If I could choose how I wanted my body prepared for the afterlife, I would not choose cremation or mummification, but rather exploitation. My body would go to a taxidermy, where I would be laminated into a pose that was half “Mentos” commercial and half Fonzie “Aaay!” I would be dressed like Neo from the second Matrix and have a “Ghostbusters” proton-pack on my back and a neuralyzer in my hand. Next to the Geek Adonis would be a panel with three buttons—each one would play a recording of the three phrases I used most in life:
Button 1— “Hello.”
Button 2— “I’m fine, and you?”
Button 3— “What the!”
As for my organs and insides and stuff, they would be the second stunt contestants would have to eat on “Fear Factor.” I’m not sure yet if I would want them to eat me raw or mixed into a shake; all I know is they would have ten minutes to do it. That episode would play on a continuous loop on a television next to my body.
These are my final wishes, and though I don’t plan to be going anywhere soon, I just hope “Fear Factor” is still around when I do.
Holy crap! Holy crap! Holy crap! "Final Destination" will soon be a trilogy—joining such classics as "Lord of the Rings" and "Indian Jones." Of course, the movie doesn’t come out for another month (so there’s still time to get supplies together, if you’re going to camp out) but I saw the trailer today, and my life finally has meaning. Okay—okay—I have to calm down. It's just so exciting. So there’s this one part when the pretty teenagers are on a rollercoaster and then Death intervenes, because they’re too pretty or something. Then there’s this other part when the pretty people are getting tans, and Death intervenes there, as well. You wouldn’t think Death would be caught in a tanning parlor, but that’s Death for ya—tricky, tricky, tricky.
If I was Death, I probably wouldn’t be as creative. Having someone kick a soccer ball, which knocks over a bucket of napalm, which knocks over a row of dominos, which snaps a mouse trap, which launches a piece of cheese over a candle, which lights the cheese on fire, which lands on the napalm and burns the person alive seems like too much work for me. I would be much more conventional: "You get a heart attack! And you get a heart attack!" Everyone getting heart attacks would be too boring and unrealistic. Fortunately, Final Destination has the Rube Goldberg of Deaths.
I can only hope "Fast and the Furious," "Deuce Bigalow," and "Charlie's Angels" will follow Final Destination's unnecessary lead and keep making sequels without the approval of the critics, the box-office, or the public.
Vampire movies look more like episodes of "The OC," minus all the tans. They've traded in their Bram Stoker's for WB's. They're more like exclusive clubs, and only the cool may enter:
"I'm sorry, you're just not hot enough for an eternity of damnation."
You can't turn someone away solely based on age or appearance. That’s called "discrimination," and they could take you to court for it. I remember a time when there was no discrimination. Where every man, woman, and child had an equal opportunity of becoming slaves to Satan. Sadly, that time is long gone. Aside from the simple fact of discrimination, is it smart to make vampires look so cool?
Do we want our children growing up to be like vampires? When the creatures were old and hideous this wasn't a problem, but now that they're all attractive and well-dressed, what’s to stop our young people from wanting to be just like them? We are endangering children’s impressionable minds, and it must be stopped. Bring back Lucifer's geriatrics, and leave it to the actors, models, and professional athletes to shape our children's brains.
Sadly, I was watching "American Idol" a couple nights ago and witnessed the most ingenious self-promotion trick I’ve ever seen. After several contestants were ridiculed for being terrible singers/dressers/human beings, they exited their audition determined to let everyone know how they felt with four-letter words and middle fingers. Ordinarily, blurs or black bars would have been used, but the masterminds behind the show placed a miniature "American Idol" logo over every vulgar mouth and obscene gesture. To the home audience, it went something like this:
"Those 'American Idol' judges, saying I can't sing! Who the 'American Idol' do they think they are?! 'American Idol!' 'America Idol!' 'American Idol!' 'American Idol' you, Simon! 'American Idol' you all! You 'American Idol' 'American Idol's!' Go 'American Idol' yourself!"
This is a revolutionary advertising concept. Every middle finger and curse word is a mini billboard. It’s cheap, easy, and anyone pissed off can do it. I hope other shows will jump on the obscene bandwagon. SpongeBob will get a tad more adult, and talk show guests will be instructed to tell Jay Leno how they really feel. What a golden age of television that will be, when people will be able to express themselves freely, for marketable gain.
