Archive | June, 2014

A Part Of Me Is Lonely Because Parts Of You Are Gone

28 Jun

office printer

A Part Of Me Is Lonely Because Parts Of You Are Gone


His name was Pants. They called him ‘Shorts’ for short. Pants had been working at The Prometheus Tupperware And Other Things That Seal Tight Emporium for several months when his boss walked into the office one morning carrying the 19x12x16 inch tight cube shaped goddess that would eventually wind up stealing his heart.

His boss called her the HP Officejet Pro 8600 Plus E-All-In-One-Wireless Color Printer, but Pants would later take to calling her Printy when they were alone, post their somewhat awkwardly coital love making, when her paper tray was still warm from the longing and he’d wiped the cum off his own dick with a shirt.

He’d fallen in love with the new office printer quickly. More quickly than he’d thought reasonably possible. He’d been hurt before, almost recently, by a soft breasted woman who’d promised she’d love him forever but instead of doing that had grown cold and blazingly distant during the last few months of their relationship until finally admitting that she’d been secretly blowing some inglorious meta-fuck who worked at the Fishstick Factory named Don.

“But you work at the Fishstick Factory.” Pants had mumbled, heart cremated and brain ungraciously stunned.

“Yeah. And Don works there too. So what?” She’d told him, sounding slutty. And also maybe confused.

“That’s just great. So where did you two meet?” Pants obviously was not good at listening.

“Goddamn it Pants. You’re such an asshole. I met him at work!”

Pants didn’t think he was the one being the asshole, but she’d left him anyway. That was ten months ago. Pants hadn’t dated much since then. He found it practically impossible to move on. Instead of asking girls out he’d watch them walk by and say things to himself like “It’s better this way.” or “Her tits are too big.” or “It’d never work out.”

As the days of being alone turned into weeks and the weeks ground slowly into months he started wondering things to himself that he had until then never wondered, like “Maybe I’m unlovable.” and “What if I die alone?” and “I wonder if I still remember how to fuck.”.

Pants was drinking heavily and found himself obsessing about the woman who’d left him for Don. They were probably so goddamn happy right now. Why couldn’t he be happy? How could she walk around blowing a guy who smelled like fishsticks all the time? Because she smelled like fishsticks all the time? They did have that in common. Fucking Fishstick Factory. Bringing people together and shit like that. Why couldn’t he meet a nice girl who would love him at work?!

All the women Pants worked with where married or had boyfriends or thought he was nuts. So Pants unbuckled any hope for a beautiful office romance. Until this moment. Today. Right now. As he watched his boss set up the new printer, Pants’ feelings became flooded with erotic arks filled with clumsy desire and raging aardvarks of want. And the way the printer was looking at him, it was almost as if it was feeling these arks filled with aardvark type feelings too. But how could that be? Pants was a man. And this printer was a printer.

“Opposites attract.” he remembered his father never telling him, because Pants’ father rarely spoke to him. But if his father had spoke to him, Pants had once or twice imagined that this was the sort of thing he might say.

“It’s a crazy fucked up world.” Pants thought to himself as he office-casually jogged to the employee bathroom and threw up.

Because shit. It had happened again. When he’d thoroughly managed to convince himself that it would never happen again.

The sexy printer’d bewitched him.

Pants was in love.


2 months later


The affair was sweaty and secret and occasionally disturbing. As it turned out, fucking a shared printer at work without any of your co-workers finding out was more complicated then Pants had thought possible. Romance during work hours was out of the question. You couldn’t just arrange to meet a printer in the utility closet for romantic closet time like you could arrange such things with an ordinary human being. It was the only printer in the office and everyone was constantly printing stuff. Its absence would be noticed. And also being a printer, it didn’t have legs. So it couldn’t just walk into the closet under its own locomotion. It would have to be carried. And to be caught carrying the office printer into a closet, well it would just look weird.

So Pants began staying late at the office after everyone else had left. During business hours he’d send bouquets of flowers from his computer, which Printy would dutifully print out and hold fondly on top of herself next to the place that Pants liked to think was her chest. After hours they’d make love until midnight and when it began to feel as if they might be heading towards a rut Pants began printing porn off the internet and they would fuck while the porn was printing. That seemed to spice things up.

This of course drew the attention of HR because everyone in the office’s computer activity was at all times closely monitored and downloading porn was not only frowned upon, as Pants had understood it to be, it was a real life fire-able offense.

Pants was put on workplace probation and as part of this probation he was no longer allowed to hang around The Prometheus Tupperware And Other Things That Seal Tight Emporium unsupervised. Which erected a cock blocking wall the size of Mark Wallberg’s ego between the love that was felt between Pants and the printer and the ability to physically express that love without being caught.

For seventeen days every day was like Hell. Pants could see Printy from his desk—could hear the cute little sound she’d make when she was printing something out. He could smell her sexy ink scented perfume. But he couldn’t be with her. He couldn’t touch her. I mean, he could touch her, if he made a copy or something like that. But he couldn’t touch her in the way in which he longed to touch her. He wanted to touch her with his penis again. But that wasn’t going to happen, at least not anytime soon. So Pants sat at his desk, hoping that the printer would wait for him and that it was handling their forced separation better than he was.

Pants had never written poetry before but during these first seventeen days of his probation he wrote poems about the printer often. After the completion of each poem Pants would send it off to her softly by pushing the button on his computer marked ‘Print’. In seventeen days he’d written 38 poems.

On the eighteenth day Pants stopped writing poems and instead spent most of the time sobbing. If the first seventeen days were like Hell then the eighteenth day made Hell look like a stripper. That’s the day Tadd returned to the office after being away on a long business trip. The company had sent him to Kansas for awhile where he was either being trained or training other people in the blah blah blah boring whatever type shit that people have to know in order to become an Office Manager.

Tadd had a stupid name and long bangs that made his face look like it was hiding behind a shitty waterfall made out of hair and if that wasn’t bad enough it appeared that he’d immediately set his sites on Pants girl. Or printer. Whatever.

Pants watched as Tadd stood beside the printer talking to the boss. Pants couldn’t hear what was said, but he saw everything. The way Tadd gruffly laid his hand on top of the printer during the conversation and the way he roughly threw open its paper tray when the conversation was over, closed it again, and then went through the methodical motions of unplugging all those things that needed to be unplugged before he up and carried the entire printer, chords and all across the room into his office.

Pants watched as Tadd sat the printer down on his desk as his mind made up little sounds like a grown man’s dress pants zipper being unzipped abrasively as Tadd reached his arm back and closed the door.

And just like that, Pants love affair with the office printer was over. He received an emailed later that day stating that it had come to their attention that people were making non-workplace related copies at work and in order to better diffuse such behavior the printer would now be located in Tadd’s office, where things could be more efficiently monitored.

That was the official reason. But Pants knew this was bullshit. Tadd had fallen for the printer. The printer had left Pants for somebody else that it worked with, just like his old girlfriend had left him for Don.

Pants was inconsolable. And not only that, by the time day nineteen had come and almost gone Pants was fired for sending heartbroken word documents to the printer filled with angry descriptions of the pain the printer was putting him through and how he couldn’t believe that he was being dumped for a guy like Tadd.

“If you want to be with a guy who irons his shirt every day, then so be it. I just hope you have enough class to not allow him to enter you through your back paper feed tray. Because that was supposed to be our special place….”

Tadd of course read these things and ergo: Pants was immediately fired.

Pants collected the poems he’d written for the printer into a manuscript that was eventually published as A Part Of Me Is Lonely Because Parts Of You Are Gone. Because nobody reads poetry anymore, nobody read his book either. Pants still misses that damn printer daily, but like poetry, there’s no money in that, so in between all this missing he also sells cellphones at the Mall.



Periwinkle (aka The Winger Bomb)

26 Jun


(from unpublished manuscript: The Crayon Box Manifesto)


Time: Post-Apocalyptic
Place: Earth!

in the 1950’s

grade school film strips preached

         the duck and cover method for survival

         a ‘just the tip’ solution

         for surviving

         a nuclear bomb
but civilization as they’d known it

didn’t end in mushroom clouds

or radioactive maternity recovery

         there was no atomic detonation
the end of civilization as they’d known it

began in the 1980’s with the introduction

of hair spray to pop metal bands
and was consummated forty-some years later

while some wise-ass scientists where fooling

around with a bunch of green pipe cleaners
talking about the ‘old times’

               before their youth had died

                     stories about parking lot keg parties

                     with their dicks dangling beneath jean jackets

                     dazing at the vomit on the hood of of their best friend’s

                     Delta 88

                             pretending like hell

                             that it was Tawny Kitaen

with these recent thoughts of hair metal

lodged between all those deadly equations

           in their heads

the scientists returned to work
Humanity once again demanded a weapon

so powerful that its very power would act as a deterrent

           for its own use

Humanity demanded a weapon that would

once and for all save itself from itself
and it is because of this duel hard-on

           for its own survival and/or extinction

that this dedicated group of geniuses

           who grew up in the 1980’s

figured out a way to weaponize

           the music of Winger!
when detonated, the Winger Bomb

was capable of producing a high kick explosion

of destructive energy capable of leveling entire cities

       causing things to explode that nobody

       had ever realized where there to explode


             in the air
you would think that Civilization would have learned

a few things and upon discovering the Winger Bomb

wiped all knowledge of its existence from the face

                          of its own heavily eye-lined planet
but no, like a poorly advised reunion tour

its implementation was damn near inevitable
and at some point in the future

the day did come

when the Winger Bomb was unleashed

               upon an unsuspecting

               Adele worshipping

those who where not finger-tapped into

cassette tape shaped piles of dust and oblivion

by the initial explosion

spent the following months bleeding from their eardrums
while mumbling the lyrics to Headed For A Heartbreak

                         fighting off packs of mutated farm animals

                         and trading colorful scarfs and bandannas

                                 for rare bits of sugarless gum
two of these survives set up a camp

on top of the grave of the great American

Science Fiction writer: Philip K Dick
it felt safe there

             the roaming bands of cannibals

             tended to avoid the old cemeteries

  and the trees hadn’t died here

                  and once in a while

                     in the middle of the night

                   you could almost hear the sounds

                         of a train
and it was on a night such as this

           with the Darjeeling calling

beneath a sky perpetually turned

                     the color of periwinkle
surrounded by wild squirrels which had evolved

into colorfully tailed rodents made out of

                     guitar strings

                     and spandex
they fell asleep, his arms wrapped around her

             protected by the legend of Ubik

             and miracles of grape juice

She’s Only Seventeen
couldn’t hurt them here

though lord knows

it fucking tried

15 Things I Learned While Watching: Commercials Last Night on Digital-Antenna TV

25 Jun


15 Things I Learned While Watching: Commercials Last Night on Digital-Antenna TV

1. The Plot: When Helen left she took a lot of things with her, including the cable TV. Post-Helen I’ve thought about having the damn thing re-installed, but the whole idea of choosing a cable provider and talking to them on the goddamn phone or whatever you have to do these days in order to watch Game Of Thrones in a timely fucking fashion seems exhausting.  The price is just too damn high, so who needs it? As far as Helen goes, we’ll always have Comcast. Alone, I get by with one of those little antenna converter boxes. I get around 20 channels. Half of those are in Spanish and I don’t understand them, so let’s call it 10. Out of those 10 there are 2 channels that play old movies and 1970’s TV shows. So mostly, I watch them. The reception’s pretty good, unless one of the cats happens to walk between the couch and the TV. For some reason a movement such as this tends to fuck with the signal. The screen goes all twitchy. But you get used to that. (the cats tend to walk between the couch and the TV a lot). Last night channel 2 was running a mini Burn Notice marathon, and in between all the burnt spy action they played a lot of commercials. Apparently:

2, Dunkin Donuts’ new blend of chocolate donut coffee is so good it will almost make you cum in your pants

3, Snapple is made from the best stuff on Earth, ergo: Late 70’s era Linda Carter. Apparently Snapple slipped onto the Wonder Woman set shortly before the series was canceled and obtained a DNA sample of the invisible jet flying goddess and, after laborious trial and error, perfected a system which allowed them to clone her. They’ve made thousands of copies which they then chop up or whatever the secret curing process is, and with these cloned choppings they make tea.

4. Finding the perfect shoes at outrageously low prices will almost make you cum in your pants

5. According to Ford the outside world is ‘360 degrees of chaos’. There’s no arguing about that.

6. The Channel 2 News Team, they get along amazingly well with each other and shit standing up

7. Olive oil makes mayonnaise ok to eat. Meaning it re-invents mayo’s image as a fat-creating-bastard to a point at which it becomes healthier somehow. Healthier than it used to be. Also, eating olive oil enhanced mayonnaise will almost make you cum in your pants.

8. Now available for download: The RunPee app. Even though it sounds made up, it’s a totally real thing. As real as anything can be anyway (see: The complete writings of Philip K Dick). When you’re watching a movie and find yourself having to pee, this app will suggest to you the best time to get up and relieve yourself (urine-ally).

9. Smoke em if you got em, but personally I don’t need technology to tell me when to piss in a movie theater. Example: I was at the movies last week watching The Fault In Our Stars, and shortly after finishing off a large grape flavored Mellow Yellow Zero felt ‘the urge’ so to speak, but having previously read the book version of Fault I waited until the lung-fucked heroine was at the Ann Frank museum, where she encountered a tall flight of stairs. Being that climbing stairs is difficult for her, I chose this moment to get up and take a leak. When I got back, she was still climbing the damn stairs. Ergo: I missed nothing!

10. I should create a competing app, call it TakeYourTimePiss. Using this app you’ll find helpful suggestions like: If you’re watching the new Tom Cruise sci-fi movie version of the book All You Need Is Kill, anytime you see Tom Cruise walk onto the screen; consider it a good time to take a piss.

11. There are websites devoted entirely to helping car owners pick out new tires. When the owner finds the tires they like and realize how much money they’re about to save by purchasing them, they cum in their pants.

12. Sarah Michelle Geller’s new sitcom has been canceled. On a different but also almost related topic, if I was fucking Sarah Michelle Geller I imagine we’d have this deal where if I scream out or even mumble the word ‘Buffy’ during sex I’ll have to throw a dollar in a jar, like a swear jar, only way more fun.

13. I was distracted. What was that one supposed to be about? The commercial with the animated butterfly tough talking an aggravated flower…had something to do with lavender and embryonic fluid. If you don’t start taking this stuff immediately your life will continue to suck.

14. McDonalds is tired of making hamburgers and has decided to open a chain of chemically enhanced brothels. The sex will be cheap and unsatisfying, but in order to fool the customer into thinking they’ve had a good time the prostitutes will be injected with chemicals that, for a brief period, manage to fool you into thinking you really enjoyed your shitty McFuck. 

15. Razors today require flex balls. If your razor doesn’t have flex balls, you probably aren’t cumming in your pants.


8 Things I Learned While Watching: Brothers

23 Jun


(historical note: Brothers originally appeared in Illiterate Magazine. Only the title and insertion of various numberings have changed)

8 Things I Learned While Watching: Brothers

1. The Plot: (according to IMDb) “A young man comforts his older brother’s wife and children after he goes missing in Afghanistan.”

2. First things first (or 2nd). When I think of brothers, I think of my brother, James. (Hi James!)

2. And then I think about Legends Of The Fall, and Brad Pitt screaming “Samuel!” a lot and telling his older brother that he’s already let him run his mouth about this particular subject one time, “Just once!”, but if he says it again, so help him Bear God, they are no longer brothers.

4. Coming in at number 3 (or 4), I think of the movie Brothers, and how after viewing one tends to see both characters (played by Jake Gyllenhaal and Toby Maguire) point of view. They both really enjoy banging Natalie Portman. Not at the same time. They bang her separately.

5. But that’s ok. I mean, sure Toby is away at war and presumed dead when Jake sweeps in with a six pack of Coors Light and a VHS copy of Donnie Darko and the gee-ain’t-we-both-sad-tonight purpose of consoling Natalie, while at the same time maybe, just maybe, stumbling upon the answer to the riddle of whether she may or may not enjoy anal.

6. And maybe that’s not the most moral way to treat the grieving wife of your not-really-dead brother, but Brothers isn’t a movie about right vs. wrong. It doesn’t give a shit about holding a mirror up to society’s views on adultery or morality or the horrible inner struggles that everyday people have to go through while their loved ones are away fighting a bullshit war.

7. The point that Brothers is trying to make is this: Natalie Portman is hot. And you can’t blame the terrorists for that one. It’s not American or Anti-American. It’s simple math. Natalie + Porman = Hot. And everybody wants to have sex with her.

8. If you don’t believe me, well then you haven’t watched Brothers. Trust me. It’s the best movie you’ll see about banging Natalie Portman this year.

In A World In Which Raisin Bran Is A Sexual Position, And Not A Cereal

20 Jun


 In A World in Which Raisin Bran is a Sexual Position,
and not a Cereal

            In a world in which Raisin Bran is a sexual position and not cereal, she almost never leaves him and the recent Oscar winner for Best Picture was The Ghost and the Darkness, even though it’s currently 2014 and the Michael Douglas and Val Kilmer vs. Jungle Lions movie was released in 1996.  Also in the Raisin Bran alternate universe they don’t call them Oscars, they call them Charlies. And things like death, involuntary loneliness and Catherine Zeta Jones do not exist.
            But he doesn’t live in the world of Sexy Raisin Bran. He lives in this world.
            In this world she no longer loves him, as he’s subjected to new Superman movies in which Russell Crow, portraying the Man Of Steel’s father, adds his own consciousness to their brand new baby’s escape pod but not his wife’s and then has the balls to say “I wish your mother could have been here to see this.” when he’s eventually reunited with his son 33 years later; causing a dark cinema colored moon to scream “Dude, if you had wanted her to be here she could have easily been here, for you’re the bold prick who chose not to include her! You could’ve easily uploaded the consciousnesses of the both of you, but you didn’t.”
            “Because this world is selfish. And maybe you were concerned she had not seemed fully committed to taking off all that recent baby weight. And being shaped like Russell Crow you were only thinking of yourself.”
            Fuck this world! The world of Raisin Bran is different!
            In the world in which Raisin Bran is a sexual position bees sting backwards and Robert Downey Jr. invented salad dressing instead of Paul Newman.
            Marine life exists in the sky and if your lover performs a Golden Gram when you’re together you’re going to immediately after want to make sure you take a bath.
            In this world (fuck, this world) half the people spend their long nights freezing toward death while the other half jerk off into their extra pile of blankets. Corporations like Crest grow bored with everyone else’ mouths and expand into the production of Feminine Hygiene Products and produce slogans like “Crest. It’s not just toothpaste anymore.” 
            It’s horrible. Over here she never loved him and empathy is harder to contract than the clap.               
            Over there, in a world in which Raisin Bran is a sexual position, performing the Captain Crunch on your partner may get you arrested south of Europe but the jails are ridiculously swanky and if you’ve got someplace else to be you just let the jailer know and they’ll totally let you out.            
            If only this world were more like that.
            In this world her love for him sneaks like a World War II double agent, causing him to nick his own scrotum against the corner of her frigid swastika as she tans her damned toenails in another man’s bunker; with her mouth stuffed full of bacon cupcakes, unpaid credit cards, and a piss stained copy of Mein Kamf.
            In this world, on this fuck-damned post-migraine anal’d Earth, his face sweats in its sleep causing him to wake several times throughout the evening with the pillow wet as if it’s been fooling around on him behind his back with a sloppy water park. He’s always hated water parks, but having to wake up like this to deal with this shit, he really-really hates water parks now. Like he hates this world, where professional photographers have become obsolete because the only thing anyone’s interested in anymore is taking Selfie’s. This world in which his broken heart creaks by un-noticed because he’s surrounded by people with mall shaped egos screaming the title of their own brand new national anthems over and over again.           
            “Look At Me!’ “Look At Me!” “Look At Me!”           
             “Well, fuck this world!” he screams back at things, between figuring there’s got a be a way in which he can transport himself out of this world and into the other; the thought leading him to the grocery store and through the breakfast cereal aisle and back home again.
            Time catching up with him as he stands here now in the middle of the kitchen with a packed suitcase beside his feet, praying like bloody hell that his damned plan will work. The cereal box already open. He pulls his dick out. Sticks it in amongst the two scoops of raisins and all those bran flakes.             
             With only the kitchen sink around to hear him whisper “Get me out of here, goddamn it. This has to work.”
              His eyes go: blink.

12 Things I Learned While Watching: Movie Hookers–Julia Roberts vs. Elizabeth Shue

17 Jun


12 Things I Learned While Watching: Movie Hookers–Julia Roberts vs. Elizabeth Shue

1. The Plots: In Leaving Las Vegas Elizabeth Shue plays a gritty, street hardened prostitute who befriends a sad dude (Nicolas Cage) who’s moved to Las Vegas on a semi-holy mission to drink himself to death. In Pretty Woman Julia Roberts plays what could only be described as that rarest of Unicorns, a hooker who almost never fucks.

2. Julia Roberts pretends to be the sort of prostitute who’s never had sex before. Or if not ‘never’, then ‘rarely’ i.e. maybe one or two guys at the most. Which means she either comes to this world from an alternate multiverse in which the skill set for what they call ‘hookers’ is completely different, or she’s lying. I think she’s lying. Like when your girlfriend says she’s never done anal before and you eventually do anal together and because she’s drunk (because it’s largely in those moments cresting with booze where the anally timid find courage and the anal act thrives) she mumbles something into the pillow after about how “That didn’t hurt nearly as bad as it did the last time I did that.”. And you’re like “What’d you say?” and she’s like “Nothing.” and you’re all “I thought you said you’d never done anal?” and she’s like “Maybe I tried it once, but he couldn’t fit it in all the way so it doesn’t really count.” and you’re all “What does that mean? It doesn’t count?” and she’s like “Stop being such a Richard Gere about everything and get me a towel.”.

3. Elizabeth Shue’s kind of hooker is more honest about stuff like that. She’s not going to lie to you and horse-laugh like Julia when she pulls your pants down, act like she’s never seen a penis before, or behave all PG-13 about shit and make you buy her a necklace.

4. Julia Roberts is the kind of hooker who will refuse to kiss you on the mouth, unless you’re rich and you’re good looking like Richard Gere. She’ll have sex with you, maybe, but only after you pay her and agree to marry her missionary style the next day.

5. Elizabeth Shue’s the kind of hooker who’ll hang out and fuck you for free despite the fact that you’re drunk all the time, not quite average looking and broke. The only thing she asks in return is that you don’t cum in her hair.

6. And even if you do accidentally cum in her hair she probably wouldn’t get all that upset about it. She’d probably just half jokingly call you an asshole while trying really hard not to laugh.

7. If you accidentally cum in Julia Roberts’ hair she’s going to order you to drive over to the fancy hair salon to buy her a $400 bottle of shampoo and even after you apologize 100 times and buy her the shampoo you can pretty much count on her not talking to you again for at least a month. Note: During that quiet month she’ll still be charging you by the hour, but so-help-her-god if you so much as look at her without her first ordering you to look at her she’ll burn down the couch you’ve been sleeping on and charge you double for the time it takes her to do it.

8. And as long as we’re on the topic of Movie Hookers, if I remember correctly it was shortly after Nicholas Cage won an Oscar for playing Elizabeth Shue’s sidekick in Leaving Las Vegas that he transformed himself into a giant crotch and started selling his ConAir to the highest shitty-movie-bidder. He wanted to transform himself into an action hero or something. Fine. I’ve got no problem with that. I mean, he’s no Liam Neeson. But who is? Liam Neeson did what Nicholas Cage tried to do, only Liam Neeson did it correctly. Liam Neeson transformed himself into the greatest action movie hero this world has ever seen! In his new movie he beats a guy who’s pointing a gun at him unconscious using only his piercing eyes and one of those oxygen masks that fall out of the ceilings on airplanes! How fucking bad ass is that?! (note: It’s exceedingly bad ass. I love Liam Neeson.)

9. What I do have a problem with is when Mr. National Treasure unnecessarily remakes shit like The Wicker Man (taking an epically weird mix of dead crops, Christopher Lee, clog dancing, and a grown-man-virgin and remaking it into some bullshit thing in which Cage spends most of his time punching women in the face and screaming about bees.) or when he fucks with the stories of Philip K Dick. I’m talking about Next here, which was based on Dick’s short story The Golden Man. In the story the main character’s an unintelligent, golden, fur covered evolutionary mutation who spends most of his time in the woods, can see a half hour or so into the future, and possesses an almost Richard Gere like power over women (who aren’t Julia Roberts). His Richard Gere-ness allows him to easily spread his mutated seed and his precog powers make him damn near impossible to be captured by the ruling government which has come to realize that this Golden Man is the next step in human evolution. Society as they know it will soon be over. Everyone thought humanity’s intelligence was the future, but human intelligence has failed and will be weeded out and replaced by super powered survival skills and pretty golden fur that acts like peacock feathers or Steve Perry records on the opposite sex in order to keep everyone fucking/ ensure the continuation of the human race.

10. In Next Nicolas Cage plays the Golden Man, but according to the DVD special feature exclusive interview he had a few changes he wanted to make to the character. In Next the Golden Man is no longer golden. And he’s not covered in fur. He doesn’t spend most of his time living quietly in the woods avoiding the authorities. He’s not an unintellectual mute, he doesn’t have any sexually persuasive powers over women, and he’s no longer the first representation of humanity’s next big evolutionary step.What he is is a fucking magician. Because Nicolas Cage wanted to play a magician. I’m not making that up. The only thing Next has in common with The Golden Man is they kept the bit about the main character being able to see into the future. That’s it. They turned PKD’s original short story into the tale of a sad eyed magician who’s recruited by the police or whoever the fuck recruits him because they know he can see into the future a little bit and they need him to use these powers to find and prevent the exploding of another goddamn terrorist bomb.

11. Seriously. What the fuck’s up with that?! They treated a perfectly great Philip K DIck story like it was a broken Elizabeth Shue styled hooker.

12. Fucking Hollywood. If you’re going to treat great literature like a hooker, at least treat it like the Julia Roberts kind. Buy the fucking thing a necklace or give it a goddamn bubble bath or something before you rub your stupid dick all over it and fuck it in the ass until it shits itself all over the sheets to become the next goddamn Nicolas Cage movie. Or Ben Affleck movie. Ashton Kutcher, etc., whatever……