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An E-Mail To My Stepsister, Olivia, Regarding The 2006 Remake Of King Kong

 

Olivia,

 

I’m going to make a fruitless attempt to try to put into words how horrible of a film King Kong was, but before I do, I want to write about something that happened before the movie started. A fat guy sat near the front, and when he took off his jacket, it was revealed to everyone that he had a shirt on that was much too small for him. A large section of his stomach was sticking out from underneath the shirt. I’m not joking when I say that everyone in the theater, regardless of whether they were a child or an adult, started to laugh. That is, everyone except for me. I didn’t laugh because I’m not a fucking third grader. A few minutes later, he took off his sweater. The t-shirt that he had on underneath the sweater began to rise up, revealing even more fat. Once again, this sent everyone in the theater into a fit of laughter. It’s incidents like these that remind me of why I have such an intense hatred for human beings, but maybe it shouldn’t come as such a surprise. After all, I went to the movies Sunday night as well, and in two of the coming attractions for comedies that I can already tell are going to be anything but funny (“Big Mamma’s House 2” and “Dating Movie”), the main jokes that “sell” the films revolve around making fun of fat people. I’m sure though that the retards that I had to watch King Kong with will love those movies. Anyway, after King Kong had already started, the fat guy decided to move to the back row. I don’t know why he moved. Maybe it was because he felt that he was sitting too close to the screen, or maybe it was because he didn’t want to have a bunch of imbeciles laughing at him. Regardless, I don’t like it when people get up and walk around while I’m trying to watch a movie. Then, in one of the first scenes of the film, Jack Black’s character yelled at a bunch of movie producers. I guess the fat guy thought that he was in the movie, because he screamed, “TELL ‘EM OFF!”

Try to put yourself in my shoes. I have an intense hatred for people because they’re cruel douchebags. I go to a movie theater where I’m reminded that they’re cruel douchebags, but then I realize that the person who they’re being cruel to is also a douchebag! Do you know how frustrating that is? By the way, not only do I hate it when people shout during a movie, but I also hate it when they talk, which is why I found it disconcerting that, at one point, I could hear four separate conversations taking place all at once. Understand that this wasn’t because they were bored. The movie (just like the people who were watching it) was retarded, so I’m sure that they all felt well entertained. They were talking because they’re inconsiderate fucks with no etiquette. Another example of this is when I saw Syriana. Syriana is extremely cerebral, so I knew that it wasn’t going to go over very well with the American public. Now to be perfectly honest with you, even I didn’t understand Syriana, which surprised me considering that I follow history and politics very closely. But since I’m not in the third grade, I at least had enough of an attention span to sit quietly for two hours and try to make sense of it. A lot of people didn’t do that. A lot of people kept getting up to go make calls on their cell phones. One asshole in particular decided to make a phone call, then came back to the theater a couple of minutes later to pass the phone off to his girlfriend, who also left the theater to go talk on the phone. Before I continue, I’ll mention the obvious fact that whenever I go to a movie, play, or concert, no matter how many times it’s announced before the event that everyone has to turn off their cell phones, some fucking asshole will leave theirs on. Now if I’m “lucky,” I’ll just hear it ring, and the asshole will turn it off. Very often though, they’ll start having a conversation. Or, in the case of when I saw Syriana, they’ll just get up several times during the movie, starting a conversation before they get out of the theater. Hey, they wouldn’t want to keep the dick whose on the line waiting too long, would they? After all, it’s of the utmost importance that they immediately discuss last night’s episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm. The asshole I’m referring to in particular (the one with the girlfriend) ended up making two more phone calls, at one point shouting/whispering on his way out, “Yeah. I’m watching a movie.” No! You’re not watching a movie! Half of this movie has Arabic subtitles that you’re not reading because you’re standing outside of the theater, talking on your cell phone! And I’m glad that you’re talking on your cell phone because it increases the chances that you’ll die of brain cancer! And don’t tell me that some people were getting up because they had to go to the bathroom. Make no mistake about it: if they were watching Lilo & Stitch, these fucking idiots would’ve been glued to their seats.

However, there’s an important difference between the audience who saw Syriana and the audience who saw King Kong, that difference being that the Syriana audience didn’t feel the need to make fun of a fat man. The line that has always been used in the argument for placing limits on free speech is “You can’t yell fire in a crowded movie theater.” That’s ironic considering that, when I saw King Kong, I wanted to set everyone in the audience on fire. Truth be told, part of me felt a moral obligation to kill not just everyone in the theater, but their families as well. I’m serious. You see, if a grown adult is going to make fun of another grown adult just because they’re fat, it’s a strong sign of a much bigger problem than a mere insult. It’s a sign that they weren’t raised properly. Every day, really fucked up people decide that it would be a smart idea to have children. So then society has fucked up people that raise their kids to be fucked up, who will then go on to bring more people into the world who will also be raised to be fucked up. It’s a never-ending cycle of misery, and it’s what makes this world a shitty place to live in.

Some people think that my knee-jerk reaction to wishing death upon large groups of people qualifies me as being “crazy,” but that’s because they don’t understand the concept of Broken Windows. Broken Windows was a program that was created by a retired cop named Jack Maple, and it was first employed here in New York City during the Giuliani era. The theory of Broken Windows is that if a window in a house is broken, and if the homeowner doesn’t bother to fix it, a general sense of neglect will spread to the street in front of the house, then to the entire neighborhood, and then to the entire city. But if the window is fixed–if the smaller problems are taken care of–then the bigger problems will disappear as well. The crime rate in New York City during the 1980’s and early 1990’s was through the roof. But then cops started to crack down on smaller “quality of life” crimes, like turnstile jumping. Sure enough, about 80% of the people who were arrested for jumping turnstiles usually had some sort of drugs or weapons on them. So instead of being given a ticket, they were sent to jail, and the crime rate dropped tremendously. Some people have difficulty in seeing that connection, the assumption being that someone who gets arrested for being in possession of a firearm is far worse of a human being than someone who jumps a turnstile. They’re wrong. Anyone who jumps a turnstile is a fucking scumbag who deserves to lose both of their legs to diabetes. There have been many times in my life where I’ve been so strapped for cash that I would’ve been tempted to jump a turnstile if I was the kind of person who could do such a thing in the first place, which I’m not. If Broken Windows teaches us anything, it’s that there are pretty much two kinds of people: those who committ crimes and those who don’t. I would never jump a turnstile because I wasn’t raised that way, just like how I wasn’t raised to make fun of fat people.

Now imagine for a moment that I actually fulfilled my fantasy of murdering everyone who insulted the fat guy, and all of their family members as well. Now imagine that the cops have arrested me, and then they ask me why I did it. I respond, “Because they were laughing at a fat guy just for being fat.” Before, you would’ve thought that I was crazy. After all, I don’t even know this man. Plus, it’s not as if they tried to crucify him; they simply laughed at him. But now that you understand the concept of Broken Windows–now that you understand how small problems are a sign of problems that are much, much bigger–I don’t seem nearly as crazy, do I? Let me put it this way. I had no thoughts of killing anyone in the audience when I went to go see Syriana. Yes, they were annoying, but I didn’t get the impression that it was a problem that was passed down among generations. Yes, I wished that that one guy would die of brain cancer, but I did not inject a cancer-filled syringe into the back of his neck, and that makes all the difference in the world. If everyone in the King Kong audience who made fun of the fat guy was eight years old, it would be different. It would be different because there would still be hope that these children would “grow up.” However, nearly everyone in the audience was already grown up, at least in the physical sense. They either had children or will be having children in the near future, and it was time to nip this problem in the bud. What do you do when you see a poisonous spider in your house? You kill it without hesitation. You kill it because you know that all it has to do is fuck one other spider, and then you’re going to have a million more of them. It’s the same thing with the people in the movie theater. I mentioned earlier that I would never make fun of a fat man for the same reason that I would never jump a turnstile: because I wasn’t raised that way. So if I end up killing the King Kong audience and their families, not only would that fat guy have been happy, but I would’ve decreased the number of people who jump turnstiles. This would’ve resulted in the MTA making more money, which would lower the chances that those fucking losers will go on strike again. That means that I would end up saving the city $400 million a day during the next transit strike. Part of that money could end up going to a community based after-school program for under-privileged children in the South Bronx. That program will produce a student who will grow up to become a doctor, and he will discover the cure for AIDS. So basically, if I had ended up killing those motherfuckers at the movie theater, I would’ve saved 100 million Africans. Broken Windows.

By no means though, am I a humanitarian. I would have to like people in order for me to want to help them. Clearly, I don’t.  If I wanted to, I could say that since I entertain people, I’m helping them, but I won’t say that. I won’t say that because I’m not the typical, pretentious artist who thinks that they’re saving the world. If I am saving the world, I don’t care. I’m not going into show business so that I can inspire people. I’m going into show business so that I can have a threesome with Natalie Portman and Shannyn Sossamon. I won’t be able to have that threesome if I’m in jail, and that’s the only thing that serves as a deterrent to me carrying out my homicidal impulses.

You probably haven’t been able to tell, but I’m a little bit frustrated. You see, I’m at that age where I no longer feel that it’s my obligation to go out drinking every Friday and Saturday night. I’ve seen it all and done it all (on both sides of the bar) and it doesn’t really interest me anymore. My idea of a good time is to eat a really good meal, go home, and do some writing. I crave solitude. But every once in a while, I like to go to the movies, and that’s why it pisses me off that out of the last three movies that I’ve seen, TWO OF THE THEATERS WERE FILLED WITH A BUNCH OF FUCKING DOUCHEBAGS THAT WERE SO DISTRACTING THAT I COULDN’T EVEN CONCENTRATE ON THE FUCKING FILMS! CAN I EVER, EVER LEAVE MY HOUSE WITHOUT HAVING SOME FUCKING COCKSUCKER DO SOMETHING THAT WILL ANNOY THE SHIT OUT OF ME? SHOULD I HAVE TO BE FORCED TO WAIT UNTIL MOVIES COME OUT ON VIDEO? OR WILL I EVENTUALLY HAVE THE “PRIVILEGE” OF FINALLY BEING AROUND A GROUP OF ADULTS WHO KNOW HOW TO SIT DOWN AND SHUT THE FUCK UP???????

Okay. Now is where I make my fruitless attempt to put into words just how horrible of a film King Kong was. The reason why I’m addressing this e-mail to you in particular is because you know that my dad keeps telling everyone that King Kong was the best movie he’s ever seen. After I saw it last night, I called him up to tell him how much I hated it, and he told me that he was only joking about it being his favorite movie. In fact, he didn’t particularly like it. Olivia, try to understand something: there is nothing funny about how bad that film was. Every time that my father jokes about how it was the best movie he’s ever seen, I want you to go into the garage and break one of his golf clubs.

Actually, since this has already been such a positive e-mail, I’ll start with what was good about the movie. I liked the scene when the natives of Skull Island kidnapped Naomi Watts. I liked it because it reminded me of my drum circle in Central Park. In fact, if you were to ever see us play, you would know that we look and behave no differently than the natives in the film.

Here’s what was bad about the film. Jack Black played a character that reminded me exactly of my brother. Basically, he plays a selfish loser who breaks a bunch of laws and thinks that he knows everything . As a result of him being a selfish loser who thinks he knows everything, he puts everyone else at great risk and leaves a path of destruction everywhere he goes. Aside from that, every line that every character speaks is painfully corny and melodramatic. After about the first forty minutes, I started to think about walking out. By the time that I buy a movie ticket, popcorn, and soda, I spend almost $20, so a movie has to be really bad in order for me to walk out of it. I struggled through it for about another half an hour, until Naomi Watts did a cartwheel, which made King Kong jump a little bit. I didn’t really see the point of this, but I continued to watch as she did every sort of cartwheel, dance move, and gyration that the human body can possibly perform. This, like every other aspect of the film, went on for far, far too long, and after watching this for about another three minutes (which was probably the longest three minutes of my life) I decided that I had had enough, and I left.

Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I hated the movie just because of the idiots that I was surrounded by. In fact, let me put it in perspective as to how truly bad this movie was. If someone told me that I wouldn’t be allowed to have a threesome with Natalie Portman and Shannyn Sossamon unless I watched the remaining two hours of King Kong, I would choose not to have the thre…wait a minute…let me think about this for a minute…this is a tough one…Oh! I know! I would sit in the movie theater for the remaining two hours so that I could still have the threesome, but while I’m sitting there, I’ll “cheat” by listening to my MP3 player! Yeah. That’s what I would do!

Keith

cc: King Kong Bundy

December 30, 2006

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