Welcome to The Tribe.
Your Humble Ruler, Rajah Cheech Beldone, King of the Gypsies.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Like I ain't sweet enough already...

(DISCLAIMER: for the purposes of this post, I'll be managing the tired-assed old biscuit vs cookie controversy by using the North American convention of "cookie" for a baked, sweet, single serving confectionery item. Sorry, Euro-cats, I'll get you back on the vest vs undershirt thread.)
Like a lot of other stuff, I didn't grow up eating packaged cookies.
Me sainted Ma generally refused to indulge us for the usual two-pronged motivation of health + economic concerns.
So we were generally satisfied with her, my granmas', and then later my big sister's homemade efforts.
No giant skin off my behind, really, since I never really had much of a sweet tooth.
Plus the fact that I ain't a big fan of chocolate, although that last I attribute more to just being male.
And, also like many other things, I learned about stuff like Chips Ahoy

And Oreos

From girlfriends.
Not that either of these two examples got me all that fired up, they're both too...chocolatey.

Ma always said that the store cookies (and bread, and mayo and salad dressing etc) were loaded with all kinds of nasty preservatives and chemicals etc.
Which was, really, pretty radical stuff for late-60s suburban Canada.
I was just telling Count Helmut von Anteater last week about taking my lunch to school in like 4th grade and my classmates freaking out and abusing the crap out of me because my sarnie was made with bread that had...seeds in it, they were all like, what are you, a bird????
Ma was, obviously, ahead of her time.
Anyways, these days we often got a tube or two of Oreos hanging around, and I've been known to grab a few with a glass of milk of a weekend afternoon.
But, see, there actually are flavours that I really am nuts about, they just aren't as ubiquitous as the Brown Stuff.
I actually go fucking mental for anything that actually tastes like real vanilla.
I remember when I was a kid, someone gave the old man an actual vanilla bean.

I think he was going to try and make some kind of booze out of it.
Anyways, it was in this plastic tube with a cap on the end.
He never got around to doing anything with it, so it just hung around the kitchen along with the billion other little pieces of meaningless shite that were supposed to get made into something, etc.
But I used to go and just open that tube and smell, it was like the best thing in the world.
I'm also pretty partial to strawberry and blueberry.
BUT they got these new Oreos that are Blueberry (EXcellent!), but they're that fucking miserable Ice Cream flavour horseshit.
You know about this shit?

It's like the latest in that whole slough of "Cool" and "Icy" crap, where they pump whatever it is full of synthetic mint, so everything tastes/feels like smoking one of me Grandma's fuckin Alpines

Man, The Ranee bought some fuckin shampoo with that shit in it and din't tell me, of course the label was in Chinese so I didn't look, and it was like 0530 and I was taking a shower and put some of it on me fucking head, holy crap, I thought I was having a fuckin stroke or some fucking thing, scared the crap out of me.

Anyways, I like blueberry and strawberry, but vanilla is my very favourite.
And just recently, they started introducing these badassed motherfuckers...

So, yeah, I got a few of them in the fridge, with my last can of Blue Sky All Natural Cream Soda...

Sometime this weekend, look out Nellie.
Baby, this is going to be more fun than a Kay Parker handjob, I shit you not.


Monday, July 25, 2011

You had to be there

That's not an expression, I mean it.
I barely survived living it, no GD way I'm going to try and give some minute-by-minute account.
If you were there, you probably remember at least some of it.
If you phoned, well...

All in all, it was, well...divine.

I love a good candid shot.

Friday, July 22, 2011

And so, as the sun sets in the West...

I'm near ready to drag up here, I'll see some of you over there.
The rest of you, well, check CNN about 12 or so...


Come on now, seriously

I'm not kidding here.
It's a 20-story office building housing a major technology company.
In the middle of one of Asia's largest IT-based office complexes.
If you're STUPID enough to think that there's anything at all to be gained by repeatedly poking an already lit Up button whilst awaiting an elevator,

Yeah, but it's a DRY heat...


I was just in the elevator.
Remember I was talking about that black underwear deal?
Yeah, like that.

Damn, I was counting this morning, and my recent spill has left me with an unheard of FIVE new scars.
For fuck's sakes.
As my big sister said, "You think you might be old enough to quit collecting those?"
And as the Wee Irish Fella said, "Jeez, do you HATE your hands, or what??"

I used to think everyone lived like this.


Maybe they should rethink this campaign...

They got one of these fuckers up on the wall downstairs.

Personally, considering what a flaming fucking twat he is, I'm not sure it's much of an endorsement.

Lord knows, if I were 13, and was informed that Fucky didn't want me smoking, I'd drop everything and spark one up on the spot.

Now, if you REALLY wanted to deter people, why, something like this would be VASTLY more effective:

Because, you know...
She can kill you with her brain.


Public Service Announcement

Boy, I was just downstairs havin a smoke.
This fucking place is crawling with Asians, man.

So listen, as some of you may be aware, I entered University in Honours Zoology.
I'm not kidding, I used to be rather clever.
Of course, how I left University was another matter altogether, but that's another story.
Anyways, as happens, my first year comprised a battery of introductory science courses.
One that I chose, because I reckoned I could fuckin get away with it, was Meteorology 101.
Now, I haven't retained much, obviously we're talking about a time when Jimmy Fuckin Carter was still in the White House, but I did manage to hold on to a bit of terminology.
I mention this because I recall the technical term for today's weather conditions.
If I remember correctly, it's:
Hotter Than FUCK.

So, you know, stay cool and get a fuckin popsicle/ice lolly or something down you ASAP, babies.

And that's the DOUBLE truth, Ruth!


Tribe Matters

Alright, well, first off, don't be looking for a new post this evening as you normally might.
I know it's Friday and all, but, as some of you may also know, tonight is the official celebration of the anniversary of the birth of your intractable yet compassionate Ruler.

Many of you will be there to join the festivities, for those of you unable to attend in propria persona, your Raj assures you that you will be welcomed in spiritu.
So there probably won't be a post.
Unless I do it when I get home, in which case it's likely to read something along the lines of:

"Hi, seeweksodndfunhd5 n%%%m ij !!! OK? OK!"

There may be drinking involved.

The actual day falls on next Tuesday, which will, of course, be a civic holiday, with all schools, government offices, and major businesses closed.
I will be presenting the Rajah's Birthday Message at that time, as always.


Thursday, July 21, 2011

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Nobody's prefect...

Honestly, sometimes I just shame myself.

I swear, there could be a hunchbacked baldheaded one-eyed 75-year-old great-grandma with borrowed dentures and a badly fitted peg leg, and if she was wearing a black brassiere, I'd be like, hmmmm, that's interesting...

Really, I'm just sick easy.


Palace Happenings

DISCLAIMER: Some of the material contained in this post may have been delivered previously in individual communication with certain members, your resolute yet compassionate Ruler does not now warrant, nor has He ever warranted, consistent originality of posted contents.

So last night the Ranee informs me that the Ranette is now qualified to teach piano.
No fuckin kidding.
Not bad for a 12-year-old kid, yeah?
I guess she won't be freezing her ass off pumping gas in -45C for minimum wage.

I saw last night when I got home that the bumwad company has started putting artwork from Cars on the package. This is not such a terribly WTF thing as you might think, since previously they had a picture of a Golden Retriever puppy, and the sheets are STILL printed with little puppies, who would doubtless skitter away, yipping like mad, were they to suddenly become aware of their eventual fate. Anyways, when I saw the new packaging, I asked the Ranette, So, what, I'm supposed to wipe my butt with Lightning McQueen?

Which, when you consider who voices him

Isn't really that unwelcome of a prospect.
Ranette cracks up, but the Ranee calls from the next room and says "No, but it'll make you poop faster"
Which is pretty dang hilarious, really.

So I watched Oliver Stone's Alexander.
Most noteworthy is, of course, the fact that Dawson not only gets 'em out for the lads, she gets 'em out all OVER the place.

Plus the fact that they really are splendid.
The second item of note is that Farrell does some kind of really screwy quasi-Dublin accent deal throughout.

I read somewhere that he was unable to lose his Irish accent so Ollie had all the Macedonians fake an Irish accent (even though at least one of them is clearly speaking Scottish English). Val Fatmer

delivers probably the most embarrassing version of this.
Personally I don't buy it, I've seen Farrell do a perfectly acceptable Yank accent before.
More than likely, it was some stupid conceit that Ollie came up with at 4 AM and then realized after the fact how asinine it was.
Anyways, Farrell spends the whole fucking movie sounding vaguely like Bono.

OK, no, really Bono.

(seriously, who can fucking tell?)

I kept waiting for Farrell to stand up in front of his conquering army and say:

Thess is a battlefield the Bactrians stole from the Thracians...well tonate werr stalin' it back.
Oh, and the hair didn't really bother me.
Compared to the rest of the crapfest, I mean.


Tuesday, July 19, 2011

I'm not BULLSHITTIN' back here...

As the Boss would say.
Why does the Comedian merit his own post?
Well, not only is he one cool mofo, I find myself in pretty major fundamental agreeance with his worldview.
The default condition for existence is, basically, shit.
People generally, having reached the age of majority, if left to function according to instinct, will be selfish thoughtless assholes.
When's the last time someone forwarded you an email containing a news story about somebody being a greedy self-serving prick who operated totally in their own interests and everyone else on the planet could go pound sand up their ass?
Probably never.

With, of course, the obvious exception of Jobbo the Hutt's keynote address at the WWDC.

No, it's only when someone does something nice and/or selfless that everyone talks about it.
That's because caring about other people and being considerate requires the application of actual effort, to overcome the natural tendency to be a greedy self-indulgent cocksucker.

Which includes injudicious application of aftershave or perfume, which is, I think we can all agree, among the most unforgivable crimes against one's fellow man.

And hey, don't fucking kid yourself, pure, functional evil is all around you.

I knew this one guy, call him Jerry. When me and the first ex-Mrs. Raj were first going out, she ran a record store I used to work at. She had this Jerry dude working there.
Guy was a fucking BEAST of a man, 6'5", 325 lb easy, all tattooed and bearded and stuff.
And we used to hang out, it was a trip for me, I was used to being the big bearded long-haired biker-type guy, but with this guy, I looked like Boo Boo with Yogi.
In addition to part time at the store, Jerry worked days at a group home for profoundly disabled adults.
Very much the whole Gentle Giant deal.
Actually he got me hooked up with my first tat, now that I think of it.
Anyways, years went by, and I didn't see him for a long time.

Nearly 10 years later, I was single and living by myself in the funky part of town, and would go to this one biker bar to see friends who were playing in blues bands there.
I started running into this other guy that I'd known in my teens, call him Mike.
Really nice guy, he had become a pretty serious hobby (HD) biker in the meantime.
Sure enough, one Saturday I go down, and who's there but Jerry, hanging out with Mike.
Awesome, I really liked both these guys, and here we were.
Anyways, although they both rode, neither of them was affiliated, and they both had a bunch of different patches on their cutts.
So this one day, I see this one they both have that I don't recognise, and I asked Mike about it.

He kind of laughed and said, you don't know it?
And I said no, I didn't.
He gave me a business card.

Yeah, babies, evil walks in the noonday sun.
Stay vigilant.


Saturday, July 16, 2011

You gotta laugh...

An ordinary burglar?
Kill the Comedian? Ridiculous.

Fireworks. You gotta be kidding me.
You know, you'd think this goddamn
country had had enough fireworks.
Me? Bitter?
Fuck, no. I think it's hilarious.

There's nothing to talk about.
See, I'm leaving.
I'm gonna forget about you...and your horrible, sweaty,
little piece-of-shit country.

Get the fuck out of here.

Justice is coming to all of us. No matter what the fuck we do.
Goddamn, I love working
on American soil, Dan.
Ain't had this much fun
since Woodward and Bernstein.

Our days are numbered.
Until then, it's like you always say:
We're society's only protection.
- From what?
Are you kidding me? From themselves.
Son of a bitch.

-What happened to the American dream?
What happened to the American dream?
It came true!
You're looking at it.

It's a joke.
It's all a fucking joke.
You know, I thought I knew how it was.
I thought I knew how the world was.
I've done some bad things.
I did bad things to women. I shot kids.
In 'Nam, you know.
But that was fucking war.
I never done anything like this.

Here I am...spilling my guts...to one of my archenemies.
But the truth is...you're the closest thing to a friend I got.
What the fuck does that say?

Mother, forgive me.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Instant clarification

Sorry, when I said before that one guy
"thumped her like he was getting paid for it."
 I meant punched her around, he was one of them.

In case some of you thought I was using "thump" as a euphemism for sex or something.


You never forget your first Olympic athlete...

Boy, I was coming in this morning and there was this girl ahead of me. She was wearing a T shirt for some Water Safety Organization or something, and she was obviously a swimmer/lifeguard.
She was wearing shorts and she had these fuckin delicious muscled-up legs the colour of butterscotch pudding, her hair below her helmet was that kind of frizzy matte black that Chinese hair gets when in the sun and water a lot.
And I was remembering this girl, I think she was the first girl I kind of went out with after I was married the first time.
She was a competitive swimmer, and had been on the Canadian Olympic Swim Team that didn't go to Moscow in the 80's there.
I was a pretty serious pool rat when I was a kid, so I kind of got where she was coming from.
Anyways, Man Oh Maneshevitz (as Disco would say), she was just... well, luscious.
Those same exquisitely formed legs, just rippling with muscles, and she had the most incredible shape, like a SERIOUS vee shape from her waist up to her shoulders, fuckin lats for days and abs you could play Tito Puente on. And the most mouthwatering tan lines, yikes.
Real good looking, too, in a kind of tomboy-undecorated way.

So, of course, she was, you know, crazier than a shithouse rat.
She used to cheat on me with her former fiance, a guy who thumped her like he was getting paid for it.
This one time I discovered that she'd spent the afternoon over at this guy's house.
So I asked if she banged him, and she admitted that she had.
The best part, though, was her incredible indignation that I would be upset.
She said, and I swear this is verbatim:
"But it's OK. I didn't come."

I, for one am dang glad it's Friday.


Thursday, July 14, 2011

These truths we hold to be self-evident...well I do, anyways

Hey, don't you just fucking love the way girls with long hair will just sort of grab it and tie it back when they want it out of the way? Real casual like.
I don't know why, that really drives me nuts.
A lot of girls here will do it before they put on their helmets to ride their scoot.
Of course, the backwards jacket can be a bit of a wood-kill...

So I was toying with the notion of hooking up a mike and recording the conversation I have with myself every morning on my drive in to work, because there's more than a little comedy gold going on there. But then I realized it would be worse than meaningless if you couldn't see what was going on.
You guys would be all like
"Why's that guy a FUCKIN JERK?"
"How come he called that kid Cyclops?"
"Why is he asking that guy if he's fuckin Batman?"
"What did that lady do to make her a DOPEY. FUCKING. BITCH?"
"What does 'Nice work there, Serpico' mean?"

I think you get my point.
And no, I ain't even close to being a numb enough cunt to wear a fucking stupid helmet cam rig.
Like one of them Gargoyles out of Snow Crash.

So I'm trying to distill some useful knowledge here, for my daughter, and as a Royal Edict from your compassionate yet resolute Ruler.
I'll talk more later about the presence of Mr. Edward Blake in the new header.
For the time being...

Never get into a towel-snapping fight with anyone who's ever worked in a kitchen or at a swimming pool.

Not everyone who drives a Mercedes is a rank asshole, but you'll probably never go wrong working from that assumption.

But EVERYONE who drives a Lexus is.

Never trust  a cop. Government worker + gun. Oh yeah, that's a good deal.

If something makes you happy, never let anyone else tell you it's no good. More than likely they're a miserable fuckhead looking for somewhere to diffuse their  personal rancor.

The Creator doesn't make assholes. The Creator makes babies, and they're perfect. The world makes assholes.

We live in a world that embraces the thermodynamic and biological capability to make ice cream. It would be kind of disrespectful to not take advantage of that.

Human Relations are bullshit (Mikhail Stanislavsky, circa 2002). You  will never achieve perfect emotional or functional synchronicity with any human not connected to you by blood. It's always going to be a compromise. And, as Larry David says, the nature of compromise is that nobody gets what they want. Get used to it, and you won't be disappointed.

Playing cover songs is not intrinsically worse or of less aesthetic value than playing originals. It's a sad truth that everyone wants to be Bob Dylan and James McMurtry, but almost nobody is.

Girls and black guys are the only people that can smoke menthols and be cool. A (straight) white guy who smokes menthols is not to be trusted.

One guy who spends his whole life trying to provide for his family is worth a million guys who spend all their time accruing Shit You Can Buy. Period.

A Career is something people substitute for a meaningful life.

I don't care what anyone says, if you can't touch it or hold it in your hands, you didn't buy it.

"Nobody earns 20 million dollars. People earn 30 or 40 thousand dollars. 20 million, you stole it." - Fran Liebowitz

Firefly could easily have gone for 3 or 4 more seasons without getting even a little stupid. Angel, on the other hand, should have packed the whole fucking deal in before that (fake) Irish kid got smoked.

Peanut butter, no matter how crap your life is going and how miserable you're feeling, will always be peanut butter when you need it to be.

And last, but not least, as me Grandpa used to say, if we all liked the same things, why, everyone would be after your Grandma.

Hey, tomorrow's Friday!

See you then, babies.


Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Can I get a ride in that invisible plane?

Hey babies.
Take off your trousers and throw some Peaches & Herb on the 8 Track, it's time to wish a rousing and heartfelt
To Diana Prince, aka Wonder Woman, the Smartest Girl in Taiwan.

I think she's 17 today.

Happt Birthday Darlin', hope you have a great one.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Them shits is CRAZY, baby

Couple of notes on summer in the Dirty Girl.

First off, the wimmin is just plain near butt fuckin naked, period.
I got a scoop for you, honey, them ain't shorts.
Them is underwear with pockets.

I was coming back over the bridge tonight. Oh, yeah

since you asked. And yes, I was banging it pretty much the whole way (Bobcat, I still say you find a nice Northern boy like young Brian there, all your dreams will come true. Just saying is all.).

Anyways, when I got to this side and was driving over the big strip of park there, they'd cut the "grass" today, and you could really smell it. OK, it's not grass as we know it, more like free-range quack grass, but still.
Granted, it don't smell exactly like summer at home, but it sure smells a lot better than it usually does around here.

Hey, listen, your Rajah says, I know we fuck around and shit, but seriously, really, come on, there's just never a reason for bad manners.
I know we get tired and frustrated and shit, but really, babies, if you can't be civil, why, it's all fucking over and you might as well just surrender your humanity and become a fuckin New Yorker or Belgian or someone from China or some shit...

Here, try this.
Go out this weekend and buy a completely meaningless present for someone you love (preferably NOT a romantic-type relationship). Something you know they'd really dig.
Not to score points, but just because it's fun.

Looks like we're going to be doing a vehicle handover next week, I'll be surrendering The Batmobile

To the Mrs, and I'll be driving the Tumbler

Every day.
Not bad, just different.

Fuck, the Drunken Fuckers got this...person sitting with them at their table, and I swear to fuck, if you put a fuckin gun to my head I wouldn't be able to guess if it's a guy or a girl.
Or, more specifically, I guess, a grizzled bloated snaggletoothed drunkass old woman or a grizzled bloated snaggletoothed drunkass old dude.
And no, I ain't snaggletoothed.

Right, Friday.
Check this badass shit out, man.
If this don't get you taking off your shirt and climbing up on the table, why, it's about time to fill out that Organ Donor card.

Rajah loves you, babies, have a good weekend and be sweet to each other.

Yeah, I got your cowboy boots right here...

For jumping out loud, I thought this whole cowboy boot issue was settled months ago.

You got cowboy boots.
Big fuckin deal, man, I'm wearing a fucking T shirt.
That don't make me Mr. T.

Enough of your jibba jabba.


Tavern Tales

Man, for a while, way back, I used to be the Head Bartender at this big fuckin huge cowboy bar back home.
This place was so massive, there were like 4 bartenders, plus one for the Dining Room, and a Bar Porter, all working the night shift.
Made fucking crazy money there.
Anyways, we used to make up all this wacky-assed shit to amuse ourselves.
This joint had, like MAD regulars, probably 45-60% of the trade on any night was in there 4 or more nights a week, it was kind of an over-35 meat market kind of deal.
So we would have all these deals that we would tell the cutomers.
There was this young fella, started out as Porter (Bar Pig) and worked his way up to Junior Bartender.
He had the same name as me, so we called him Hawk.
I don't know where it started, but somehow we decided to tell all the customers that Hawk had a glass fucking eye.
And they really went for it, man.
Sometimes Hawk would open up the glass washer to take out a clean trayful, and you know, that huge cloud of steam would billow out, sometimes when that happened, Hawk would yell out really loud.
And I'd go, like "Hawk!! What is it man??"
And he'd yell "My glass eye!! It's all fogged up!! I can't see anything!!"
And I'd go "Don't move, man! We're coming to help you!" and a couple of the waitresses would run around behind the bar and take his arms and shit.
Fucking customers ate it up like Coco Pebbles.

Sometimes he'd pretend it fell out and we'd started yelling for everyone to check their drinks.

Fucking drunks will believe anything.

Oh yeah, anyone with a (real) glass eye is welcome in The Tribe.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Plus ça change et fuckin cetera

So, remember I was telling about that table load of drunk-assed locals?
Well, after a bit this bigassed Mercedes pulls up, and it's one of their wives, come to collect her old man.
And, in the car, there's this kid, maybe 8 or so.
And the kid sits in the car for the 20 or 30 minutes it takes for the old lady to prise the alterkokker away from his drinking buddies.

Kind of disheartening to see that, 40-odd years on, little kids are STILL having to sit in cars waiting for a drunken guardian.
See, the thing is, when you're little like that, you don't really have any big perspective that tells you the Grandpa (in this case) or Dad that you're waiting for is just WRONG, but you DO have this kind of nagging, unsettling feeling that  the whole deal just ain't right.
Happy to say, this kid was able to just sit in the nice car with the AC on, and it was only a half hour or less, and the old broad finally got her husband piled into the back seat.
Fortunately for him, he wasn't sitting in a shitty old Volkswagen with the motor running because it was the middle of winter, for an hour and a half or more, with his dog, waiting and waiting.
And he could see his Grandpa, instead of being in the middle of a big snowy parking lot.
And he din't have to, finally, get out and stand by the door and ask some guy going in to find his Dad and tell him he wanted to go home.

Sorry, sometimes stuff just comes back.

Oh yeah, Rule #1, if you've EVER left a little kid alone in a car while you went drinking, you don't get to be in The Tribe.


Leadership you can get behind

Listen up!

It's dang wiggly out there, and only getting moreso, and you, my babies, wake up every day staring down the teeth of an ugly, predatory world that couldn't give a monkey's whether you live, die, or fry.
Good news is, there's one place you can count on where they got their priorities straight.

For a couple of years now, I've been kind of messing with the idea of starting my own tribe.

I think the time has come, so let's get on it.
Naturally, if you're reading this, I, your benevolent Raj, consider you an able candidate for membership.

I was talking to The Professor about this, I'm still tweaking the Rules.

So, you know, welcome to the tribe

As your Rajah, I pledge fairness, equanimity, and love for all.


Oh, and curries for everyone.

Life, babies!

Oh yeah, there's a table full of the local irregulars next to me here, and they are fuckin DRUNK!
Like they fucking WRITE about.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Yeah, I don't THINK so...

So apparently, Bob Ford wants to be my friend on Shitfacebook.

Bob Ford.
Pretty fucking presumptive, if you ask me.
Sonofabitch shoots Jesse fucking James in the back

And now he wants to be my friend, I don't fuckin think so.
Cheech don't give a fucking monkey's if buddy was played in movies by John Carradine

Robert Vaughn

Christopher Guest's little brother

(you know, the 6th Baron Haden-Guest, the interfering dad in the Janie's Got A Gun video

You know, the rookie crew member in TWOK, the voice of JT in SOA),

AND fuckin Affleck's little brother

to boot.

You can't just go around shooting Jesse James in the motherfucking back and expect a fella to-
Oh wait.

Oh, this is Hockey Bob, Paco's buddy.

OK, never mind.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Free at Last, Free at Last

OK, so, for reasons I ain't going to get into, I'm on the 15 -day DL, and this is the first time I've been outside since last Friday.
Wicked, man.
Obviously, the women got better looking in my absence.
Thanks to everyone for not beaking off about the paucity of posts.
Thereby, you know, saving me the trouble of kicking your fucking ass.

Needless to say, I watched a buttload of movies.
I was (re) watching JOHN RAMBO (or whatever it's called where you are, you know, the last one.)

I've probably watched this one about 10 times. It's almost as good as #1, and that's saying something (did I mention that the first one was shot in Golden BC, a spot I've stopped in many times for sunrise breakfast when we used to roadtrip to Vancouver, we'd always take off about 6 or 7 pm and cross the Rockies in the night, and then just hit Golden as the sun was coming up...also that I know a bunch of guys who worked on that first one, blablabla)
Anyways, aside from Rambo (or, as we call him around my house, JAHNNY, you got to say it all chokey and breathless like Trautman would)

Driving that badass longtail riverboat

(and yes, that's my personal retirement plan), it's just a big fat awesome movie.

BUT, I wanted to say something about the phenomenon of One-Shot Movie Dealbreakers.
I think my old pal Disco invented this, the deal is, in an otherwise enjoyable movie experience, there's one single shot or moment that totally takes you out of the movie.
It doesn't necessarily  ruin the experience, it just sort of reminds you of how fucking bullshit Hollywood is.
One shining example, for me, is in The Bourne Supremacy. I just fuckin love them Jason Bourne movies, and this didn't totally fuck the movie for me, but it was a bit annoying.
The deal is, Jason and Frankie Pootenta are living in Goa and all, and it's all beachy and trippy and all, yeah? And Jason has like these fucking nightmares and headaches and shit about killing folks and all, and he gets up, and Frankie is all fuckin asking him if he's OK and shit, and he palms a couple Advils or whatever, and then
Washes them down with tap water.
In Goa.
Probably not, dude.
Anyways, despite how much I love JOHN RAMBO, there's one of these moments.
And yeah, it's considerably ameliorated by moments like when the Snake Farm boss is haranguing JAHNNY in that unbelievably annoying Thai pidgin, and he says:
"We need another python. See what you can do. We have enough cobras, okay? "
And Johnny walks away, saying
"Fuck off. Okay?"
Johnny is sleeping in his weird little boat dock/blacksmith shop and Ken "The White Shadow" Howard comes to axe him to rescue Angel's girlfriend and creepy crosseyed Father Phil.
Thing is, Johnny's sleeping in this net hammock.
In the middle of the night.
Beside a river.
In Thailand.
In the middle of a monsoon rain.

With no mosquito net.

Sorry, Johnny, I know you're tough, but that fucking soap don't wash.
Still, pulling the bad dude's trachea out with his hand, well, that covers a multitude of sins.

Hey, among numerous new friends, we'd like to offer a hearty dobrodošao to HRH The Crown Princess of Croatia, good to have you joining us in this meaningless pursuit of critical horseshit.

Oh yeah, it's Friday.
Hey, I'm not just listening to this right now, it's also pretty fucking awesome shit.

Ryan fuckin Hedgecock notwithstanding.

Have a good weekend, babies.