrossing. The actors did a great job. I was drawn in and really cared what happened to the characters. The special effects started with a bang. Then, Kristen Stewart started acting.

Snow White and The...Wait, Why Are You Pouting?: Apparently Kristen Stewart went to the Hayden Christensen School of Acting. Pouting does not equal emoting. You need more than two facial expressions to make it in this business. Unless you're David Caruso, and who knows what sort of deal HE made with the devil to keep getting work.

Look! I'm acting!

Snow White and the World's Most Convenient Horse: By now we all know deux ex machina is a writing sin.  I'm statin' the obvious with that one, right?

Snow White is in prison. For years. On this particular day, however, a bird flies in and lands on a nail. Apparently she's never noticed this giant nail before. Thank god, because today some pervy dude wants to grope her so here's to perfect timing! She uses her crazy, pent-up, living in the dark, eating rat bones prison strength to rip the nail out of the castle wall, slashes pervy brother in the face, and makes a very energetic run for it. But, it is a well-guarded, heavily fortified keep, after all. How ever will she escape? I know, let's give her an open sewer grate large enough to push Kevin James through! Problem solved!

Snow wades through all of the castle's piss and shit and makes her way to where the sewage runs into the ocean. But the bad guys are right after her! So, taking a page from the Fugitive she makes a daring leap into the sea...which would have been more daring had a bunch of dwarves not used that same entrance to break into the castle. These writers have thought of everything!

Now, here's the good part. Snow gets out of the water, stinking of shit and duck fat and crotch, and what does she find: A white horse. It's just sitting there. Lounging. Chillin'. Nothing to do but sit on the rocky shore where the sewage comes out. Worst mistake that horse ever made, because Snow rides that sonovabitch into a mud bog and lets it drown. Ouch!

Snow White and the Mirror of Bad Taste: The mirror and I need to have a talk. In what universe is Kristen Stewart hotter than Charlize Theron??? Unless "fairest one of all" means "best pouter" than the Mirror has made a grave mistake.

Snow White and the Dwarves Who Aren't Even Short, Much Less Dwarves: Are there no Little People in Hollywood? You couldn't find 7 ACTUAL Dwarves? Instead, you gotta pay Ian "Deadwood" McShane, Bob "I Need The Money" Hoskins, Ray "Look, I'm Not Playing A Cop" Winstone, and Nick "I Don't Need Simon Pegg, I'm My Own Man, I Mean It" Frost? You couldn't find 7 people from the cast of Little Women?

(Note From TheWife: "Having acting in the role of "Jo" in Little Women, I can assure you that there were no little people in the book nor the play. Don't be too hard on him. The play didn't have any explosions so it's no wonder he didn't see it.")

Snow White and the Patronus: Why was that thing in the movie? Why the hell was there a whole fairy village, and why was their king a giant, white, Harry Potter patronus with two trees for antlers? It was no Aslan, that's for damned sure. It just stood there and bowed and then got shot with an arrow. Snow White, why do all the white animals around you die? I don't know, but I know this: Siegfried and Roy had better stay away from her ass.

My best friend is a snow fox. The last person I saw him with was you!

Snow White and the Necrophiliacs: Dude. Gross. Snow White doesn't fall asleep. She doesn't slip into a coma. Her ass is dead. Dead like Chris Farley. Deader. Stone dead. Is it enough to get one guy, who hadn't seen her in years, by the way, to kiss her dead-assed lips? No. We have to get TWO dudes to give her passionate, tear stained kisses. Sloppy seconds is bad enough, Huntsman. When you get sloppy seconds from a dead chick, you have really sunk as low as you're ever gonna get.

Snow White and the Least Motivational Speech: Snow White is alive! Hip hip hurry and get to the end! Back to life, unlike Tupac, Snow White attempts to rally the troops. Here are some of the best movie motivational speeches:
#1 The St. Crispin's Day speech.
#4 The Braveheart speech.
#24 The Goonies speech. "This is OUR time!"
#63 Apollo Creed speech where he helps Rocky get the Eye of the Tiger
#194 Team America: World Police Dicks speech.
#387 The Snow White back from the dead speech. This speech didn't make me want to fight. It made me want to try on my pajamas, or see if I could get this fig sauce to reduce properly. Mostly, this speech made me want to tie Snow White up and deliver her to the Queen myself. The HOT Queen.

Snow White and the Worst Castle Defense EVER: Look around the room. Choose from amongst all who sit near you. Pick the worst strategist ever. Give them this choice: You could either be a) Inside a well-fortified keep, archers along the wall, trebuchets that fire giant flaming balls of oil, and only 1 entrance, or b) riding on horses toward a well defended keep on a strip of land about a mile long and 50 yards wide while archers rain arrows down on you and two trebuchets drop giant balls of flaming oil balls down on you? No, don't give them any help. Let them decide.

Have fun storming the castle!

Let me answer for you if you just can't figure it out. The world's worst strategist, having no thumbs, and an army of twelve drunkards, including Alec Baldwin and Danny Bonaduce, could defend this keep against the goddamned Spartans, much less a herd, a gaggle, a rag-tag fugitive fleet of farmers and goat herders led by a girl who, as far as I know, never rode a horse other than that 1 really convenient and now-dead white horse from earlier.

Snow White and the Luckiest Victory Ever: And here it is. The end. Somehow, with the whole world battling in the courtyard downstairs, Snow White manages to fight her way through the masses and into the Queen's chamber. Just the two of them. No one else fought that way. No one else thought, "hey, let's try to get inside the castle through that open doorway rather than stay clumped up in a killing field like a medieval clown car."

The fight begins and Snow is getting her ass kicked. Which is to be expected. The Queen can turn into black crows and shit. Snow White gets all white animals killed. I'm giving the odds 50/50. Snow White is getting batted around like Stewart Little in the Lion's Den. But alas! Alack! What's this? Snow White somehow manages to jab Charlize with some dagger or Cherokee arrow head or a Crayola crayon. I can't be sure what it was or where it came from, but that was all it took. Charlize is dying and I wanted to run to her, to hold her, to make her all better. WHAT JUST HAPPENED???

Snow White and the Huntsman was a terrible movie. Beautiful but with little else to it. Like Megan Fox. Frankly, I would have rather watched Megan Fox stink up the Transformers some more.

So, unless you loved Twilight, or the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants II, you're not going to like it. Me,  I'm going to try to watch something with better writing. Maybe Blade Trinity or Nacho Libre.

Geraud