The Dump #1: Disney Does It Again

Look, we all know it's never going to stop.

When it comes to these live-action Disney remakes, you can love it, or you can loathe it, but either way? You're going to have to accept it. 

I didn't want to see The Lion King remake. After initially raising an eyebrow (or two) at the trailer, the lukewarm early reviews made it seem like it was legitimately skippable, even with that badass cast. And when my dog died suddenly the week after it came out, there was no f--king way I was going to see a flick brimming with adorable animals. Not a chance in Hell. But then...well...overwhelmingly out of character, my son suggested we see it. I was too wrecked to pick up on it, but my wife pulled me aside and let me know Matty wasn't into the flick at all, but he just thought I might be happier at the movies. He'd probably never seen his dad cry so much.

Oddly enough, the next night, in an attempt to rejoin society, my wife and I attempted to see Once Upon a Time in Hollywood...but that f--ker was sold out. The only movie that still had seats? The Lion King.

Fittingly, my wife fell asleep ten minutes in, leaving me to hate-watch Disney's latest remake all by myself. Oh, I had three high-school girls to my immediate right, and though they weren't too pleased with the antics of Uncle Scarface (I shit you not), they seemed to enjoy the flick....whenever they inadvertently looked up from their phones. But me? I detested almost every (Seth Rogen-free) second of this CGI nightmare. I love Favreau so I'll go ahead and blame it on being absolutely gutted over my dog, but being that I loosely connect the two events (the flick and losing my pup), I will absolutely never give this film another chance.

Maybe I've reached my limit.

It's got to be tough to be a cop these days. People are probably being dicks exponentially. And when you show up to deal with them, every motherf--ker on the scene whips their phone out, just in case you're about to have an extremely shitty day (I just assume most days are regular shitty).

So what can you do to combat the pitfalls of being a cop? Outside of starring in your own segment of Live PD, that is. My guess is, like the rest of us, you f--k around a bit, you know? Play some kids in basketball. Ride the mechanical bull at a call for a noise complaint. I don't know - something! But what you can't do? What you absolutely can not ever do...ever? 

Joke about f--king meth gators, mmkay? Cause that shit ain't funny.

But what is funny, hysterical in fact, was seeing my hardass nephew jump out of his f--king skin a half-dozen times during what could possible be the most summerest summer movie ever, Alexandre Aja's Crawl. Only four people in the world call me Uncle, and I took two of them to see this eighty-seven minute masterpiece. 

Okay, it's actually pretty f--king stupid, but perhaps obviously, in the best way ever. 

Disenchanted University of Florida swimmer Haley (yep, she too is a f--king Gator!) inexplicably heads home in an F5 to check on her dad, Dave (ex-sniper and current/actual plumber Barry Pepper) who isn't, you guessed it, answering his damn phone. Things ain't exactly peachy between these two, but ol' Haley isn't going to let swirling cows and Johnny Law keep her from checking in on her pops.  And shocking no one, he's in a bit of a spot. And by spot, obviously I mean an absolute F--KING GATOR ORGY. Assuming...you know, that's a thing.

I'd tell you more about the plot, but you guys, that's it. It takes about seven or eight minutes to get going, and then it's buy one get one on gators. Oh, and you might think giant f--king alligators are slow or at least can be heard approaching, but you'd be wrong. And by wrong, clearly I mean, armless and swimming in your own bloody urine level of wrongness.

Holy shit, right?

I repeat, the only thing worse than not having a boyfriend or girlfriend, is, of course, having a boyfriend or girlfriend. 

While in my last post, we were talking about the beginning of a relationship, holy f--k, can we take a minute (or ten) to, uh...talk about the end?

Those ain't sad tears, huh?

Like Peter and MJ before them (but replace all starry-eyed awwwws with bewildered looks guttural moans), up next is yet another borderline couple traveling abroad, Dani and Christian. But instead of being at the beck and call of a one-eyed secret agent, in Ari Aster's latest Midsommar, these two lovebirds are held in check by an unhealthy mix of curiosity and manners.

Like, yeah this shit is f--ked, but I'm kind of interested in where it's going...and...well, it would be pretty rude to just leave. Which is kind of how I felt about this movie.

About two minutes in, we realize that Christian is a shitty boyfriend, but Dani, likely due to immense trauma (more on that...if I can stomach it) doesn't seem to mind his aloofness all that much. And when a friend of Christian's invites them to a midsummer festival in Sweden, perhaps a rekindling of sorts is in the cards. Or equally likely, everything will end up infinitely worse and Christian will be stuffed in a f--king HOLLOWED-OUT BEAR and I will stumble to my car praying for the sweet release of death. You know, one if those.

I need that. The world needs that.

The only thing worse than not having a boyfriend or girlfriend, is, of course, having a boyfriend or girlfriend. 

The f--k of it all starts early, frankly, as the whole asking the other person out process is generally the worst thing ever (ladies, you may not know how much inner-turmoil/explosive diarrhea the lead up is responsible for), a close second to breaking it off and ending it. Oh, sure...the middle, or at least the early middle is pretty f--king sweet, but it's bookended by utter f--king chaos.

Well, that's what I hear, anyway...as I never asked out anyone. Nor was I ever dumped.

Um, officially.

Notice there's no Orlando sticker. Or Anaheim...

I'm likely too far removed to really tell you any of the finer points of Spider-Man: Far From Home, but the long and short of it goes like this: after being depressed three-thousand, Peter Parker heads abroad on a fairly epic high school field trip. More than the dream of just being a friendly neighborhood tourist, ol' Pete's really down for finding the perfect moment to ask M.J. to be his girlfriend (assuming that's still a thing, because when I see Zendaya now, I'm thinking dick pics and fentanyl, not do you like-like me? [circle one]). Anyway, I'd ask her at some really romantic time, like when Jaws pops out of the water at Universal...

But famed international boner killer Nick Fury intervenes, and with some mysterious threat looming, he's calling on the kid to, you know, keep the world safe. Thanks for that. Dick.

The threat, as I recall, both is and isn't Mysterio, who for the uninitiated is a bowl-headed inter-dimensional oddball. This a-hole has been (allegedly) battling some giant monsters known as The Elementals, and needs Peter's help in the fight.

Sort of?