Our Prayers Have Been Answered! Homecoming Is Finally Coming to DVD

I cannot convey to you in words how much this delights me, but DVDActive is reporting that Homecoming is at long last arriving on DVD April 27th.  Obviously this is a good thing because I know we’ve all been waiting an eternity (or since last summer) to witness Mischa Barton channel Kathy Bates in Misery and bring on the crazy in a hardcore way.  And for those of you who haven’t been waiting for Homecoming grace your eyeballs like a thousand golden rays of batshit bonkers sunshine, allow me to repost the trailer to remind you how you live a joyless existence and generally fail at life:

Um, there’s a scene where Mischa Barton takes a bed pan to the face.  The face!  If that doesn’t indicate how much this movie DEMANDS our support, then I don’t know what does.  Also, let’s not forget how Mischa’s currently guesting as a hooker named Gladys on Law & Order: SVU in order to pay the bills.  Girl could probably use the residual check.

Most importantly, though, Homecoming is apparently the movie in which Mischa Barton can has ham sandwich:

TGIF, Now Here’s the New Video for Lady Gaga’s “Telephone”

Obviously, this video is perfection.  Particularly the part when their outfits at the end of the video at various points remind me of Cyclops and Phoenix from X-Men and Katana from Mortal Kombat II, but I’m a nerd like that.

Oh, and as Lady Gaga would say: God bless the gays.

Much love to Queerty for this one.

At Last! Lost News That Won’t Make You Immediately Pluck Out Your Eyes in Regret for Reading It

One of the things that’s the worst about being a fan of Lost (aside from rendering you absolutely insufferable to all your non-fan friends and family for months at a time) is how you have to remain so guarded against any potential surprises.  One minute you’re perusing your favorite Lost comment board in hopes of corroborating your theory about how Hurley’s burp in that one scene could be an allusion to 15th-century Franciscan scripture, and the next moment your eyes are gushing blood because someone posted an unmarked spoiler.  Like I said, the worst.

Anyways, fortunately this is not one of this instances.  Well, unless your definition of a spoiler is whose abs you’ll be seeing this season, in which case ABS ALERT, ‘cos it’s Lost’s sexiest Other, Richard Alpert:

Yes, Richard Alpert (played by Nestor Carbonell)–the mysterious Other who has mysteriously resisted aging over the past three seasons and numerous decades of Lost’s narrative–might soon abandon his shirt like his name is Jack Sawyer. This is obviously a good thing, and you can thank Star Trek 2 casting rumors and the inquisitive minds at Movieline for this glorious news:

I think the question, Nestor, is whether you have the pecs to play Khan.
[Laughs] Listen, all modesty aside, I’m pretty shredded right now. Richard may not get to flex his muscles, but he’s not averse to taking off his shirt. Should it happen, the fans will know.

Wait, spoiler alert! We’re getting a shirtless Richard scene soon?
I can neither confirm nor deny. [Laughs]

“I can neither confirm nor deny” might as well be Lost speak for “DUH” at this point, so JACKPOT!

Of course, I could explain why this is a good thing, or I could simply offer the jury indisputable evidence, so I’ll choose the latter.

Your honor, exhibit A:

In Honor of Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner’s First Birthday, a Few Words From Your Captain

Why yes, there is a reason this corner of the internet’s feeling so fancy today:

I know, I know.  It might surprise you to know, but Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner began a year ago today, even more surprising is that those early posts were about a hodge podge of things like the world’s greatest condiment, a movie about a man that ejaculates fire, a banana monster, the dazzling directorial debut of Showgirl’s Rena Riffel, a music video that was ostensibly filmed inside my head, my favorite Joan Crawford movie, the fact that she wears glasses in said movie, the increasingly ridiculous task of reviewing every track off U2’s No Line on the Horizon in Haiku, that one time Lindsay Lohan tried to sell us outfits adorned with anal beads, and that other time I learned to stop worrying and love Lady Gaga’s (gay) bomb.

On second thought, that all sounds pretty par for the course around here, so scratch that.

My point is that it might have been a long a curious journey involving frequent over-caffeination and the constant threat of carpal tunnel to get us where we are today, and I thank you for coming along for the ride, my dears.  Here’s hoping we continue to ride this crazy train together long into the sunset.

Now let’s all celebrate with some ice cream cake:

Joan Crawford Knows Kung Fu

Sure, technically it’s Judo, not Kung Fu, but let’s focus on what’s important in this video, and what’s important is that this is from a movie that stars Joan Crawford as a mental hospital’s head nurse who teaches Judo to the other nurses so they may use it against the ward’s patients.  And even moreso?  This movie exists, and its poster is fabulous:

Sweet mercy!  I’m happy enough that The Caretakers features Evil Nurse Joan Crawford with karate-chop action.  I mean, Joan Crawford performances are like Pokemon toys for gay men: you gotta catch ‘em all!  But then I’m confronted with all these images female hysteria in the poster, and I get so overwhelmed, and all of a sudden I’m out in the streets making a scene.  Sorta like Polly Bergen in The Caretakers:  

Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner’s Timely, Responsible Reaction to the Saddest Mad Men News Ever

Even though it’s been months since Mad Men killed a piece of my soul, I’ve chosen to remain optimistic about Bryan Batt’s future with the series, but earlier this week TV Guide Magazine reported that Matthew Weiner is keeping Sterling Cooper’s prized gay out to pasture.  Even thinking about it now gives me a serious case of Paul Kinsey face:

Sure, it’s Matthew Weiner’s prerogative to do whatever he wants with Mad Men, and I implicitly trust his decisions as its showrunner, but on the other hand:

I wasn’t ready for Sal’s departure when it first happened, and I’m nowhere near ready to move beyond the denial stage of my Mad Men grief, which looks like this:

RIP, Zelda Rubinstein

Sad news, y’all.  The AP is reporting that Zelda Rubinstein passed away yesterday at the age of 76.  Not only did she star in one of the great camp classics, Teen Witch, but she was also part of this rather fantastic AIDS awareness campaign:

But then, of course, there’s this:

And perhaps even more memorably, this:

This Is Why We Interweb

Perhaps it’s wrong to reduce something as complex and integrated into our daily routine as the internet to something as simple as this:

But then, when you think about it, it makes perfect sense.

As it is so frequently with these sorts of things, much love to Videogum.

Damn You Trailer for The Good Guy! Why Must You Exploit My Weaknesses as Well?

Well, given that it was just last night that Shmathan and I made plans to make Alexis Bledel’s quarter-life-crisis romcom Post Grad the next installment in Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner’s Ladies of Leisure series, it seems only fitting that I now stumble upon another Alexis Bledel quarter-life-crisis romcom:

And while this poster’s totally fine, I have my doubts about the plot summary from ComingSoon.net:

Ambitious young Manhattanite and urban conservationist Beth (Alexis Bledel) wants it all: a good job, good friends, and a good guy to share the city with. Of course that last one is often the trickiest of all. In the new romantic dramedy, Beth falls hard for Tommy (Scott Porter), a sexy, young Wall Street hot-shot. But just as everything seems to be falling into place, complications arise in the form of Tommy’s sensitive and handsome co-worker Daniel (Bryan Greenberg). Beth soon learns that the game of love in the big city is a lot like Wall Street – high risk, high reward and everybody has an angle.

Look, I’ve nothing against another movie about white peoples’ problems.  Like any other white person, I know what it feels like when Trader Joe’s is out of your favorite flavor of organic yogurt (it feels TERRIBLE); and I’ve heard it’s totally a Sophie’s choice when two handsome, charming, successful guys are pursuing you.  Seriously, other than by the size of their junk, how do you rationally decide?

That said, this a movie about white people with problems who are also making shit tons of money on Wall Street, and I refuse to quell my populist rage against the financial machine just because Alexis Bledel wants to play a love game.  Unless you set those rich white people problems to swoony indie pop, in which case my easily manipulated imaginary ovaries are all over that shit.

Such is The Good Guy trailer, y’all:

My Karaoke Will Go On

Thanks to YouTube, we can all rest a little easier at night with the knowledge that important moments from our lives will remain digitally preserved for all eternity (or at least ’til they’re taken down by the suits), which is obviously a good thing.  After all, it means we can all relive that one time Celine Dion got really intense while singing the Titanic theme song at the Oscars:

Or that other time that I tried to channel Celine Dion getting really intense while singing the Titanic theme song at the Oscars, but could only manage to channel a howler monkey:

Stefania Rotolo Is the Sara Carlson of Tilt, Whatever the Hell Tilt Is

Once, not so long ago, I discovered the ferocious dance magic of 80s Italian variety show superstar Sara Carlson, and it was fabulous.  Sure, she set an impossibly high bar by which all others must be judged (sorry, Bonnie Bianco), but Sara Carlson busts moves worth the mind-blowing paradigm shift that will force you to recalibrate your feeble understandings of reality and consciousness.  I imagine it’s like dropping acid, but without the whole mess of making your spinal fluid run backwards.    

Anyways, while we may never match the inimitable batshit insanity of Sara Carlson’s days on Al Paradise, it’s comforting to also be reminded that Italian television’s well of crazy runs deep.  Like, ridiculously deep:

The best I can tell, Tilt is some sort of disco-era dance competition, which explains why everybody’s dancing around in a discotheque straight out of 2001: A Space Odyssey.  And the Dali-meets-Magritte floating-apple backgrounds (sure).  As well as the two separate instances where Stefania Rotolo flies around on a piano (of course?).  You know, the usual imagery for a disco competition.  When you’re on angel dust.

Judging by the next clip, though, perhaps Tilt is actually a children’s variety program:

Martha Stewart Adds Pole Dancing to Her Extensive List of Talents

Martha Stewart’s talk show films a block away from where I work.  Sometimes when I’m walking to work in the morning, I’ll pass the queue of people waiting to see a live taping, and I always tell myself I should try and get tickets for a taping, but then I never do.  

So naturally, this video of Martha Stewart fills me with regret.  So much regret: 

That said, just because I didn’t see this in person doesn’t mean that my reaction is any different than it is right now:

Clever Girl

I used to think that this was the absolute pinnacle of the velociraptor meme:

As with all internet memes, I don’t understand exactly why there is a raptor meme, but I had a dinosaur obsession in my childhoood, and Jurassic Park ranks as one of 12-year-old Benjamin’s all time favorite movies (followed closely by Twister and Independence Day), so I can be okay with this.

That said, I was obviously wrong about the above image being the greatest entry in the velociraptor meme canon.  THIS is the greatest entry in the velociraptor meme canon:

Happy Birthday, Paula Deen!

It’s no secret over here at Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner that I love me some Paula Deen like Paula Deen loves herself some butter.  And while my holiday plans to visit my deep-fried mecca (The Lady and Sons) were ultimately foiled (curses to you, unnecessarily convoluted and ambiguous process by which one ensures a table at the Lady and Sons!), she remains the Julia to my Julie.  Sure, I may not be blogging about my experience cooking Paula Deen’s recipe oeuvre (I lack the requisite ambition/willingness to have a coronary before I’m 30), but I will gladly blog about this:

Sure, it may not be playing an instrumental role in bringing French cuisine into the American household, but Paula Deen once had really hot guys in tight shirts deliver her a giant bust made ENTIRELY OUT OF BUTTER.  AND THEN SHE KISSED IT.  Et tu, Mrs. Child?

Also, only Paula Deen is capable of the following culinary crazy train:

HAUSU!!!

Starting today, the IFC Center’s kicking off Janus Film’s nationwide tour of one of the most absolutely batshit insane and totally brilliant movies ever made:

Seriously, y’all, I don’t even want to spoil an iota of the crazy, so just watch the trailer and give yourselves a taste:

Chloe Will Be One of My Favorite Movies of 2010 Because Duh

I need this movie to be here yesterday:

It’s not about the poster, which is basically just Amanda Seyfried giving FACE, and we all know how I feel about Amanda Seyfried, so it’s great, but I digress.  

No no, I can’t wait for Chloe because it looks like it’s going to be this year’s Obsessed (and we all know how I feel about Obsessed), but this time it’s starring Julianne Moore and gunning for a hard R-rating, so it looks even better than Obsessed, but I digress.  

My point is you need to watch the trailer because SPOILER ALERT it’s bonkers:

Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner’s Guide to Making Showgirls the Best Midnight Movie Ever

Sure, we’ve been over this again and again and again, but even broken records are worth repeating every once and a while:

Honestly, it’s perfect in every way, and the only problem I’ve ever had in regarding Showgirls as the crown jewel of camp cinematic masterpieces is that it’s never achieved a Rocky-Horror-Picture-Show level of midnight movie cult status.  Rocky Horror Picture Show, with its sing-a-longs and toilet-paper-throwing and audience shout-outs, embraces full-on audience participation; on the other hand, despite being 131 minutes of bare breasts and bitchery, the Showgirls audience has always struck me as relatively demure.  

Yes, seeing Showgirls on the big screen is comparable to a religious experience, so a certain amount of reverential silence is to be expected.  That, and I WILL shove a bitch down a flight of stairs if they start talking over any of that sublime Joe Eszterhas dialogue:

But Showgirls is also the sort of cinemagic that deserves more than just the knowing laughter of camp appreciation.  No no, seeing Showgirls on the big screen should be like watching Stardust Hotel’s Goddess while tripping balls on crazy pills.  So, in honor of the IFC Center screening Showgirls as this weekend’s midnight movie, here are a few suggestions on how to make your next midnight movie screening of Showgirls something extraordinary:

Things That Should Not Exist: The TrueCompanion Sex Robot

In life, it’s one sexually icky and utterly terrifying portent of the robot apocalypse to dress a robot up in a schoolgirl outfit and program her with some rudimentary dance moves; however, it’s a whole new bag of nightmares when you’ve created an anatomically correct ladybot with five separate sexy personalities for “companionship”:

On one hand, the only thing worse than the robot apocalypse happening is the knowledge that the robot apocalypse will demand mustache rides as part of human enslavement.

On the other hand, silver linings, y’all:

Jersey Shore Deep Thoughts: On Nicknames

The simple reality of Jersey Shore is that, so long as you don’t think too hard about, everything about Jersey Shore is completely amazing, so it should go without saying that the nicknames are just another part of the equation.  That said, not all Jersey Shore nicknames are created equal.  

Take, for example, “Snooki” and “The Situation”:

Snooki’s actual name is Nicole.  If etymology is the evolution of language, then getting from Nicole to Snooki is the linguistic equivalent of a tabby cat giving birth to a duck-billed platypus.  Mike, on the other hand, calls his abs “The Situation,” and then sometimes he calls himself “The Situation,” which I suspect is less about about nicknames and more about his abs becoming self-aware, much like Skynet.  One nickname’s a freak of nature, and the other’s a sentient robot.  Both are signs of the Apocalypse.  

ANYWAYS, even though I was actually made aware of this a few weeks ago, we need to discuss the fact that there’s a Jersey Shore nickname generator.  Well, more pointedly, we need to discuss the fact that THIS is my nickname:

Mad Men Season Three to Hit DVD in March. SQUEEE!s Abound

We may have just wrapped up with the holidays, but apparently everyone’s favorite non-denominational winter holiday has put on its best vintage suit with matching fedora, poured itself a late-morning Scotch, lit up a Lucky Strike, and come ridiculously early!  No no, hipsters have not overtaken the nation’s IHOPs for hangover-fueled yet nonetheless ironic feasts of All-You-Can-Eat Pancakes (though you’d better believe they knew All-You-Can-Eat Pancakes before All-You-Can-Eat Pancakes were big).  Rather, AMC’s Mad Men blog has already announced that season three of Mad Men is out on DVD March 23rd!  SQUEEE!

Of course, there’s really only one appropriate reaction to such glorious news:

Given how season two didn’t come out ’til the middle of last July, getting more Mad Men on DVD so soon certainly comes as a surprise, but that’s not a bad surprise.  Just a surprise that’s going to have me breathing into a paper bag for the next several minutes. 

Think I’m overreacting?  Just check out this box art hotness, but make sure you’ve got your own paper bag handy.  ’Cos, you know, vapors:

Welcome to 2010! Now Here’s a Lesson in How to Catfight Like a Lady

Happy new year/decade, y’all!  Seeing as it’s now January 5th, we should obviously file this under my inimitable sense of blog timeliness, but can you blame me?  You’d be taking your sweet time getting back into the swing of things if you were missing the following deliciousness like the desert misses the rain:

Brokeback Mountain jokes are still relevant in 2010, right?  Whatever.  Between the chicken biscuits and that damn Polynesian sauce that they inexplicably insist on calling Polynesian sauce because I guess that’s less culturally insensitive than “Sweet and Sour sauce” (?), I’m already trying to figure out how I get myself to Paramus, New Jersey just so I can get myself another Chick-fil-A fix.  Don’t judge me.

ANYWAYS, now that we’re back in action, I think it’s appropriate that we discuss the human train wreck that is season four of Bad Girls Club because I just got caught up this weekend.  And because this catfight is the classiest thing I’ve seen in ages:

Happy Holidays From Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner

You may think I’m being hyperbolic with this visual metaphor, but I’ll be back in Georgia over the holidays, which means I’ll once again have Chick-fil-A in my life, and I’m sorry, but have you had their chicken biscuits?  They’re mouth crack, but worse because at least crack keeps your girlish figure (lol and jk, y’all, DON’T DO DRUGS!).  Just sayin’.

Anyways, there probably won’t be much crazy coming from this corner of the internet over the next week or so, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t check back in or tell your friends about this cramazing or even become a fan on Facebook (you can thank Brenda for the last one, and seriously, you’d better thank her)!  My point is, have a wonderful holiday, y’all.  Eat well, be safe, and remember: a real queen sips her cocktails with her pinkies out, so add a touch of class to your holiday season and keep those pinkies out.

The Sex and the City 2 Teaser Trailer Is Also Everything I Imagined It Would Be

First there was the poster that looks like the marketing people behind Sex and the City 2 just don’t give a damn.  It’s pretty terrible, but terrible in a way that never gets old:

See what I mean?  You can’t put a price on something so hilariously sloppy, which makes sense because this poster looks like the vengeful wrath of an unpaid intern. 

Now we have a teaser trailer, though, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that nobody gives a damn about this movie.  I mean, just look at this lazy mess:

I’m Not Going to Even Bother Pretending Like I’m Not Excited for The Back-Up Plan

While I was at the movies this past weekend, I saw a poster for the upcoming romantic comedy The Back-Up Plan:

It was confusing because I haven’t associated Jennifer Lopez with shitty romantic comedies–let alone acting–in ages, but I digress.  My point is that I could tell just by the poster that this has “generic rom-com train wreck” written all over it, but sticking J. Lo and Alex O’Laughlin in a movie that amounts to Knocked Up’s prettier but frighteningly dull cousin inexplicably sounds catnip to me. I blame it on Alex O’Laughlin, who is so pretty that even J. Lo’s hand can’t obscure his prettiness, and her hand damn well giving it a go.  I mean, seriously, what the hell is her hand doing in that poster?  Is she trying to cover his face so she can be the prettiest part of The Back-Up Plan poster?  Is this how they do the Vulcan mind meld in the Bronx?  Sorry, I got sidetracked.  

Again.

ANYWAYS, point being is that there’s a trailer for The Back-Up plan, and it’s all the LOLZ and romance of this poster at 24-frames-per-second:

RIP, Brittany Murphy

Terrible news.  Variety is reporting that Brittany Murphy has passed-away at 32.  Yes, there have been jokes here in the past about her career choice, but they came out of deep affection.  She gave brilliant performances in two of the indisputably greatest comedies of the 90s (Clueless and Drop Dead Gorgeous), and she had the sort of big, expressive eyes that sparked with charm and vulnerability.  Our deepest condolences go out to her family.  She will be sincerely missed.

The 70-Minute Star Wars: The Phantom Menace Is the Best 70 Minutes You’ll Spend All Day

I’ve never fully understood the Star Wars: The Phantom Menace backlash.  It’s damn painful in parts (mostly the parts with Jar Jar Binks or Jake Lloyd), but I’ve always been willing to allow for its (frequent) missteps as inevitable the result of George Lucas being rusty and out of touch with what made the original trilogy a cultural milestone; after all, taking twenty-some-odd years away from the story that made you famous can do that.  I’m not saying The Phantom Menace is an unheralded classic, but I am saying we’re all allowed to make mistakes, and at least those mistakes don’t involve sloppily borrowing from not one but two Ridley Scott movies.  Whoops, Attack of the Clones, that’s your bad-idea cross to bare.

Anyways, there’s now a thorough (70-minutes long) and compelling (utterly hilarious) argument for The Phantom Menace being the nadir of the series.  That may seem like too much time to commit to one nerd’s take down of a movie that wasn’t worth its own bloated running time in the first place, but it’s not:

Jersey Shore Deep Thoughts: Once Again, On Pickles

In preparation for tonight’s impending train wreck episode of Jersey Shore, I think it’s important to clear up a major Snooki-related controversy that’s taken our cultural conversation by storm: 

This past weekend I decided to try to eat a pickle Snooki style, and you know what?  YOU CAN’T SUCK PICKLE JUICE OUT OF PICKLES.   Snooki wasn’t interested in passing down need-to-know techniques to enhance the fine art of pickle appreciation.  No no, this was about oral shmex, plain and simple.  I feel so naked, y’all, so very deceived.

And, yes, this obviously raises serious questions about her assertion that she invented the poof.  Once you’re capable of telling lies about pickle juice, you’re capable of telling lies about anything.

The Iron Man 2 Teaser Trailer Is THE Summer Movie Hotness. Le DUH.

I don’t know about you, but last night I had a rather delicious filet mignon at my office’s holiday dinner party, then I came home, and then I promptly shat my nerd pants.  Why?  Because the Iron Man 2 teaser trailer dropped last night, and it’s so damn good that you don’t even have to be a nerd to lose your shit over it.  Being a nerd naturally helps, but it’s really over just a difference of whether you poop your pants a lot or your poop your pants even more than that.  Don’t believe me?  Just click the poster below and experience the the hotness, but be sure you’ve got an adult diaper on:

Everything about this trailer’s obviously the best, but I love how they’re sure to include a moment of Robert Downey Jr and Gwyneth Paltrow’s utterly delicious screwball chemistry.  It makes me think of Iron Man 2 as His Girl Friday, but with robots and explosions and weird facial hair, so basically perfect.

Still, as much as it’s impossible to not love the Iron Man 2 teaser trailer, I’m willing to bet there’s at least one person that is not one of Iron Man 2’s fans:

Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland Is Going to Be Out of Control Amazing

I’ll be completely frank: even though I previously had my doubts about Tim Burton’s latest, the reality is that I never needed this past summer’s face-meltingly fantastic teaser trailer to get me excited about his upcoming Alice and Wonderland.  No no, this image is far more than necessary:

SOLD!!!  This image has three things that I unabashedly love: overly-ornate-to-the-point-of-camp costume details (it’s a gay thing), Anne Hathaway (also a gay thing), and killer red lipstick (it’s a Black Narcissus thing; so, in other words, yet another gay thing).  People of a more discerning taste would likely only have their interests raised by such and image, but people of a more discerning taste would probably steer clear of such cinematic gems as Powder Blue and Orphan, so why would I want to associate with those people?  Those people sound like such assholes.

All digressions aside, it’s safe to say that Alice in Wonderland’s latest trailer will have even people of a more discerning taste excited because–quite honestly–it’s as though Disney just kept throwing money at Tim Burton to ride his crazy train ’til he reached Bonkerstown, which is to say that it looks totall awesome.  Just look at this beaut:

The Necky Is the Perfect Secret Santa Gift to Anonymously Say, “You’re Lazy. And I Hate You.”

Wait, what?  You’re waging a cultural battle against scarves because they’re too confusing and frequently ineffective and quite possibly death traps, and your solution is like a turtleneck bib made out of fleece and some velcro?  And you mean to pawn off “designer leopard” as a color as well?  UGH.  The only people lazier than every single person involved in the conceptualization, production, and advertising of the Necky are the people who will indubitably think that the Necky is a practical item that will improve their standard of living.  Seriously, people, TRY HARDER.

That said, I imagine the end of the scarves’ hegemonic oppression and the beginning of such a brave new Neckied world would look even lazier still, which can only mean dated pop culture references and amateurish Photoshopping skillz, so basically this:

TGIF! Now Here’s Carol Channing Being Better Than You

Friday Fun Fact: Carol Channing will always be better than you, but she’s particularly better than you in this clip from the 1985 television adaptation of Alice and Wonderland:

Is it any wonder that she’s got her own ventriloquist dummy?  No, I think not.

Jersey Shore Deep Thoughts: On Pickles

Like I’ve previously observed, Jersey Shore is best enjoyed when don’t think about it.  For example, Angelina left the house after her married boyfriend dumped her and she couldn’t be bothered to come into work because she kept coughing really loudly in hopes that someone would notice her (which is the first symptom that you’re too sick to work), Ronnie and Sammi bumped uglies and played putt putt, and JWOWW’s boyfriend dumped her over kissing Pauly D, but I’m leaving this Jersey Shore conversation at that because I’m already on the verge of blacking out from all this stupid.  

But last night’s episode also had this cramaziness, which was stupid AND worth talking about:

Watching Snooki eat a pickle like she was giving was giving a juiced-up guido’s sausage  a little mouth lovin’ took her into a whole new realm of train wreck love because I could empathize with her situation.  Sure, I may not fellate my pickles when I eat them, but I do have a serious food crush on kosher dill pickles.  Seriously, just thinking about that garlic and vinegary goodness has me hungry like I’m knocked up with quintuplets.  

And to make this tangential discussion even more absurd (yes, it’s possible), my brain damn near fell out of my ear when I recognized the very brand of pickles that she was eating:

The Sex and the City 2 Teaser Poster Is Everything I Imagined It Would Be

I’d be lying by omission if I didn’t admit that I’ve been eagerly awaiting to board the Sex and the City 2 hate train ever since halfway through Sex and the City: The Movie when I realized that no amount of Kristin Davis’s totally amazing angry-Charlotte face would save it from being a cinematic wet fart of conspicuous consumption pornography topped with a predictable and insipid ending.  It’s what feels like eternity two-and-a-half hours of Miranda and Carrie being self-involved harpies incapable of communicating with their significant others like grown adults, Samantha acting like an even hornier drag queen than the horny drag queen she usually acts like, and all sorts of stuff coming out of Charlotte.  Like unwavering romantic optimism.  And babies.  And poop.

Seriously, for as much as I adored the series, the movie was able to inspire an inverse amount of adoration.  In other words:

Since then, I’ve had nothing but ire for the sequel, and this teaser poster is not helping:

David Lynch Opens Up About Turning Down Return of the Jedi

I vaguely recall having read somewhere that David Lynch was offered the opportunity to direct Return of the Jedi, which is the sort of curious tidbit of film history that I wish I didn’t know because that ridicufest would’ve been amaaazing.  We’ll sadly never know what sort of batshit insanity that would have wrought upon us, but I’d like to imagine that it would involve Agent Cooper as a member of the Rebel Alliance, Ewoks in red suits that talked backwards, and Jabba the Hutt huffing nitrous oxide to Bobby Vinton while he fingerbanged Princess Leia:

Also, everybody would celebrate the fall of the Empire with cherry pie, and then our eyeballs would burst into flame like a Jedi funeral pyre from all the crazy.

ANYWAYS, Ain’t It Cool News stumbled upon a video of David Lynch discussing why he ended up deciding to pass on directing Return of the Jedi, and it’s like everything that’s not The Straight Story that David Lynch has ever done.  So, you know, delightfully weird:

Jersey Shore: Don’t Ask Questions. Just Enjoy the (Train Wreck) Ride

Sorry for the timeliness, y’all, but I’ve been stuck in deep contemplation over our most recent pop culture phenomenon that will surely be swept under the rug of irrelevancy as soon at something more stupefyingly trashtastic comes our way.  Naturally I’m referring Jersey Shore:

And, while as much as I love the duck phone and the multiple references to puke breath and the guidos’ cartoonish hyper-masculinity and the simple fact that Pauly D owns a tanning bed IN HIS OWN HOME BEDROOM (!?!?!), I’ve also come to the decision that it is nearly impossible to talk about this show because it’s profoundly stupid.  It’s basically a documentary that was rejected by PBS because PBS decided that it would be disingenuous to air a series that treats its subject matter like a comically exhibitionistic alien race as opposed to real people that are part of an actual cultural minority but was then saved when MTV came along and was like, “Standards, shmandards!  TAKE US TO YOUR ARTIFICIALLY TANNED LEADER!!!”  Really, attempting to apply any sort of critical thought to this show is like like begging for a brain aneurysm.

For example, I know that enjoying this show as a study in human train wrecks makes us all slightly worse people than we were before Jersey Shore was in our lives, but even acknowledging that makes my head hurt when I consider that these people are so confident in how they see themselves that they clearly could care less what the rest of us think.  It can only explain this:

Snaps to You, the Bravery! Your Music Video Is Totally the Craziest

I suppose it’s only natural that, when the song for which you’re making a music video is called “Hatefuck,” one should anticipate a certain level of craziness to follow.  After all, would the music video for such a song really be meeting its artistic potential if it focused on two precious ducklings in a teacup?

Of course not.  While  your music video would be indisputably adorable, you wouldn’t be capturing the darkness and erotic anxieties that a song like “Hatefuck” seeks to convey

If, however, your video looks like an Eraserhead-era Lynchian sexual nightmare in which a woman in a gas mask ties up a guy in a Mexican wrestling mask and then stabs the dude in the crotch, then your incredibly NSFW (or life.  And most certainly my mother.) and totally batshit crazy video is certainly on to  something.  After all, it’s within reason to say that watching this video is like getting hatefucked in the eyes, which is a compliment.  Because this video’s so freakin’ bonkers, y’all:

Sorry, GLAAD, But GlambertGate Is About Homophobia

More GlambertGate talk?  I know, I know.  I hate to sound like some radical leftist gay who turns everything into a rant against white patriarchal heteronormativity:

You: Isn’t this blog usually more funny?

Me: DID YOU JUST CALL ME A HUMORLESS FAGGOT?!?

But c’mon, it’s fair to argue that the whole situation with Adam Lambert and ABC is the result of some sort of pop-culture gay panic, and–regardless of the deciding factor in ABC’s decision to cancel Lambert’s future appearance on the network–it’s important to discuss what this particular moment says about artistic expression and gay acceptance in mainstream media.  That, and the whole debacle’s becoming a first-class shit show.

First off, there’s this:

Since no moment in popular culture to involve a homosexual is complete without a statement from GLAAD, the Los Angeles Times reported yesterday that GLAAD had the following words to contribute:

More Adam Lambert Performance Cancellations? It’s Time to Call Shenanigans on ABC

Well, it looks like it’s not just the New York Senate that hates gay people this week.  ABC has yet again pulled the plug on my favorite Cristal-Connors-channeling, wasteland-wandering glam bear:

When his Good Morning America performance was cancelled last week, there was at least an air of reason to the decision.  It may have been somewhat sheepish, but it’s hard to blame ABC for not wanting to run the risk of another “shocking” live performance on morning television.  I didn’t get what all the was about over his AMA performance, but it’s also safe to say that a camp-loving gay man and the majority of conservative America will have radically different takes on what it takes to be “too gratuitously sexual” on television.  Fine, America, you hate when nipples pop up during your Super Bowl Half-Time Shows, and fake oral sex and a gay smooch on a third-tier music awards show are also out of the question.  Duly noted, now let’s all move on.

As I read on Celebitchy, though, we haven’t moved on, and ABC has now cancelled Adam Lambert’s performances on both Jimmy Kimmel Live and Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, which Lambert speculated on Twitter as a result of pressure from the FCC.  Yet, as the Los Angeles Times observes and Queerty reiterated, both shows would broadcast late enough that Lambert’s performance would have to try damn hard to get the FCC to slap ABC with fines for indecency.  So, with the FCC out, what else could it be?

Going off the New York Times ArtsBeats Blog, my guess is ABC must still be suffering audience anxiety:

Don’t Worry, New York, Your Marriage Is Still Sacred

Well, just moments ago, New York Senate voted against a bill to legalize same sex marriage, which is great because today the interwebs reminded us of the assholes that still get that right:

#thesetwoaretheworst #thesanctityofmarriage?

nobody puts baby in a horner does not like this.

Retweets and reposts–as this is apparently what marriage has been reduced to–are welcomed and encouraged.

Well I’m Already Excited for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I

Yesterday, while some of us were making it our mission to speak out against the most recent developments in the robot apocalypse, the internet was getting its first taste of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I, which isn’t coming out ’til next November (which is like infinity in Harry-Potter-anticipation, but even more tediously long), so really, we’ll take whatever we can get:

Obviously the only thing this actually confirms about Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I is that wizards appear to prefer layering in threes, while Muggles–such as the one to the left*–prefer the more minimalist two-layer approach.  Also, seeing as they’re in some sort of indoor complex that houses a cinema, my guess is that they’re in a mall.  Given that I remember Harry and Ron and Hermione spending plenty of time in a forest but none in any malls, I’m glad to know that David Yates and his crew are to keeping things fresh for the fans.  And by “fresh,” I mean possible shopping montage.  

Oh, and let’s not forget this tantalizing tidbit that ComingSoon.net reported along with the picture:

Sweet Shimmying Moses, Japan! Must You So Recklessly Play With the Flames of the Robot Apocalypse?!?

There is no reason for anyone to like robots.  For one thing, they could very well be the harbingers of the apocalypse.  Also, they’re just creepy.  Even Asimo, that robot by Honda:

He is NOT to be trusted.  First he will replace the world’s interns and personal assistants by winning your trust when he brings you your half-caff soy latte just the way you like it, then he will be use his built-in milk-steamer/laser-canon to exterminate you and your coworkers during the robot uprising.  Duh.

That said, Asimo has nothing on this monstrosity from the Sixth Annual ROBO-ONE GATE IN INTERNATIONAL ROBOT EXHIBITION 2009 Dance Competition.  She’s basically the dead-eyed posterbot of my waking nightmares:

All Signs Point to Case 39 Being Totally Amazing

Obviously the first sign is the simple fact that Case 39 is a horror movie starring Renée Zellwegger, which allows her to join Hilary Swank and Halle Berry in the pantheon of Oscar-winning actresses to be inexplicably cast in a horror movie.  The fact that she’s at long last making her The Reaping (or Gothika, whichever perplexing career decision you’d prefer) should be more than plenty to have you buzzing with anticipatory glee.  But wait, there’s more!

For example, there’s also the trailer:

Oh trailer, you had me at Bradley Cooper shirtless and vomiting flies.  Given that this combines things that I like (Bradley Cooper and Bradley Cooper’s abs) and things that will haunt me for the rest of my life (the whole vomiting flies business), so congratulations are in order for giving such precise vision to my future sexual nightmares.

Sign three?  The little girl in this movie was also in Silent Hill, where she memorably danced in a rain of blood after a barbed wire tentacle shot up the Borg queen’s hooha and ripped her in two.  This actually has nothing to do with Case 39.  I just like taking any available opportunity to mention how batshit crazy Silent Hill is.  Seriously, it’s the craziest, but I digress.

Also, there’s Case 39’s tagline, which is as clever as it is menacing:

As Per Popular Request, I’m Breaking My Silence Surrounding the Nation’s Most Heinous Tragedy of the Past Week

Popular request means a single comment from one of a close friend, right?  Whatever.  Point is, this is not funny, interwebs:

Would you LOL if someone dropped a rump roast on this basketful of adorable puppies?

Paula Deen getting hit in the face with a ham is obviously no different.  I recognize that comparing grievous puppy abuse and Paula Deen’s minor yet nevertheless embarrassing injury may sound hyperbolic or delusional, but I’m sure we can all agree that both things are essentially the worst.  After all, puppies–like Paula Dee–only enrich our lives with cuteness.  And/or heart attacks.  Neither has done anything to warrant such violence.

HOWEVER, please don’t think I’m some Negative Nancy incapable of finding humor in another person’s misfortune.  No no, I simply like to believe that getting beaned in the face is most hilarious when it doubles as sweet, sweet justice:

Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner’s Thanksgiving List: Paula Deen Making a Turducken

Every Thanksgiving I always tell myself that this will be the Thanksgiving that I embrace the crazy and have a turducken instead of a mere turkey.  Seriously, the only thing better than turkey and stuffing on Thanksgiving is turkey and duck and chicken AND stuffing because, really, the only thing better than meat is more meat.  Every year, though, I always end up just going the less ridiculous route and just go with a regular turkey because the it’s simple.  And I’m lazy. 

Well, even though this Thanksgiving will be no different than any of my other turduckenless Thanksgivings, watching Paula Deen make a turducken is one step closer to living my ridicudream:

UGH.  Just thinking about the dreamalicious gravy I could make from one of these bad boys gets me 37 different sorts of uncontrollably excited.  You know, shakes, sweats, the usual.  This guy knows what I’m talking about:

Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner’s Thanksgiving List: The Muppets’ Cover of “Bohemian Rhapsody”

Oh sweet mercy, y’all.  It’s the day before Thanksgiving, so HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVE!  I hope that you, like me, are making like a competitive eater and stuffing your face with whole heads of lettuce so you can stretch out ample room in your stomach for that extra slice of pumpkin pie.  After all, not taking seconds on dessert is what we call “exercising moderation,” and I’m pretty sure that’s a federal offense on Thanksgiving.  

Oh, it’s not?  Well, it should be.

ANYWAYS, here’s the Muppets covering “Bohemian Rhapsody,” which is precisely the sort of thing that makes me thankful for the internet:

This is like extra-slice-of-pie level happiness without all the empty calories or embarrassment of slipping into a food coma mid-sentence, so basically this video’s the bestest.

The Final Poster for A Single Man Confirms What We’ve Long Suspected

Basically, that we all want to go to there.  ”There,” of course, being Tom Ford’s visually stunning drama set in the 1960s in which Colin Firth gives one of the year’s best performances as a professor morning the loss of his lover, who is played by Matthew Woode.

Ooh, or a land where everybody’s hair, makeup, and accessories always look as dazzling as Julianne Moore’s.  I could be just fine with that “there” as well.

All my love to Movieline for this beaut.

It’s Official: Adam Lambert and Lady Gaga MUST Join Forces

I didn’t watch the American Music Awards last night because I’ve better things to do with my time, which may or may not mean whipping up an epic amount of cheese grits and an entire box of Brown ‘N Serve sausage:

That’s for me to know and you to endlessly ponder.

Anyways, apparently I’m going to have to make more of an effort to tune in to these third-tier music awards programs because the clips I’ve seen from last night’s American Music Awards are all sorts of ridamndonkulousness.  In some instances, such as Lady Gaga’s performance, I don’t really find this particularly shocking:

While I’m always delighted to see what Lady Gaga will do next, I’ve long ago accepted that it will indubitably be completely batshit insane.  As a result, I can’t say fashioning light-up tubing into something resembling the exoskeleton of the creature from Alien is her most mind-blowing achievement.  Personal preference dictates I stick with either The World’s Gayest Homage to The Warriors or this little head exploder, but I’ve gotta give her points for outfitting a violin player in pig play gear.  I really don’t know what to do with that, so snaps for the nightmare fodder.  Lady Gaga is clearly dedicated to this whole Monster thing, but not nearly as dedicated as Adam Lambert is to becoming my favorite person on Earth:

TGIF! Now Here’s Some Tranny Wig-Stealing Fierceness

There’s a part of me that loves that this video is an actual news story that aired on television.  It’s safe to say that the vampires will sparkle a little brighter in New Moon this weekend because we live in a world that understands the newsworthiness of one tranny stealing another tranny’s wig:  

Most of me, though, loves how she gives such great bitchface even when she’s using her ninja focus and lighting-fast thief mittens to get that wig.  Miss Brazil 2009 most certainly does NOT want to get in front of that queen while going down a flight of stairs.  It can only end with a Nomi Malone.

You can toast DListed for this little slice of fabulous.

When It Comes to New Moon, I’m Decidedly Team This Guy

Well, New Moon is out today, and a great schism has erupted all over the interwebs:

This is an important discussion to have because you’re choosing between a wang that’s pale and ice cold and a wang that’s underage and could spontaneously sprout hair.  Hrmmm, DECISIONS.

Anyways, I’ve personally arrived at the conclusion that I’m neither Team Edward nor Team Jacob.  It’s not that I’m deliberately trying to be a finicky bitch by not answering the most important question of the new millenium, it’s just that someone else has taken my Twibreath away:

Lady Gaga’s “Alejandro” Gives Me a Serious Case of Géjà Vu, Part Deux

Oh girl, I know two posts about a single Lady Gaga song in less than 24 hours might define excessive, but I just can’t.  Stop.  LISTENING:

So color me predictable when I tell you I’ve been doing a lot of deep thinking about this whole “Alejandro”-sounds-like-Ace-of-Base situation because it’s an important situation (the most important!) that demands plenty of contemplation.  And because I’m in serious need of a more productive hobby, like knitting.  Or human organ trafficking .  Whatever.  Tomato, Clamato, moving right along.

Anyways, I’ve come to the realization that “Alejandro” doesn’t just remind me of “Don’t Turn Around.”  No no.  It’s also reminiscent of Ace of Base’s own anthem to stone-cold bitchfacedness:

See what I’m talking about?  It’s uncanny how reminiscent “Alejandro” is of “Don’t Turn Around.”  This is, of course, a very good thing, but I’m nevertheless starting to suspect that “Alejandro” is the Brundlefly-esque merging of Lady Gaga’s camp/pop sensibilities a cassette tape of Ace of Base’s The Sign:

Lady Gaga’s “Alejandro” Gives Me a Serious Case of Géjà Vu

Even though it’s not coming out ’til the 23rd, that hasn’t stopped Lady Gaga’s The Fame Monster from spilling forth onto the ever impatient interwebs, and let’s all just be honest with ourselves, y’all:

Sure, it’s only 8 songs long, and it’s like Gaga’s gone and reinvented the discostick, but The Fame Monster has some really great songs that definitely earn it a “BUY” come next Tuesday.  Songs, for example, like “Alejandro,” which is the Lady’s catchy dance anthem ode to tossing Latin lovers aside like they’re used tissues at a sperm bank:

I mean, sooo good, but I can’t help but feel like there’s a glitch in the homo matrix because I feel like I’ve heard this song.  Oh, wait, I have:

You Haven’t Really Nightmared Until You’ve Nightmared the Nobel Funk Off

I’m not telling you a damn thing about this video other than it’s branded its nightmarish imagery of melted-faced hell spawn deep in my brain, and I’m not about to suffer this one alone:

GAAAAAAH!

I don’t know what this video is for, but I can definitely tell you I don’t want it, and I will do absolutely everything in my power to make sure I don’t get it.  Music lessons?  Whoops, I just cut off all my fingers!  Funk bands?  I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the scalding pokers in my ears!  World Peace?  It’s like Miranda July said:

Since We Live in a Busy World, Here’s Changeling in 56 Seconds

Admittedly, there are certain differences between Clint Eastwood’s Changeling, starring Angelina Jolie, and the following YouTube video I stumbled upon.  For example, Angelina Jolie didn’t have a long-haired fright wig in the movie.  No no, she sported a fashionable 1930s bob:

Added to that, given that Changeling was a period piece, Angelina Jolie never wore hoodies or Billabong shirts, though sometimes she did wear this hat that I want:

Everything else about this video, however, is spot on:

Why Is Nobody Talking About the Things We Should All Be Talking About When We Talk About Salt?

It never ceases to amaze me what will cause a stir on the interwebs.  I get that it’s a rat race and we’re all just trying to get a piece of the cheese, but when that cheese is a picture of Angelina Jolie’s face that serves as the teaser poster for next summer’s Salt, I really get amazed:

I mean, yay?

Don’t get me wrong.  This poster is perfectly fine, and I’ll no doubt be seeing Salt next summer.  Angelina Jolie has a curious hold on me like that.  I saw Changeling just to see her bring the classic-Hollywood-esque hysterics.  Hell, I even subjected myself to Wanted, which says loads about how appealing I find her as an actress and how I have no self-respect.  Still, as much as I guess there’s a certain newsworthiness in the unveiling of a teaser poster for a movie that many of us will waste $12.50 because the magnetic draw of an Angelina Jolie action movie overrides one’s ability to make good life choices, it seems to me that there are bigger teaser poster fish for us to be frying, namely this one:

“Sad Eyes” Is Enrique Iglesias’s Showgirls con los Hombres

Firstly, it’s so bad it’s brilliant.  Oh, and there’s epic amounts of Enrique Iglesias’s perky moobs and enough thrilling stripper pole acrobatics that would have Nomi Malone contemplating whether or not she’s gonna have to shove a bitch down the stairs.  NSFW?  Most likely.  Not to be missed?  Indubitably:

Sweet mercy, there is so much of him compulsively engaging in the act of self love.  That’s basically all there is to this video: Enrique Iglesias touching himself like he’s just hit puberty, and then some Nomi-pool-sex lite in a bathtub.  So basically it’s Showgirls with a Dude.

All it needs is a moment where he and Ricky Martin, in the midst of their roaring success from pop music’s Latin Explosion, decide to take lunch at Spago.  They wax nostalgic about eating Puppy Chow, trade thoughts on having nice moobs, and then toast.  With chips.  Now that would push it into perfección.

Also, as a final thought, if this is meme be true:

Leap Year Knows the Secret to My Heart/Fake Ovaries

Oh, dammit!  Amy Adams’s undeniably perky charm and Matthew Goode’s dreamboatalicious combination of scruff and blue eyes, WHY MUST YOU EXPLOIT ME SO?!?

Even in poster format, me and my inner teenage girl don’t stand a chance to your magnetic appeal. Even in poster form, I can see Leap Year for exactly the sort of rote, cliched romantic comedy filled with the same easy jokes and formulaic twists years and years and years of movies just like you have supplied eager audiences like me.  You may be entirely lacking the holy screwball trinity of Katherine Hepburn, Cary Grant, and a leopard named Baby; but I’m pretty certain that you and me and a pint of Häagen-Dazs vanilla swiss almond would make a perfectly suitable trifecta on a Saturday night.

And your trailer, Leap Year?  I’ve got freakin’ second sight with this:

Allow Me to Introduce Bonnie Bianco, the Sara Carlson of 80s German Variety Television

In case you’ve yet to witness the combustible magic of Sara Carlson, the Al Paradise sensation who’s inimitable song and dance stylings have won hearts and blown minds over here at Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner, then you’d best correct that terrible life choice.  Immediately.  Seriously, it couldn’t be easier.  Just click here and here, and make sure you’ve a box full of Kleenex ready for all those tears of joy.  All done?  Great!  Then moving right along.  

So this weekend, Skynet YouTube Recommendations once again read my mind and suggested this little number below, “Circo Circo” by Bonnie Bianco.  It may not be Sara Carlson, I thought, but Al Paradise’s own brand of early-80s carnivalesque psychedelic tranny insanity is enough to make any performer a star, mais oui?

Mais non.

Maybe it’s that Bonnie Bianco’s moves are like something out of the beginner’s course at the Sara Carlson Academy of Batshit Fabulous Ridicudancing, but I also place a lot of the blame on the clowns.  They’re never anything but a recipe for nightmares, so let’s all blame the clowns.  And the fact that every great star needs a great a director.  

It seems to me that Italian variety television just doesn’t know how to make Bonnie Bianco shine.  Fortunately enough, much like von Sternberg made Dietrich, so too has the sauerkraut-and-bratwurst touch of German’s Rotkreuz-Gala transformed Bonnie Bianco into a sensation:

TGIF! Now Here’s Carla Gugino Discussing the Nuances of Marketable Adult Novelties

When you think about it, is there any better way to kick start your weekend than a NSFW conversation about about fake vaginas from the just-released-and-sure-to-be-camptasticaliciously-delightful Women in Trouble that stars Carla Gugino and other women who are also in trouble?

No, I think not.

Or as I Like to Call It: Gindaloon, The Documentary Miniseries

Here’s the promo for MTV’s newest reality series, Jersey Shore, which just might be the nadir pinnacle of television programming:

It’s basically the bastard baby between The Hills and The Real Housewives of New Jersey, so it’s going to be 2009’s prize gem of trash television.  I personally hope that at least one girl pulls a Teresa and flips a table over, and I super hope at least one of the guys acts like this guy.  Chances are they will at least that ridiculous and then some, and that can mean only one thing:

The Official Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner Response to Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance”

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