Christy and Paul 2013

A year without internet, media and junkfood. Lord, help us.

Month: February, 2013

Black & Blue

My hair is almost long enough to put in a ponytail! I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I shaved my head… two summers ago? I don’t remember. The point is that this has been a long time coming.

Photo on 2-27-13 at 8.42 PM #2

We just have a table in the middle of the room. No chairs. Just a table.

When I shaved my head, I pledged to myself that I would stop the vicious cycle of dying my hair, which I ‘ve been doing in some form or another since middle school. My dad always told me that I wasn’t allowed to dye my hair or get a tattoo until I moved out, so I used hydrogen peroxide to strip the black out of my hair. Luckily, my dad wasn’t particularly observant, so it wasn’t until high school that he noticed and asked whether I had dyed my hair. “No, I did not dye my hair,” I responded, truthfully. I never got a tattoo, though. AND I NEVER WILL.

Photo on 2-27-13 at 8.44 PM

That’s a sticky rice red bean donut on the table. : (
They were going out of business today!

The itch to dye is still there, though. I’ve been blonde, attempted pink (orange), red, teal, copper, dyed black, light brown, dark brown and all of the faded versions of the aforementioned. When I saw Whip It, I probably came home and dyed my hair that night. Paul says I dyed my hair in the bathroom of Alabama Apartments the day we moved out, but I don’t remember that or ANYTHING. I really do have a horrendous memory.

Photo on 2-27-13 at 8.39 PM #2

Paul’s clamshell LED/Speaker reminds me of MST3K.

As you can see, I figured out that black hair + blue light = Whip It blue hair.

Photo on 2-27-13 at 8.40 PM #2

One of many shisha boxes that have crept their asses into this house.

You can also see that we like to keep a pretty messy living room.

Photo on 2-27-13 at 8.44 PM #2

This is turning into iSpy. Can you spot the elbow?

In other news, red light doesn’t work as well.

Photo on 2-27-13 at 8.47 PM

The red light refused to cooperate. Fine, then I refuse to research the attributes of red light.

On the screenwriting front, I’ve been stuck at around page 69 for a week (hence the pic procrastination). I’m only shooting for 95 pages, so I’m not too far away from finishing my first draft, but I was hoping it wouldn’t take an entire month to get the story right and pump out 90-ish pages of script.

To be honest, my frustration with trying to make major changes to the story from within Final Draft drove me to metaphorically drink. I’ve been on a media bender for the past four or five days! Bill Burr podcasts, 21 Jump Street, The Graham Norton Show (saw one feat. Ozzy Osbourne that lead me to The Osbournes), even Ice Loves Coco for God’s sake!  I relapsed. I’m embarrassed. It hasn’t even been two full months!

I don’t know whether to blame the page stall on the media consumption, or the media consumption on the page stall. It’s probably both. Damn it. At least I’m turning it around, right?

– Christy has nothing positive to say.


Predicting My Death

Tonight at work, a co-worker told me that she no longer bought plastic tupperware because of dangers from the tupperware debris melding with food. Without thinking, I said, “Well, we all have to die of something.” Yes, apparently I’m that guy. That douchey guy.

When people say that, they aren’t really thinking about it. I like to think we all hope for the best when it comes to death. To be old and fat, surrounded by loved ones in a ginormous mansion. Or to go out Hefner-style, dying because your heart just can’t handle any more sex with Scarlett Johansen. (God bless Ryan Reynolds, but Blake Lively is a down-grade. I’d be lucky to date Blake Lively’s 87-year old Honduran housekeeper, but still.) My mind keeps flashing to one item when I think of my death:


No clue why. That would seriously suck, right? I don’t lead a very active lifestyle, so unless Chodie Foster grows thumbs and learns to wield a mighty axe I’m probably safe. However, to pay for my douche-dom for ever saying that phrase in conversation, I’ve decided to dig into the crystal ball and predict just how my fatal flesh wound will occur.

Imagine this, but much more Russian.

Imagine this, but much more Russian.

There’s a messenger, Boris, who shows up to my office every once in a while. Boris strikes fear into my heart. I haven’t been afraid of someone so much since I saw Doink the Clown on WWE Raw as a child. This guy is directly out of bad guy central casting. He has sunken eyes and a DEEP Russian-accent. He utters broken english and might be saying the sweetest things, but all I hear is, “Hello, my name is Boris. I’ve come to hack you up into tiny bits and use your collarbone as my new backscratcher. Before I begin, who do I speak to about getting my parking validated?” Don’t let me forget to mention, Boris has 3 fingers on his left hand and 4 on his right, and he has thick green veins across his face! I’m convinced he’s ex-KGB and James Bond poisoned him just enough to piss him off, sending him to the states to kill innocent rednecks with ham hands.

Don't adjust your settings, his face really is green. This is Ukraine's former president who was poisoned. I assume the messenger, Boris poisoned him, and then poisoned himself just for the hell of it.

Don’t adjust your settings, his face really is green. This is Ukraine’s former president who was poisoned. I assume Boris poisoned him, then poisoned himself just for the hell of it.

I have a feeling that one night I’ll be walking to my car in an empty parking garage. I’ll be feeling guilty, because someone would have left Popeye’s Chicken in the break room, and i will have eaten most of it. (If I’m going to die in this scenario, I’m going to be well fed.) I won’t be watching my surroundings, because the Popeyes will have my stomach doing backflips, begging for death or a return to outhouses. As I make it to my car, I’ll spot one of the black cats who live in our parking structure sleeping on my hood. Once I shoo that bastard off, there Boris will be, axe in nubby hand. I forgot to validate his parking! I deserve what I have coming.

Due to 25 years of loyal WWE viewing and weak birdy arms, my first instinct will be to put him in a full nelson. No dice, Boris just chopped off my left arm. No big deal, that arm actually died back in 1995 due to nonuse. He and my left arm can rot in hell! I’ll take off on a dead sprint. That will work for about 20 feet. After that, I’ll be so winded that I’ll beg for a swift death. Boris will happily oblige. Good luck with your new back scratcher you 2 bit Bond villain.

I hope I’m wrong. I hope  I wake up tomorrow to a few missed calls from Scarlett Johansson, but for some reason, all I think of when I think about death is Boris’ spindly green veins looking down at me. Sorry if tonight’s post has been a bummer. These are the weird ways that I entertain myself these days.

Paul knows that he will die on the toilet. In about 14 minutes.



It’s ’94 All Over Again

Spending another night up ’til the wee hours of the morning. I’ve been listening to two new albums on repeat. Elle Varner’s “Perfectly Imperfect” and Kendrick Lamar’s “Good Kid M.A.A.D City”.

Elle Varner, ladies and gentlemen. Those looks and she's patriotic, too?

Elle Varner, ladies and gentlemen. Those looks and she’s patriotic too?

Poetic Justice is my favorite rap/hip song of 2013. Since music is the only media I'm allowed, I've heard a bunch, lol.

Poetic Justice is my favorite rap/hip song of 2013. Since music is the only media I’m allowed, I’ve heard a bunch, lol.

These albums are just about perfect, as far as I’m concerned. It sounds like music I would have listened to as a kid, sneaking into the living room at night, listening to MTV. Every single song on Elle Varner’s album is incredible. It’s filled with soul, and some catchy music. I REALLY appreciate that only one of the songs have a featured artist. It seems like every other R&B singer can’t put out a song these days without a rapper doing a cameo. This album is all Elle Varner, all the time. Don’t Care”, “Sound Proof Room” and “Oh What a Night” are stand-outs, but seriously, there isn’t a bad song on the album. She feels like the second coming of Janet Jackson. God, I’d kill for her to cover “That’s the Way Love Goes”.

Speaking of Janet (Ms. Jackson if you’re nasty), Kendrick Lamar’s new single “Poetic Justice” samples her song “Anytime, Anyplace” and turns it into the most hypnotic hook I’ve heard in a while. Even Drake doesn’t manage to screw this song up, when he shows up for a quick verse. Poetic Justice feels like a song that would be best enjoyed during the Summer.  For anybody struggling with the Winter crud, just kick back, relax and listen to this on repeat for a month or so and you’ll be right as rain. He even gets Dr. Dre to leave the retirement home for two tracks. “Compton” is incredibly catchy, and feels like an unreleased Tupac song.

After Larry Bird, I’m the whitest person alive, with a southern accent that Foghorn Leghorn would scoff at, but there’s just something about a catchy beat and good lyrics that touch my heart. Of course, tomorrow I’ll be listening to John Mayer. Tomorrow, Christy will make fun of me. I deserve it.

Paul’s favorite song is The Humpty Dance.

“Thick as Dickens”

I, Christy, being of sound mind and unsound body, hereby claim the saying “thick as Dickens” for myself and for America. Given that a preliminary one-page Google search produced no results of similar context, I feel comfortable in proclaiming that I am the first person of the Internet to lay claim to what shall surely be an awesome and prolific turn of phrase.

Senior Yearbook Photo.Charles Dicken's Senior Quote: "My father left for me a little collection of books in a small room upstairs, to which I had access and nobody else in our house ever troubled. From that little blessed room, Humphrey Clinker, Gil Blas, Peregr."

Senior Yearbook Photo.
Senior Quote: “I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so the evening mists were now, and in all the broad expanse of tranqu…”

From hence forth, “thick as Dickens” may be used to refer to anything which is as thick, either in size, density or viscosity, as a Dickens novel, i.e. exceptionally thick wieners, especially dense fog, unusually hard-to-stir mashed potatoes, and so forth.

If you or someone you know has already heard or used “thick as Dickens” in conversation, please call this number: 1293457088.

Thank you, and have a good day.


Jennifer Connelly Successfully Cloned Herself!

Exhibit A! Lily Collins from the movie Mirror Mirror:

Exhibit 2! Jennifer Connelly from The Rocketeer:

Has Jennifer Connelly perfected human cloning? Or was Mr. Phil Collins unfaithful to wife #2, Jill Tavelman? Yeah… Think about that.

“Why can’t Jeff live with his family?” – Stan

“He hasn’t spoken to his dad in years, and his mom ran away before he was born.” – Hailey

“How– How could she do that?” – Stan (American Dad)

This revelation brought to you by: Christy.

Watch a Movie, Pay the Price

The script I am working on is my first full-length screenplay, and today, I made the mistake of watching a successful mainstream film. I now have a terrible case of the I-SUCKS.

I know you can’t have shooting draft expectations for first drafts. I know that. But there’s a voice inside of me, and sometimes one outside of me, telling me that I need to re-invent the wheel and simultaneously, that I need to be more mainstream. It is a disaster area in my head, and I haven’t even finished a first draft. The only thing that seems to effectively calm my nerves now is to read what few pages I have of my script. Read through them, without stopping. Ahh, the characters aren’t confusingly similar. Ahh, there’s nothing that bores the daylights out of me. All right, that’s fine… I think I’m okay.

I didn’t know it before, but ^this whirling dirbish of self-doubt^ is another reason I shouldn’t watch movies. I compare myself to the writers the same way I do to airbrushed celebrimodels on the covers of Sport’s Illustrated and Glamour and Cat Fancy. The old me would have said, “Why not compare yourself to completed movies? That’s what the studios want, right?” But the old me never wrote a full-length screenplay, so I tend to question her credentials.

"You deserve the best. You deserve... Fancy Feast." - Stan Smith, American Dad

“You deserve the best. You deserve… Fancy Feast.” – Stan Smith, American Dad

Maybe there are smart screenwriters out there who are not at all phased by the magnitude of the minutiae involved in writing good, big-budget films. Likewise, maybe there are men and women who can be inundated with images of young, anglo, airbrushed, made-up, well-lit, surgically-enhanced models every day and not develop a complex. I’m not sure which one I doubt more…

Was this post too much of a downer? How about this?*


*Edit: Was going to give Snoop Dogg Lion a shout out for a “Macaulay Culkin looks like he’s been HOME ALONE for 30 years” joke, but then I saw Macaulay Culkin’s picture, and it’s too sad. You do NOT want to be the last person to make a joke about somebody before they die. It’s just not in good taste.

All righty, page count’s been okay. It’s been 9 days, and I’ve written 45 pages, more than I wrote in all of 2012, so… Awesome! And a little sad. 😦 I’m shooting for 95 pages total, so maybe I’ll be done in 9 more days. O_o Or maybe that’s crazy.

Carry on! Carrion?

Carry on, Carrion! <– Zombie Shirt Waiting to Happen

– Christy

I’m Broken

While thinking about the old Nickelodeon show Allegra’s Window, I’ve realized that I’m broken. All I currently know about Allegra’s Window is that a puppet’s name was Allegra, and there was probably a window involved. I used to have a wealth of knowledge about all things pop culture. There was a time when I could name most of the technicolored muppets from Allegra’s Window and wonder what they would be up to these days. (I’m willing to bet Allegra would have rainbow dreadlocks and play awful Norah Jones cover’s out her window every night. Allegra would be the worst.) Entertainment tidbits that I didn’t know, I’d just google and spend an hour or two catching up. SInce I’m no longer allowed these google refresher courses about which actor played the comic relief in the 1998 Disney movie, Brink, I feel like I’m losing my touch. It’s probably for the best, but it does bum me out.

Once in college, a high school friend called me out of the blue, asking what actor played the bad guy in Blade Runner. I’d never seen Blade Runner, but knew that it was Rutger Hauer. I couldn’t pick Rutger Hauer out of a lineup of one, but that name rattled out of my brain like crayons from George W. Bush’s briefcase. If I was asked that question now, without having seen the movie, my friend would be sorely disappointed  Of course, he could just as easily google or iMDB the information now. He could’ve done that back then, now that I think about it. I’ve got lazy friends.

*As a side note to any cinema purist, shocked that I hadn’t seen Blade Runner at the time, please know that I attempted to watch it a few years ago and fell asleep 5 minutes in. Unless he’s cracking a whip or flying the Millenium Falcon, Harrison Ford is typically a bad actor. There’s a reason he was working as a carpenter in his mid-thirties before George Lucas threw him a bone.

I’ve really enjoyed 2013 so far. I no longer feel the urge to waste 8 hours a day watching shows and movies I’d already seen 4 times before. I DO still have the desire to jump out of a moving car whenever I pass a Taco Bell. Baby steps, I guess. At the beginning of this media ban, I fully expected to spend the first week of 2014 locked away in some sleazy motel room, re-uploading all of this useless information to my brain. Now, I realize just how useless it all is. Unless Ed Mcmahon’s zombie bones show up to my door tomorrow, offering me some oversized check if I know who played the love interest in Caddyshack, pop culture has done nothing but steal months from my life. It would be pretty awesome to shotgun blast Ed Mcmahon’s corpse, though.

Paul really misses tacos.

Country Music Story Tellin’ – “Don’t Take the Girl”

My love for Country music goes way the hell back (relative to my time in existence). I swear I didn’t know the radio could play anything other than Country til I was 6 or 7, because every radio in the house/car was always tuned to WDRM.

Tennessee Valley, that is. Y'all come back and see us sometime, ya hear?

Tennessee Valley, that is. Y’all come back and see us sometime, ya hear?

When I was ten, I  told my family that I wanted to be a Country singer. My older sister quickly disabused me of the idea, letting me know that 1. I was Asian, and there was no such thing as an Asian Country singer, and 2. I couldn’t sing. I was embarrassed. My dreams were crushed before they’d even had a chance to settle in, and since then, I’ve never told ANYONE the extent of my larger-than-life aspirations. Hmm… Blogs as therapy. Good research paper idea.

I should have been a cowboy,
I should have learned to rope and ride…

As I grew up, I discovered a love for other genres (especially Motown, Soul and R&B) and left my love for Country behind, possibly out of a feeling of exclusion or possibly as a rebellion against my parents. Don’t… Yeah, don’t know. The recent revival of music in my life, thanks to Pandora One and a lack of visual storytelling mediums, has given me a chance to look back at the Country music of my youth with fresh eyes. Fresh, teary eyes. You wanna talk about tight storytelling?! I’mma let you finish, but Tim McGraw had one of the best short stories of all time! One of the best shorts of all time! : P “Don’t Take the Girl” is like that “Christmas Shoes” song, but without all the backdoor self-aggrandizing. “I just had to help him oooout…” F*ck you, Newsong! You should have been called Onesong! (I hope they were, in fact, one hit wonders.)

“Oh, I am gonna write a SONG about you…”
I know it’s wrong, but every single picture of this incident makes me laugh.

Country music has a stronger emphasis on storytelling than pop (Southerners are indeed a story-telling folk ^_~). I wouldn’t argue if you disagreed, but I do think there’s something us screenwriters can learn from this oft-put-down genre. It is, after all, a HUGE deal in the red states (and Europe, what’s up with that?). Can it be racist/nationalist sometimes? Yes. But more often than not, I’ve found racism is nothing more than a symptom of limited exposure to other peoples. The South might be changing, but it’s still pretty minority free, save for African Americans. And besides, ever notice how much sh*t the South gets from people who’ve never been there? Wooh, okay. That’s another post.

Who doesn’t love a good map?

Anywho, back to the song. It might just be me, but I can’t get through it without tearing up. It’s such beautiful, blue-collar love, people!  You can imagine, for instance, that after Johnny gets robbed, he’s not gonna be super indignant about it. He’s not gonna be like, “Who the f*ck does that guy think he is? I’m gonna f#cking call the police right now! Oh, you messed with the wrong Jonathan Carlisle III today, buddy! Ooh, I am really steamed.” Lol. I don’t even know who that guy would be, but you get the picture.

Funny guy. I wish Katt could stay out of jail…

Without further ado:

Johnny’s daddy was taking him fishin’
When he was eight years old.
A little girl came through the front gate
Holdin’ a fishin’ pole.
His dad looked down and smiled,
Said, “We can’t leave her behind”
“Son, I know you don’t want her to go,
But someday you’ll change your mind.”
And Johnny said,
“Take Jimmy Johnson,
Take Tommy Tompson.
Take my best friend, Bo.
Take anybody that you want,
As long as she don’t go.
Take any boy in the world,
Daddy please, don’t take the girl.”

Same old boy, same sweet girl
Ten years down the road.
He held her tight and kissed her lips in
Front of the picture show.
Stranger came and pulled a gun
Grabbed her by the arm said “If you do what I tell you t(w)o,
There won’t be any harm”
And Johnny said “Take my money,
Take my wallet,
Take my credit cards.
Here’s the watch that my grandpa gave me,
Here’s the key to my car.
Mister give it a whirl,
But please don’t take the girl.”

Same old boy
Same sweet girl
Five years down the road
There’s gonna be a little one and she
Says it’s time to go.
Doctor says the baby’s fine,
But you’ll have to leave,
‘Cause his momma’s fading fast and
Johnny hit his knees and there he prayed
“Take the very breath you gave me.
Take the heart from my chest.
I’ll gladly take her place if you’ll let me,
Make this my last request.
Take me out of this world.
God, please don’t take the girl.”

Johnny’s daddy
Was taking him fishin’
When he was eight years old

Lyrics by Craig Martin and Larry W. Johnson

Kills ya, don’t it?

“I mean, as long as I have been doing music, I know I am only 30% of what I could be and want to be.” – Tim McGraw


Page Count: What is NORMAL?!

For whatever reason, I have never been able to do first drafts of things, break up projects into mini goals or turn in things that I’m not proud of. Boohoo, you say? So, you can only do the best you are capable of, all in one sitting? So, what?! I’ll tell you “so, what!” 

This unusual combination of weirdness has lead to:

  1. Chronic procrastination (like chronic masturbation, but more stressful) due to a fear of starting a project, knowing that I will have to finish it, marathon-style.

    Jeez… I wish my legs were that skinny.

  2. Staying up for unhealthy amounts of time (sometimes 70+ hours, but most of the time it was 50-60) due to my need to keep working until the project was done/perfected. Incidentally, I have tried every major brand of energy drink, in the largest sizes available.

    Trust me when I say that I did not look this glamorous staying up all night, and the Red Bull looked more like a crack pipe.

  3. Losing letter grades/getting zeroes on projects, because I was too embarrassed of my work to turn it in.

    F is for Fancy F

  4. Taking drugs for the first time. O_O Okay, this one sounds a little scarier than it was. I had been awake for 70+ hours writing a paper and creating a presentation for a group project (yeah, it was one of those where I did everything). I was dog tired when it came time to go to class, and I had to give the presentation, as I was the only one who knew what the hell was going on, so… I took a partner’s Adderall. I don’t encourage anyone to take Adderall recreationally, but it was like I had just slept for 12 hours and woken up for the first time! (BTW, Adderall use seems too common for kids born past 1989. Or maybe, I’m just old and unhip.)

    A little lifelong dependency on amphetamines never hurt anyone, right?

  5. Failing a pass/fail class, because I slept through finals day (the final entailed standing in front of the class and talking about ANYTHING for 5 minutes). I had been sleeping every other day for a month. It caught up to me.

    Dear college students,
    I don’t recommend attempting the uberman sleep schedule during finals week.

  6. Losing a cush job summarizing academic texts for $10/hr. Could have/should have just summarized the resources as simply as humanly possible for non-native English speaking computer science professors. Didn’t. Lost ma job.

    Easy for some… ~_~

What’s the point of all of this? Well, screenwriting is not a paper. It’s not a project to be pumped out in one long marathon of insanity. As far as I can tell, it’s impossible to treat it that way. But those compulsions… They’re still there. Every time I stop writing, I feel guilty for not going over what I’ve done a million times, and I feel guilty for only pumping out 6 or 7 pages, even though I have plenty of time to keep working. I just don’t know what’s normal. I guess it might get easier to produce as time goes by, or maybe I’ll just get used to my low page counts. Either way, it’s a stage I was bound to go through, having been forged in the writing fires of academix (<- mistype, but I like it. o_o) rather than the artz.

For the First Time Ever! My Sad Attempt @ Art:

If I had to title it:Primate's Primary School Photo

If I had to title it:
Primate’s Primary School Photo
Yep, that’s poo in his hand.

“The only thing I was fit for was to be a writer, and this notion rested solely on my suspicion that I would never be fit for real work, and that writing didn’t require any.” – Russell Baker


DC High School

For starters, where have I been? A week ago, Christy sent me to grab tennis rackets from the closet. Let’s just say I found Narnia. I’ve never been, but I feel like it was eerily similar to Milwaukee. Or maybe the outskirts of Quebec. However, I’m ashamed to have let the elf princesses keep me away from the blog for this long, and it will never happen agaaaaaain. (Tiny Chris Jericho reference for my fellow nerds)

Also, everybody stand up and clap for Christy! Go ahead, do it. Making it on Scriptshadow is a big deal, and her short has been the most impressive by a country mile, as far as I’m concerned. Not that a country mile is better or longer than a regular mile, but it is made of dirt and National Championship trophies, so it probably is better.

Tonight’s post is brought to you by Aquaman and how much I hate him. Yes, I know, EVERYBODY hates Aquaman, but my hatred comes from a place of love. Aquaman could be one of the coolest comic book characters around, but as a VILLAIN. People have to be able to root for heroes; nobody wants to cheer for an Abercrombie model who slaps people with a large mouth bass. I think Aquaman has to resent his fellow heroes, at least a little bit. He’s just as good and as powerful as they are, but I get the feeling that he does most of the pizza runs during Justice League meetings.

If DC Comics would just make Aquaman a villain, I think there could be a revival of sorts for the character. Think of the money that could be made. Nobody’s asking for the Aquaman movie, unless it’s directed by James Cameron. Even then, how is Aquaman supposed to speak? How in the blue hell do you speak underwater? Thought bubbles? Telepathy? I don’t see it working. However, you tweak the character a bit and he’d make an interesting bad guy. I assume Aquaman gets his “power” from water, which is why he becomes 100% USELESS once his feet touch sand.

Anything can happen in comics! Why can’t he wear some suit, or inject himself with a serum that effectively pumps water through his bloodstream at all times? Is that too weird? If it is, please remember that a member of the Fantastic 4 is a rock. Also, the coolest character in The Avengers was a scientist who turns into an 8 story tall green monster. Nothing makes sense. At this point, Aquaman should have found a way to keep his powers outside of the Sea.

Here’s another idea for the nerds in the room. Apparently, a Justice League movie is being developed. DC is jealous of all that Avengers moolah. Now that Disney is calling the shots for Marvel, DC is desperate to get all of their heroes together before the Avengers are fighting Darth Vader next year. That would be amaaaaazing.

Let’s go ahead and scrap that Justice League movie.  How could that possibly work? Nobody cares about Wonder Woman (though I’d like to see Beyonce in the outfit), Ryan Reynolds would sooner do a Van Wilder sequel than play Green Lantern again and if I see Joseph Gordon Levitt prancing around in the Batman suit, I’m losing it. Never fear, I have a plan. It’s called the Twilight effect. Oh yeah, let’s set this baby in a high school! You don’t get any more supernatural than Superman. It would immediately drop the budget from 250 to 40 million. It will probably make the same amount of money.  You throw a Jonas brother in there as The Flash and tweens are flocking to the theaters. Geeks will show up just to see this exercise in stupidity.

It writes itself, Wonder Woman’s a teen with a lip biting problem, who just moved into town from some remote island. Let’s call it the island from LOST, why not? She’s torn between the idealistic farmboy, Clark Kent, and the brooding rich kid, Bruce, who complains about his parent’s death anytime he enters a room. The class clown is a young Goth with green hair and a bubbly groupie named Harley. The more I type, the more I want to see this. I don’t think the young Joker can be the villain, because these movies are built to be franchises. You want to keep that clown in the box for the sequels. No, the villain will be Metropolis High’s star swimmer, Aquaman, or whatever Aquaman’s human name is. People will be so busy expecting the Joker, or the school’s ruthless Principal, Lex Luthor, that nobody will notice when the young blonde abducts Wonder Woman.

I realize that this idea sounds ludicrous  but once the new Superman film crashes and burns this summer you’ll all see the light. My light. My light is filled with Buffy the Vampire Slayer style humor and love triangles. My light sells 200 million worth of Hot Topic merchandise. My light doesn’t have to be in 3-D. Just think about it.


Paul has missed this. Paul also expects a cease and desist letter from WB any minute now.