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 March 17, 2003 Papa Was a Violent Stone-ThrowerMy parents are having a trial separation right now. I think that's the word—what's it called when your dad wallops your mom in the head with a brick and they lock him up? That's what's going on anyhow.
It's nothing new for the Coleman clan, but I can understand the police getting all upset about it seeing as how a brick is real hard and stuff. It's not like dad meant to hurt her, they were just re-modeling the place and there's not a lot of soft stuff to grab when you get suddenly enraged, so a brick was handy. The irony is super, though, since they were in the police station to bail my uncle Luke out. At least dad didn't have to suffer that humiliating ride downtown in handcuffs.
If you ask me, and I know I'm asking me, Uncle Luke should have known better. I like h...
º Last Column: Flying High with the Pilot º more columns
My parents are having a trial separation right now. I think that's the word—what's it called when your dad wallops your mom in the head with a brick and they lock him up? That's what's going on anyhow. It's nothing new for the Coleman clan, but I can understand the police getting all upset about it seeing as how a brick is real hard and stuff. It's not like dad meant to hurt her, they were just re-modeling the place and there's not a lot of soft stuff to grab when you get suddenly enraged, so a brick was handy. The irony is super, though, since they were in the police station to bail my uncle Luke out. At least dad didn't have to suffer that humiliating ride downtown in handcuffs. If you ask me, and I know I'm asking me, Uncle Luke should have known better. I like him and all, but if the judge throws the book at him I'll understand perfectly. Uncle Luke made a bet that the cops can't bust you for possession if the weed is sitting in the passenger seat while you're driving, like it defies technical definitions of possession. I was educated by a poorly-paid on-set tutor and even I know anywhere in your car counts as possession, it's like a big pocket in the eyes of the law. Anyway, it was sour grapes for dad since all the money he won on the bet had to be used to bail Uncle Luke out. And now he's in the cooler and has no money still. They've already arraigned dad and denied bail. Not for the assault, but since the judge said dad was pretending to be black. Yeah, I didn't even know judges could do that, it's new to me. The judge called it contempt, but dad called him a motherfucker so they're at a standstill—dad's in jail and will probably be there until the next hearing. At least until he apologizes to the judge or brings in some genealogical evidence there's an African-American in his family tree. I'm betting the last one will be the more likely thing to happen. Now my mom doesn't want to live at home while he's "visiting orange jumpsuit camp," so she's pushing hard to live with me. I've actually already agreed to it, but she hasn't shown up yet—you pay $69 for a bus ticket and it takes forever before you get your mother. It's gonna be hellish living conditions, I know that up front, but she should do all the cooking and cleaning since it's her way of dominating everybody, just like the shrink said. Call me crazy (he did), but I don't mind being a little domination if it means French toast for breakfast and clean towels in the bathroom. It's just temporary, I've laid down the law about that. Dad is bound to get a suspended sentence like last time and once he's out, she's out. I don't want this to be some kind of sneak plan to move in with me now that my new show is about to take off. I separated all my bank accounts from theirs when I was 18, and they were eager to do it, too—now that I'm riding high again it's just their tough luck if I've actually got money in it. The show is still in post-production and negotiations, which means it's not on TV and may never be, but there's still a reasonable assumption it could be. This is the part of the business I hate. Actually, I'm not too fond of the auditioning, the rehearsing, the taping, reading the boring scripts, looking over contracts and seeking work, and the acting part is a little stupid, too. I suppose if they paid me money and just showed me on TV all the time that would be cool. But once again, I haven't figured out how to get on The Real World. It probably involves auditioning, too. But I've still got the mom situation to deal with in the meantime, and if she's not here by tomorrow I'll have to file a claim with Greyhound or something. º Last Column: Flying High with the Pilotº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day
“Fortune is a fickle bitch. No, wait… I'm thinking of my wife. That's right, my wife's the fickle bitch. Fortune is some transcendentalist concept.”
-Martoon RomeoFortune 500 Cookie
Quick, put these shoes on—walk around in them to get comfortable, if you need to. This week, fasten your seatbelt for the ride of your life. Straight over the goddamn cliff and everything. Sure, when you say a dog talks to you, everybody believes you, but make it a rhesus monkey and all of a sudden you're "crazy." Now here's Trip with the sports.
Try again later.Top 5 Questions in the Wake of the Harry Whittington Shooting
| 1. | How come it took so long to find out there were no weapons of mass destruction? |
| 2. | Why do they call it birdshot instead of leadshot? And, as a follow-up, what's buckshot? |
| 3. | What did Whittington know, and when? |
| 4. | When exactly did Brangelina hear about it? |
| 5. | So, where do you wanna eat? |
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  BY roland mcshyster 9/16/2002 Howdy Doody, America.
I'm sorry folks. That was just a pathetic attempt to sound upbeat. I should give you people more credit than that. We all know where we find ourselves, plum in the middle of the doggy-style days of autumn, a movie wasteland so barren that even the dead horses look bored. And that's no small challenge. Luckily for me, the less time people spend in theaters, the more time they spend writing letters to Ask Roland, except for the select few primates who actually try and write to me from inside the theater, so I end up with illegible butter-stained napkin letters crumpled in my mail box, covered in ants and other sundry vermin. I get less of those now, which is the one thing I like about the Fall. So let's delay no further and get to padding this col...
Howdy Doody, America.
I'm sorry folks. That was just a pathetic attempt to sound upbeat. I should give you people more credit than that. We all know where we find ourselves, plum in the middle of the doggy-style days of autumn, a movie wasteland so barren that even the dead horses look bored. And that's no small challenge. Luckily for me, the less time people spend in theaters, the more time they spend writing letters to Ask Roland, except for the select few primates who actually try and write to me from inside the theater, so I end up with illegible butter-stained napkin letters crumpled in my mail box, covered in ants and other sundry vermin. I get less of those now, which is the one thing I like about the Fall. So let's delay no further and get to padding this column out like a Kate Moss swimsuit, shall we?
Q. Hey Roland, what's it hangin? Listen, I don't really have a movie question, but I was wondering if you could hook me up with that Violet Tiara chick who writes for the commune. She's hot! And smart! Does she dig dudes in the military? Cuz I could enlist, I'm pretty sure. Unless they've still got that rule about having to be able to touch your toes. Hey, that's my other question: Do they still have that rule? Thanks in advance Roland, we'll name our first kid after you.
Elmer DeBarge, Spankle, MO
A.Thanks for the letter Elmer, and it was smart to include a picture of yourself so I have something to show to the police. Though they are going to wonder why it has half of a People magazine What's Hot/Who's Not column printed on the back of it, and what you're doing with Heath Ledger's girlfriend. As for Ms. Tiara, I'm sorry to say she's too young for you, however old you are. Her parents are also super quick with a restraining order, which is silly since she's mostly a tease anyway. Or that's what I hear, from… people.
Q. Rooollaaaaand! Wasaaaaaaaap! Man, is that ever going to get old? I don't know, but I hope not. I love that joke. Love it! Anyway man, I got a question for you here. Uh… shit. Nope, I guess not. I had one when I started this but I totally spaced it when I was doing that "Wasaaaaaaap!" thing. Sorry dude, I'll get back to you.
Rodney Poster, Belmonte, CA
A. Believe it or not, these were the two best letters I received all week. You should have seen some of the stupid ones. Anyway, thanks for your letter, Rodney. Thanks a lot. Thanks for single-handedly making this the worst installment of Ask Roland ever. Good God, without your help I might have overestimated the future of humanity. Thankfully I am no longer in that danger, and I now realize that we're all screwed. Thanks again.
Alright, that's the movie bell a-ringin':
In Theaters
The Bang Your Sisters
Oh man, what a funny idea for a movie! No, wait, that's Animal House. What's this boiled old hobo boot doing up on my screen? The only way you're going to laugh during this tale of the most unfortunately named band in the history of rock is if you've just come straight from an actually funny movie and are still laughing when this one starts. Actually, to be honest, the movie had one big laugh in it. It came when this guy came back from the concession stand with his hands full of a giant soda and a big bag of popcorn, and when he went to sit down in the dark he kind of half sat on the arm of his seat, which caused him to panic and flail his arms up, dumping the whole bag of popcorn right on his head. Classic. Though I suspect that probably could have happened during any movie and therefore I wouldn't place too much credit for that laugh on the film itself.
Barbieshop
It's a great idea, I'll give them that. Line up a smooch on the ass for whoever dreamed this one up: a quartet of hard-nosed bone thugs inherit a doll store when their grandfather dies, and now they have to trade in their trash-talking street ways and spend their days explaining the difference between Malibu Barbie and Ventura County Barbie to spoiled little six year-old white girls from Riverside. Stick Chris Rock and Chris Tucker in the actor holes and you'd have 'em rolling in the isles, probably from laughing. Hell, stick Chris Katan and Chris Farley in a tanning booth for a few days and it could still work. So who do they get to star in this turkey? Ice Cube, Ice-T and Urkel. Good job, guys. Way to shoot the comedy goose in the head.
Igby Goes Down
Everybody's favorite Australian cartoon iguana is here to teach kids about sex and sexuality, the Aussie way! Though the animation is crude, it still gets the point across, and these guys know how to draw some sexy kangaroos. Or, as the Aussies call them, Wildebeests. While the film may be too disturbing for older viewers, kids will find it a delightful romp, in both meanings of that double-Nintendo. Delightfully fake Australian accents are provided by voice-over legends Susan Saranadan, Bill Pullman, and that guy who barfs when he eats.
Stealing Harvard
Heist movies don't have any sense of ambition these days. Everybody's got some master plan to steal a million kruktillion dollars so they can live out their golden years in some HEPA-filtered paradise where nobody speaks English. Bo-ring. When's the last time anybody ever tried to steal something really valuable, like Disneyland? Now that's a caper worth plotting for 45 minutes. How in the world would they pull that off? I'm hooked. I want to know, you know? Sign me up for a front-row seat and a box of Nards. Sadly, this heist flick doesn't quite get it right, but it's a novel effort. I'm not sure why somebody would get all hot and bothered about stealing a crusty old East Coast University, so there were some believability issues there. Maybe you could make a mint printing off phony diplomas and selling them on the Internet. I'm pretty sure that must have been what they were thinking. But I shouldn't have to work so hard to figure it out, that's the movie's job.
Trapped
Picture the scene. You find yourself stuck in some drafty country cottage with no telephone and no way out. You think you're alone, but then you turn and see… Courtney Love! Yikes! You spin around in the other direction, and it's… Charlize "Don't Call Me Ashley Judd" Theron! Shit! Could it get any worse? Yes, it could! Kevin Bacon's in the crapper! And he's wearing those awful jogging shorts that reveal far too much and turn you off of Bacon Bits for the rest of your life. Who's trapped with them? Here comes the twist: it's the audience. Yep, two hours with these undesirables may scar you for life, but they say it's really cathartic when you actually get to leave the theater.
And that's a wrap, folks. All right, go on, get out. Uncle Roland wants to be alone in the dark room for a while. Don't ring for dinner, I'm just going to be in the music room, playing one note on the piano over and over again. Now all I need is to find a music room somewhere.    |