Comfortable and Furious

The Top 10 Hollywood Tropes: They need to go Edition

What is it with Hollywood? Is there a book, some elementary primer, that states the maxims of the human condition, replacing actual investigation because actually knowing what’s real, or how things work, or why those people are the way they are is so ‘middle America’.

The cheap platitudes of Hollywood have warped popular perception so completely that many who read this will be shocked that ANYONE could possibly disagree. Well, I’m not debating, I’m flat-out stating these are lies, and not only are they not true today, they were never true. Yet, they retain the de-facto popular understanding if movies were consulted…and it’s embarrassing. It’s embarrassing when a popular art form can’t live up to the most basic goal of art: the truth of the human condition.

Subjectivity is fine. But these are not subjective tropes, they are bald-faced lies concocted for one reason (politics) or another (personal discomfort) or another (being a silver-spoon shut-in unaware that Malibu isn’t the geometric center of the known galaxy).

So, I will give you the Top 10 movie tropes that have to go.

When I said you’d think you were fucked by a train, I never thought…Wow! This one’s for the newsletter. Okay, you can stop bending over, I’ve seen enough.

10. Religious people are hypocrites. [Editor’s Note: They are hypocrites, each and every one. If you can fling around absolutes, so can I]

Writers and producers who flog this dolphin do it out of the most crass, dull, self-condemning reasons possible: They 1) Are hypocrites themselves, and in recognizing their own flaw are unwilling to allow that others are not in such a way flawed, this is usually out of sheer pride. 2) They resent the feeling of condemnation that comes from the Abrahamic religions and so try to slather everyone else in the same mud, thereby justifying themselves and making it seem rational to ignore sermons of morality that hit too close to home 3) A vindictive need to attack one particular faith (usually Christianity) in a nasty attempt to reduce its societal gravitas 4) a political desire to eradicate those religious voices who rebut theirs on the national stage.

Am I saying there is no hypocrisy in any religious population? Nope. But I have rarely seen it in the pews, and neither have the writers and producers of movies. True hypocrisy, the jaundiced saying of one thing while fully practicing the opposite—is rare. Hypocrisy requires that one knows it’s hypocrisy, it is the knowing and willful practice of that opposite married with the knowing and willing promotion of its counter.

Hollywood will point to preachers who diddled the babysitter—and yes, the preacher who blares against lust while having a running tab at the local brothel is a hypocrite, but the preacher who, after a lifetime of monogamy then diddles the babysitter, is not a hypocrite, he is a moral failure. But this is not how it is portrayed in movies. Moreover, it’s the religious individual that is condemned as a hypocrite, not merely clergy–bring a bible to work you’ll be shown to be a child-pimp or dogfight promoter.

When Bill Bennet, a famous Christian moralist and author of the Book of Virtues, was exposed as a slot-machine addict, having lost 2 million bucks, the demonic guffaw from Hollywood that followed was sickening. The noise of it was not justified, the shallowest gotcha ever, they said he was somehow a hypocrite, and for what? Being frivolous with money? His money? Some will bring up the biblical proscription against ‘casting lots’, but Bill Bennet, himself, never mentioned gambling in any of his dissertations on morality, he kept his focus quite broad, and the criminal—read that again, I said ‘criminal’–lack of distinction between hypocrisy and self-conscious moral failure isn’t indicting of Bill Bennet, but shows Hollywood to be low-brow, thimble-deep dullards.

Of course, there are religious tyrants, using religion as a mask in the Machiavellian sense, consider the warden in The Shawshank Redemption, a great example, but that’s not what the movie was intimating, it seemed to be indicting religious devotion itself as fraudulent–there hasn’t been a single religious person I have ever known—and I’ve known hundreds intimately enough to say this– that would memorize scripture, forbid blasphemy and line every speech with a quote from John and then and only then threaten the poor bastard who made him rich with confinement with sodomites. “You’ll think you were fucked by a train.” A hypocrite’s mask is stifling, he can’t wait to rip it off, if you don’t believe what you profess, like the Warden, you don’t bother wearing it except at times of peak interaction with the public.

If you don’t believe me, you haven’t met religious people, especially Christians. This trope is so wildly out of whack, it’s perverse. False witness most vile. The thing about Christianity, Protestantism specifically, is that it makes the practitioner terrified of virtual sins, and when I say ‘terrified’, I mean ‘waking up in cold sweats’ because you got a semi looking at a College Bowl cheerleader. But if you were to believe Hollywood, you’d think every church is a secret sex coven of graft and extortion and every churchman a murderous meth-snorting subway groper.

It’s gotta go. Find another form of self-righteousness to illuminate a villain’s craven soul. This one was never true.

So, uh, like , uh—um, so, you know, I saw you and I, uh, kinda, you know, wanna do you, real quick, if that’s possible—it’s totally cool if you gotta be somewhere, but, you know, can I? The doing of you, I mean.

9. It’s easy to get laid.

In three scenes the gawkiest, cow-licked college freshman finds himself straddled by the cover-girl from Seventeen magazine. Here’s where the wish-fulfillment of movie writers comes into play to warp the lens. College dorms are not Bacchanalian temples and college parties are not impromptu orgies fueled by Natural Light. And yeah, I’ve seen the porn. The porn is lying.

Getting consistently laid, for a guy, is nearly impossible. The Pick-up Artist community (PUA) is positively the best source of information on the topic, and they estimate that even for a handsome, well-off, socially coherent, well-spoken, extrovert the rate of getting laid tops out at…wait for it—nine percent. That means the captain of the football team with a mane of gold and a father who owns a Porsche dealership has to strike ELEVEN times before he hits.

For the average guy it’s 3 percent. Thirty-three strikes per hit.

If you’re taking 15 hours and work part time at Kinko’s you ain’t got the time to get laid, and after college your chances drop even more.

This whole ‘ideal male experience’ bullshit was a lie from the start. Chuck it.

Uh-oh, what do we got here? Mr. I have a car, Mr. I pay taxes. Mr. I can stay up after nine—here, come the check-train, hoot-hoot!

8. Chess is the crucible of intellect.

Every damn time. Smart guy = chess player. Well, let me inform the writers of Hollywood that just because you don’t understand the game, it doesn’t mean those who do are wunderkind uber alles. I used to hang with the chess guys, they’d meet on Friday nights at the local coffee bar and let me tell you, these were not unsung-Oppenheimer’s waiting for their moment on the world stage, they wore stained t-shirts and crocs, they swore like sailors and bragged about fucking their wives on her period.

Children! There are children in New York right now beating adults in the park. Chess is a talent and a very specific talent, it’s a spatial-linear talent like drawing, and we all remember the D-student in class who could render a pencil sketch of Jim Morrisson in five minutes but couldn’t solve a quadratic equation for a dime bag of Mexican hash: if a dope can dunk a basketball, you can find one who can fend off a French defense playing black.

You’re embarrassing yourself Hollywood, stop it.

The ‘89 Ford Apocalypse was recalled after a design flaw caused ‘safety issues’ when the radio played ‘smooth jazz’.

7. Cars blow up when they roll over…or get shot…or hit a tree.

Every gearhead just decided to name their firstborn after me, because they HATE this one. Cars have caught fire after accidents, when a fuel line severs and there’s enough oxygen mixed with the vapor under the hood to ignite, but it doesn’t blow up. In fact, it can’t blow up, there just isn’t enough free oxygen to mix with vapor to cause an explosive detonation.

Shoot a car in the gas tank, you know what happens? A rivulet of gasoline dribbles out, the bullet settles calmly on the bottom of the tank and that’s all.

Even if that gasoline forms a river to your feet and you’re smoking a cigarette, flicking that cigarette into the stream will not cause a crazy train of flame to sprint backwards and deliver an explosion. In that case, there’s too much air around the vapor and the only result will be a dyspeptic hiss…from the cigarette being extinguished by the liquid gasoline.

This is willful ignorance. I introduce you to a term: ‘Cinematism’, the lie told and retold for its purely cinematic benefit.

And even if you could get a car-full of gasoline to explode all at once (it’s not Uranium, people), the result would not be a forty-foot fireball licking the heavens while some muscle-bound douchebag walks away uninterested. It would be a kind of horizontal claw of flame, extending out only six feet or so from every side, then a rising puff of black smoke, then a leisurely burn-off of the car’s interior.

I understand the lure of cinematism, but it is lazy, over-done and, to this point, insulting.

See, nothing here.

6. Getting shot in the shoulder means you can keep fighting.

Anytime I see a hero shot in the shoulder—because it’s, of course, NOT more likely that they would be shot in their center body mass resulting in a sucking chest wound making them gurgle their last fourteen minutes into the movie, no, everybody gets shot in the shoulder, it’s a fact—I groan like a co-ed given cab fare the morning after a frat ragger.

And if I see that same shot hero raise that very arm to fire back, well, now I want to key somebody’s car.

Most of the time the enlightened mem-sahib of Hollywood places the squib on the neck side (the side nearer the center) of the joint. It’s the same two-inch circle every time. But what’s in there that’s so inconsequential that a soldier/cop/misunderstood teenage rebel can have a .45 caliber slug enter, mushroom, obliterate and exit while leaving him enough wherewithal to do his taxes?

In that two-inch circle is the brachial artery, a fat tube, now shredded, that is gushing a pint of blood every thirty seconds. You pass out just from blood loss after a minute. Not to mention the brachial plexus, a tangle of nerves, once severed, means that arm ain’t liftin’ shit. Then, of course there’s the radial shock of the bullet which fractures every bone within a hand’s breadth from the point of entry even if the bullet did not directly hit bone—which of course it will, at least on the way out, on the dexter side of that squib is, I dunno, maybe, the shoulder blade—bye-bye shoulder blade.

Almost instantly you go into shock, your arm won’t work and the only way you could use the other is if you were already raising it to use. In response to the trauma your body almost immediately shuts down which means you can’t remember your name after fifteen seconds much less get that final shot out to the bastard who betrayed your partner.

Accounting for battle incidents wherein the adrenaline staved off the shock until the wounded man lost consciousness from loss of blood, you ain’t fighting a lustful thought much less another person the moment you’re shot in the shoulder.

It took me five minutes to find this information, Hollywood has yet to find it after 111 years.

“It’s for squirrels.”

5. Hunters are driven by some cheap, juvenile need to hurt things.

I live in the ‘Sportsman’s Paradise’, Louisiana [Editor’s Note: No kidding. # 1 for gators, #3 for feral pigs], which is just a nice way to say I live in a primordial swamp cohabited with monsters from the Triassic—but hey, they’re tasty. The dilettantes of the Northeast—and they are that, unschooled and arrogantly so—got it in their avacado-addled minds that hunting is an excuse for good old boys with Confederate Flags stenciled on their Ford F-150s to enter nature and tear it the fuck up.

I’ll say this once, for you New York nabobs are still convinced that that shitty city is culturally relevant: No hunter. In the history of hunting. Has treated the activity like the dunking booth at the Feast of San Gennaro.

Did you ever stop to consider, in your weak-chinned contempt for places that don’t smell like spoiled milk, that people who have actually seen a tree have more respect for nature than people who huddle around Woody Allen’s apartment building and wait for a hawk to swoop down and choke on a bottle cap. You don’t, do you? Because ‘respect’–i.e. having an unvarnished appreciation for the wild, differs from ‘pagan idolatry’ i.e. creaming your jeans over a lost bird, the presence of which gives your pointless, acontextual existence hope that ALL creation doesn’t find your burg repulsive and embarrassing.

Killing an animal by yourself takes YEARS of experience and, well, you know, to NOT do it accidentally with the front bumper of your car. This piggish notion that somehow and for some reason Good Ol’ Boys (whether or not they sport Confederate Flags) enter the forest out of a troglodytic need for destruction is more proof that this country’s great misfortune was your prominence in constructing the national narrative.

To hunters, guns are not toys, killing things is not taken lightly (even for trophy hunters) and there are better ways to channel Godzilla then trudging out in 11-degree weather to freeze your nuts off while staring at a green void for six hours.

To the degree that the New York/Ivy League/Adult Bed-wetter imagination is fused into Hollywood, it must be eradicated with prejudice pending a field tribunal by three guys named Cleetus.

Psssst! I have the amyls, the cock ring, some oil-based lubricant—hotel room?! What are you, a fag or something?

4. Homophobes are secret queers.

This follows the line of religious people are hypocrites, but it’s even more ridiculous. I tried my hardest to trace this trope to its origin but I could find none, it just appeared, sometime in the 80’s. Maybe it was the beginning of AIDS and homosexuals felt put-upon so with degenerate spite decided to just semantically flip the tables on those that despised them. It’s also how the “Born Like That” trope developed, it was a crass game of Trump-level nonsense-pong: say it because it’s opposite of what he said whether you can back it up or not, then bite the pillow and don’t let go.

And some people actually believe this. I’ve seen people publicly berated as closet queers in front of their wife and children for expressing a personal concern about the cultural legitimacy of pride month, and it’s in eleventy-hundred movies. You got a guy who says fag a lot: the quarterback, the cop, the family man, and, of course, the clergyman, you can almost be guaranteed that the character will be discovered buying Magic Mike on DVD in a trench coat and Trilby hat.

Do people think that revulsion for homosexuality is so ridiculous it could only be a manifestation of self-consciousness? Weiners in men’s heinie-holes is guh-ross. Weiners in general, to a heterosexual man, are gross. Two dudes kissin’ is gross. There was a study just released that found when showed a picture of two men kissing, straight men experienced as much mental trauma as when shown a bucket of live maggots.

There’s nothing beautiful about male homosexuality, it’s not life-affirming, it’s not societally productive, it’s not even evolutionarily viable—it just is. I’m not even saying its unnatural, [Editor’s Note: Homosexuality is perfectly normal, it is just not the ‘norm’] but ‘witnessed in nature’ and ‘inborne’ are vastly different things, you know what else is witnessed in nature? Pedophilia, necrophilia, rape, bestiality and buckets of maggots, an open aversion to these isn’t secret testimony you wanna hump a dead adolescent walrus, but Hollywood’s logic says it is. [Editor’s Note: Beware of the perils of false analogies]

If looking side-eyed at a practitioner of any paraphilia is evidence of a desire for the practice itself, are tough-on-crime advocates secret gangsters? Are clean-street advocates clandestine litterbugs? Are Mothers Against Drunk Driving, chugging Wild Turkey and doing drifts in the Costco parking lot? They can’t even sit next to a Trump-supporter on a plane yet somehow the idea that jizzum exchange could render you persona non grata is so bizarrely out of touch it could only be because the jizz-phobe secretly wants it in his butt.

Advice: open the door of your bungalow and have a conversation with someone that isn’t on the GLAAD board of directors.

Godamn halfwits.

That’s right I took out all the urinals! I also hammered the nail in the thermostat! And next week: new dress code. Make sure to give me your measurements because corsets don’t tailor themselves.

3. Men are intimidated by female strength

This one is born of a feminist need to bring men down to their level, because feminists are most certainly intimidated by male strength, plus it’s a rhetorical way to call men paper tigers or, more explicitly, ‘pussies’ because they recognize their own fear and their misandry will not allow them to admit that men aren’t intimidated by women in any situation.

What Hollywood does is mis-define ‘intimidation’ and then mis-define ‘strength’. To the Hollywood writer a ‘strong woman’ is one who is aggressive, bombastic, rude and ambitious—essentially women who act like men without the male biochemical imperative to do so. Men act like men because they can’t help but act like men, without the chemical imperative to behave this way do you know what a person might be called?

–A fucking psychopath.

When a gorilla rushes at you beating his chest it’s because the gorilla is spurned-on to do so by instinct, but if a hamster rushes at you, clamps onto your face like a starfish starts humping your nostrils—well, that little shit’s gotta be put down.

Then they like to define ‘intimidation’ where others might call it ‘aversion’. Men avoid these mis-characterized women, not for fear of the women, but for fear that this bitch might just piss them off so much a distinctly one-sided ground & pound is in her future. And that’s a sure loser in court, no matter what she did to bring it on. Male aggression and the other attributes in the masculine package come with a sturdy dose of stoic restraint, see, you shouldn’t act like a man unless you can hit the brakes like a man, unless you know the fight triggers of a man and when you flick those triggers. So, men will avoid these women, but the clueless writer, as well the clueless feminist, snort that this is evidence of some interior weakness when it’s literally the only thing keeping you out of the hospital, bitch.

Strength is not loud. It is quiet, competent, jocular, but Hollywood makes it seem like it’s two drinks away from a total mental collapse.

When female characters express these qualities, men aren’t intimidated. Sitting in their seats watching the story unfold they root for that lady because they recognize she isn’t a phony. She gets it. They want her to win.

Ripley in Alien. Sarah Conners in The Terminator. These are male favorites. But, when they say they need a ‘strong female character’ say, like in the second season of Westworld, what they write are murderesses and 90-pound kung fu titans without the masculine understanding that it’s not a proper use of superpowers to knock a construction worker’s head off because he cat-calls you from a scaffold

* cough * Captain Marvel * cough * cough * .

So evenly matched were they, that as the sun set Lord Pickering ordered corn-dogs be brought as he and his opponent felt a might peckish.

2. Swordfights last a long time.

Another cinematism. Sword duels are not leering, posturing, circling displays of strike-counterstrike for three minutes over uneven ground, up a ladder, down a rope, over a barrel whilst peppered with jaunty quips.

Saber duels, for instance, lasted an average of six strokes, at roughly a second per stroke. That’s

it. Ping-pang-whoosh-pang-ping-ping dead. Most of the time, if the skills of duelists were uneven by a mere fraction, it was three strokes: Ping-pang-pang * gick* “No you can’t marry my sister.”

Other European sword styles like the French foil or the epee, were even less dramatic. Catch an Olympic fencing match one year, here’s what you’ll see: the ref says ‘en garde’, ref drops his hand in a chopping motion, there’s a chaotic blurrrrrrr, a red light comes on, ref says ‘touché’, applause. And it wasn’t any slower or more decipherable than that in the past.

Bummer, I get it. Again, cinematisms are arguably necessary for the medium, but only arguable, they aren’t verité, so in films pronouncing verité, realness, grit—historical re-telling, for instance, I better not see the glint of rapid steel and an endless symphony of pings. We’re not children. Tell the damn truth.

“Hi. I’m Azoon-Fud. I ‘ll be showing you around heaven–Yes, I’m an angel. What do you mean “not attractive”, “weird and creepy” is a bit harsh, “no obvious design logic” and?I look like a “Japanese toy your uncle bought”? Sca-roo yoo! No, I’m not “tall” or have a ”sword” but you know what else I don’t have……? A BUTTHOLE! I literal hole in my butt that excretes noxious fumes and half-digested pizza!– Show yourself around, I’m going on break.”

1. Angels were once people

This flips me like a low-paid gangster facing thirty years.

I’ll say it slow for those who think the bible is a book from hotels you hollow-out to hide your weed:

ANGELS AREN’T DEAD MEN. And most on Earth DO NOT HAVE WINGS! The Archangels, Michael and Gabriel DO have wings [Editor’s Note: In mythology], possibly as a symbol of their rank but above angel and archangel are the Cherubim and Seraphim, that’s right, there is no specific name for these beings that curate Earth other than ‘angel’ which would also mean we’ve been calling Satan an angel falsely.

Earthbound, non-archangels, are never seen as having wings when the veil is slipped in a vision, except for Michael, Gabriel and, well, non-angel Rebellious Cherubim, Satan.

Satan, being a cherub, has wings, four, to be exact, he was called ‘the anointed cherub who covered’ as Cherubs are those who can shield the face of God from those who would gaze upon him, like the poor bastards in Iraq, using asbestos shields to deflect the furnace of an ignited oil well……kinda. Satan’s rebellion took a mixed bag of Cherubim, Seraphim and angel. And counter to much Christian supposition, these did not become demons.

The Seraphim are split into groups, some are described as glowing six-winged man shaped creatures others have four beast faces, but these have never traveled to Earth, unless they fell with Satan:

The origin of the of ‘Angelic Creatures’ (I have to name them something, even if it isn’t Linnean in its accuracy, but angels and archangels are really the only ones that deal with humans) They were ‘made real’, by God, ‘willed’ into existence, with jobs and attributes already granted—They were not created in the image of God!—that should be made clear, because they can take any shape according to class: some depictions of one variety translates bizarrely as two interlocking, winged wheels–two winged wheels with eyes, those eyes running along the entire exterior of each wheel…for some reason.

Angels are a very convenient narrative device, I’m not arguing they not be used, but man cannot become one! Firstly, because they have a strict height policy and their ASVAB is tough, man—tough! The reasons why men can’t become one, other than their notoriously crappy dental plan, is that man is under the Edenic lineage, is made in the image of God, is befouled by Adam’s sin and therefore must be judged with only two outcomes advertised.

This is basic Sunday school shit here people.

Angels could fall in the cinematic category of ‘traditional monster’ like a leprechaun or a dragon, these have very specific origins and attributes and any writer mangling these to fit his hastily cobbled plot should be offered to the Aztec God of Corn to ensure America’s next harvest. But more so with angels as they are pivotal in all Abrahamic religions, unlike leprechauns and dragons, and shouldn’t be brought down into your movie without a full treatment. The ‘Angels are Good Dead People Who must Earn Their Wings’ trope is like saying Bigfoot is just an escaped zoo ape trying to find his way home—sure, there’s poetry in that, but it robs the monster of his mysterious glory.

For God’s sakes, stoppit.






8 responses to “The Top 10 Hollywood Tropes: They need to go Edition”

  1. Bart Cobb Avatar
    Bart Cobb

    Author’s Note: Editorial heckling has been shown to correlate with micro-penis and anal-cankers.

    1. Goat Avatar

      Deal with it.

      1. Little Knob Avatar
        Little Knob

        Well, as far as the anal cankers I’d recommend a nice topical analgesic, I use it every day. Now, as far as the micro-penis is concerned, I’m an expert in this as well.

  2. Quick Draw McGraw, Kabong! Avatar
    Quick Draw McGraw, Kabong!

    To BC’s tropism rant.

    Trope: noun,
    “1. A figure of speech using words in nonliteral ways, such as a metaphor.
    2. A word or phrase interpolated as an embellishment in the sung parts of certain medieval liturgies.
    Bart, I suspect you need to buy a dictionary (I recommend the American Heritage Dictionary. It contains a manual of style you could sure use)

    Nah, a better word is stereotype.

    But first, you are aware movies are not reality? As James Baldwin observed, “The language of the camera is the language of our dreams.” Drama requires conflict, as you know from your reading of Aristotle.

    “The cheap platitudes of Hollywood have warped popular perception so completely that many who read this will be shocked that ANYONE could possibly disagree.”

    No Bart, my countenance (is) more in sorrow than in anger. (I am sure you recognize the quote). The Greek word monolith does not describe Hollywood, but the Greek word hubris describes you.) You set your ducks in a row and then knock them down. The problem is, they are paper thin.
    Your accusations reek of HUAC, and the Blacklist. Searching out the pink and the velvet. History has passed it bye. It is the kind of diseased thinking that led to the suicide of Senator Lester Hunt in 1954.

    You complain of characters’ religious hypocrisy in films, and then state:
    “Am I saying there is no hypocrisy in any religious population? Nope”.

    Seems you are a tab bit confused (no surprise there). Examples in history abound, you’d know had you ever read history. Does the name Henry Ward Beecher ring a bell? Jim Bakker? Jimmy Swaggart? Need I go on?

    Moral failure. Your type is too kind to yourselves.

    Getting laid? Yep, some guys get more than you and me, that’s for sure. They have qualities we lack. Looks, charm and personalty. Some money helps.
    Oh, you could try for the poor lonely guy approach and hope for a mercy fuck, but it’s doubtful it will lead to a relationship, believe me I know.
    Brad Pitt gets more pussy than Bart Cobb? Go figure?

    “Chess is the crucible of intellect.” Meaning: Bart can’t grasp the fundamentals of chess. I’m with you on that one. Neither can I. Not good at poker, either. My game is Trivial Pursuit, I’ve never been beaten.

    However, is “crucible” really the word you are after? I kind of doubt it, so when you are shopping for that dictionary, pick up a copy of Roget’s Thesaurus The original, not in dictionary form. Maybe a Cobb’s English Synonyms just to cover all the bases.

    Let us examine the complaint of cars blowing up and gunshots wounds. When I was an x-ray tech I covered the ER and saw plenty of gunshot wounds.
    ( You might better ask why all bullets must be removed in movies? The surgical removal may do more harm than leaving it in place. But, where is the drama in that?)

    At the end of shift one Sunday morning, they brought two teenage girls in backboards and wearing C collars. They stank of gasoline and smoke. They had to be sedated before I could shoot their C spines so they could be cleared to remove the collars.

    The girls had been driving home after a party and the driver lost control and hit a tree. The car burst into flames. A passerby managed to get the two in front out, but the two girls in the back were trapped. They burned to death. The man who saved the two was racked with guilt and told me he would never get the sound of the screams out of his head.

    You do not know what you are talking about.

    If a hot bullet hits a gas tank and there are fumes present the tank will blow. Basic chemistry.

    Bullet wound to the shoulder? Depends on the caliber and power of the round. Most I saw were from .25 caliber (cheap Raven .25s and the type pistols). One gangbanger took it in the shoulder and I found the round had traveled subcutaneously across the scapula and lodged near the spine.

    You do have a point. During the 20-year run of Gunsmoke, Matt Dillon was hit in the shoulder 16 times and Doc Adams saved him every time to be good as new next episode. Gunsmoke was not history, but composed of simple morality tales, set in a mythical Dodge City.
    (extra points for knowing Doc Adam’s first name)

    “Killing an animal by yourself takes YEARS of experience” What utter nonsense! I have seen it done in Montana. I watched as a latter-day Daniel Boone used an expensive 7mm magnum, scoped rife shoot a doe at 30 yards. How could he miss? It was not a hard shot with a handgun. It was disgusting. To hunt a deer you find a spot on a game trail, sit quietly and wait for the victum to come along. A 30/30 will do the job, if you can shoot straight. Most “hunters” are calm because they are half in the bag with the whiskey they have been chugging since before dawn.

    The only reason deer hunting should be allowed is to thin out the population because the death freaks have killed all the predators. (PS It is illegal to hunt deer with an AR 15 in most states). Trophy hunters should be strung-up.

    You’ve got sex on the brain and not in a healthy way. On after the queers again? I don’t think homophobes are closeted gays. I think they are so insecure in their own masculinity they feel threatened.

    You don’t like the sight to two men kissing? I don’t like fish, so I don’t eat it. You must seek out things to offend you.

    The King James translation of the Bible states:
    “”You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.”

    Tell me, oh Biblical scholar, where in the Bible does it say slavery in an abomination? It doesn’t. Not one word agin-it, Buckwheat..

    Do you see the irony in the fact the man who ordered the translation of the King James version of the Bible was in fact in a homosexual relationship with George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham, citing the Books of Samual story of David and Jonathan to excuse the relationship? You will not find that in the Three Musketeers; well, if you ever bothered to read it.

    “Sword fights last a long time.” In movies they do. A five second movie sword fight is of interest to no one. (Don’t even think about a career in Hollywood, you have no film sense). The best sword fights were in The Mark of Zorro with Tyrone Power, The Sea Hawk with Errol Flynn and the grandaddy of them all, Scaramouch with Stewart Granger and Mel Ferrer. .

    “Men are intimidated by female strength” I don’t believe you are intimidated by strong women. I think you are intimidated by woman in general.

    History is dynamic, not static. This country is changing and the white robed bigots fear they are losing power they were not entitled to in the first place. You superstitions will not save you. Change or perish.
    Stop stoppit.

  3. Bart Cobb Avatar
    Bart Cobb

    Chryst, John. Do I have to do this? Yeah, I think I do.

    Trope: Something recurring across a genre or type of literature, such as the ‘mad scientist’ of horror movies or ‘once upon a time’ as an introduction to fairy tales. Similar to archetype and cliché but not necessarily pejorative.

    …Does your dictionary stop at two definitions, we should get you one, published post Crimean War.

    Indeed, drama requires conflict–BUT NOT THE SAME CONFLICT, OVER AND OVER TILL I PISS YOGURT BECAUSE I’VE BEEN FED THE SAME BACTERIAL GOOP ALL DAY SINCE I WAS FIVE. And these aren’t even conflicts, there’s 36 dramatic situations, these are tropes, cinematismatic short cuts that’s lazy. For 900 k, the average price of a script, I better not see laziness . Why is this hard?

    –I’ll make this point slow, with patience, because I know you’re a man of certain political bent, and in your mind is the false structure of that political house of cards that leads you to conclude certain things. So. Real Slow. History does not pass anything by, there is no arc to history, no inevitability, no idea goes out of fashion so long as data well-derived, supports it, No expiration date. It is intellectually dishonest to reason an argument wrong because ‘history’ (whoever he is) has passed it by (to where, and by what justification). Just because things, in the Plinko game of history, have fallen a certain way does not mean it was the right way, and to argue backwards that because it’s in the past, it’s without merit, is a corruption of thought. If what is past is automatically thereby proven passe (I can’t make the accent mark on my keyboard) I’d thank you to stop quoting Aristotle, or Baldwin, or the McGuire Sisters.

    As far as HUAC, research the Venona papers, looks like Joe M was right on the money.

    –Are you under the delusion that I asserted there’s never been hypocrites? Why would pointing out legitimate hypocrites detract from my thesis that IN THE PEWS hypocrisy isn’t ENDEMIC as Hollywood reports it. Jeesh! I think I was clear–I can’t say anymore with this. And ‘Your kind” ? Whom, pray tell, Is “My kind”. The Deists? Because that’s what I am. And it isn’t being kind to discern the difference between isolated fuck-ups and a consistent pattern of hypocrisy. Again, I explained this right?

    I read it three times and still don’t know what your complaint about the ‘getting laid’ trope is.

    Crucible: A refining vessel. Yep, I figure that’s spot on.

    Though I never bothered to get officially ranked, I consistently played to draw or won against B-ranked players. The ranks are D, C, B, A, Master, Grandmaster. I’m comfortable with the game, thank you, I’m also quite a decent poker player, and I also have never lost at Trivial Pursuit, I beat my father at twelve. He’s a PHD.

    Hmmm, I ‘don’t know what I’m talking about’ because you know first hand of a car igniting and burning the passengers. Uh-huh. Well, I know what the word ‘explosion’ means and I know the phrase I wrote “Cars have caught fire after accidents’ would seem to belay your rambling concern. So, that would mean that YOU don’t know what I’m talking about, I have generally firm grasp of it.

    “If a hot bullet hits a gas tank and there are fumes present the tank will blow. Basic chemistry.”–uhhhh, no. No, it will not. ‘Fumes’ require oxygen to burn, there will not be enough oxygen in the tank to cause an explosion, it’s what the gearheads call ‘running rich’ should this happen in the engine instead of the tank, but in the tank all available space not occupied by liquid is super-saturated with vapor, if you ‘leaned’ that area with 50 percent oxygen, you then might get an explosion. But the tank can’t be ‘leaned’, you see. Do you understand how an internal combustion engine works? Okay, how about this –:Science and Nature, for a piece: In a car’s fuel tank, what cannot be substantially present in order for the car to work? Guesses? Oxygen, that’s right, John. Oxygen and fuel are mixed up top in a carburetor or squirted directly into the cylinder via the fuel injector. Congratulations, bucko. That’s BASIC PHYSICS. And auto-shop…and common sense.

    And so what i described would be less likely to happen if smaller and smaller calibers were being used. WOW! You know, I can do you one better, what i said is even more unlikely to happen if the hero is shot with a cork, or a rubber band, or a Nerf missle–Jeez-Louise! –Yeah, I figured, that’s why I specifically mentioned the .45 caliber, but who cares, right, so he wastes my time complaining about stuff already covered in the thing he’s complaining about. You now, those things that would make a reasonably literate person to, you know–NOT have a problem with it. Because the problem didn’t exist. Because the problem had to be invented….by you.

    Boy, let’s rack up how stupid you sound about the hunting. I don’t know what personal anecdote you’re relating by seeing a guy shoot a deer with a pistol. (pistol hunting does have a season) But you don’t ‘pick a spot n a deer trail’, you know why, because deer aren’t pigs, that don’t amble by the same way, the same time, every day, dawn and dusk, rut or foal. You have to lure them, and to lure them you must understand them, you must understand every animal you hunt, they’re patterns, their senses, their mating habits, their smells, THE SHAPE OF THEIR SHIT! Then you have to learn how to hide your own smell, and then you’re own shape, and sit like a zen bhuddist until one appears, and then you have to know how not to spook the creature as you raise your 30.30 and then you have to be a good enough shot to hit a four inch circle above the foreleg [old fashioned adding machine sounds] that comes out to, hmm…let’s see…six months, three, that one took till spring, carry the one…–YEARS!! to acquire any reliable skill. Word of advice John, displaying ignorance mixed with contempt is as trailer trash/redneck/toothless/hillbilly a state of mind as was ever was displayed south of the Mason-Dixon –but hey, save me some of them corn-squeezins.

    There has never been a time when I’ve seen two men kiss that a) I sought it out or b) wasn’t thrown upon me unexpectedly by some form of media. And I wonder what is this ‘security’ in my ‘masculinity’ supposed to be. Resolute? Confident in my heterosexuality? is that it? I’m both of those. Do I fear being made queer by seeing two dudes kiss, no, but my revulsion is automatic, it’s visceral. Follow the link to the study about the bucket of maggots. Think I was joshin’?

    Does your banjo have one string? Since when did you think I was defending the bible? Slavery? Non-sequitur much? And no I don’t find it odd, should it be true, that James was a homosexual, Richard the Lionheart was a homosexual, do you think I would be agog that a guy regarded as a defender of the faith be homosexual, go back to my lines on moral failure vs. hypocrisy. Starting to get the point now? O-tay?!

    –And again you make a complaint about a point that was covered which, if read, would render your complaint pointless,. A problem invented, by you. I said cinematism was necessary for the medium, but not in those like historical re-tellings. And after reading that extenuation, you pull out Captian Blood Spurt, some 50s action fantasy and make my point for me.

    If I forgot any of your other blather it’s because it was crowded out by the bigger blather that surrounded it. The white robed persons you refer to–and intimate I am one, I gather–have not been in power for some time. Funny thing about those white robed
    fellows, many ran for office and got elected nationally–how ’bout that. You know many were republicans? Haha–ZERO. The last one died in 2000, Richard Byrd, Grand Klegle of the Ku Klux Klan–but you’ll probably say the parties magically switched sides in the….uh, 70s? Was it? This magic shift?

    2000. Grand Klegle.

    This is the last time I’ll indulge one of these petty tirades that have all the substance of a moist fart. You wanna play gotcha, complain about points I’ve covered not being covered, misunderstand the text like an immigrant and generally use this public forum to express weak, leftist boomer rage at a colleague with the unmitigated temerity to express opinions that conflict with yours, well then you can do it in private, where I can ignore you with a click of the mouse.

    Otherwise. Grow the fuck up.

  4. Goat Avatar

    “Leftist Boomer Rage”? Are you kidding me?

    1. BC Avatar

      Yes. Did you read his whole comment? cuuuuuuuz I did.

      Let’s play the hits: (lefty)

      –The Arc of History
      –White-Robed bigots (talk about fighting the last war)
      –Trophy hunters should be strung up (yeah, ask the Kenyans )
      –The suicide of Lester Hunt (a victim of dirty politics)
      –The country is changing/change or perish (lefty mantras all)

      And he got oddly personal: (rage)

      — I suspect you need to buy a dictionary
      — the Greek word hubris describes you.
      –you are a tad bit confused (no surprise there)
      — diseased thinking
      –you’d know had you ever read history
      –Your type is too kind to yourselves.
      –Bart can’t grasp the fundamentals of chess.
      –You do not know what you are talking about
      — You must seek out things to offend you.
      –Tell me, oh Biblical scholar
      –, Buckwheat..
      –You’ve got sex on the brain and not in a healthy way
      — You will not find that in the Three Musketeers; well, if you ever bothered to read it.
      — I think you are intimidated by woman in general.
      –You superstitions will not save you

      And as you stated, he’s a (boomer).

      If this how he wants to spend his energy, great, but there’s a reason he did this in open comment, and a reason he sent a copy to every other writer (in turn I sent my response to everybody else). In my estimation he didn’t have me on a single point, if anyone differs, differ–but I’m pretty stable when it comes to criticism. Still, this wasn’t criticism.

      It’s pretty obvious I’ve lost his patience. The bulk of it is political, I believe–some of it is my purple, spastic prose which he loathes. Being a non-leftist I can still like people who disagree with me, and I like John, but telling him to grow the fuck up, well, read it again and tell me that is what you thought would come from a septuagenarian’s pen.

  5. Quick Draw McGraw, Kabong! Avatar
    Quick Draw McGraw, Kabong!

    There is no joy in Dogpatch this day as our very own Lil’ Abner Cobb experienced a system overload and snapped. Crack! ”Anyone smell ozone?”
    “That’s not ozone!!!”

    His mind gone to dwell in the happy hunting ground east of Eden where the coon hunting is good, the possum pie is hot, and the moonshine is smooth goin’ down the gullet. No queers or commies. Alas, Jeff Davis ain’t on the ballot.

    Pshaw y’all.

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