American Beauty (As It Should Have Ended )
I'm assuming that the bulk of my readership has seen the film American Beauty. I assume this
because pretty much everybody on the planet saw that movie on or about 1999, when it won every
single Academy Award, for every single category including 'Best Foreign Documentary' and 'Best
Special Effects.' Also, I saw American Beauty, and if I saw it then everybody, everywhere had an
opportunity to view it as well. Because I don't make it a practice to go see many movies during their
theater runs. I simply have no desire to surround myself with crunching, sneezing, cell
phone-talking troglodytes... such as yourselves. That, and I have to smuggle in beers, which is
lame; beer should be celebrated.
Another detractor from the theater experience is that I rarely - okay, never - get blowjobs or
handjobs during the film, as I did when I was a teenager. Getting a hummer or a handy in the back
row of seats is really the pinnacle of movie going. I don't care if you're watching the 1998 movie
adaptation of Wing Commander, which starred WhoGivesAShit Jones and made about $43.50
domestically (Author's Note: It was comparatively huge in Portugal, where it made about $245.30.)
If you have an orgasm, you're having a wonderful time.
However, I'll admit that in 1999 I was much more of an art nerd. And I did then take in far more
flicks on the big screen than I do now. The reason: I didn't have a girlfriend. I still had to try and
impress sophisticated Bay Area women with my extensive and heartfelt opinions of modern cinema
and paintings and other gay crap like that. (This was before I realized that women everywhere
were - though they may deny it - far more interested in self-absorbed assholes with lots of tattoos.
So I got a bunch of tattoos and learned to roll my eyes a lot when girls were talking to me. Then
daddy got LAID, LAID, LAID!)
So American Beauty wins a butt-load of awards and receives unprecedented and universal critical
acclaim. The movie makes people cry and inspires a new generation of film makers to slap their
audiences in the face with blatant and trite symbolism and vomit-producing lines such as: "Look,
it's a bag blowing in the wind. This is the most beautiful thing ever. I filmed it. Off with your shirt,
woman! You know I really wish I could bone that teenage friend of yours. She's super hot. I hate
my wife. Poor me. Wait, why is she rolling around in pink rose petals? Are those supposed to
represent something?"
And the plot is all: Man has midlife crisis and hates his life. Kevin Spacey is Man. Man becomes a
dick, quits his job and starts smoking weed. Man totally almost closes the deal with a
seventeen-year-old only to have revelation of responsibility and the meaning of life. Boring
subplots you don't care about parallel. And then, in the end of the movie, crazy marine dad blows
Kevin Spacey away because he thinks that his kid was servicing Lil' Kevin Spacey for weed.
Bottom Line: American Beauty should have ended like this...
Dan Silver gets a handy and then sneaks into the theater where Beerfest is playing.
I'm assuming that the bulk of my readership has seen the film American Beauty. I assume this
because pretty much everybody on the planet saw that movie on or about 1999, when it won every
single Academy Award, for every single category including 'Best Foreign Documentary' and 'Best
Special Effects.' Also, I saw American Beauty, and if I saw it then everybody, everywhere had an
opportunity to view it as well. Because I don't make it a practice to go see many movies during their
theater runs. I simply have no desire to surround myself with crunching, sneezing, cell
phone-talking troglodytes... such as yourselves. That, and I have to smuggle in beers, which is
lame; beer should be celebrated.
Another detractor from the theater experience is that I rarely - okay, never - get blowjobs or
handjobs during the film, as I did when I was a teenager. Getting a hummer or a handy in the back
row of seats is really the pinnacle of movie going. I don't care if you're watching the 1998 movie
adaptation of Wing Commander, which starred WhoGivesAShit Jones and made about $43.50
domestically (Author's Note: It was comparatively huge in Portugal, where it made about $245.30.)
If you have an orgasm, you're having a wonderful time.
However, I'll admit that in 1999 I was much more of an art nerd. And I did then take in far more
flicks on the big screen than I do now. The reason: I didn't have a girlfriend. I still had to try and
impress sophisticated Bay Area women with my extensive and heartfelt opinions of modern cinema
and paintings and other gay crap like that. (This was before I realized that women everywhere
were - though they may deny it - far more interested in self-absorbed assholes with lots of tattoos.
So I got a bunch of tattoos and learned to roll my eyes a lot when girls were talking to me. Then
daddy got LAID, LAID, LAID!)
So American Beauty wins a butt-load of awards and receives unprecedented and universal critical
acclaim. The movie makes people cry and inspires a new generation of film makers to slap their
audiences in the face with blatant and trite symbolism and vomit-producing lines such as: "Look,
it's a bag blowing in the wind. This is the most beautiful thing ever. I filmed it. Off with your shirt,
woman! You know I really wish I could bone that teenage friend of yours. She's super hot. I hate
my wife. Poor me. Wait, why is she rolling around in pink rose petals? Are those supposed to
represent something?"
And the plot is all: Man has midlife crisis and hates his life. Kevin Spacey is Man. Man becomes a
dick, quits his job and starts smoking weed. Man totally almost closes the deal with a
seventeen-year-old only to have revelation of responsibility and the meaning of life. Boring
subplots you don't care about parallel. And then, in the end of the movie, crazy marine dad blows
Kevin Spacey away because he thinks that his kid was servicing Lil' Kevin Spacey for weed.
Bottom Line: American Beauty should have ended like this...
Dan Silver gets a handy and then sneaks into the theater where Beerfest is playing.
