No Country For Old Men, OR, Have You Read That Movie?

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Bathroom Monologue: Credit Card Trail of the Dead

Her credit card records tell the tale. At noon on the last day we saw her, Antoinette used her Visa to purchase fresh produce at the local grocery, including three pounds of garlic.

Fifteen minutes later, it is used to purchase several antiques from the pawn shop on the same street. The items include a rosary, two crucifixes and a squirt gun.

Apparently she doesn’t drive home. An hour later she is eighty miles north, gassing up her car.

Her next purchase is at 8:15. She dined through dusk at Re-Church & Development, a trendy restaurant located in a former church. One wonders if she filled the squirt gun in their sink, hoping the tap was holy. There’s no telling how long she stayed on holy ground, though she does order two desserts and a lot of coffee.

She had to leave at some time, though the credit card trail gives us nothing all night. It’s not until 5:30 in the morning when she uses the card at a 24-hour Wal-Mart. It’s four hundred miles from Re-Church & Development. There, she buys sun block.

“Men treat childbirth as though it’s something icky.” –Someone who wishes to remain anonymous

"It is something icky. Nobody tells you to boil water and find towels for a sanitary event. This is a woman screaming at the top of her lungs as her vagina is ripped asunder by a pinkened lump of potential humanity. There’s the possibility she’ll break his hand if he holds hers. There’s the possibility she’ll lose control of her bowels. She will spill fluids he’s never seen in his life. Then there’s the umbilicus and placenta, which frankly look like a giant tapeworm eating a tumor. Beyond all of the revolting things that may exit this beautiful woman, it is also the only time when the goal is to make a baby cry. It’s gross and it’s scary and even if she gets an epidural, you’re still going to have to figure out how to pay its college tuition. God have mercy on your souls."

Bathroom Monologue: Demake

Come 2013, demakes are going to be the thing in Hollywood. It’s empirical fact that uncreativity is much easier than creativity. Sequels, series, spinoffs, prequels and remakes were all bold ideas. Demakes will take the cycle of uncreativity into the future by way of the past with STANLEY’S KUBRICK’S TRANSFORMERS: REVENGE OF THE FALLEN.

We can all agree that the second Transformers movie sucked. But imagine if the male lead wasn’t onscreen so much, and he wasn’t played by SHIA LABEOUF. Instead, he was a brooding JAMES DEAN. His lady love? A freshly-minted blonde MARILYN MONROE. Onscreen chemistry unlike anything you’ve ever seen, built from what you’ve already seen.

Using cutting edge computer synthetics, the thousands of words dead actors spoke in dozens of moods will be recycled into millions of possible performances. And using both stock footage and CGI modeling, their likenesses can be pasted into new scenarios. How far can we take it? I’ll give you the future in one sentence.

MARLON BRANDO is OPTIMUS PRIME.

Our favorite part is that simulating the low-definition stock of old film will cover all CGI. BluRay has taught us that the better the picture, the faker-looking the Autobot. In black and white, you won’t be able to tell the real INGRID BERGMAN from the purely green-screened MEGATRON.

That’s our favorite part. But your favorite part? Demakes are guaranteed to not suck. With the hindsight of which contemporary movies are shoddily written, and a love of classic film, demade movies will not only strip away bad acting and shiny CG: they’ll apply actually solid scripts written deliberately for people who are proven to be able to act. LUCILLE BALL and JACK LEMMON will turn in performances literally designed for their roles, which in turn will be literally designed for them based on scientific breakdowns and focus tests of their strengths. If the technology pulls through, AI recreations of FRITZ LANG and ALFRED HITCHCOCK will soon direct demakes of GREEN LANTERN and DADDY DAY CAMP. It’s foolproof.

We’re opening up conservatively, demaking the second movie in a series. That packages it with a guaranteed prequel (TRANSFORMERS) and sequel (TRANSFORMERS: DARK OF THE MOON). Just fathom it, Hollywood: a sequel demake, likely directed by an artificial intelligence of STANLEY KUBRICK himself.

If that doesn’t get you wet, we’ll toss this in: HUMPHREY BOGART will cameo to provide BUMBLEBEE’s one spoken line.

Bathroom Monologue: Dog Thoughts

Oh my God give it to me please give it to me I know I've chased the ball like six hundred times and my teeth marks are all over it but if you just throw the ball one more time I'll be happy for the rest of my life you don't even have to throw it directly to me you don't even have to throw it in my direction you can throw it in the river you can throw it into the pitbull's yard I don't care just please throw the ball so I can taste it one more time I know how it tastes I've tasted it six hundred times but I know if I taste it just one more time right now it'll be awesome and I know you're going to throw but the eternal question is when but the eternal question is will I catch it this time but the eternal question is for God's sakes why haven't you thrown the ball?

Bathroom Haiku: Nanomachines in Autumn

the nanomachines

showed sentience by stopping

to watch the leaves turn

Bathroom Monologue: Nothing Happened to My Marriage

Nothing happened. Stop. Please, stop. I’m telling you, Mom: nothing happened. Lisa wanted babies, and then it turned out I’m shooting blanks. So nothing happened. And my lot got pulled and I went over to Iraq for two years. I bought her three separate plane tickets. She never used one of them. So nothing happened. My time came up, and I got home, and waited for her to pick me up on the curb. Nothing happened and I had to catch a cab. We fought about nothing. We argued in fine circles of inconsequence. One night I got so angry I almost threw a lamp at her. I didn’t pick it up, instead walking out of the apartment so nothing would happen. Half the mornings I’d wake up and find her half of the bed empty. We went to a therapist, and she wouldn’t open up about what I’d done wrong, and was very aggressive about me not opening up about things that weren’t there, and so we paid for six weeks of nothing happening until I just didn’t bother driving up there anymore. We don’t have a kid. We don’t own a house. She doesn’t have a career, and I’ll be damned if I’m to blame. So when I say “Nothing happened,” please stop asking.