Best Concept Ever: Costco

If my childhood were made into a 3 hour biopic starring Angelina Jolie as myself (an obvious choice) then approximately 7/8ths of the movie, excuse me, FILM would take place within a Costco. In other words, I grew up with Costco as my best friend. Not only did he (I'm pretty positive Costco is a man, just because of its robust nature) provide me with a place to spend 2 hours every weekend, but he also gave me ample sustenance free of charge. He was there when no one else was.

Let's begin with the quality of food available at Costco. You can buy caviar by the pound and get seafood in quantities that serve small universities. So Costco, you're telling me that I can buy 6 live Maine lobsters for 140 dollars? Done deal. Thank you Costco. I always trust the food at a store where there is also a funeral department. Often I find myself needing Maine lobsters, a tent, a coffin, and a 48 pack of tiolet paper at the same time. There is no other store on earth where I can get all of those things at once.


Costco also promotes a competitive spirit. The amount of intensity that is brought to the line situation would make Terrell Owens look like a sissy. I have seen numerous full blown arguments, pushing fights, and slap boxing tournaments participated in to merely get to the cash register moments sooner.

Costco gave me every birthday cake, every mid soccer game snack, every discounted movie ticket, every rotisserie chicken, and every stomach ache (from the countless potsticker samples). Also, how do they make money? They must spend thousands of dollars a day on the various samples they give out to patrons. If I were homeless and could pan handle 50 dollars every year, it would be spent on a Costco card, because believe me, I could easily stay alive on the free samples and hide out in one of the numerous tents for sale. Food and shelter: DONE.

Oh did I mention they have an actual food court. Whoever thought that providing an area from which someone who is completely exhausted from shopping could get a warm hotdog or entire pizza is brilliant. Costco is one word: BRILLIANT.

Worst Movie Ever: Sex & The City 2

Disclaimer: At first glance, the title of this blog post may seem a PEDESTRIAN choice, because no one expected this piece-of-shit sequel to be Oscar-worthy. But, we assure you, this review will blow all other reviews out of the water.

"Thanks to writer-director Michael Patrick King, I now have a fair idea how it might feel to be stoned to death with scented candles." - Cliff Doerkson, Chicago Reader (Sidenote: Cliff Doerkson=Worst Name Ever)

"It has no plot to speak of, little in the way of wit or intelligence, and is about 50% longer than can reasonably be justified." - James Berardinelli, ReelViews

Where to begin? Let us first take you on the path that is the winding plot of this movie...oh wait, if we took you on that path, you would end up essentially playing Hopscotch from one racist, contrived story to another. We begin in New York City, where the girls are preparing for their best gay friends' wedding. Cut to actually 584,549 jokes about being gay, and truly the most flamboyant wedding of all time. Here you are graced with the completely random presence of Liza Minnelli, who performs the service and, unexpectedly, Single Ladies - to which Jessica asked, "Why would it make any sense at all to sing SINGLE LADIES at a MALE-MALE WEDDING?" The answer to that question is that Michael I'm Dumb Patrick King decided audiences worldwide were dying to see a bejeweled raisin with legs and a Ke$ha-status voice, i.e. Liza Minnelli in black sequins. We gotta give it to her, though, her legs be fierce.



Next, because this totally makes sense, we go from a White Wedding to Abu Dhabi...? Cut to actually 999,998 racist jokes while in Abu Dhabi. When the girls (why the fuck are we calling them that when they're all easily pushing 90?) arrive at the Abu Dhabi airport, they immediately make comments about the women wearing burkas. "Oh, cool," you might say to yourself, "I guess that's edgy." No, it's not. Be prepared to encounter hundreds of comments about women wearing burkas...meant to be feminist statements, in Samantha's case? Of Samantha, Michael I-Can't-Just-Have-Someone-Say-Something-Without-It-Being-A-Pun Patrick King says that, "she is an unapologetic individual." Well, so are we, and we don't plan on apologizing for calling you an untalented, washed-up writer. Cool.

While writing this review, a friend asked, "are you going to talk about Sarah Jessica Parker's hot tranny mess face?" Excellent segue. Let's talk about Sarah Jessica Parker's hot tranny mess face. We'll start off by saying that it might not be her own fault. Michael I-Confuse-Being-Sassy-With-Just-Being-Whiny Patrick King may just have put in the script that Carrie Bradshaw's face needs to be fugly at all times. She looks like a 2nd grader gave her a skin graft and then reattached her skin to her face and then drew on a heinous mole below her mouth. The only word that truly describes it is "YIKES".

So, in conclusion, if you want to be bored, uncomfortable, confused when to laugh, and totally shocked, then Sex & the City 2 is the movie for you. If not, then you might just want to see it so that you can talk about it (because secretly it's worth it)...

Contributions from Guest Writer: Lily Dobberteen

Worst Idea Ever: Starting a Blog

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that anyone who knows Michael, Jessica, and me well enough to be reading this can figure out pretty quickly whose idea it was for "the 3 of us" to start a blog. I knew it wasn't a great idea from the start but I figured I'd do it for my sister. Why is this a bad idea you ask. It was a terrible idea to start a blog because of how predictably it has fizzled. It didn't take Ben Stein to surmise that we would lose interest and the posting would slow or stop all together. Here is the scary part: It is now probably safe to say I am keeping this baby afloat On My Own (great song by the way).

Sidebar: How could this song be anything but fantastic. It is sung by 2 of the best black male vocalists of the 20th century, Michael McDonald and Patti LaBelle. I don't want to hear any nonsense about Michael McDonald being white. You ain't gonna find Ya Mo B There in Webster's. Save your hate mail and nasty messages about The Diva, too, you know LaBelle looks like a drag queen at best.

Anyway, back to this blog. Let's take a second and think about how truly staggering it is that I am the only writing on this blog. It would be generous to call my follow through on things like this "poor". What does that say about my co-authors. I don't say this disparagingly, we all should have known better. Our lack of dedication made starting a blog the WORST Idea Ever.

P.S. Topic for next time: The Best White Singers/Artists You Swear Are Black Until You See Them.

A few off top:
Michael McDonald
Hall and Oates
Robin Thicke
Justin Timberlake
Teena Marie
Any more?


P.P.S. WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Bobby Caldwell is white? I just found a thread about the "blackest sounding white singers" and found Bobby Caldwell. He even has a mullet. He looks homeless. Watch this and tell me you'll be able to listen to "What You Won't Do for Love" again.