Pretty Girls

Also see: Snooty little bitches. They think they can do anything (and they can, can't they?).

Savages

Not to be confused with dirty indigenous folk that unsuccessfully attempted to hinder imperialism throughout the latter 19th century, the Savages have struck a chord with the American people. For some uncanny reason, there's nothing an American audience loves more than watching two prepubescent, curly-haired, reform Jews engage in crazy shenanigans (while wearing over-sized shirts). As if The Wonder Years wasn't enough, Boy Meets World further enforced the notion that any problem could be solved by the wise, elderly teacher next door or an achingly loyal best friend that's somehow inferior to you.

Fred Savage is by far the better brother, actor and overall human being - as is often the case with older siblings. This is especially true for actors, whose foray into the world of media often leave their younger, more inadequate siblings desperate for attention (i.e. Alec Baldwin, River Phoenix, John Belushi and surprisingly Ben Affleck despite the fact that both of the Affleck brothers are godawful). NOTE: This is certainly not true for famous sisters, as Zooey Deschanel = AMAZING while Emily Deschanel = sidekick on mediocre crime drama on an equally mediocre network. Back to the Savage at hand; Fred spearheaded onto the silver screen as an impeccably adorable child star in late 80's gems such as The Princess Bride (as some little fucker who can't get to sleep) and Little Monsters (as Howie Mandell's reluctant sex slave or something of the sort). The fact that Fred was able to achieve movie fame is enough to distinguish him from his pasty, bitchier little brother but there's still so much more.

The Wonder Years was an entity in itself and is renowned as the quintessential coming-of-age series. In times as turbulent as the 1980's, there was nothing that comforted audiences more than a quirky lil' sitcom set in the mid-1960's about a boy, his nerdy and undeniably Jewish best friend and the little tart next door who provided years upon years of angst and sexual frustration. It was a recipe for greatness despite the fact that it was was chock-full of morals and featured an unnerving voice-over courtesy of a middle-aged jackass regaling his tales of glory. Kevin Arnold was likable, even lovable and it all made perfectly good sense that the nation was captivated by this series until Fred Savage went through puberty/the plot got stale/Winnie Cooper just would not put out (bitch). The network knew they'd struck gold with the simplistic meanderings of an awkward not-quite-teenage boy, and tried to recreate the formula nearly a decade later. They were so determined to recapture the greatness of The Wonder Years they demanded the younger, lesser Savage (Ben) to star as the titular boy, Cory Matthews. I suppose ABC figured that a younger, albeit, mediocre version of their beloved Fred Savage was better than thrusting an aging child star back into a pair of overalls (and it avoided the risk of their star developing a crippling drug addiction, as many aging child stars tend to do following their traipse in the limelight). Cory Matthews wasn't so lovable. He was downright irritating, had an equally irritating girlfriend and a despicably curly hair. The series ran a bit, relying solely on the strikingly good-looking Rider Strong (who graduated to B-movies about flesh eating viruses) and one of the Lawrence brothers. According to the rule of famous siblings, Matthew Lawrence wasn't nearly enough to sustain the show (maybe if they'd cast Joey things would've ended differently).

According to the long-standing Hollywood tradition of better older brothers, Fred Savage should've either overdosed on heroin or become morbidly obese at this point in time, but he remains a productive member of society - and that's a hell of a lot more than you can say for his little brother. Unlike Ben who subsided into anonymity after managing to briefly achieve fame as a neurotic little shit (with curly hair), Fred savage continues to delight the world with his many, many talents. Perhaps (and by perhaps, I mean definitely) his biggest accomplishment is occasionally directing and producing episodes of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia - arguably (and by arguably, I mean definitely) the funniest program gracing the airwaves. It (almost) compensates for the fact that he's had his hand in producing the astoundingly asinine adventures of Hannah Montana, and some other bullshit I'm sure he just did for the money (after all, he does have a younger, less-handsome version of himself suckling at his teat). The fact that such a wholesome icon of America's fond yesteryear could produce such vile and obscene humor is merely one manifestation of Fred Savage's utter greatness; kudos to him. As for Ben, well, it's not so bad - they do have a little sister who's an even worse actress.

Gangsta Films

The 1990s inspired an onslaught of what "my people" like to call Black Pride (or some shit like that). This time is a crucial period, seeing as the 1960s and 1970s were far too serious/reminiscent of that angry sort of racism (as opposed to the funny, ironic kind) and because Michael Jackson had paved the way by causing a stir during the mid-1980s, FINALLY giving us something to be proud about. Society was finally acknowledging us, so, naturally, the next step was to instill the fear of God into them. From the 1990s emerged a striking media presence, unprecedentedly in films. It's a good thing too; jazz and minstrel shows were a bit trite and confusing to modern audiences.

Most notably, the "Gangsta" genre arrived on the scene. This is not to be confused with the "Gangster" genre, seeing as it demeans cinematic feats such as The Godfather and gives Ice Cube far too much credit. On the other hand, Gangsta films were a new phenomenon and assured audiences everywhere that all those horrible things that they thought about black people were, for the most part, relatively true. It's a shame; John Singleton single-handedly ushered our people into a age of reckoning, mass-producing a ridiculous amount of these Gangsta films and peddling them as modern "coming-of-age" dramas. Color me impressionable, but I sort of thought that "coming-of-age" implied some sort of acquired knowledge or over-coming some sort of obstacle? Singleton's films convey one message: it sucks being poor, but it sucks even more to be black.

Boyz N the Hood, Menace II Society, Poetic Justice, Friday and more recently Baby Boy all employ the same formulaic narrative centralizing on Black youth, and they're proud of it too. First, they usually start with an ominous quote commenting on the endangerment of Black youth/the importance of literacy/the fading jazz scene. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. is a major supplier of said quotes, or Malcolm X if it's an especially poignant film.

The setting is always a lower-than-low-income slum, simply referred to as "the hood" or "da hood" if you're jiggy with it (this term is used rather loosely seeing as Will Smith has no clout as a Black person whatsoever). "Da hood" is personified as raging beast that consumes lives and threaten the livelihood of Black men aged 12-33. The predictable plot usually focuses on a group of perpetually unemployed Black men, or Janet Jackson if you're lucky. They're days consist of drinking malt liquor, engaging in petty conflicts, going to convenience stores for more malt liquor, swearing and impregnating sassy women. It wouldn't progress very far beyond these means, but there's always one character who aspires to escape the dreaded hood. First and foremost, there's going to be a barbecue, a house party or a scene where you're introduced to somebody who's just gotten out of jail. Someone will shoot something. Several people will be shot at. There will be one character who cherishes education/religion and strives to be a productive member of society...but fails miserably. There's usually several children between the ages of 2-7, usually shown exhibiting the same unsavory habits (swearing, prodding dead bodies with sticks) the protagonist is falling victim to. Someone will shirk their parenting responsibilities or be fondly referred to as a "baby mama." Police are nearly always present, but usually only make short appearances to harass people or say racist remarks towards Mexicans. The streets are always teeming with crackheads who are good for providing cheap laughs or offering to suck someone's penis. There must be at least four welfare references. Most importantly, someone always dies. The less the person deserves to die, the bigger lesson the protagonist makes (and alas, he's one step closer from getting off of his ass and actually leaving the hood).

The average cast is largely comprised of rap stars who are now dead or who don't really matter anymore (Tupac Shakur, Ice Cube, etc). The remaining roles are filled with the all-purpose, all-mighty cast of recyclable Black actors; namely Angela Bassett, Nia Long, Morris Chestnut, both of the Goodings (Cuba Jr. and the lesser known Omar) and so on. The thinly veiled message Singleton tries to convey is that although "da hood" is a scary fucking place where you'll either get shot or addicted to crack, there's nothing scarier than upper-middle class White people, police, pregnancy or Asian convenience store clerks. If you inspect these films too closely, you'll get the impression that they're all horrendously racist (seeing as all the characters are unproductive, unemployed, uneducated and show an unwavering passion for shiny car accessories, marijuana and drinking cheap liquor in the afternoon). But, never fear, because it's a Black filmmaker (who graduated from US-fucking-C nonetheless) it's alright. It's innovative. Besides, who doesn't want to see Laurence Fishburne play a trifling asshole's overbearing father figure?

Don't get me wrong. These films are amusing as hell-- who hasn't wondered what it'd be like to be spend countless hours on a porch drinking malt liquor and wielding a seemingly endless supply of firearms. And, unlike Spike Lee's righteous ass, John Singleton rarely tries to get all up his own ass with preachy morals and stinging social commentary (and when he does, he usually fails miserably).

Lip Tattoos

Don't ink your lip unless you're willing to admit that you're a fucking douche. Not to mention, the skin on the inside of your lip in considerably thin and probably prone to ink poisoning so there's no faster way to get Hepatitis C, you fucking douche.

No one even notices it if you're not spouting all sorts of bullshit/horseshit/other assorted shit. It's the sort of tattoo you have to flaunt, preferably at a drunken shindig where there's impressionable females clambering at you to get a taste of that oh-so impressive ink work. Did I mention how ridiculous they were? The real kicker is that because it's such a small, inaccessible space, you're limited to about 4-6 letters. And with meaningful tattoos being all the hype these days, you know the unoriginal jackass will get something preachy/irritating as shit such as "love" or "peace" or "hope." What sort of self-righteous asshole would do such a thing? I've never met a person with a lip tattoo that I haven't despise. In the case that a seemingly decent person acquires such a shitty-lil'-tattoo, it's clinically proven that they become 49% more annoying. If anything ever warranted a kick in the face, let it be this. Just...really?

Cocaine

Smells like 1979, tastes suspiciously like baby laxatives. I distinctly remember my 11th grade psychology teacher telling us how he and his equally impressionable friends would snort a line or two off a switchblade and strut around the mall back when he was a wild child of the 80's. Was I intrigued? Yes. Very intrigued? No. I didn't have the money or the time or the resources to try coke. I still don't have the money. I don't think I have the right mindset for cocaine (or the money needed to actually pursue a respectable addiction). I prefer psychedelics. I consider a day spent wallowing in my innermost thoughts and kookiest delusions a day well spent. It's also easier to notice if 'shrooms or marijuana's laced with something (questionable) found under the bathroom sink. I'm always willing to take that risk with ecstasy, but any depraved fifteen year old or self-indulged twit in a Jetta can tell you that ecstasy is the funnest drug around. It makes you notice your nipples.

So, about two minutes in, it begins. Snorting, fidgeting, sniffling and all that jazz. $25 and twelve minutes later, you're left with nothing. I honestly don't see the big fucking deal. Considering all the films glorifying it, all the shady dealings surrounding it, all the Central American countries that are ravaged for it and the entire decade of the 1970's it seems like a lot of fucking effort just so your mouth can be numb for a moment. All I can say is, "well, at least it's not crack."