Battleship

Battleship

In which Jason and comedy writer Ben Arnold have a profanity-laced discussion about the trailer for the movie Battleship.

J: I always knew that mankind would be crushed by enormous balls of steel, but I always assumed they’d be metaphorical, and attached to Hollywood’s elder statesman, Clint Eastwood. So I guess Liam Neeson and Rihanna are trapped behind a force field of ocean water in naval uniforms? I imagine this is the kind of thing that happens to people who get trapped in Kanye West’s saltwater pool. Is it just me, or do the aliens in Battleship look like they’re wearing Daft Punk helmets?

B: You would be correct, Sir Jason The Observant. Or if you really want to get geeky, I’d say they also slightly resemble Marvel’s Rom Spaceknight. But who really gives a rat’s ass? This movie looks like the same exact steaming pile of cinematic dogshit Hollywood has been foisting on us since Independence Day brought back the alien disaster flick. First off, fuck Liam Neeson. He’s in every single Hollywood “thriller” these days, playing the same exact ball-busting, we’re-going-to-do-it-my-way-or-the-highway type every single time. And that just sucks. Namely because I prefer my heroic prick types to be bald like Bruce Willis. Secondly, am I getting this right, that this sagging piece of Hollywood tit snot is loosely based on the classic board-game, Battleship? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Adam Sandler is making a cinematic Candyland, so I’m not even going to feign indignation. Thirdly, I don’t care if aliens try to destroy our stupid planet anymore. Seriously. I’m over it. Go ahead and do it, you futuristic pricks. See if I care. I’m actually rooting for you.

J: Speaking of cinematic piles of dogshit, I was walking my dog this morning and saw that someone had put a sign in their yard that read, “PLEASE PICK UP YOUR DOG’S POOP! IT’S DISGUSTING! WE CAN SEE YOU!” Maybe we should put a sign outside of Liam Neeson’s house that reads, “PLEASE PICK UP YOUR SCRIPT FOR BATTLESHIP! IT’S DISGUSTING! WE CAN SEE YOU!” You know, I read your comment about Hollywood “foisting” bad movies on us, and I realized that nobody ever foists anything nice on people. No one is foisting delicious candy on anybody, except for witches, and they are just trying to put your bones in a stew. And can I just say, witches need to stop putting our bones in soups and stews! Hey witches— maybe if you didn’t make your dinner in enormous cauldrons, you wouldn’t need so many goddam skeletons.

B: I could not agree more, Jay Pepper. These witches need to be put on notice: stop foistin’! Also, stop being the first commenters on everything I post by writing, “Foist.” It’s not funny after the foist time.

So, anyway, it’s interesting you bring up witches b/c they’re the kind of spooky ooky crap people used to be scared of 500 years ago. These days, if Hollywood’s depiction of sci-fi reality is any measure, we’re all sitting around, just shitting our collective pants about the impending alien invasion that’s about to happen any day now. And for good reason. These space pricks have superior technology! And they’re not afraid to queef out a bunch of bowling balls of mass destruction on our beloved metro areas. I know! It sucks! But I mean, what if it really happened, man?? I mean, shit would be fucked up, wouldn’t it?? I mean, we’d want to know who the fuck sunk our battleship, right???

J: Initially, I read that as, “we’d want to know who the funk sunk our battleship??” And the answer, of course, would be George Clinton & Parliament Funkadelic. I have to say, I like the idea of collective pants. Whose pants are these? They’re everybody’s pants! “Everybody’s Pants” could be a George Clinton & Parliament Funkadelic song. ♪♫ Everybody puttin’ on their pants/Funky space pants/Got to put on our collective pants/Liam Neeson ♪♫

I think have just outed myself as a person unfamiliar with the work of George Clinton & Parliament Funkadelic.

B: That’s fine. As George Clinton once sang, “I Got A Thing, You Got A Thing, Everybody’s Got A Thing.” Which pretty much sums up how this whole gosh-darned Internet bizness works: every single dickhead in the world now has a “thing” that they must express about everything––just as I am doing right now. It doesn’t matter if I’m completely unfamiliar with the subject matter at hand. In fact, I vow to never, ever, ever pay any of my hard-earned money, or any of my attention, to see the movie, Battleship. But that’s not going to prevent me from tearing it apart like a rabid DVD-ingesting jackal, and saying awful stuff about it, like it looks like poopy. Really stinky poopy that someone smeared all over the movie screen. That’s right! I said, “poopy.”

Am I a “hater?” A “troll?” Or just another denizen of this mealy-mouthed pile-on we call the World Wide Web? I PUT IT TO YOU, DEAR SCENE MISSING READERS, TO JUDGE ME.

P.S. PLEASE DON’T JUDGE ME.