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135gr+P or 'Honey, I'm off to the gun show'

Was it Daffy who once said that pouty lips don’t make a figure
sipping on his Sazerac, reading Proust.  Anatomy class teaches
freshman that the biceps brachii pales in comparison to the triceps,
though Jolie wouldn’t know either with her dead-center humerus envy.
Bellucci knows that, like Daffy, there’s plenty of room in the back
for a tail, and they tried so hard in the sauna scene to show, [sic]
tattoos, which don’t, sorry Terry, constitute thuggishness or vigor.
It’s rumored that the munitions in this flick boycotted their original
state, relegated to the common Glock, instead opting for the musket,
cue Daniel Day Lewis, and some Jeff Koons decorated ammunition.
NASA geeks found McEvoy’s forehead vein below their rover, Morgan
Freeman utters motherfucker like Shaft was his grandpappy, uncut.
Kurosawa killed the gunfighter with Unosuke in ‘Yojimbo’, know this,
so go back to your storyboards and give me some violence which
goes beyond some Wachowski sub-genre, Go Speed!, and mocks
the already gun-heavy legislation mopping the headlines today.
If I could’ve offered ticket boy Korean Jarvis Cocker my sentiments
in English some harmony would’ve been necessary, or at least some references to Gerald McRaney of ‘Simon and Simon’ fame - my pellet
gun from the show rests somewhere among the detritus of my already
polluted remake ridden Hollywood Elsewhere.  Did a Russian direct this,
I actually watched the credits.  Hey, Danny Elfman, my girlfriend dropped
an Oingo-Boingo cut on my new compilation, great stuff, now go return
Tim Burton’s phone calls, buddy.  Every scene from this film Cronenburged
’Psycho’-style from the micro-film database of IMDB.  Who’s drawing these
scenes in pre-production, Mortimer Ichabod?  Moreover, I’m calling for the
death of the cross-over actor, Common, here’s lookin’ at you, bubba.  Smokin’
Aces is not a resume pre-req for another gun movie, and hey, your AGOG
TA01 is cock-eyed.  Yes, if you’re gonna make a gun movie at least give us
some lingo, kid, or is it highbrow to name your piece by it’s factory imprint,
oh, but it is OK to go ahead and name the main female foil Fox, vraiment?
I’m headed to the park tonight to watch Beckett on the grass, maybe Sam
will turn this frown upside down and my free theater kids sporting black
turtlenecks in high summer will show me the way of the gun, an outstretched
arm with finger and thumb perpendicular, a pow for the proud daddy playing
cowboys and Indians with his Missouri kid so aptly named Jesse James.

-Divad Q. Nead

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