Category Archives: Crazy Person

Frequent IMDB Poster Disappointed in Actress for Getting a Nose Job

Hartford, Conn., Dec. 17, 2013 — Self-proclaimed movie buff and frequent IMDB user Samuel Jones said he was disappointed this week to discover British actress Kate Winslet may have undergone a rhinoplasty at some point early in her career. The “huge film guy” — who regularly posts on the website’s message board under the screen name “BenAfleckSuxBallz” — said the revelation came as a shock and has made him question his opinion of the highly-acclaimed actress.

I really hope it isn’t true,” Jones typed into a post, he’d titled “Why Do All the Hot Actresses Ruin Themselves With Plastic Sugery?!?”

I expected more from Kate. She seems so smart and accomplished, and really down to Earth too. It’s a shame she would be so vain and bow down to Hollywood’s shallow, superficial standards. What kind of example are you setting for young women who look up to you, Kate!?????”

Jones later navigated to actress Emma Stone’s IMDB profile page, where he left a comment on her message board under the subject, “The New Lucille Ball?”:

Emma’s pretty hot and funny. But she should probably do something about that underbite.WTF.”



Leave a comment

Filed under Crazy Person, News, Washed-up actors

Amanda Bynes’ Public Breakdown Affords Opportunity to Feel Better About Yourself

ANY TOWN, USA, June 21, 2013 — The continued public meltdown of actress Amanda Bynes — who starred in that one movie that you refuse to admit you saw in the theater and enjoyed enough to illegally burn to DVD at a later date — affords the perfect opportunity to feel better about yourself, sources confirmed this week. “That poor girl. Someone really ought to help her,” you mumbled as you clicked on a gossip website link titled “Naked Amanda Bynes Caught Snorting Coke Off Surface of I-5 During Rush Hour [VIDEO].” The starlet’s overt signs of mental collapse in recent months provided a fleeting moment of satisfaction with your own personal choices, according to bystander reports. “It really is disgusting how the media is taking advantage of this poor girl,” you said, as you wrote “Can you believe they printed these photos?” in the subject line of an email containing a link to a photo gallery of a semi-nude Bynes pouring ketchup on a wig and smoking crack with an ostrich. “I just don’t get why the press is exploiting her illness for their own personal gain,” you said, before looking at an 800-word photo essay titled “Amanda Bynes: 15 Shades of Crazy Bee-otch” that appeared on the home page of empowering feminist website Jezebel. “I just hope somebody will help her before it’s too late,” you said, before posting a Buzzfeed link “15 Lemurs Wearing Astronaut Pajamas” on your Facebook wall.


Leave a comment

Filed under Crazy Person, News, Washed-up actors

How Freejack Would’ve Looked Starring Charlie Sheen Instead of Emilo Estevez

Freejack Movie Poster Mick Jagger Emilio Estevez

It's the year 2009. Emilio Estevez is America's most desirable man. Discuss.

Freejack (1992), a widely panned cyberpunk film that has aged about as well as any of the Rolling Stones, is a classic demonstration of the perils of setting your futuristic thriller too near into the very near future. In 1991, Alex Furlong (Emilio Estevez) is a cocky, 20-something race-car driver  whose petite body is transported – a split second before his would-be death in a spectacularly slow-mo fiery wreck – to 2009, where billionaire Ian McCandless (Anthony Hopkins, appearing for maybe, 5 minutes total, and exclusively as a hologram, so not really in it at all) wants to use Furlong’s body to house his recently departed spirit. I realize this sounds like a bunch of jibberish written by a 13-year-old boy who has been surreptitiously taking swigs from the “grown-up” drinks at a family get-together, but that is sincerely the most clear way to phrase it.

This act – the springing of just-about-to-die humans forward in time for the sole purpose of using them as fleshy vessels for the blackened souls of the filthy rich (much like the anchors on Fox News) – is known as bonejacking (that’s what she said). The human “room to rent” is known as a freejack…Or maybe they’re only called a freejack when they break loose from their captors? Who knows.

Mick Jagger in Freejack

Time is NOT on your side, my friend.

Anyhow; Furlong, the freejack, awakens in 2009 in the bowels of a tankish time machine(?) that is under the control of a hammy Mick Jagger, who wisely lets his upper lip handle most of the heavy emoting. Furlong beats a hasty retreat and the cat and mouse chase is on. Confusing nomenclature aside, Freejack never satisfactorily explains any of its “cool” futuristic plot devices; the time travel, virtual reality, spiritual databases – all of these are breezily mentioned as if we are to accept that they transpired in the course of 18 years. This is why you should never set your crappy futuristic adventure in a Dystopia that’s less than 2 decades into the future. This hiccup in judgment is directly connected to a pivotal plot point involving Ian’s feelings for Furlong’s former lover Julie (Rene Russo, a minx of a cougar, who, according to my calculations would be 26 years Furlong’s senior by the time he jumps 18 years into the future and sets out to find her), but this doesn’t make it any easier to buy a 2009 that has no Internet, despite the fact you can store your soul on a laptop the size of a Target.

Anthony Hopkins Freejack

Do you hear that Clarice? That's the sound of a beloved thespian cashing a check.

Oh, and also; the ozone layer in Freejack‘s 2009 is completely shot to hell, which, in addition to rampant drug use and crippling poverty has driven much of the population into the bitter depths of stupidity, insanity and hostile self-interest. So that part was at least pretty spot on.

Since, unlike the creators of Freejack I live not in a vacuum, I’m aware of the many recent foibles of Emilio Estevez’s considerably more famous and feckless brother Charlie Sheen, who, as Rental Rehab reviewer Kelli has previously noted is seemingly impervious to consequence no matter what brand of abusive crazy he brings to the party. (Why this latitude of mercy isn’t bestowed upon the equally vexing Lindsay Lohan is a mystery for the Perez Hiltons of the universe). While watching Freejack, I couldn’t help but wonder what this particular Dystopia would’ve looked like had it starred Charlie Sheen in the role of our speed loving, law shirking, vixen banging hero Furlong. Projections below.

Emilio Estevez and Charlie Sheen 2 and a Half Men

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" "Mind/body transferrence!" "I was gonna say heroin, but, sure! OK. Why not? Whatever."

The 9 Ways Freejack Would Have Differed if it had Starred Charlie Sheen Instead of Emilio Estevez:

9.  Furlong’s recurring line – Nibble my ear for luck – to lover Julie? Yeah; it wouldn’t have been his ear.

8.  “We regret to announce that because Charlie Sheen ‘accidentally’ (wink) shot co-star Rene Russo in the arm, tonight, the role of Julie will be played by that chick who made out with Neve Campbell in the pool in that one movie that we remember nothing else about.”

Keith Richards

"Mumble, mumble, mumble, thick English accent, mumble mumble."

7. Charlie would’ve demanded that Mick Jagger’s role as bonejacking mercenary Victor Vacendak be given instead to Keith Richards. Everyone knows that Richards has the better drugs.

6. Growing frustrated with his own inability to get through an early pre-death-race scene in which he is supposed to sell potential sponsors on Furlong’s affable clean-cut charm, the estimable Buster Poindexter/David Johansen (playing Furlong’s friend and agent, Brad) goes off script, trading the line “He’s drug free” for an abbreviated version of “Hot Hot Hot.”

5. The scene in which Furlong has trouble finding his way around the crime-, hooker- and drug-infested wasteland of the red district rings inauthentic and is instead traded for a scene wherein a young Martin Sheen encounters and confronts a wild-eyed, bowling-shirt-clad Charlie Sheen who is found sitting in a darkened room whispering into a recording device about the time he had to pay full price for an escort service and an eightball; The horror, the horror.

Charlie Sheen Heidi Fliess

We're to believe that the man whose body is lusted after by Rene Russo is paying to hit this?

4. In Freejack‘s original narrative, Furlong’s body is ludicrously more desirable than gold because it has gone unexposed to the drugs and pollutants inflicted upon the average American citizen by the year 2009. The necessary suspension of disbelief proves too much for even the future director of Under Siege 2: Dark Territory and the entire production is scrapped.

3. Owing to certain unavoidable legal implications, the scene where Furlong is given a gun by a nun is omitted. Instead, Furlong is given a bow and a rubber chicken, in loving tribute to Sheen’s star-making role in the dark French drama Hot Shots: Part Deux.

2.  Instead of techy cyber tunes, a harmonized “Mennnnnnnnn” is used as the musical segue between one boring action sequence and the next.

1. Even shittier one liners.

Charlie Sheen Mug Shot

The eyes follow you everywhere. Like a painting of Christ.

Rental Rehab review by Tricia

Leave a comment

Filed under Contains a Sheen, Crazy Person, Future World

Jai Alai is Decadent and Depraved

Editor’s Note: This is a fast and loose re-interpretation of Hunter S. Thompson’s “The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved” based on a recent evening the Rental Rehab ladies spent together. ~Kelli

Kentucky Derby Ralph Steadman Drawing Hunter S. Thompson

Ralph's Impression of the Derby

It was Saturday night, the night of the Big Game, and we were having pre-gambling drinks in a flimsy watering hole called The Hurricane Bar. The Jai Alai arena was just across the street. There were tables scattered throughout the bar but the quality of people huddled in the corners of places like those was less preferable than the company of the sots ringing the bar. The waitresses seemed to be suffering from “ugly light syndrome.” Ugly lights are the ones that get turned way up to maximum wattage when a bar wants to close at the end of the night. A person has ugly light syndrome when they avoid at all costs anything resembling natural light. They looked young and pretty enough but their whiskey-cracked voices belied their true forms. Every laugh birthed a cough.

Wolfie liked the dive because it had cheap suds. I preferred their “aperitif,” which was really Jaegermeister poured from a machine that chilled each shot individually. These shots came in glasses roughly the size of goldfish bowls.

Beyond Jaeger and lack of funds, our only real problem at that point was the question of access to gaming tables on the top level of the Jai Alai arena. Finally, we decided to go ahead and just crash the games if necessary, rather than bet piddlywinks on Diego and his Jai Alai ilk. This was the last coherent decision we were able to make for the next 4 hours. From that point on – almost from the very moment we stepped into The Hurricane – we lost all control of events and spent the night churning around in a sea of drunken foreigners. My notes and recollections from Jai Alai are somewhat scrambled.

But now, listening to my little recording device that I carried all through that scene, I see more or less what happened. The recordings themselves are somewhat unintelligible; some of it is garbled from inadequate recording instruction; some of it is garbled from inadequate consumption of water in-between shots of Jager, but taken as a whole, with sporadic jogs to the memory courtesy of Wolfie, the notes shall tell the tale. To wit:

Foggy all night. Can’t see. Christ, here we go, a nightmare of whizzing objects and lethargy…But no. Arrive at the Hurricane Bar and a friendly gent approaches us – entertainment at once, not a bit dull.

Wolfie is now worried about being accosted in the dark parking lot. The friendly gent has informed her that women LOVE to be approached in badly lit parking lots, alone. It has happened before. Will it happen again? Horrible idea. Trapped at a full bar with a lecher. Holocaust-levels of smoke. A hundred thousand people fighting for a drink. Just wait a minute! Can’t breathe, the smoke. Patrons of the bar all lechers with us fighting our way out to the car. Poor Wolfie is about to crack under the “accidental” swipes of the gent’s arm across her chest. Drinking heavily, into the Jaeger already.

Across the street to the arena away from that bar, avoid that awful clichéd bar talk. Women can’t read maps and men don’t listen. Paunchy middle-aged men with hero stories of their youth. Big red sign: MISOGYNIST, flagging down the young bartender with a wink and a grimace. “That’s fine girl, most women don’t know what goes in a Manhattan anyway, I’ll just take another GOOSE on the rocks.” Grease stain on his shirt sighs up and down with his labored breathing.

Arena is void of people excepting the tourists and miscreants clustered in packs across the theatre seating. Vagrants pouring pints into huge foam cups, old folks in falsely jolly Hawaiian shirts, bartender with a goiter…how the hell does a dude with a goiter get a bartending gig?

The air was still and dank in the hall of the athletes. Their shots echoed off the wall, very loud, very alone.  On our way out, in the upstairs poker rooms, we came across a Swede alone at the bar. He wore vacation clothes but claimed citizenship. Wolfie ordered a drink and I ordered an “international cheese plate.” I got the countries of provolone, Switzerland, and cheddar. Balls. The Swede slid down the stools to sit next to us and Wolfie eyed him nervously, “Can we help you?”

“No.” I answer for him but he ignores me. He launches direct into some hubris about Republicans and free market economy and how he runs a line of yachts now in the great old U.S. of A.  While he blathers on about how all the Swedes are layabout louses who live on the government dollar I remember the people I know who have lived off government funds and the three jobs they worked under the table in addition to that paltry handout.

The Jai Alai players pressed on behind us, behind their plexiglass cage stage so that the fans won’t be hurt by the 150 mph balls. 50 to 1 bets being won behind us. Many winners, more losers. What the hell. Hecklers in the audience try to jam up against the plexi, shouting curses at the players, led out by wrinkled guards. A Dolphins jersey gets wrestled out… “Diego you owe me a car payment, you bastard!” The Swede offers us a free round of drinks. Why not? Get it on. Not feeling very well, the weather is smoky with a touch of food poisoning. Can’t ever trust those damn weathermen.

Weathered faces with a gauche style, white pantsuits and big sunglasses. “Boca Face,” also known as “too much surgery,” or “doctor’s got a new ski lodge in Aspen.” Women cut up too early, or not cut up enough. Definitely no energy in the faces. No interest or curiosity. Suffering in lip-filler silence, nowhere to go after thirty in this life, just hang on and humor the children. Let the young enjoy themselves while they can. Why not?

The grim reaper comes late in this state…slowly withering under the sub-tropic sun, screaming for the pool boy beside that little 3-foot tall faux-butler to hold your drinks. Maybe it is the  butler that is screaming. Bad DT’s and snarls at the bridge club. Going down with the stock market. Oh Jesus, the kid has wrecked the new car, wrapped it around the big stone pillar at the bottom of the driveway. Broken leg? Twisted eye? Send him off to Harvard, they can cure anything up there.

I left Wolfie debating at the poker room bar and went off to place our bets on Cancio and Elizalde. When I came back she was staring intently at a group of retirees playing Texas Hold-Em not far away. “Jesus, would you look at the corruption in that face!” she whispered. “Look at the madness, the fear, the greed!” I looked then quickly turned my back on the table she was watching.

Wolfie wanted to see some decadent South Floridians, but she wasn’t sure what they looked like, I told her to go to the women’s rooms and look for ladies in white linen dresses vomiting in the disabled stalls. “They’ll usually have chardonnay stains on the fronts of their blouses,” I said. “But watch the shoes, that’s the tip-off. Most of them manage to avoid vomiting on their clothes, but they never miss their shoes.”

The Jai Alai games were progressing at a mad pace and we were definitely losing our money. We went all in we placed some trifecta bets. As the hour grew late I suggested to Wolfie that we spend more time in the arena. She looked a little hesitant about it but since discussions with the Swede were coming to a stalemate she shrugged and said, “Right, let’s do it.”

To get there we had to pass through the Smokers’ Lounge. Each step through that room felt like a step down in status, as we left the heights of the mezzanine to stumble through Mordor in order to get back to the game. Total darkness save for the few flashing neon lights, nobody could see each other… nobody cared. Bigger lines at the betting windows than in the seats, gamblers up so often they just hung about the windows, waiting for the numbers to flash on the big board, largest Bingo game ever.

Customer arguing with bartender about a pour; “Hold on there, I’ll handle this” (brandishes bottle of gin, dribbles a bit in); bored tourist families dragged along with dad while he tries to wrench an ounce of pleasure from their trip to visit nana, retiree sweatsuit with the words “Phat Farm” across the back (obviously no clue as to the broader cultural connotations of wearing a Russell Simmons item on her back), a huge fat drunk reeling over the handrail to the seats because he can’t sit down.

The matches themselves seemed only 2 minutes long and even with our choice of seats and a drunkenly scrawled spreadsheet we couldn’t really figure out what was happening.  We accost the lady at the window and are informed that Arregui and Arrieta have lost.

Once the matches were over, the crowd oozed its way to the exit doors. By this time we were both half-crazy from too much Jaeger, men fatigue and culture shock, lack of light and general dissolution. Chatting gamely with retired photographer on the way out, he informed us that he’d won $50 on tonight’s games. We bemoaned our losses and he slung an arm around us to cheer us up. He’d done his share of losing on New York teams, from where he hailed. He had photographed lots of New York detritus and decay in his day, he said. And then he added, with a big grin, “But the only bums I ever photographed were those damned Mets.”


Filed under Awesome Action, Bad Foreign Thriller, Crazy Person, Jaeger-friendly, U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A!

The Garden State/(500) Days of Summer Manic Pixie Dream Girl Quiz (Asshole Edition)

Receiving the alleged romantic comedies “Garden State” and “(500) Days of Summer” in your mailbox at the same time produces a feeling I can’t say I endorse – some mixture of lighthearted nostalgia and bottomless despair. Actually watching them both on the same day is one of the most depressing things a man near the end of his 20s who is inept at relationships can do while drinking by himself.

Zooey deschanel 500 days of summer manic pixie dream girl

Guess who shows up most in a Google image search of "Manic Pixie Dream Girl"? No, seriously. Guess!

But enough about you. Let’s talk about these ridiculous films. Both “Garden State” (2004) and “(500) Days of Summer” (2009) feature male protagonists who get blindsided by what is known as the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. That’s the term, now commonplace, coined by the AV Club to describe the type of whimsical female character “that exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures.”

In other words, if she’s hot, “quirky” and exists only as a means-to-an-end plot device, you’ve got yourself a Manic Pixie Dream Girl (hereafter, MPDG). The dudes in “Garden State” and “Summer” provide numerous lessons, mainly through negative example, in MPDG handling – how to ready yourself for her arrival, how to integrate her code-red levels of lovable eccentricity into your stuffy life, how to make sure she’s real and not just the imaginary Tyler Durden-esque manifestation of some grim psychological imbalance and so on.

Natalie Portman Zach Braff Garden State Riding Scooter

Now, imagine that foldable helmet is a wedding dress and this scooter is a bus...

Make no mistake, movies of this type are universally demeaning to women. Yet if you are the man in one of these movies, you are probably an asshole. Why’s that? Well, considering the female characters are drawn so one-dimensionally, it takes a real asshole to fall for one of them. But are you a “Garden State” asshole or a “(500) Days of Summer” asshole? And which wackadoo cardboard-cutout woman drags that inner asshole out into the penetrating light of day? Rental Rehab is here to help. Answer the following 13 questions and consult the accompanying answer key to determine how horrible a person you are (spoiler alert: very) and which specific circle of hell you belong in.

1. Your movie is the poor man’s…

A. “The Graduate”

B. “Amelie”/”Annie Hall”/”When Harry Met Sally”/”Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”

2. Your story is structured in which of the following ways?

A. As filler between all these neat visual sequences you dreamed up. Like: A guy walks past automatic faucets in a public bathroom and they all turn on one by one; a guy puts on a shirt made from leftover wallpaper, then stands in front of that wallpaper; a man sits down to breakfast wearing a suit of armor; three people in rain ponchos scream into a ravine for some reason.

B. With askew chronology to disguise otherwise banal story as “clever.”

Zach Braff in Wallpaper shirt in Garden State

But what does it all mean, man?!

3. This film exists because…

A. A certain successful young actor – let’s call him “Zach Braff” – had an idea for a movie so trailblazing and original that fate demanded it be Braff-written, Braff-directed and Braff-starred-in. He might have also handled the catering.

B. A screenwriter got dumped and decided to write a movie as revenge against the awful bitch who broke his heart. No, really, it’s true.

4. The use of slow-motion photography in your film is…

A. Needless to say, excessive.

B. Mercifully absent.

5. Your character’s biographical information consists of…

A. Stagnating career as actor; Los Angeles apartment whose pristine whiteness reflects your soul’s emptiness or whatever; portentous trip home to reconcile Traumatic Childhood with Recent Family Tragedy during which who knows what will happen.

B. Stagnating career as architect; anachronistic, beyond-cushy Los Angeles job as a greeting-card writer in an office environment that could not feasibly have existed later than the mid-1960s; girlfriend-sized hole in life.

joseph gordon levitt 500 days of summer

"Nah. I prefer NOT controlling my expectations and later blaming that on you. Failing that, pop culture."

6. Your “issues” include…

A. Overmedication; thousand-yard staring; dead mother; dickhead father; existential stasis uniquely susceptible to life-changing MPDG intervention; inert personality that makes later attractiveness to pretty female character grossly implausible; Zach Braffness (literal).

B. Self-destructive post-MPDG-breakup behavior that removed of endearingly romantic-comedic context suggests minor mental illness; perversely idealized notions of love thanks to pop-culture over-internalization; extreme neediness; inaccurate perception of own specialness; doormat tendencies uniquely susceptible to life-ruining MPDG intervention; Zach Braffness (figurative).

7. The supporting characters in your life consist of…

A. A bunch of fuckups from your high school compared to whom you are a model of proper adjustment to adulthood.

B. Unrealistically bullshit-tolerant male friends/coworkers; freakishly precocious maybe-12-year-old sister whose advanced understanding of relationships gets less adorable the more one thinks about how she might have acquired it.

8. The nauseating manner in which you meet your MPDG involves the music of…

A. The Shins

B. The Smiths

9. This makes her the perfect woman because…

A. Holy shit! She likes a pleasant-sounding band I’ve never heard of before! Who knows what sort of kooky mystical world she’s about to introduce me to.

B. Holy shit! She happens to like my favorite band of all time! What are the odds a stylish, attractive, city-dwelling woman my age manages to discover and enjoy the very same pretty-much-mainstream, subculturally agreed-upon rock group I happen to love? I wonder if she’s also into the Pixies.

500 days of summer zooey deschanel and joseph gorden levitt

Snuggling? Or struggling? Smothering?

10. Your MPDG is “quirky” in which of the following ways?

A. Is creepily attached to rodent pets; has crates full of vinyl records (whoa!); wears a helmet due to world’s cutest case of epilepsy; lives with eccentric mom and adopted black brother (no kidding, like totally black!); pathological liar; manages considerable feat of rendering Natalie Portman unlikable via famously stupid “I just did something that’s never been done before” scene; safe to assume there’s a hamburger phone somewhere.

B. Predictably well-curated “vintage” fashion sense; collects interesting shit; gives you a legitimate run for your money in the narcissism department; has acquired unspecified baggage thanks to being named after a season; is alluringly “free-spirited” only as far as she doesn’t want to be your girlfriend; is, for fuck’s sake, Zooey Deschanel.

11. Your MPDG acknowledges her “quirkiness” how?

A. Actually saying: “I don’t know, I’m weird, man.”

B. Chronic indifference toward you, your feelings.

Garden State Natalie Portman screaming into abyss

Ah, the ol' symbolism echo chamber.

12. Musical montages begin whenever you…

A. Go anywhere in a vehicle; gaze significantly at her eyes; realize that if Cameron Crowe were making this movie, he’d probably put a cool song right about here.

B. Finally have sex with your MPDG, and the experience somehow comes within a thousand miles of your demented expectations.

13. The most ridiculous thing your character says is…

A. So much to contend with here, but let’s go with: “Maybe that’s all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place.” (Huh?)

B. “You’re not the only person with a say in this, and I say we’re a couple!” (Also, your skin would make a great lampshade.)


If you selected (A/B), your character is…

A. Zach Braff in “Garden State” as Andrew Largeman, who, if the legit acting career doesn’t go anywhere, could at least do porn without having to change his name.

zach braff garden state in waiting roomB. Joseph Gordon-Levitt in “(500) Days of Summer” as Tom Hansen, who embodies a male archetype no less repugnant than the MPDG, which we’ll call the Docile Oblivious Underdog Crybaby Hipster Everyman (hereafter, DOUCHE).

500 Days of Summer Joseph Gordon Levitt chalkboard

Your MPDG is…

A. Sam.

Natalie portman being zany in Garden State

B. Well, she was Summer.

Zooey deschanel on bus 500 days of summer

You are/were better off [blank] her.

A. Without

B. Without

Your movie sets gender relations back how many decades?

A. One at the most. Is it sexist to suggest a movie isn’t intelligent enough to be sexist?

B. Two or three, and confusingly so. Clearly the audience is intended to dislike your MPDG, who is cruel, leads you on, toys with your heart, etc., while unfairly deprived of any interior life or normalizing factors to mitigate her behavior. The less persuasive opposing argument is that your movie is unconventionally anti-sexist because it presents a strong, if opaque, female character who conducts the relationship on her terms and simultaneously illustrates the real-life pitfalls of being a DOUCHE who falls for the MPDG type. Yet considering the film’s back-story (see question No. 3), it’s safe to say any meaningful commentary is achieved unintentionally.

All of which makes your “happy ending” truly very sad because…

A. Deciding you’re in love with a woman you met four days ago basically amounts to extending your cupped hands and asking for crazy-sauce to be heaped forth; the life you’re leaving behind is so unsatisfying that starting from scratch with a basket-case borderline personality in a miserable town actually seems like an appealing alternative.

B. It’s “Eternal Sunshine” minus self-awareness; you’ve learned nothing; finding a new woman named, of all idiotic things, Autumn, and rewinding the clock is, rather than the joyful new beginning as which it’s presented, simply the kickoff of another dead-end relationship you are clueless to recognize.

500 Days of Summer Karaoke Zooey Deschanel

Well, at least she doesn't sing in th-....ah, hell.

A better way of handling the whole situation would have been…

A. Getting on the plane, having a few nice memories to masturbate to.

B. Realizing she’s just not that into you, moving on with your life.

You deserve…

A. Exactly what you’re about to get: approximately 10 minutes of giddy euphoria before the stench of reality wafts in; an obligatory relationship with a woman whose nutty charisma won’t take long to wear thin; a life of rapidly diminishing returns in goddamn New Jersey.

B. An equally miserable 500 days of Autumn; a dick-punching of unimaginable severity.

Congratulations, you…

A. Asshole.

B. Asshole.

500 days of summer zooey

What a pair of assholes. Amirite?

Rental Rehab guest review by Troy


Filed under Bad Romantic Comedy, Bitching and whining, Crazy Person, Do's and Don'ts, Hates You

Get Ho-Ho-Hosed By Jingle All the Way

Jingle All the Way Movie Poster

It is obviously that I am exasperated. Look at my hands. It is not a tumor.The goggles do nothing!

Jingle All the Way (1996) may very well have wished to have been a charming family-friendly Christmas movie with a light-hearted battle of good and evil and a race against time at its delicious candy coated center. Instead, it’s littered with detestable characters–particularly the protagonist–who repel the audience with their callow, self-serving and childish behavior, a fact that is not magically wiped away by a cheap 11th hour personality shift presumably meant to inject a timeless message of the redemptive powers of family and the True Meaning of the holidays.

I don’t say this often, but Bill Maher is absolutely right and perhaps even understating things with his Christmas 2010 video message admonishing Americans for our wanton greed and worship of cheap, consumerist shit. In fact, he hit the nail square on its Made In China plastic head. So in that way, one could argue that Jingle All the Way is actually an important cultural artifact; a mid-’90s bellwether of just how much worse things could get. A warning of the snowballing consumerism that explodes during the holidays with Americans’ increasing willingness to lose their humanity in the battle for acquiring more objects. And not  objects that are necessary for human survival—food, shelter, beer—but rather, literal plastic pieces of disposable and meaningless crap that they are more than willing to beat the shit out of another human being in order to buy.

Phil Hartman Jingle all the way

It's OK, Phil. We forgive you.

Actually…There is obviously nothing to learn from Jingle All the Way except A) poor Phil Hartman’s talents were useless in the face of such cinematic evil and B) director Brian Levant (Beethoven, Are We There Yet?, Snow Dogs) hates children. As such, we’ll do what we do with every silly little movie that comes across our plates; drink an unreasonable amount of cheap red wine, make some snarky comments and top it off with a holiday appropriate drinking game!

The plot in sum: Howard (Arnold Schwarzenegger) is a career obsessed steroid abuser who can’t keep his promises to his personality-free wife Liz (Mrs. Tom Hanks) or young Skywalker son Jamie (a delightful melon headed Jake Lloyd, who is NOT at all bitter about his childhood spent acting in shitty roles in shitty movies.).

Always putting the client before his family, Howard neglects the true No. 1 customer and misses his child’s karate match in a scene that is heart breakingly familiar to any of us who had parents that were so obsessed with making sure that we had a comfortable roof over our head, food on the table and the chance to one day attend college that they occasionally missed a minor footnote in our whiny pre-adolescent lives. And what is this high-powered career to which Howard is a slave, you ask? Hollywood agent? Publisher of a New York magazine? Secret agent for the government? Nay. Howard is a mattress salesmen.

Anakin Jake Lloyd

Let's see if I can get Jake Lloyd to make a spiteful comment about how "mature" I am for always bringing up the Anakin thing.

Howard tries to make up for this parenting slight and various other shortcomings (such as, being a complete and utter tool) by scoring THE toy of the season for Jamie; a Turbo Man action figure. Because Howard is so obsessed with his exciting work in the bedding industry that he can’t focus on the needs of anyone else, he forgets until the last minute that he must get this object in order to prove his love to his son and to a lesser extent, his wife. That the toy was likely manufactured in China by children his son’s own age is only the least of the issues with this film, so let’s just keep forging ahead, shall we?

The story then freestyles into a jilted re-telling of Howard’s search for the holy grail. The editing choices and sequencing are so abrupt and jarring as to almost seem avant garde until you remember “Ha, ha, ha….no. It’s just SHITTY.” Howard is pitted against Myron (played by venerable 90s comedian Sinbad, who YELLS EVERY LINE cause it’s funnier that way), another dead-beat dad who waited ’til the last minute to get his son’s Christmas gift. This little plot device seems unlikely, given how he blames his dad’s failure to get him a specific toy for his 8th Christmas (or something) as the reason for his shortcomings as a human being. That Myron is an unstable United States Postal employee is like a delicious layer of frosting on the shortbread cookie of crap. These two engage in a rock ’em, sock ’em battle to the end, searching high and low for that impossible-to-find Turbo Man, and wouldn’t you know it? What they really find is some important life lessons along the way. (Not at all.)

So there’s that. Now – mix up a Christmas cocktail, pour some eggnog and crack open a bottle of Five O’Clock gin, cause nothing’s ruining your Christmas faster than the Jingle All the Way holiday drinking game!

booze for drinking games

Ready? Good.

– Take a swig of whiskey every time Ahnold sounds like he’s aping McBain.

– Take another pull whenever “Jingle All the Way”, the tune, is subtlety woven into the picture. Thematic elements, people!

– Eat 3 pieces of spiked watermelon and toss another piece of Star Wars memorabilia atop the Yule log every time “Jamie” reads his lines in a way that makes the inside of your ears clench up.

– Drink half a bottle of cheap whiskey and consider turning the second half into a Molotov cocktail everytime there is a joke about someone “going postal.”

Jingle All the Way Sinbad and Arnold meet


– Zlam one Zima for every zany ’90z joke.

– Wrinkle your nose in disgust and alarm and wash it away with a red or green Jell-O shot whenever a comedic actor that you otherwise enjoy appears doing something embarrassing. Such as appearing in this %^#@-ing abomination.

– Slowly sip on a glass of mulled wine whenever Howard does something reprehensible like shove an old lady, assault a child, assault an animal, assault a little person or commit larceny and various acts of vandalism. Emphasis on slowly. We want you around to celebrate New Year’s!

– Drink an entire case of delicious Four Loko whenever a character has a meaningful interaction with another human being or does something remotely humorous, sincere or kind. What? You’re scared this would kill you? Trust us; this won’t ever be a factor in the game.

– Shotgun an entire…wait a minute. Was that a $%&@-ing Rodney King joke?

– Finish your whiskey and write a check payable to your local foodbank or shelter for abused women and children when Sinbad completes his speech about how a child failing to get 1 toy at 1 Christmas will necessitate a lifetime of therapy and regret.

– 1 Irish car bomb for every mail bomb joke. Yes, you will need more than 1.

– One disappearing glass of Continuity Error wine every time the scene cuts from a close-up of the city to an overhead shot of the city. Snow! No snow! Snow! No snow! Winter in Minnesota! Summer in Minnesota! Magic!

– One bitter cup of Irish coffee every time Howard nearly lets his child die a horrific death in his quest to get said child a toy.

– Finish all alcohol and reconfirm to yourself by checking Wikipedia for the 4th time tonight that, yes, THIS man has indeed served as governor of one of the most powerful states in the union. Merry Christmas!

Tim Allen in Christmas with the kranks

Sorry. This is a still from that OTHER hateful Christmas movie.

–Rental Rehab review by Tricia


Filed under Audience Participation, Bad Movies, Contains Arnold Schwarzenegger, Crazy Person, Creepy Double Entendres in Supposed Family Film, Hateful Holiday Message, Hates You

Hello, my name is Lindsay and I am a serious actress

I Know Who Killed Me (2007)

Welcome to my home page. This page was made so that my legions of fans can keep updated on my many acting gigs so that they won’t miss one minute of my thespian talents.  But not this very moment because I am in rehab for the 5th time.

About Me:

My Nickname:
The Next Judi Dench

My Starsign:
Gemini: Mistress of multiple personalities (2).


Lindsay Lohan No Panties Car

My Hobbies:
Powdering my nose. Get it? But no, really, I like to go dancing in Los Angeles sans panties like all the other classy actresses.  That’s what guys like, right?  Because I date women, so I wouldn’t know.  I mean, yeah, I posed nude in Playboy and that wet-nude thing that Maxim does and starred in that abortion “I Know Who Killed Me” (that WON 8 Razzie awards BTW) which only netted an audience of dudes that wanted to watch me strip.  LOL. But the trick was on them because I didn’t’ actually get naked and only danced a slow-motion striptease because I couldn’t handle dancing to Whitesnake at 33 rpm.

Lindsay Lohan Samantha Ronson Airport Cute

If I had another chance at life I would still do all those things and instead of snorting all my money up my nose I would use it to buy Samantha Ronson a truckload of fedora hats and leather jackets so she would love me forever.

My Favorite color:
I like a natural red.

Character Type:

Lindsay Lohan Marilyn Monroe Yellow Flowers

Lindsay Lohan Marilyn Monroe Yellow Flowers

See! The similarities are endless! 

While most directors describe me as  ‘dumb, hot, and willing to do anything,’ I see myself more as a an elusive Marilyn Monroe type. She was a tortured soul, a beautiful girl from the country who made it big in Hollywood and had a whirlwind career and life.  Just like how I was groomed from a young age to whore myself out for money and have spent the majority of my late teens and early twenties sitting in therapy circles.  Also, I dressed as her in a photo shoot so that proves our similarity.  I talk about dying young like her too, but most everybody thinks that if I haven’t even achieved that yet, then I never will.  They’re probably right. 

Lindsay Lohan Knife Drunk Photo

Here is a pic of me acting classy, just like Marilyn.  I’m using the knife as a phallic substitute.  That’s a special sexy trick that one can only master after drinking 6 Red Bull and Vodkas and spilling most of your blow down your shirt.  This was  a great night, I met a lot of new friends and made lots of promises to show up to 5 am call times for film shoots because that is how real actresses make a living.

Kim Kardashian Lindsay Lohan Fashion
This is me and a fellow thespian, Kim, she is great at portraying characters who stare vacuously at their phone and talk about eating all the time.

Lindsay Lohan Anorexic Skinny Photo

I thought about eating once but then I changed my mind. That’s Kim’s department. Besides, eating takes time away from acting exercises like curling my hair just-so and getting arrested. 

 In that photo of Kim and me we had just finished attending a really elite Actor’s party, maybe the SAG or something.  I don’t really remember, I only got a good look at the bathrooms.  They were nice.  I’ve seen better. 

Lindsay Lohan Falling Drunk Photo

 This is my favorite photo of myself acting. I like to pretend to drink excessively and then fall in the dirt off of my towering heels.  I think it shows me being both approachable and fashionable.  If I wasn’t such a great actress, one might think I am a no-talent twat who masquerades as an actress and who is prime fodder for the next  “Housewives of Encino Valley”.  But that would never happen because I am a serious actress.

Written by Kelli

Leave a comment

Filed under "Thriller", Bad Erotic Thriller, Crazy Person, Washed-up actors