King Bomb

Congratulations Peter Jackson – you just made my shit list you skinny fucker!

Honestly, well done on loosing the triple chin and all, but fuck you for butchering one of my favorite movies of all time. Where 'War of the Worlds' somehow managed to still be enjoyable and credible for me, King Kong managed to be about as much fun as crib death.

Don’t get me wrong, if you like big monkeys wrestling with T-Rex’s, stampeding brontosaurs, big man-eating creepy-crawlies, and no integrity whatsoever for original plot or character development, then this is the movie for you. If you like your big monkeys digitally programmed on mega-computers capable of tracking and directing satellites in space - by all means, have at 'er. I however, being the snobby traditionalist that I am, I prefer my big monkeys in grainy black and white stop motion photography. Personally, I would rather have been poked in the eye with a sharp stick than to have wasted my money on this latest computer-generated blockbuster disaster. Sitting through over three hours of this travesty of moviemaking was like being the last man waiting in line for a Bangkok prostitute.

Think of the things I could have been accomplishing instead of simply strip-mining my brain with this computer-generated drivel: meditating, working out, wacking off, getting drunk and staring at the walls, or even learning how to say "Peter Jackson is a dead man" in mandarin chinese. ANYTHING would have been better than wasting my time watching this movie! Shit, I could have memorized the collective works of Dylan Thomas in three hours if I had known how shitty the alternative was going to be.

Even by just the one and a half hour mark, I found myself without popcorn and with a growing urge to lodge my big toe into the trigger of a Winchester shotgun and pull a Kurt Cobain right there in the 7th row. It was that fucking bad! By the time Kong and his Faye Ray wannabe bimbette, played by Naomi Watts, had finished their giggly Meg Ryan 'Perkfest' and staring longingly into each others eyes while skating in Central Park I was ready to go all Ted Bundy with my rolled up ‘Coming Attractions’ guide garnered from the lobby.

Fortunately, I was able to restrain my inner rage by sympathizing for the theater employees in the ridiculous faggy elf costumes standing in the theater lobby advertising some upcoming stupid Tim Allen Christmas hokem flick. How many Christmas family movies is this guy going to make for fuck sakes anyways? Seeing those poor minimum wage bastards standing there sadly hocking DVD's* made me consider putting them out of their misery with a sympathy slaying. And believe me, after 3 and a half hours of computer monkeys and Jack Black's eyebrows I was ready for some ritual murdering.

But back to the debacle at hand! FUCK PETER JACKSON!

I am starting a petition right now to have Peter Jackson hunted down and flogged before he commits any more cinematic evils. Now, I know how you all loved ‘Lord of the Rings’ because you all love your elves and fairies n’ shit. I must be the only person in the world that thought Tolkein was about as boring as a Brandon Fraser movie. Heaven’s forbid the people should ever go without their elves n’ fairies. But this was a landmark Hollywood gem, from 1933, that should never have been tampered with.

Bastards.

Personally, I snoozed most of the way through the LOTR trilogies. It all seemed a little, well, gay to me. Maybe if I had smoked more dope than a DEA incinerator I would have given more of shit about Gandar the half man-elf, or whoever. What can I say? I was more inclined to read things of more sustenance and stimulating dialogue - like the old copies of Hustler squirreled away from the local Barber’s garbage can.

I’ve just never likened to fantasy very much. For me, enthusiastically absorbing that much elves and fairies would only be one short step from going all ‘Too Wong Fu’ and take to wearing burlesque-like alien costumes and joining some weirdo group of “LARP-ers”** on Wednesday nights to eat Cheeto’s and debate over who has the smaller penis.

Have the creative juices in Hollywood dried up so badly that we have really have to resort to this kind of shameless rehashing of classics from the Golden Age of cinema? How long before we’re being primed with regular commercials for the new remade release of M*A*S*H*, starring Jim Carey and Will Ferrell? Where does it end? Makes you want to chug Drain-o, doesn’t it?

So, dear readers and crazytigerrabbitman supporters everywhere, I implore you to make your voice heard. Sharpen up those throwing spears and fire up the roasting pits, it's high time we gathered our pitchforks, fly to New Zealand, and find that Jackson bastard and see that justice is served. Leave no sheep unturned!

Lets stop the insanity now and send a message to Hollywood before it's too late for decent cinema; before Ebert and Roeper explode and die of complications from severe gastronomical pains.

* They looked like spry-looking little match girls, all sadly pleading for people to buy their wares so that their drunken managers won't flail them with switches.

** "Live Action Role Playing"