The Lord of The Flung Dung

I admit it. I am a Lord of the Rings nerd. Dork. Dweeb. Whatever you want to call me. I’ve read the books multiple times, I attended the opening midnight showings of each of the three movies released earlier this millennium, and I refer to my penis as Treebeard. As much of a LOTR squid that makes me, I don’t consider myself one of those insane Tolkien gargantuageeks. I mean, it’s not like I garbed up Gandalf-like when I saw the movies or immortalized my devotion with a “Frodo Lives” tattoo on the small of my back (not a permanent one, anyway) or shun the movies because they betrayed the integrity of the books. I understand why Peter Jackson chose not to include Tom Bombadil or why he enhanced Arwen’s role in the story or why he ignored the scouring of the Shire. Screenwriters must make some concessions when adapting books to film. What works in the mind does not always behoove the visual experience. The modifications made for the movies were understandable.

WOULD IT HAVE KILLED HIM TO INCLUDE MORE OF THE DISCUSSIONS BETWEEN FRODO AND FARAMIR IN ITHILIEN!?!?!?! I mean, Jeez! OK, OK, I don’t mean to complain. I understand Faramir and Frodo’s verbal chess match does not necessarily translate very well to the big screen, even though it did illustrate Frodo’s emerging maturity and Faramir’s wisdom and ability to be much more of a hero and a leader than Boromir could ever be, no matter what that loony Denethor thought of him. Denethor. What a jerk that guy was. And there is no way he could have run, on fire, from the Minas Tirith tombs all the way through the Citadel and over the outer edge of the giant spur of rock. Sure, it was dramatic and served as a nice transition back to the battle in the movie, but the tombs were about a mile back toward the mountain. Who does he think he is, Joan of Arc? You can’t trick me.

But I did like some of the additions they incorporated, like Sam’s monologue of hope at the end of the The Two Towers. Oh, and near the end of the Return of the King, when all the people of Minas Tirith were gathered on the giant spur of rock for the coronation of Aragorn, and then Aragorn and his party approached the four hobbits and the four hobbits began to bow, but Aragorn stopped them and said, “My friends, you bow to no one” (for all their heroics in the battle against evil), and then everybody bowed to them instead. Every time I see that I feel like I’m swallowing a hockey puck, and, I’m not afraid to say it, tears of joy tumble down my cheeks.

Maybe I am one of those gargantuageeks, afterall (a closet one, anyway). But there was one thing they omitted from the movies that needed to be included. I don’t blame Jackson for it, since Tolkien, himself, chose not to include it in the story. I refer to, of course, the scenes featuring the Mumakil of Harad, aka the big, giant elephants. It’s been my experience, mostly in zoos and circuses (and sometimes at the grocery store) that whenever there are elephants, there is elephant shit, and usually a couple of guys with big shovels. Where was this significant aspect of elephant culture in the story of the one ring to rule them all? It seems too critical a dynamic to ignore.

Through some research I learned that Tolkien had initially used the presence of the Mumakil (Oliphaunt) dung as a crafty tool of warfare in the battle of the Pelennor Fields. In this version, Sauron had instructed cave trolls with big shovels to follow the Oliphaunts, scoop their droppings and deliver them to the catapults, where they would be launched over the stone walls of Minas Tirith. Some dung bombs would even be set afire. There is nothing more discouraging to an enemy than being hit by giant chunks of flaming shit. It’s the first thing they teach you at West Point. This element worked fabulously in the battle scene and added a fresh dimension of strategy to the struggle between evil and good. But, during a bender at one of the local pubs, Tolkien’s pious zealot of a friend, CS Lewis, talked him out of it, convincing him that if god wanted them to write about feces, he would have placed our anuses underneath our chins. Tolkien was so drunk at the time, he believed Lewis and deleted the crap the next day (after the prostitutes left).

Imagine how more riveting The Return of The King movie would have been had this element not been flushed away. The action in the events in the battle scenes would have been enhanced beyond comprehension. When Merry and Eowyn were riding the horse amongst the tree-trunk-like legs of the Oliphaunts, not only would they have had to dodge the Oliphaunt legs, and the trunks and the tusks and the arrows and the orcs, they would have had the added peril of being squashed by a suffocating load of steaming pachyderm pie. If that doesn’t get your palms sweating, I don’t know what would. Consider the tide turning scene where the big chief Nazgul had Gandalf cornered on an upper tier of Minas Tirith. The Nazgul had already destroyed Gandalf’s staff and was about to end Gandalf, too. But the Nazgul was called away by the tumult caused by the arrival of the Riders of Rohan and their crazy attack horn (like the Nazgul couldn’t take an extra couple of seconds to pound the cowering Gandalf before he flew off to tame the equestrians, with their goofy felt covered caps and shiny boots and intimidating dressage whips). Wouldn’t it have been more interesting if, at that pivotal moment, the Nazgul was hit accidentally by a friendly fired mound of flung poop? I think so. Not to mention the ominous foreshadowing it would have made regarding momentum of the battle. Later when Merry would stab that same Nazgul as he was about to sack Eowyn, a little comic relief could have been added if, instead, Merry pelted him with Oliphaunt dung balls. Right when the annoyed Nazgul would implore, “Would everybody stop heaving shit at me, PLEASE!”, Eowyn could have taken that opportunity to stab his face. The result would have been the same, but we all could have had a chuckle as we wept for the dying Theoden king. As is the case with incorporating bathroom humor into any epic, the possibilities for entertainment are endless. Tolkien should have stuck with his first instinct.

Survey the Stupidity

Why do people care about Ashlee Simpson?

I took a Surveys course in college. I figured learning how to conduct surveys would be a good way to stay in touch with the little people of the world throughout my life. You know, find out what’s rattling around in their simple little heads? Unfortunately, the instructor was a bit too fervent with glee about the topic, and the other students were right there with him. Think of Lane Meyer’s (John Cusack) math class in the farcical movie Better Off Dead (I’m real sorry your mom blew up, Ricky). Plus, it seemed like a lot of work. A lot of work was not of my ilk back then. I dropped the course after two class sessions. But I did learn a sufficient amount about surveys for my purposes.

I decided to conduct a survey about Ashlee Simpson. I’ve seen many “news” stories about her crossing the wire lately (Yahoo) (I should really rid myself of Yahoo) (I got nowhere else to go!) (OK, enough with the movie quotes) (Incidentally, I took the last quote from Wayne’s World 2, who took it from An Officer and a Gentleman). She’s getting married, she got married, she got knocked up, she’s adding more fiber to her diet, she bought a ping pong paddle, she rubs the ping pong paddle on her fetus-laden belly because the friction of the bumpy rubber of the paddle on her skin is supposed to send genius vibes to the baby, etc. Where does it end? Better yet, why did it start? She is the epitome of the manufactured celebrity. Between the nose job, the lip syncing, the obvious lack of talent and the fact that she’s never been in a boy band, why are people buying her act? Who are these people? Hence, my survey.

My survey consisted of one primary question and a follow-up question for those who answered incorrectly.

Q: Do you give a crap about Ashlee Simpson?

FU-Q: Why the hell do you give a crap about Ashlee Simpson?

I created a database to store and analyze the data I intended to collect. But, after the third subject who claimed she DID care about Ashlee Simpson, I decided to stop recording the subjects’ responses and simply punch them in the face while they answered the follow-up question. For those who answered the primary question correctly, “no” or “hell no”, I gave them a cookie. For those who answered the primary question with the ultimate correct answer, “Who the hell is Ashlee Simpson?”, I gave them two cookies and a hug. It’s all about positive reinforcement. And face punches.

What Was Michael Clayton About?

I watched the Oscar nominated film Michael Clayton last night. It is one of those movies where you have no clue what is going on at the beginning and you slowly figure it out as the movie proceeds. I think the technical term for this type of film is a “WHO THE HELL IS THAT GUY? WASN’T SHE JUST MURDERED IN THE LAST SCENE? WHERE ARE THEY GOING NOW? JUST TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!...oh, OK, I get it, but I still don’t know who that one guy is” movie.

Unfortunately, I was never able to determine what all the inchoate scenes at the opening of the movie meant because I was distracted. Distracted by the looks of George Clooney.

No, not his fabulous good looks. Something about his looks that is much scarier. Perplexing, even. I think you ladies, and some of you guys, better sit down for this. It’s not going to be pretty.

While I watched Michael Clayton I was drawn to Clooney’s stern, rugged, yet kind and approachable, but somewhat tired and a little paunched in places it didn’t used to be, face. He reminded me of somebody, but I couldn’t figure out whom. This dilemma haunted me for the entire film. Then, at the end, when he was taunting the mean lady who won the best supporting actress Oscar, it came to me. George Clooney is turning into Raymond Burr! DUNT DUNT DAHHH!!!

Shocking, isn’t? But it’s true. I have proof:


I know he doesn’t look exactly like Raymond Burr. Yet. But he will. Trust me. He is a Raymond Burr inkling right now and will eventually blossom into his full Burritude in a few years. When the space-aged series Ironside 2020, starring George Clooney as Robo T. Ironside, with Abigail Breslin as the insufferable Fran Belding, comes to HBO someday you can tell people you heard it here first.

In the Depps of Fandom

Good news! Johnny Depp is in the area filming a movie. I think it’s the sequel to Johnny Dangeously called Johnny Dangerouslier. I’ve never met a veritable cinematic superstar before, so I decided to brave the wilds of northwest Indiana and make my way to Crown Point (about 40 miles away from me for those of you cartographing at home). I was excited to be ON LOCATION, at the Old Lake County Courthouse, with Johnny Depp!

When I got to the set, I was impeded by a sea of starry-eyed, maniacal teeny boppers, throngs of delusional middle-aged women, and a handful of creepy guys such as myself. It took me about an hour to squirm my way to the police barricade at the front of the crowd. Searching for somebody that looked official-like, I saw a guy wearing a hat and playing with the movie clapper board, as if he was trying to squash bugs on his lips with it. Thinking quick, I put my car keys in my hand, jumped the barricade and crawled clandestinely to him. I showed him my hand with the keys and told him I was the replacement key grip. He seemed suspicious, so he made me grab his crotch real hard to test my gription dexterity. I passed the test. He gave me a pass and told me to “git along”.

“Grip your key, sir” I offered to other movie makers as I walked around the set looking for Johnny Depp. Eventually, I found him, drinking a flax seed oil milk fizz, sitting in a pup tent next to a lighting rig. He was alone so I entered his tent. Before I could say anything, he told me that he didn’t have any keys. “That’s OK, Johnny, I was just hoping you’d autograph my chest.”

He didn’t autograph my chest. Nor would he kiss my baby. Nor would he read an old scene of 21 Jump Street with me (where I would play Holly Robinson’s character, Officer Judy Hoffs). Nor would he not have me arrested.

I don’t know what office this joker is running for or why so many people are interested in looking at him while he's trying to do his job (nobody looks at me while I'm working), but I certainly won’t vote for him. As they dragged me off the set with a traffic cone enhancing the end of my digestive system, I looked back and saw Johnny Depp standing there, bowing with his hands together in prayer formation. I didn’t know he was so religious. Had I known, I would have kissed HIS baby.

Crystal Bean

Hollywood treasure Billy Crystal struck out in his only at bat for the New York Yankees in pre-season action against the Pittsburgh Pirates. On the third strike, Pirates catcher, Ryan Doumit, purposely dropped the ball, forcing Crystal to have to run to first base for the dropped third strike. Doumit let Crystal scamper about halfway down the line before he beaned the comedian between the shoulder blades with the ball. As Crystal crumpled to the ground in a humorous heap, Doumit shouted, “THAT’S FOR MAKING MR. SATURDAY NIGHT, FUNNY MAN!”