War of the Worlds is a really smart movie.

Oh my. Next week, store will flood their shelves with the DVD release of Steven Spielberg's War of the Worlds, a film that may very well be his Gigli much more than 1941 You must see this film. It begins as a monument of idiocy - watch Tom Cruise as he moves boxes around a shipping yard faster than any man that has ever lived and he drives 88mph on every block he travels and he takes up both sides of the road doing so - and ends even more puzzling.

According to this film, not the H. G. Wells novel of course, these aliens came to Earth millions of years ago and buried their ships deep within so they can one day return to wreck havoc upon the world. Where would they just so happen to bury their ships? In the exact spot where New York City would grow. Damn, these aliens are smart! Not as smart as Tom Cruise though.

There is a lot of running in this film too, which isn't really a bad thing, but when you see Mr. Cruise running around (surrounded by hundreds of other people) getting shot at by a giant laser coming out of an alien tripod and he never accidentally steps into harms way, it's kind of frustrating. 80% of the people running around him vanish upon laser contact, yet Mr. Cruise somehow makes it out harms way each time. Maybe that hideous driving scene I described earlier first introduced these fine dodging tactics. Except when he was whirling around the streets of New York, he wasn't dodging anything. He was simply saying to us, the audience, "Hey guys, look. I have a penis! Look how fast I can drive and how sharp I can turn! I dare aliens to come here and challenge me at running."

Little Dakota Fanning. Her eyes are so big; I half expect them to shoot out of her face at any given moment. And filmmakers love her eyes too. Every movie she has ever been in, there is that cathartic close up of her eyes, right as the water starts building up around the bottom rims. I just want to punch her.

During a climatic running scene, Mr. Cruise is separated from his son. "Dad, I have to go!" says the son. "But you can't..." says Mr. Cruise. The boy leaves anyway, and heads north. Mere seconds later, the north explodes in fire but somehow, Mr. Cruise's son makes his way to Boston, the only city on Earth that these aliens weren't smart enough to bury a ship under millions of years ago, to meet up with his mommy. He lives, without a scratch from the fiery blaze.

Oh wait, I forgot. There is another scene where Tom Cruise shows off his skills behind the wheel. This time, the vehicle in question is a mini-van. This is the single greatest sequence in the entire film... You see, these aliens have some kind of skills that knocked all the batteries on the planet into a crazed frenzy of non-workmanship. Mr. Cruise, however, figures out how to work around this. He miraculously fixes a mini-van and speeds off toward a highway, where the scene gets really good. The highway is full of cars that obviously don't work anymore because of the aliens. Yet, instead of the cars stopping dead in their tracks on the fucking lanes of the road, they somehow swerved off road and left a clear, if not ragged, path for Cruise and his mini-van to drive through. Wow, this sure is a lucky family.

Tom Cruise is also the guy that figures out when it is time to destroy the aliens. Finally, for Mr. Cruise, all that hard work getting to the high levels of Scientology have paid off not only for us as an audience, but for us as a living entity. Where would we be without him?

Chuck Norris will slash you in two.

Is it possible to get better than this? Nope. It sure isn't.

Voicemail will take a message for you.

Oh, the humanity. Say you're watching Spike TV. It's obvious that you are watching a cable channel, right? So, if you are indeed watching a cable channel, it's obvious that you probably have cable.

If it's obvious that you're watching a cable channel, via the connection of a cable company, why do these said cable companies insist on polluting commercial breaks with their own advertisements trying to sell themselves? I can understand putting commercials on network stations, but cable stations? That's like advertising Rolling Stone in the newest issue of Rolling Stone.

It would really be ashame if the person responsible for creating such idiotic visual sales-pitchery fell off a cliff or a mountain, or accidentally fell out of a moving car, or off the tallest building ever, or if he/she was eatin by lions/tigers/bears. I'd hate to see any of that stuff happen, I really would.

The Day of the Revenge of the Sith

Look at these people... look at them. Is that you? Are you one of these people? Good, then kill yourself for me, would you? It'd make me smile.

This picture was taken at a midnight screening of Sith the day it was released. People get so amped. Did they not see the previous one?

"But dude, why were you there if you're so positive it was gonna suck?" I had to be sure. And while it didn't suck all that much, it still wasn't anything better than average.

The kid that was wearing the Darth helmet had a melon that was a touch too big for it. He used a rubber hammer to smash it down on his head. The lengths some people drive to achieve maximum stupidity.

The DVD of Sith came out this week. It'll stay off my shelves unless someone gifts it to me, like with the second one.

The Obi Wan in this picture so wanted the Leia chick. Look at him grip his lightsaber, then look at her outfit. He totally stored that image in his mind and probably still jerks off to it to this day. It's an amazing world we live in and I couldn't be any more proud to be part of it.

Looking for Jesus on a Saturday night...

I'll post something cinema related soon, I swear, but I just had to tell this story.

A few weeks ago, I found myself heading downtown to meet some friends for drinks. It was a Saturday night. I arrived at about 11:00pm, when I noticed something on the street that seemed a little... off.

I found a kid standing amongst a crowd of Jesus spreaders, holding a sign and looking miserable. He must have been 13 years-old. I asked him if I could take a picture with him, as shown here, but I neglected to tell him that I wanted to do so for the purpose of showing his misery to others. Look how unhappy this kid looks. It's Saturday night, and he is standing on a busy street in downtown Orlando, where everyone is either drunk, or about to be drunk.

"Who the fuck would bring their kids here at this time, with this crowd, to help spread the good words of Jesus?" I thought. "All the people that come down here at this time either want to get hammered or find someone to have sex with. No one wants Jesus here..."

Across the way, outside a bar, stood two employees trying to grab some business from off the street. The crowd this kid I was standing next to was with, was lead by a dude holding a mega-phone. He was spouting off fresh verses from the good book, towards the employees outside of the bar across the street. One of these employees, the female, was dressed in clothes you'd wear to the beach. Short shorts with her money-maker almost hanging out, and a top that resembled a bra. The other, the male, was pretty much her body guard, so noone would try and creep up in her goods.

As the Godaholic spouted off in their direction, they shouted things back. I think they thought the same thing I did... there just wasn't room for Jesus and cocks and vaginas and alcohol all on the same street, was there?

There sure wasn't... there sure wasn't.

Fat Carlos and the Giant Snake

This is Fat Carlos. He is a snake wrangler. He likes french fries. Things were going well for Carlos. Today, however, things were not so good. The snake, tired of being wrangled, finally decided to do something about his evil master...

Dear Los Angeles,

How have you been? Me? I've been pretty good. There is a part of me that is trying really hard to get a job in your city, so I can finally leave this wretched land I live in. That land, happens to be Orlando.

I hear you and Orlando used to be real close, but that something happened to make you guys hate each other. What was it? Actually, I don't blame you for hating Orlando. I do too. Our lack of culture really saddens me. I mean, I met some good people here but we constantly find ourselves looking for a way out. Not all of my friends, but some of us.

The purpose of this letter was to inform you that lately, I have been applying to numerous jobs there but as of this time, I have yet to get a bite. The jobs I have applied for, mostly in the entertainment-journalism field, I am qualified for (I think). I write for numerous sources now and have been for a while. Sadly, the only jobs I can land it seems, are here in Orlando. Not anywhere else.

Is it because you are mad at me? What did I do? Sure I think you are dirty and polluted - but that is part of your charm. That is why everyone loves you.

I hear from some people I know there that everyone hates each other. How great of environment is that? I yearn for that. Traffic is a bitch, huh? It is here, too. I can live with traffic.

What more can I do to get invited to Los Angeles? Let me know, and thanks for reading. I hope everything is fine with you.

Your friend,
Michael Ferraro

The Empire Strikes Rant.

George Walton Lucas Jr.

I know, I know. "Shut the fuck up about Star Wars already man!" I can't help it. I have to rant and rave about it because no one else seems to be doing it. In fact, no one complains about anything anymore, what is everyone's problem?

I never felt the urge to mention this before, but I will now. Prior to yesterday, 5/8/2005, I never saw a "Special Edition" Star Wars film. I didn't watch them in the theater when they were re-released in 1997, nor did I watch them when they came out on video. I hated CG then and I still hate it now. In my world, there was nothing wrong with them before, and like me mum always said, "If it ain't broke, leave it alone you fat flannel prick."

Not only that, but Han shot first. You people eating up those DVDs where it happens a different way should catch on fire. Lucas claims that these are the versions he originally visioned. Okay, so in the 70s, there wasn't enough technological advances in mankind to allow a costumed up dude to shoot first? Face it, Fatman, your ego got to you. You like to change things because you know these Star Wars nazis will eat up anything you poop out. Not this Star Wars nazi however.

Mom was right. And I've lived the past 8 or so years without subjecting myself to the psychological torture. Until last night. Return of the Jedi was on TV and I was rather excited. It began so beautifully normal. Normal, of course, until Jabba had a musical number going on in his palace.

"Good god, this is awful," my brain told me. And my brain was right. It was awful. "Come on dude, it's not that bad..." You're right, it's worse.

The new song at the end? Horrible. All the celebration going on at different planets? Silly. Those places had nothing to do with those movies. I can keep going on, but at this point, I am beating a dead horse back to life.

Next week, I will stand in line with the freaks at midnight for Episode III. 80% of my body is begging it to be at least some-what good. "Dude it's going to be so good man... PG-13!!!" Wow. What does that mean? The Empire Strikes Back is amongst the greatest films ever made and it was only PG. The rating means nothing.

See? That is the other 20% of my body talking. Sometimes, he gets the best of me. But I will work on it, the other 80% will hopefully prevail.