An Open Letter to the Wayans'

Dear Mr. Shawn Wayans and Mr. Marlon Wayans,

I recently had the grave misfortune of viewing your most recent disaster of a film, Little Man, and a more insipid piece of tripe I can not imagine exists. If one were to combine Shasta McNasty, The George Lopez Show, and The Love Boat; roll them together with an Ashlee Simpson CD and an Evenesence concert; and then sprinkle a Thomas Kincaid painting onto this vile concoction you would still not equal the low grade humor and utterly disgusting dialogue you attempt to pass off as entertainment.

The two of you may be wondering to yourselves why I wasn't tipped off that I would dislike the film so much by its' television ads . Well sirs, I do not own a television. Television only contains juvenile content, similar to your film, which does nothing but numb the mind to the true knowledge that should be sought in life. Sought via scholarly pursuits; not sitting on a stained paisley couch watching Jim Belushi blather on about his bald head, fat gut and some "hot chick." Due to my idiot box-less residence I was unaware of the pure essence of stupidity and low culture that emanated from your film.

This is why when I saw "Little Man" on the cinema marquee I naturally assumed it was short hand for the 1934 Frank Borzage classic, Little Man, What Now? This is not the delightful and thought provoking piece of art I was treated to. Instead, my senses were attacked for 90 straight minutes by lines, you purported to be jokes, about boobies, poo-poo and pee-pee, and other references that even my seven year-old nephew would scoff at.

Upon the conclusion of your less than riveting film, I found the manager of this cinema. I scolded him for showing such a horrid piece of guttural and for leaving his marquee in such disarray as to cause the confusion that led to my viewing of your film in the first place. In an act of apology he refunded my money and gave me a free pass to an upcoming film. He described it as a film about the state of the airline industry, the lack of safety while on an aeroplane, and the very real possibility of a biological attack while on one. It sounds like a most intriguing documentary.

My suggestion to you: either change your filmmaking ways or leave Hollywood all together and find a new occupation. Garbage men would seem to suit both of you quite well. Society does not need your type of "art," this country has been infiltrated enough by the low-brow and crass culture that envelopes the south, we do not need you two making things worse.

Hoping to never see you again,
Douglas Sinclair

Shadow Kisses

This overly emotional video gushes with cheese. It contains little artistic value, only serves as a pompous reminder that the creator is "in love" and could only be made worse had it been overlayed with Endless Love by Lionel Richie. However, I should mention that the two shadows are Betsy and her beau, the leaver of raunchy and widely distributed voicemails, Pat O'Brien (seen below proudly sporting a hip-hopesque powder blue fedora). Which for some reason makes it delightfully entertaining and provides quite the cathartic laugh.

Caution: Retard in Area

It appears that Utah not only has the largest concentration of Mormons in the US, but has a rapidly growing white trash
population as well.

The sign (pictured above), according to the story, was erected in retaliation to an irritating handicapped neighbor child. Not multiple children, but one. Leaving onlookers to wonder who the second and third "retards" in the area are. Could it be the creator of said cardboard sign and his lady friend?

In other news: Today has turned out to be another 90+ degree day, 95 at the moment to be exact. The average high is 83 degrees.

St. Pauls Poet Laureate

This week St. Paul officially named its first ever poet laureate, Carol Connolly. I would expect no less from such a second-rate, stench emitting town that is eternally stuck with its pathetic inferiority complex. It's hard to stand out when you are in the shadow of the burgeoning metropolis known as Minneapolis. That being said it should have not surprised me when the powers that be in St. Paul scoffed at my work and instead chose this housewife.

Here is one of her "better" works, an untitled piece of drivel about such petty and meaningless things as country clubs and luxurious swimming pools. It is followed by one of mine; an artistically charged piece about the hypocrisy of our idiocratic society laws and ways. You'll see how little taste St. Paul has.


Untitled Drivel by Carol Connolly
I am trapped here in a second rate body,
I, me with a proper address,
acceptable bloodlines and the appearance of a decent bank balance,
trapped here at the pool during the thigh show.
Sins of the flesh are punished here,
exposed, a stretched belly negates a person at this spa.
Here the only interest is in bones, in sinu, in teeth and tan.
No flesh need apply.
attention over here
I would like to say that I am terribly sorry if I have visually assaulted you.
I want to explain, I followed the rules,
it was seven pregnancies for me and twins and nine pound babes
and do you know that if want to have your cake
you must eat it.


Spaniard Go Home by Douglas Sinclair
Tomato rotting in the winters solar rays,
this weather is not for thy.
Such temperate apocalypse
fleshes the inane

EXPLOSION!

Paco cleanses the space,
dirty the domicile,
then wait.

The long journey;
land of columbus
to the diplomats.
You are here?
Now be gone.

I am of myself,
putrid tomato is no more.

Great NEW Exercise!

People seem to never learn that if you want to be thin, tone and healthy you need to actually workout and eat healthy. There is no magic diet or pill that will instantly make you thin; unlike your McDonalds burgers that are not only made instantly, but make you obese just as fast.

I guess I'm the sucker for treating my body as a temple over my entire lifespan thus far, by eating only all-natural foods and bi-cycling daily, when I could have been stuffing my proverbial face with Whoppers and chicken fingers, and guzzling gallon after gallon of soda pop to quench my pallet. Because now comes along the lazy mans cure-all; The Power Plate.

This innovative machine (not pictured above left) will do all the work for you. Not only that but it only involves two simple steps:

1. Step onto designated standing area.
2. Stand on designated standing area.

The Power Plate then vibrates the ground you are standing on and the workout commences. It should be noted that if standing is too strenuous it is probable that sitting on a chair in the standing area could be substituted for actual standing, with little effect to your "workout."

Apparently, I'm not the only one who is quite amazed by the magic this machine performs,

"The Power Plate is said to be responsible for the incredible shapes of not only Madonna, but also star such as Claudia Schiffer and Natalie Imbruglia."

So to the loutish society, continue to eat your deep fried pork rinds and Corn Nuts, because at the end of the day you will be able to vibrate your fat away; the celebrities said so.

Idiot Nation

America is the worst. If it isn't some wrist watch toting, baseball cap wearing factory worker dumbing down society than it's a Washington bureaucrat telling me when to think, what to think and how to think it. This country is home to the dense and the lethargic, and I am drained from having to deal with it.

I am bombarded daily by the moronic imagery of American "popular" culture; whether it is Donald Trumps face glaring at me from the side of a bus informing me that I have been "fired" or some hooligan wearing a t-shirt emblazened with a "witty" catch phrase from his favorite television sitcom. And with an intellect like mine it can be quite stressful to have the senses intruded on by these calling cards of idiocy.

I yearn for the days of cobblestone, when a charming hansom cab could be seen moving slowly through the night with a lovestruck couple aboard, and an elegant trolley car would be heard clanging it's delightful bell as it shuttles about the town. This is when society peaked. The population was filled with an intelligencia not seen today; they appreciated actual talent, like Al Jolson, and were not mystified by the parlor tricks of a David Blaine; music enjoyed by the majority was actual music, consisting of notes, tempo and vibrato, not the guttural popularized today by The Yin-Yang Twins, Panic! At the Disco and countless others.

It saddens me to know that I am stuck living amidst a generation of slack-jawed gawkers who want nothing more out of life than diet cola, a hamburger made at the speed of light and mindless drivel propagated as infotainment.

Complaints

Lately I have recieved complaints that my posts are too long, too complicated, and require too much brain power to fully comprehend. I don't mean to offend, but if your attention span is so miniscule that 2 minutes of reading is too burdensome for many of you "blogosphere" people, than I suggest you turn your attentional resources to something more simple.

Television watching is known as an activity for the lazy. Whereas reading is an active endeavor which engages the mind, sitting on a couch and taking in whatever the "boob" tube tells you to think is a rather mindless activity that requires little thought or effort. This is why you so often find the elderly, senile and mentally handicapped captivated by the glow of electronic diodes.

You see, I do not own a television nor do I eat at fast food "restaurants," so I have not been brainwashed into becoming another go-go immediate-gratification automaton. Because of this I have been able to maintain an attention span that enables me to read a piece of literature, longer than two paragraphs, without becoming so bored that I then incoherently scribble a complaint to the author demanding he shorten his writings.

The solution is not for me to change, but for you look deep within yourself and find out why you are incapable of staying attentive for longer than five minutes. It is probably because you are an ignoramus, in which case your opinion matters little to me. If you are not, but still found reason to complain, than I suggest you reevaluate your position. You are probably missing the point to my writings; there are reasons for their length, complexity and overall unique nature. It is within these deeper meanings that true joy can be obtained from my work. What I am publishing is perfect, so logic tells us that it must be you that is the defective and must change.

The Real Threat to Society

Why is everyone so concerned with this man, Mr. Kim? Every newspaper I opened today showed his face, every conversation I eavesdropped on spoke of him. Here is a brief sample of one of the intelligent conversations I overheard:

"What does he think he is doing," a man with a neon green tanktop slung over his shoulder said. His baseball cap wearing friend finished his bite of corndog and insightfully replied, "Look at his stupid glasses, he probably doesn't even know what he is doing."

What an intelligent comment, if I were to take this same logical approach to the situation I would guess that the corndog eating man was a gluttonous moron. Because anyone who would consume such unnatural fats, oils, and pork byproducts has to not only be a moron, I only eat all-natural non-biogenetically engineered foods, and he must always eat such foods. Not only that, but to also lack the motor skills to control a fork, so all food must be obtained by way of a stick, like cavemen, is a sure sign of idiocy. Therefore this man, which I know as much about as he of Mr. Kim, must be a moronic glutton.

Mr. Kim runs a country, likes trendy glasses, and has an affinity for missile testing. So what? Leave him be. If for no other reason than there are much greater concerns to be bothered with; Global warming.

As I write this in the year 2006, the global temperature has increased .7* F from the mean. However, with increasing greenhouse gases, all scientists expect this rate of deviation from the temperature mean to grow exponentially. So much so, that by the yeat 2106 the rate will have increased to 2.2* F above the mean. Which means that on July 7th, 2106; rather than enjoying a leisurely bi-cycle ride through the wonderous leafage that trees provide at the comfortable temperature of 83*, we will be scavengering for food and water in order to survive until tomorrow at a sweltering 85*. What will happen to the trees? They surely will not survive in a climate like this, a climate which will make the earth so harsh and scorched that only tar and cement parking lots will be capable survival and to see a tree you will have to visit a tree museum.

You may be thinking to yourself, I'm a greedy businessman. All I care about is whether I have money in the bank. The environment is for losers. Well sir, if you ever took the time to study these things you would know that it is not only the environment that will be effected by global warming, Everyones health will be in great jeopardy as well. Studies have shown that the warmer the climate the more infectious diseases become and the more dangerous they become. This means that every disease from AIDS and cancer to MS and the common cold will become alarmingly infectious and deadly enough to kills millions a day. So, you'll be the only loser when your money is useless because you're dead from global warming induced Lupus.

Do you people finally see why what this man, a half a world a way, does is so insignificant? For it matters not what actions he takes or what actions the asinine USA takes, because if people do not start listening to me and realizing the type of catastrophe we face, in only a few short centuries, then all is lost anyway.

The future is bleak and shows little hope, unless society as a whole can increase their collective IQ and come to terms with this gigantic inconvenient truth.

Let Me Be!

It seems that around every holiday weekend every blue collar worker and his crooked toothed family rediscover that there is more to life than sitting lethargically in the "living room" on a Wal-Mart sofa. They, for whatever reason, decide to shun their video-gaming machines, soap operas and Jeff Foxworthy CD's; and instead of these menial activities, they flock to my most sacred and private places; local parks, secluded city ponds, and the usually urbane bookstores and cafes of my niche. This assault causes each locale to gasp in a futile battle to maintain the essence that so connected me with it, but eventually becomes filled with an energy so pedestrian that to experience it for even a minute causes me to become ill.

These are the places I go to compose myself after a gruelling day of sitting at my typewriter so distraught that I managed to weave together only one sentence, but at the same time pleased because it was the most beautiful sentence ever committed to paper. However, if I do not get this personal time of solitude to reflect upon my accomplishments, the misdeeds of others, and the incongruence of a fawn slurping fresh dew from a newly fallen leaf, I can be quite the unpleasant person. So, one can see how crucial it is for me to have the local park bench free of suburban dunderheads and their sleeveless t-shirts. Usually I just let them and their inconsequential lives be as they are; I can normally find refuge at an alternate site, but today I would not be so accommodating!

I had quite the successful day, two of my poems had been so emotionally charged that I wept whilst writing them, and I composed a formal correspondence informing the city about global warming and the risk they are running by not recognizing its importance to modern society. Unfortunately, the days course of events took a most unappealing turn once I left my residence. First, en route to the post office, a gentleman exuding the foulest of odors bumped into me, causing my wool vest to obtain the same disgusting smell.

If this pungency was not enough to send my wondrous day into a whirlwind of havoc, I then heard the most abhorrent of sounds emanating from the motor vehicle of a passerby. Ms. New Booty by Bubba Sparxx is what the radio dj called it, gutter sweepings would be a more appropriate title. I immediately fled this environment for one where I could calm myself and reflect on the ups and downs that this day brought to me. I chose to seek privacy at the local park at about 5 pm.

I found my way to the most comforting of benches and rested my woe-filled soul. Soon thereafter I was affronted by two bulky simpletons, which I would have been fine with had I been given enough time to reset my spirit, but I had not, and even if that had been the case I would not have been ready for what was about to happen.

"Happy Independence Day! Why you so sad?" I could smell the lager on the breath of the man nearest me as he queried my situation. I was not amused by American flag bandanna nor his sparkler, which emitted embers that often came near to setting my jacket ablaze.

"I am not sad, I am just in deep thought and would appreciate it if you let me be." This seemed to be a less than satisfactory response to both the first man and his friend, whom chose to respond almost immediately,

"Ahh, he just needs some popcorn," and I smelled an even more vile alcohol come from this man, possibly tequila. He continued,

"Here, have some of me's and he's popcorn!" They then both began to push their trans fat filled and sodium laden bags of puffed corn at me. I attempted to be cordial by just waving away their cheap snacks from my face, but they refused to halt.

"Come on buddy, have some. It's like ways better than Ervin Redbacher." At which point I could take no more of their incessant badgering, and, as I felt the tears well up in my eyes, I EXPLODED!

"Get that popcorn out of my face! I choose to have none and you need to respect that decision of mine, as guaranteed by the constitution. You two have ruined my solitary time and I would appreciate it if you let me be." I could see I was making them realize the idiocy of their actions, "I am going to be leaving this bench and you needn't follow me with your lowly bag of aerated morsels because I will have none of it."

I then walked off knowing I had taught these ill-mannered Joe Lunchpails a thing or two about respecting modern day sages.