Your movie forecast
Competency Rating (belle): So the other day, I, Madame Beignet de la Mort, fell asleep in the afternoon sun on the outdoor mezzanine of my villa as I was being fanned by two 18-year old boys that I had out on loan from Calvin Klein’s collection, when I had the most wonderful, intoxicating dream.
This dream took place on the beach in Havana and, though I am sure that it was 1947, I was leading Ben Stiller around by way of a dog chain and a spiked collar that fit tightly around his little Stiller neck. Oh, he was such a good little pup!
As the Havana sun drifted off behind a cloud, the little Stiller bit at my voluptuous ankles, running his little tongue along my perfect calves, singing, “Oh, Madame. You are so beautiful … Your heels are like a milky treat … your buttocks are in full bloom … How does a little Stiller like me deserve such a femme magnifique?”
Of course, it was my dream, so Ben Stiller could speak French, but as I carried the little pup down the coast we ran into one Snoop Dogg, although since it was 1947, he was still going by the name Snoop Doggy Dogg at that time.
After we procured some ice cream, Mr. Doggy Dogg turned to me in a moment of unfettered honesty and said, “Damn, Madame. You is off the hizzle. I have been all around the world and I have never seen girls like 78-old-year Francophonic Belgian cinematic clairvoyants befizzle. It right blew my mind.”
And, of course, the dream ended with me making passionate love to Cary Grant and Janet Leigh in a West Hollywood bungalow, although that was really more of a reminiscence than anything else. But the question is: what did this dream really mean to moi, Madame Beignet de la Mort. Well, it could have possibly meant eight different things:
1.That I, Madame Beignet de la Mort, am incredibly beautiful.
2. That I, Madame Beignet de la Mort, am an assembly line of perfection, in which different adjectives and adverbs are produced only to try and capture my immaculate form, for example: beautiful, gorgeous, fucktastic, pain-stakingly curvaceous, divine, etc.
3. That Ben Stiller can be a bad little pup and should be punished in his times of insolence.
4. That if beauty could be a train-wreck, I would be the Hindenburg explosion, for my utter picturesque existence is far too grand to ever be tracked to the earth; that I defy gravity.
5. That Owen Wilson was too ugly to be in my dream.
6. That Snoop Dogg appears to have wonderful taste in women.
7. That, as far as female perfection goes, the Renaissance would happen again if I only agreed to model.
8. That it is possible that I, Madame Beignet de la Mort, might just correctly predict the new film “Starsky and Hutch.”
Your Movie Forecast for the weekend of 5 March 2004:
“Hildago”: One thing, first: Why are Australians the new pedigree of Hollywood? Doesn’t anyone in Hollywood know that these Aussie bitches are planning a worldwide takeover? They are the spawn of criminals, for chrissakes.
Everywhere I go, the world over, there is some foul-scented Australian dumbing down the scenery. And if “The Lord of the Rings” coup d’퀌�tat at this year’s Oscars were not enough evidence for you (and I know that they are from New Zealand, but New Zealanders might as well be Aussies the way that they stink so badly of rotten fish), then you are just too dumb and ugly to see a World War coming to bite you on your malformed ass.
Anyway, this film “Hildago” stars the un-Aussie Viggo Mortensen, who has worked with that stanky New Zealander Peter Jackson (you had better watch your back, Americans, they are coming for you!). This is a film, which pits an American against a lot of Middle Easterners in a 1,000-mile horse race.
Who could win this U.S.-financed film, you may ask? I predict that the American, of course, will once again triumph over the terrorists – oh, I am sorry – I meant sheiks, that’s right. Who could be behind such an obvious plot to fill such empty ideologies with the illusion of self-worth? Well, I predict that it is your coke-snorting, inarticulate president! That’s who!
“Starsky and Hutch”: So, I predict that this film will be kind of funny, but not worth your eight dollars, unless you can make eight dollars by concentrating really hard while rubbing a twig between your buttocks.
In this nonsensical adaptation of the trite American television show from the 1970s, one will see Ben Stiller (bad pup!) playing an uptight version of Ben Stiller wearing a perm, Owen Wilson playing Owen Wilson really well, and Snoop Dogg playing Huggy Bear, if Huggy Bear acted just like Snoop Dogg, but instead of answering to “Snoop Dogg,” answered to “Huggy Bear.”
I predict that this film will end with the two bumbling cops screwing up and the bad guy getting away, only to be caught by the Huggy Bear, in all of his pimped-out glory. Save your eight dollars, unless you can do that thing with the twigs and the buttocks.
