After 15 long years of teenaged-level angst, the adolescents of the 90’s have finally been heard: the comedic stylings of The State finally arrive in a DVD package so good, it makes $240.00 worth of pudding seem frigid.
Browsing: Critics Den
Forget about classic “whodunits.” The Hangover lays claim to the genre of “whadafuckhapind.”
When you start up the first track on an album and you involuntarily say “What the hell?” it’s either a really good thing, or a really bad thing. There’s not much of a middle ground to that phrase.
But in my defense, I also wasn’t expecting what came out of my speakers when I clicked Play. The editor sent me a link and said, “Here, why don’t you try writing something useful for a change?” The link had the name Manchester Orchestra in it, so I figured it was going to be some classical pieces from the UK, right? I mean sure, those of us here at The Inept Owl have as much class and culture as a post-chili farting contest… but it wouldn’t be unheard-of for us to review some high-brow music for sh*ts and giggles.
(Editor’s note: Darby turned in a music review this week that was not up to the usual high standards we have here at The Inept Owl. However, when we tried to return his review so that he could rework it, we found him passed out underneath his desk, a bottle of bourbon in one hand and an inflatable sheep in the other. Therefore, the editorial staff was forced to do a quick rewrite in order to meet the deadline. Thank you for your understanding.)
In the world of gaming, there is always the question of how long you can stand repeatedly playing a certain game? Some games, such as the World of Warcraft series, keep releasing updates and expansions to keep you interested. Others have so many secret levels, quests, and point systems that it could take you years to even find them all, nevermind complete them(unless you’re cheating with a walkthrough or something. I never did get all of the hearts in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time)
Then you have games like Ghost Recon: Advanced Warfighter 2, that have none of the above, but make addicts out of us all.
Being an unpaid faux-music-reviewer (as in a faux reviewer of music, not a reviewer of faux music), I’m not up on the ridiculously fine-hair-splitting categories kids use these days. Our previous review of their work called them “folk,” but the current work was a little rock-heavy with country sounds to fit that mold in my mind (that mold being “bearded men who smell of patchouli” and “women who don’t shave their armpits”). But I know there’s this “alt-country” thing, so I looked it up on wikipedia; on that site, a bunch of people who take themselves too seriously typed a bunch of stuff about a genre they take too seriously. For lack of a better label, I’ll call them “alt-country,” which, to the best of my understanding, means they’re country-ish without sounding like country. It could sound like bluegrass or punk rock and somebody will call it alt-country, so that works for me. The guitar’s a little twangy at times, and the vocals are a little twangy at times… it fits. Twenty years ago, they would have been “southern rock.” But I digress.
About six years ago, I was at one of those cheesy-ass “murder mystery dinner parties.” You know… everyone dresses up and acts out a murder mystery with each other, and there are themed courses to the meal that match up to the story line. Unfortunately, my wife and I were the only ones to show up other than the host and hostess, which made it rather difficult to play out the murder mystery. But since we had a fridge full of beer and I had a sock stuffed down my pants (it was a part of the character, I swear), we decided to play the ever-entertaining college drinking game, “Flip Cup.”
With Halloween weekend upon us, I figured I should share a few of the horror movies that I hold dear. That way, you know exactly what to go pick up for your own horror-fests. These are only short reviews so you will know exactly what you are in for if you watch any of these.
Jess Winfield can boast of having written top-quality material that is teeming with bad behavior and totally inappropriate for children. But what has he been up to since his days at Disney? Winfield, a founding member of the Reduced Shakespeare Company, left the Mouse behind to pen My Name is Will: A Novel of Sex, Drugs and Shakespeare. This debut work is a tempest of vices and villains, with more lewd laughs than you can shake a spear at.
To say that Clark Greg’s inaugural opus, Choke, is strange does not do it justice. Just ask the old lady who sat a row behind me in the theater and continually exclaimed, “This is just so . . . weird,” in five minute intervals throughout the entire movie. She’ll tell you. Really, ask her.