Its a Motion Picture: DOA

Well kids its that time again, yes time for you regular dose of who cares and all that clobber, firstly though let me congratulate my self on the supreme effort of posting nineteen social essay before this one, yes kids that's right this is the twentieth entry into the Diary of a Whipping Boy, or if your reading on myspace its not the twentieth entry and its not likely you care. So how am I celebrating the joyous occasion of posting twenty Internet whines, well I'm launching a new feature of the diary, yes thats right this entry will be something new and shiny for all you buggers to gawk at and say, "I'm sure that's the wrong word, does he even use spell check", and the answer to that is no, because I like the other better half of the worlds population am endowed with a penis, thus making me consistently correct in everything. But enough malarkey, back to the point as you may of read in the title and then used your amazing power of deduction, your probably well aware that this is a movie review. Every now and then me and the cardinals fire up the projector and enjoy motion picture entertainment in old Vatican City we really enjoyed that Pirates of the Caribbean, but you put Johnny Depp in a room with a bunch of catholic priests and well the outcome isn't really that surprising. So kids sit back put your feet up and enjoy the first of many motion picture reviews.

The first film to get the treatment you would think would be a real top class movie, Casablanca, Citizen Cane, Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers, but no I bypassed the top shelf, the middle shelf, the bottom shelf and even the floor, and went straight to the bin outside the shop to find this gem. Now those that can read know the film is DOA, the instant classic based on the video game. We heads of the Catholic church also love a good play on the old PlayStation's and the funcubes and the wiis, the wiis more than anything really, but any gamer will know that if you want to play a fighting game, you play Tekken, if you want to watch petite asian women with huge assets jiggle around you play DOA, with that starting point for a movie, how could you go wrong. But wrong is where it managed to plummet, within three seconds of the opening credits. Lets look at Devon Aoki, the first kick ass babe to get the look in, in the movie, she plays a princess, princess Kasumi. Now how did this young lady decide to play the young princess, of all the routes to take she took the one I really wasn't expecting. Turning to the book of shite acting methods entitled "How to 'phone' it in", young Devon decided to use the 'I've just had a stroke method' to get across all her emotions, ergo she didn't, at all. There are corpses with a better range than this young lassie, at least in this movie.

Next we turn to young Holly Valance, oh the things, the dirty filthy unmentionable things I want to do to this young lady, but I cannot mention them here (pop on over to www.dirtypontiffs/catholicpriestfantasy.com.vc to check them out). After a short lived stint (the best kind) on Australian soap Neighbours, and a less than extensive pop career, she has wound up here. I'm not sure what to say really, my one major problem was her accent, she was either trying to hide her Australian accent or she has committed the cardinal sin of Australia lost it and started speaking like shes from another country. Her one redeeming feature in this movie is that she spends most of her time half naked... apart form that there is not much more to say. Now to the shining light of the movie, Jaime Pressly the women with 'Can play white trash' as her resume'. Now that's not a bad thing, she revels in it and its the one part of the movie that makes it barely watchable, apart from of course the gratuitous arse shots. So that's the female leads, which is meat of the movie, but now we get to the vegetable part.

Eric Roberts, the guy with the same last name as that actress with the big mouth.... what there related, ooh Eric, bad luck buddy family gatherings must be bad.

Roberts Family member: "So Julia hows the career going"
Julia Roberts: "I make over twenty million a film"
Roberts Family member: "And you Eric"
Eric Roberts: "I will eat that centre piece for two hundred dollars....... I
can act dammit...... its not fair I'm older I should be the star"
Mumma Roberts: "Its OK dear we know your a star"

Anyway so Eric 'generic bad guy' Roberts takes up his usual role in his stride, not even stopping to glance at the script I'd suggest probably because there wasn't one, just a roughly drawn bunch of pictures of the various female leads straddling each other. He gets a snazzy pair of sunnies to wear and some nice kung-fu moves, though his moves require him to wear the sunglasses, to bad if he has to fight at night hey.

So that's DOA, three beautiful young ladies two that can emote, and Eric Roberts, so it's a full experience really, wait..... what.... the story....., I don't know, I think they decided it would get in the way of the boob close ups so they cut it. No harm I guess, I didn't really notice, I guess there could of been one in between ogling, kung-fu and people making reload noises with the big shiny muscles. Wrapping it up I'd say you'd hard pressed to find a movie more bottom shelf than this, to use the full new Pope Terry movie rating system Parishioner being the lowest and Pope being the highest, I'd give this an 'Altar Boy' rating... make of that what you will.

The Battle of the Sexes: Man vs. Woman

Well kids in my ever increasing attempts to alienate my self from the opposite sex and create a truly concentrated form of Estrogenal hate for my sorry carcass it seems I've been failing. Unfortunately my aim of having Germaine 'yes killed that polar bear Knut' Greer, beat down my door and stab me with a ice pick has not occurred, yet. So kids lets try something different, in my future I wish for the polar bear killer to at least stab me once, if not I might settle for an angry phone call from Madonna doing her killer Mother Teresa impression, its a blast trust me, she has her wife Guy Ritchie scream just at the right minute to make it perfect. But that's off the point, back to my efforts to create a deep unrelenting hatred for my self amongst the Estorgenal Nazis of the world. How do I suppose to do this in an article with a readership below the number of fingers on a unlucky shop teachers hand, well kids that's back to my old friends the blanket generalisation, and the extreme over-exaggeration. My two favourite tools of the trade, yes I've been to the school of tabloid journalism (its a three hour course), and I graduated somewhere near the middle of my class, but in a class of two people that's not a lot to brag about. Enough though of my long winded introduction with absolutely no point bar increasing the word limit, what is the point of this entry's inanity, of course if you had read the title you could of figured it out, its the differences between men and women..... hmmm, what was that noise, oh that was the noise of old hat, face it kids I'm far from original so stop pretending. Well settle down and wrap your head around this little ditty, that is the battle of the sexes.


Boobs, yes there is one but it goes deeper than that. Aside from the physical differences such as the mans lack of a uterus (though there are several documented cases, Tom Cruise namely) and all those extra knobby things, men differ from women in many different ways, firstly lets look at personality..... actually it can all be put down to personality really, so there is really no secondly, unless I figure one out before I feel I have bitched enough and hit that publish button. So personality, lets start with the actual size of the female personality, men's personality is limited to there person, there clothes, and a few select objects, car, bedroom (only if single though), gun (all the manly men own guns). Where as women's personality seems to encompass there hole existence, every single facet of there life is covered in a thick gooey mess of womanly excrement. Example is the bathroom, now a males bathroom can be anything from.... well lets face it, anything he can stand next to. While a woman's bathroom is an extension of her being, not fit with just having the simple functional appliances such as the toilet, basin, shower, blender, the female of the species feels the need to adorn the room with many items that could only described as uselessly feminine.

First example, the decorative candle, an item that defies the logic of its own creation.

Husband: "Why don't you burn that candle dear"
Wife: "Don't be stupid its far to beautiful to burn"
Husband: "Why does it have a wick then"
Wife: "Because its a decorative candle"
Husband: "Why didn't you just get a wax sculpture if you weren't going to burn it"
Wife: "Because wax sculptures are hideous and tacky"

Yes kids the decorative candle the single least useful item on the face of the planet yet the fourth highest item on almost every single woman's must have list, is that an exaggeration yes but you knew what you got yourself into so don't back out now. The bathroom isn't to be left yet there is still many useless, items lurking about in the old W.C. Many different things that smell lovely yet have no other purpose and by no means even go halfway to covering even a quarter of the smell of a lurking cruise missle left in the turlet. But that's enough filth, lets stick with the ladies love for useless material, but lets move on to the lounge room, to the scourge of the male psyche, the throw pillow, yes that stupid little piece of fabric and foam that is moved immediately before you sit down to avoid that feeling that you may be sitting on your pet. No my days writing essays for uni tell me I'm meant to go back and have this information prove my point. Women exude there personality over there surroundings, this takes the form of decorative candles, potpourri, and throw pillows. So what does this say about a women's personality, well the obvious is that its useless, apart from the four seconds you spend in the room with it where your only thought might be 'Well it looks nice but is that it'. It could also tell us that women have massive ego problems, that if there world isn't what the imagined they can just cover it in a lovely throw rug and have it smelling like flowers or sandalwood. Would a man do the same thing, well yes but whose disputing the massive array of uses for a titty poster.

Another curious thing arises from this point though, that women have trouble in seeing the point of other peoples possessions, well I say women I'm going from the attitude of my mother, who is in fact a women so ergo the 1st rule of tabloid journalism will be speaking on behalf of all women. While she, and by rule of thumb all you women reading this, which is at least two, go around glorifying the decorative candles and throw pillows that clog the world to melting point, you seem to have trouble recognising the fact that other people own things.

Mother: "Do you want this"
Me: "What is it"
Mother: "This"
Me: "WHAT!!!"
Mother: "Its a lint bush with deaf to the infidels written on it, but the lint brush thingy is gone"
Me: "Yes"
Mother: "What for...."
Me: "Cause i just want it, its mine and i want to keep it"
Mother: "But it has no use"
Me: "i know but i like it and i want it"
Mother: "You realise those 'i' 's should be in capitals"
Me: "Leave my grammar alone..."

This is a regular conversation in my humble abode, the mother unit that cohabit ates with the the rest of my family and I regularly goes nuts and decides she needs to throw things out, things that she feels serve no purpose, which is anything that doesn't belong to her. While men are happy to keep there personality to themselves and there few close possessions women feel the need to ever expand theirs into the realms of everyone elses world. This brings me to that much maligned gem of a saying that if women ruled the world there would be no wars, when in actual fact the world would be in deep trouble because one women wants paisley while the other wanted lavender. Want to know what a war started over lampshades would look like, well your not the only one.

So kids what useless information has burrowed into your skull this time, that I have mother issues, I find feminists more that slightly annoying, decorative candles could start an international skirmish between the super powers of the world if run by chicks. Who knows, who cares, the more important thing is that you just spent ten minutes reading this, and that important stuff your high school biology teacher told you has been syphoned out to make way for a fictional conversation between me and my mother. Or more importantly that men and women are essentially the same, its just that men are less stupid....... wait that's the front door, maybe I'm in luck.