Unfortunately, Part 1 of the review has been redacted by the NSA due to a long and rambling editor’s note in which Jason Mallory explains how somebody ought to make a ring you put on your esophagus that’s like Mr. Fusion in Back to the Future II, except it converts food to pure energy and nutrients and nobody ever needs to poop again, and you can use the space in your stomach for robotic upgrades. When asked for an explanation, the NSA would only disclose that they felt the note “disrupted the flow of the writing,” and was too “forward thinking.”
The discussion also included Winston’s survival tips for the apocalypse that NSA agents deemed “so Raven,” and Jay’s recipe for pecan pie that the NSA classified as “so good it’ll make you want to slap your grandmother…and illegally monitor all of her public and private communications.”
So, technically, the following should be considered Part 2 of 1.
Winston, I’ve got a baffling scenario for you: it would appear that Ben Stiller has directed and starred in a movie that, based on the trailer, looks pretty fucking solid.
Not really sure what to make of it. It’s as if Michel Gondry pulled a Being John Malkovich and took over Ben Stiller’s brain. What’s going on here? Are we dealing with a case of brain squatting? How many people do you think are inside of Ben Stiller right now?
That last one’s a bit of a loaded question, don’t you think? I’m just going to take a stab in the dark here, though, and say…3?
But yes, it does appear that he’s possessed by some type of force well beyond Stiller’s usual chops. I hate to drag religion back into the discussion again, but I’m thinking heavenly powers might be at work here.
Listen, I won’t spend 300 words quoting Revelations like I did in Part 1, but you know my feelings on the apocalypse. I’m thinking maybe God (or Allah or Satan, whichever rings your bell) has loosed the last of his (or her, whichever rings your bell) Signs. I’m pretty sure that Ben Stiller winning a Best Director Oscar is one of those end-time prophecies that Nostradamus explained in his writings. So, I’d start repenting now, ya’ll. I fear that Armageddon is nigh.
Either that or there’s some, you know, reasonable explanation for this.
You know, Winston, I read the news sometimes. I have a fraction of an inkling of an idea of what’s going on in the big wide world out there. Every once in a while, I even go so far as to take a look around at the real people and events and problems in my own community.
And let me tell you. Even if you take Ben Stiller’s demonic new powers out of the equation, I’m convinced that impending Armageddon is the only reasonable explanation for any of the god awful shitty things I see happening these days. This is a funhouse nightmare of a human existence that we’ve made for ourselves here, pal, and personally, I look forward to our upcoming doom.
When I share this perspective, a lot people think I’m just bitter. They think I’m self-absorbed and self-pitying, that I’m unhappy with my life, that instead of taking responsibility for myself and working hard to turn things around, I’m projecting my anger and resentment outward so I don’t have to accept my own failings. They say things like, “I’m moving to California and don’t want to be your girlfriend anymore” or “I never really loved your father” or “I think you should rewrite this Scene Missing piece” because “I really don’t want to publish the n-word this many times” and “no, it doesn’t help that Rashida Jones is only half-black.”
Those people are idiots and assholes, Winston. They refuse to accept the truth of the world. And if you let ’em, they will suck the life right out of you and either break your heart and move to Los Angeles or crush your lifelong perception of your family or ask you to rewrite a perfectly good trailer review and to stop making stuff up about the NSA. Just because they can’t deal.
Don’t let them bring you down, man. STAY GOLD, WINSTON. STAY GOLD.
I, on the other hand, am quite happy with my existence and argue that the end of days ought to be delayed for as long as possible. You see, when the girls in my life tell me they’re leaving me for greener pastures, I don’t hole myself up and wallow in my self pity. Nor do I take it as a strike against humanity or see it as a sign that the end of days are upon us. No, I just do what a well adjusted 21st century man does and invest in a premium membership on OKCupid.com. Because sluts. Obviously. [Ed note: I met my girlfriend on OKCupid! On the other hand, I am a huge slut. Am I the slut you’re looking for, Winston?!]
And when Jason Pierce Mallory insists that a piece that we worked long and hard on was “unspeakably insensitive” and “so poorly written that it made me want to invent a time machine that allowed me to travel back in time and convince Johannes Gutenberg to abandon the printing press,” well, I just take it in stride and rewrite the piece to his standards.
Then I break into his house while he’s at work and inject a syringe of Liquid Plumbr into his cat, like a normal person. [Ed note: I switched your syringe with harmless Gatorade, and my cat with a dehydrated man in a cat suit.]
You see, your problem is blaming the world around you and not taking responsibility – not for the things that happen but for how you react to those happenings.
I guess you could say that you can either be the bitch-ass Walter Mitty from the beginning of the movie – allowing the dickish Adam Scotts of the world to dictate your sense of worth or you can be the well-sexed, go-getter that I assume Mitty becomes by the end of the film. I think I have to go with the latter, man. No nihilism for me, thank you very much.
Holy fuck. I think we just stumbled across a moral.
I’m not so sure about your message, Winston—that the way to true happiness is cheap sex and pet murder—but I wouldn’t mind having it stitched onto a throw pillow.
In any case, I’m going to take your advice and go find myself some strange. Regardless of the true moral here, I think we can all agree: in the end, the sluts are coming out on top. [Ed note: I am!]
In theaters December 25, 2013.