I need you to put this in your bottom hole.

Way back in the fall semester of 2000, I completed my college internship at a rock radio station in Connecticut. As much as I wanted to be on air, I ended up allowing myself to get stuck in the promotions department. Other than the occasional free Limp Bizkit CD, the real perk was working at the bars with the DJs. I'm not even sure what they did to get the crowd so crazed, but I do remember it almost always ended in topless women. In a surprising turn of events, and contrary to 99% of this blog, some breasts are actually horrible. But anyway...

...one night, after a concert, I remember we had a problem. The lead singer of The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Dicky Barrett, needed a ride to his hotel. Under his right arm, was his wife. Under the left? Some seemingly random chick. The problem? Pretty much everyone there was completely shitfaced - except me. So when they asked if anyone could/would do it, I raised my hand. In the span of five seconds, I imagined that the four of us would end up in my VW Beetle driving around Hartford in the middle of the night. I would drop them off and in a show of gratitude, Dicky would invite me up. And in my mind, it was highly probable we would all end up having sex in disgusting fashion. It was going to be awesome.

Not as awesome, though still pretty entertaining, is 2010's Get Him to the Greek. In limited action, Jonah Hill and Russell Brand were hysterical in the earlier Forgetting Sarah Marshall. But here, it seems they do less with significantly more screen time. In fact, in a weird trend, it's actually Sean Combs minor role as their boss Sergio, who provides most of the laughs. Though, let's be clear, if he gets his own spinoff movie, I'll likely take my own life. Well, after watching it, anyway.

Just in case someone out there doesn't actually know it, the setup is simple. In fact, it's summed up perfectly on Hill's right shoulder over there. The only thing they leave out is the fact that Brand's character, Aldous Snow, spends those 72 hours drowning in self-pity. Turns out, his last album was an utter trainwreck, featuring the ill-conceived single
African Child. Worse yet for Snow, in the ensuing bottoming out of his career, he lost his super hot girlfriend, Jackie Q (played by the delectable Rose Byrne [if you're a fan of hers, check this out from FTS - zoinks!]. There is a silver lining to being sans girlfriend, though, for both of them actually. I'll let you figure that one out.


Like damn near every movie ever made, your enjoyment of this flick rests solely on how much you like the actors involved. Brand, though a bit odd, is clearly a frickin' genius. His wide-eyed/surprisingly controlled lunacy has always entertained me, so I'll go ahead and vouch for him. And Hill? The more I see of this dude in starring roles, the more I think he's f--king hysterical, too. Both give solid performances that are easy to root for, but for whatever reason - it all adds up to okay. I didn't hate it, but I never need to see it again.

Which is likely the same way people describe most of  the content of this blog or say, my current face (more on that in a bit). Anyway, here are the Yays and Boos. Before you continue, make sure you check their rider. When they travel they always ask for ice cubes and a nine iron. Oh, and a buffalo. Live or stuffed. Preferably stuffed, for safety's sake.

Is it just me, or does this look like no one is actually moving?

Yaaaaaay!

• The chemistry between Brand and Hill is sweet. Feels like 90% of the script is improvised. Maybe more.
• Peggy Olson! Sweet. She's even down for some kinky stuff, too. 
• The limo scene where Green drinks and smokes to prevent Snow from doing so is great.
• Surprising no one, this movie has a pretty kickass soundtrack featuring The Clash, The Stones among others. Just relax and listen to Mariah.
• Destiny! This chick is the truth. Not only is she eager to show off her stylish pubes, but she's also willing to have sex in uncomfortable places. And I'm not talking about the back of a Volkswagen. 
• And finally, let me again, perhaps foolishly, give it up for Sean 'P. Diddy' Combs. He speaks with such insane conviction, it's hard not to laugh anytime he says anything. I think my brother almost choked during his Biggest Loser song. To be fair, he might not be that funny. He might just be mindf--king the shit out of you.

Boooooo!

• I know he's not only the joke, but in on it as well, but why'd it have to be Lars from Metallica?
• So, um, that was a pretty awful threesome, no? That was about as upsetting as finding out your girlfriend used to have the nickname Finger Cuffs.
• What was with all the fuzzy wall stroking? They should have replaced that with something, I don't know, funny?
• Hopefully I just missed him, but is it f--king possible that Jason Segel wasn't in this movie for a second? Impossible.
• The whole absent father thing was lame. Though I do love me some Colm Meaney.
• And finally, after seeing This Is the End yesterday, I'm convinced that this movie would have been 900 times better if they had just said f--k it and went nuts. Instead, they tried to tell a story with heart and real people, instead of just unleashing comedic Hell upon all of us. Regardless, they still have my respect. My hateful respect.

While ultimately this movie fizzled into nothing special, the same can't be said for that magical night back in 2000. But more on that when you're older.



Okay, fine. After volunteering to give them a ride to their hotel, some c--kblocking/disease preventing genius decided to ask me, in front of everyone no less, do you know how to get there? And upon my slight hesitation, the job was immediately handed over to someone with a better knowledge (even inebriated) of downtown Hartford. And that guy likely got the great story to tell. Me? I just got the beginning of one.

Didn't even get to the climax.