A Straight Guy Reviews Dancing With The Stars

I know I'm a little slow when it comes to keeping pace with the latest TV juggernauts, or the "water cooler" shows that people are always discussing, dissecting, and downright obsessing over. For example, I've never seen more than a few minutes of 24, The Wire, House, Entourage, Sex and the City, The Office, Friends, American Idol, and, to my great embarrassment due to my Italian American heritage and Jersey roots, The Sopranos.

Part of the reason might be that I still love 80s TV. To me, the greatest show ever aired was Airwolf on NBC from 1984-87. The premise was brilliant, revolving around a top secret government super weapon that was part helicopter, part jet. And who is the perfect person to pilot this expensive and lethal piece of state of the art equipment? Why none other than Stringfellow Hawke, a role capably managed by raging alcoholic Jan Michael Vincent, only a few short years before he started crashing his car into private residences.

Vincent's right hand man and co-pilot on these adventures was Ernest Borgnine. In my humble opinion, you can keep Maverick from Top Gun, Borgnine is the greatest co-pilot in entertainment history, and there is nobody I'd rather have letting me know there's a heat seeking missile on my tail at twelve o'clock then the stout former McHale's Navy star and current 91 year old AARP member.

In spite of this nostalgia for 80s TV, I felt the need to expand my horizons, to branch out and soak in the sweet nectar that is a modern television hit. So I decided to tune into Dancing with the Stars on Tuesday night for the ladies competition. Being secure in my masculinity, and having taken a free salsa class from the world renowned dancer Rosa De La Hurricana at the Landmark Mall in 2005, I felt confident that I could handle watching an hour of one of ABC's hit programs.

In reality, I struggled through fifteen minutes, and finally shut off the TV in disgust after a close up of Steve Guttenberg, who was either an enthusiastic audience member, or one of the male contestants.

On the positive side, there were a lot of exposed nipples throughout the show, unfortunately, they all belonged to dudes. I am not a homophobe, but for the sake of diversity is it to much to ask for there to be one straight guy on the program. All the men were either clearly flaming, or had an indecipherable European accent, which in my mind also makes them gay.

As far as the ladies themselves, I caught the performances of former Olympic figure skater Kristi Yamaguchi, deaf Academy Award Winner Marlee Matlin, and rock royalty Priscilla Pressley. I have no idea what dances they did or what music accompanied them, however, I do know that I would probably have sex with all three, even Priscilla, who at 64 remains a definite GILF.

Looking back upon the experience, I am glad that I got at least a brief glimpse into the world of modern entertainment, where lavish sets and high resolution pictures are buttressed by non-stop hype machines saturating the market. That said, I don’t think I'll go back anytime soon, since I can always catch a show from the 80s on re-runs or DVD. Say what you want about the quality of Airwolf, outside of the occasional shot of Ernest Borgnine in a wife-beater, it’s always nipple free.

[Dancing With the Stars] [The Wire] [Entourage][Sex and the City][The Office][American Idol][The Sopranos] [Airwolf] [Jan Michael Vincent][Ernest Borgnine][Maverick] [Top Gun] [Marlee Matlin][Priscilla Presley][Kristi Yamaguchi]
[Steve Guttenberg]
[GILF]

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I Got Beat Up By Pauly Shore

I was in Los Angeles over the weekend for work. It's a hazy twilight, and before the sun can disappear beneath the downtown smog one of my co-workers suggests grabbing a drink. Being tourists, we decide to go to the only place we've heard of from TV and Motley Crue videos; the Sunset Strip.

Although Google Maps says the trip will take 15 minutes, we get there in an hour, which we would later learn is actually decent. I get out of the car and am quickly bombarded with the aroma of posh restaurants serving tiny plates of intricately laid out cuisine to groups of effeminate guys in sports coats and incredibly hot women in fuck me heels. I am starting to like it here.

My co-worker and I walk, and the further we walk, the more the Strip starts to change. Slowly the trendy boutiques and bistros are replaced by grimy rock clubs and leather themed clothing stores. Joe Cellphone and his sport coat are no more, as punk rock kids with pink Mohawks and socially conscious t-shirts now own the territory. The women are still incredibly hot.

Being two lawyers in ties, we glance at the surroundings, and then quickly retreat back to yuppyland. We are standing outside of a bar called the Saddle Ranch when I notice a comedy club next door. As my eyes scan the ascetics they stop on a small, mousey figure in a blue shirt leaning against the railing of the club's deck.

"Is that Pauly Shore?" I blurt out.

My co-worker gives me a look that suggests he doesn't give a shit, but I am determined to confirm my initial impression. I begin walking towards the deck and my co-worker follows me. When I get to within a couple feet the figure by the railing turns to face me.

I will never forget that look. He was definitely older, with a receding hairline and large black circles under his eyes, but he still had the same smart ass smirk. There was no longer any doubt, I was in the presence of the original Weasel himself. Soon Pauly is joined on the deck by a tall, incredibly beautiful blonde in a tight top. Call me slow, but I'm starting to see a theme in LA.

My co-worker and I stand and stare. Pauly and his gal pal finally notice us, and they don't look pleased.

"Is there something I can do for you?," Pauly says, his voice lacking the exuberant tone and syllable stretching inflection of his MTV days.

"No," I reply.

"Then why don't the two of you stop staring and turn around," Pauly says.

My co-worker starts to leave, however I stand my ground in an aggressive posture. I’m not sure whether it was the stress of adapting to a new environment or being told off by the star of Bio-Dome, but Pauly’s words leave me incensed.

"Fuck you, you no talent has been," I say, stunning myself and my co-worker, who is now about three feet behind me.

And this is when Pauly goes from mildly peeved to straight ballistic.

"Okay, now we have issues," Pauly says while hopping over the railing and running towards me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see my co-worker take off. I begin to raise my fists in a defensive posture, but I’m too slow, as Pauly leaps high in the air and brings his foot crashing down into my chest.

The force sends me straight onto my back, and I can see Pauly standing over me. Without any wasted motion he grabs my collar, lifts me up over his head, and then slams me against the brick wall of the comedy club, where he begins punching me in the face with lightning fast jabs and devastating right crosses.

I grow increasingly dazed, and blood starts entering my field of vision. Every once in a while I can see a sadistic smile on Pauly's face, or hear him ask me in profanity laced language whether I've learned my lesson, whether I've learned that the Weasel is far from a 90s novelty act.

At this point, I am no longer trying to defend myself. I am simply in survival mode. I finally fall to the ground, where Pauly's starts kicking me.

"Alright, he's had enough Pauly!" the blonde from the deck shouts.

"Shut up bitch, or you'll be next," Pauly retorts, as he continues pummeling my ribs with his size 5 Men's shoe.

“How do you like that buddy-y!?” “How do you like that!?” Pauly howls, as his words usher me to unconsciousness.

8 hours later I wake up in the hospital. The doctors tell me I've got a bruised sternum, 2 broken ribs, a concussion, and a nasty gash over my left eye. According to their medical expertise, I'm going to be released in another day or two.

The cops also pay me a visit. The Chief is the first fat guy I've come across out here, which makes me think he's from the East Coast. He asks me to tell him my story for a report. When I finish recounting to him everything I've said to you, he looks at his note pad in disgust and shakes his head.

"Pauly Shore again," he mumbles to himself before slowly heading out into the hallway.

I lie back into my morphine induced bliss and close my eyes. I love LA.

[Pauly Shore] [Sunset Strip]

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Tale of the Tape: David Hasselhoff vs. Roger Clemens

Today I was sitting in the cube thinking about two of my favorite people, Roger Clemens and David Hasselhoff. In particular, I spent an hour going back and forth over which one of them is the bigger star. For newcomers to my blog, you should be aware that, yes, I hate my job, yes I have too much free time, and yes, these are exactly the types of pointless issues I struggle with on a fairly regular basis.

I tried to compare both men based on an impartial set of criteria, and these are my findings.

NICKNAME

Hasselhoff: The Hoff

Clemens: The Rocket

Edge: Clemens

BELOVED BY

Hasselhoff: Tone deaf Germans

Clemens: Texas rednecks

Edge: Even

ASSOCIATES

Hasselhoff: bouncy blonde lifeguards, a talking car, puppies

Clemens: Brian Mcnamee, Andy Petite, lawyers

Edge: Hasselhoff

MORE MEMORABLE QUOTE

Hasselhoff: “There are many dying children out there whose last wish is to meet me.”

Clemens: “I think he misremembers”

Edge: Clemens

LESS EMBARASSING MOMENT

Hasselhoff: Videotape of being drunk eating a cheeseburger

Clemens: Accused of letting another man stick needles in his ass

Edge: Hasselhoff

BRIGHTER FUTURE

Hasselhoff: Vegas stage shows and Knight Rider cameos

Clemens: Prison

Edge: Even

According to my count there’s a tie, which is admittedly kind of weak. If anybody wants to cast the deciding vote, be my guest. If not, the debate may end, since I really need to delete this image of David Hasselhoff from my computer before IT security runs it's weekly porno sweeps. I'm all about uncomfortable moments, but even I would like to avoid a conversation with my boss about why I keep an image of a naked, puppy covered Hoff on my desktop.

[Roger Clemens] [David Hasselhoff] [Andy Petite] [Brian Mcnamee] [Knight Rider]

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The End of Will Ferrell?

Like a lot of you, I have been a staunch Will Ferrell supporter for many years, from his days as prodigious cowbell maven Gene Frenkle on Saturday Night Live, to his legendary performance as the excitable Frank "the Tank" in Old School, to the seminal moment in AnchorMan when his character Ron Burgundy reveals to the world that San Diego actually means whale vagina. However, I think that Will is starting to brush up against the wall many comedians face when their shtick goes from fresh and hilarious to tired and antiquated. Part of this transformation is actually a sign of distinction, that one's style of comedy has been so successful, and consequently imitated, that its no longer original.

To me, Ferrell's problem stems from over exposure and formulaic movie choices. Usually a comedian has only so much funny in him, or in extreme circumstances, none at all, ie Jimmy Fallon/Dane Cook. He can either stretch the funny out over several years, or work incessantly to produce as much content as possible over a relatively short period of time. Will has obviously taken the latter approach, and I think it was his lackluster Super Bowl commercial that finally broke me.

In case you didn't see it, Will was hawking Bud Light using the character Jackie Moon from his latest film, Semi-Pro. Jackie is a basketball player from the 70s, and for this role Ferrell really stretches, playing a guy with bad hair and a huge gut, who blurts out random, disjointed phrases with an assured glare that is quickly betrayed when his features reveal him contemplating a final moment of self-actualization as to his own absurdity!

This latest offering means that in only a few short years Ferrell's covered NASCAR, soccer, figure skating, and basketball. God Will, just because a sport exists doesn't mean you need to make a movie about it. Is jai-alai next on the agenda? What about pinochle? Nobody has done anything of note lately in the elderly women card game genre.

I realize that I'm doing quite a bit of hating here, but I'm hating because I care. As a fan, I don't want to watch Will Ferrell descend into the murky depths of safe, predictable comedy. Hopefully, if enough of us speak up the message will get through, and come next Super Bowl we'll be spared the sight of Will in full jockey regalia, selling Bud Light from atop a racing camel.

[Will Ferrell] [Jackie Moon] [Gene Frenkle] [Saturday Night Live] [Ron Burgundy] [Cowbell] [Whale Vagina] [Old School] [Jimmy Fallon] [Dane Cook] [Jai-Alai] [Pinochle] [Semi-Pro] [Anchorman] [Camel Racing]

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New Kids on the Block Must be Stopped

According to the investigative journalists over at Yahoo Headlines, the groundbreaking boy band New Kids on the Block will be re-uniting for a world tour. This means that somewhere out there, five special guys are getting shot up with Botox and fitted for new sequin vests, while hundreds of thousands of women in their 30s and 40s will soon be Hanging Tough and abandoning their children for the night so that they can rekindle the magic of decades past.

I was thirteen when the New Kids phenomena first hit. The girls in my eighth grade class talked about them incessantly, and possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of each member’s personal information that extended from their favorite food to the color of their underwear. For those unaware of the phenomena, here is a breakdown of the group's members:

Jonathan Knight-The ring leader who ensures that everyone is focused on the gig at hand by shouting catchy phrases like “yeah” and “come on.”
Jordan Knight-The bland older brother kept around for supervision and in case anyone needs to serve jail time.
Danny Wood-The pseudo-ethnic complete with fake tan and gold chain. Often mistaken for limo driver/cook/housekeeping.
Donnie Wahlberg-The guy with premature facial hair who looks like he’s got a pot of meth and a fourteen year old backstage.
Joey McIntyre-The androgynous young heart throb. Took longer than a member of the girl’s Chinese gymnastics team to reach puberty.

The success of these five kids spawned not only lucrative albums and concerts, but dolls, lunch boxes, t-shirts, and anything else you could imagine affixing their image too and selling at a 2000% mark up. One girl actually trampled me, not out of malice, but because I was standing between her and her hot pink New Kids thermos that she had to show to her friends so that they could come in with one the next day. The fact that the thermos was empty, or that I was on the ground suffering from internal injuries, was irrelevant. More important than the merchandise, New Kids would create the blueprint for future acts like NSync, 98 Degrees, and Backstreet Boys, who carried the boy band mantle into the new millennium.

Looking back, my only regret is that no one stopped New Kids the first time around. I was merely a child, but where was everyone else? Where were the listeners of good music to combat the possessed pre-teen hordes? Where were the parents to tell their children that supporting certain musical acts was unacceptable and would result in grounding? Where were the Terminators? If the future could send them to fight over scruffy resistance leader John Connor, you would think that someone in 2050 would care enough to send them to stop New Kids and save the future from generations of shitty rip off acts.

But none of this happened. New Kids thrived, and if the reports are true, they’ll be back shortly. Although it seems as though it’s too late to put the breaks on NKOTB, perhaps their inherent suckiness can somehow be counter-balanced in the musical cosmos by the reunion of an amazing group. As far as I’m concerned, there is only band up to this challenge: Guns N’ Roses.


The original Guns N’ Roses, the one with Slash instead of that guy wearing a KFC bucket, is the only antidote to the bubble gum scented, streamlined pop of New Kids. In case you’ve somehow forgotten, absorb an eye full of the pic above, and you'll be reminded how every song on Appetite for Destruction reeked of booze, cigarettes, and cheap perfume. Mix in thrashing guitars and Axle Rose’s catchy, misogynistic lyrics, and you have arguably the greatest album of all-time.

I know there are challenges to a G&R reunion; particularly that everybody in the band hates Axle, and the original drummer, Steven Adler, had a drug induced stroke that left one side of his body paralyzed. However, money, time, and more money are known to heal major rifts among bandmates, and as for Steven, if Def Leopard can play with a one armed drummer, then I’m sure Guns could rig something that would work for Steve (Maybe saw a drum set in half, let him play with his good side, and then crazy glue a couple tambourines to his bad side).

Whatever the answers, a plan for G&R is needed, and quickly, because a New Kids on the Block reunion show may be coming to your town sooner than you think. Without at least the promise of a G&R concert in the near future, there will be nothing to sustain you if you happen to find yourself standing between a much older, much bigger, yet no less passionate New Kids fan and her thermos, a position just as dangerous today as it was in 1988.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/eonline/20080128/en_music_eo/3740734d8c3a_43e3_9959_6a0ee4d6832a

[New Kids on the Block] [Slash] [Guns N' Roses] [Axle Rose] [Backstreet Boys] [Def Leopard]

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Movie Review: Juno

Ratings (2 1/2 out of 4 ):

The other night I caught the flick Juno at the Georgetown AMC 14. I had heard positive reviews, so the bar was set pretty high. Expectations only grew when I learned the film's scribe was a former stripper and blogger by the name of Diablo Cody. I've already got the blog going, so maybe I need to dust off my thong and get a respectable Brazilian wax if I'm ever going to make it as a writer in Hollywood.

My company for the evening was Mandi, a 29 year old artist from Virginia who dreams of someday getting a large, green nose piercing. This being our third date, I was expecting some play, so I apologize for being occasionally distracted. I actually like Mandi, and she's the first girl I've dug in a while. I'm not sure how she feels about me, as her only comments on the subject thus far are that I "make her nervous." When I inquired as to whether this was "good nervous" or "bad nervous," she was unable to answer.

For my reviews, I'm not going to waste time regurgitating the plot; you can find that elsewhere. Instead, I will recount my thoughts exactly as I had them throughout the film.

7:55: We arrive during a preview for PS I Love You starring Hillary Swank and the guy who played Spartan King Leonidas in the fabulous movie 300. Only the power of Hillary Swank could transform the formerly mighty Leonidas into another whipped Scotsman delivering kisses and sage lessons on lost love from beyond the grave.

8:05: The actress Ellen Page, who plays the title character, is pretty cute, but I'm not sure I'd hit it if she were pregnant. She also talks a lot, dishing out snappy one liners chalked full of crunchy, retro slang at a somewhat irritating clip.

8:15: A cameo from Dwight of The Office, sans glasses and pocket protector.

8:25: I begin peering over at Mandi to my right, and I think she wants it. I'm going to put my hand on her knee. Sweet.

8:40: Actor Michael Cera is entirely unbelievable playing the love interest of anyone, much less Juno. He plays the same fucking character in every film. I'm sure it pays well, but my God, show a little range.

8:55: Jennifer Garner looks really serious. I prefer her work in the highly underrated Dude Where's My Car?

9:05: What deal did Jason Bateman make with the devil to be in all these movies after being MIA for over a decade? And how long can it be before we're inundated with a barrage of Justine Bateman flicks?

9:10: Jason Bateman has sexual tension and light petting with jail bait Juno. I'm waiting for a perturbed Chris Hansen from the To Catch A Predator series to barge into the room and ask Jason what exactly he was thinking.

9:20: Juno is very fat, and in labor, but I stand corrected, I'd still hit it. Speaking of that, Mandi is so turned on, she's practically going to attack me as we leave the theatre.

9:30: Surprise ending. Can't say I expected that. Lets get out of here.

Overall, I felt Juno was good, yet far from great. There were some really fine performances turned in, particularly by Page, as well as JK Simmons and Allison Janney, who play Juno's shell shocked Dad and supportive step Mom. I also enjoyed the mounting tension and awkwardness that envelopes the film and only grows with Juno's expanding belly. However, to call this movie great speaks more to the homogenous nature of today's cinema than to anything special about this film. A lot of the time I just felt like it was trying too hard to be witty, when being simple and genuine would have sufficed. But perhaps we're all guilty of that sometimes.

As for Mandi and I, it turns out my premonition that she wanted to jump my bones was slightly off base. In fact, we had a discussion where she explained that she really wanted to wait until a serious relationship before getting too sexual. I told her that I respect her decision, which I do, however, there is another part of me that feels deeply hurt and rejected by this. I guess in my mind the idea that she is so willing to wait suggests a serious lack of passion and creates an air of everything being almost contrived. Planning is great for work, or a home equity loan, but to me, if your really into someone you shouldn't be able to hold back, even if it goes against your better judgment.

So I guess I'll have to keep you updated on what happens with Mandi. As I reflect upon our relationship, and the relationships I've had over the years, I think Juno's Dad Mac sums it all up pretty well:

"In my opinion, the best thing you can do is to find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person will still think that the sun shines out your ass. That’s the kind of person that’s worth sticking with."

[Diablo Cody] [Juno] [Ellen Page] [Michael Cera] [Stripper] [JK Simmons] [Jason Bateman] [Justine Bateman] [Movie Review] [Hillary Swank] [Chris Hansen] [Allison Janney] [PS I Love You]

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Tale of the Tape: Dr. Phil vs. Britney Spears

VS.

I admit it; I have been sucked in by the drama surrounding Britney Spears. For me, it all started with her performance at the MTV Awards, where she stumbled around the stage bloated and half-naked as backup dancers tried to look sexy while avoiding the aroma of her vodka scented lip syncing. Throw in the head shaving, parental neglect, and outright abandonment of panties, and it is easy to see why she has become like that giant overturned tractor trailer engulfed in flames on the side of the turnpike that is impossible to ignore. And just when you thought the situation had deteriorated so far that she was beyond help, here comes fifty gallons of pure, unfiltered Texas crude oil to be poured onto the fire, in the form of none other than TV's favorite crank doctor, Dr. Phil McGraw. You see, Oprah's most loyal whipping boy (sorry Steadman) couldn't bear to stand on the sidelines and watch Britney's demise from afar. No, Dr. Phil saw in her pain, confusion, and of course, ratings!

So naturally Dr. Phil did what any reasonable medical professional would, he decided to pay an unsolicited visit to Britney in person so that he could become part of her problem. It's almost as if he's saying, "You think things are bad now with the paparazzi chasing you, wait until you have a fat, bald TV psychologist following you to your car." The best part is that Dr. Phil then planned a television special highlighting Spears' mental illness, because what she so desperately needs at this critical time in her life is more media attention and scrutiny. Dr. Phil later decided to cancel the program out of concern that the situation was "too intense," as such a classy move clearly illustrates why his morals supersede those of other talk show luminaries like Maury Povich and Jerry Springer, who no doubt would've aired the special and basked in the controversy.

Since Britney wasn't thrilled with the intervention, it seems that the relationship between her and Dr. Phil is on hold for now, but this is probably subject to change since decision making has never been Britney's strength, regardless of whether the topic is husbands, child safety seats, or hair styles. However, in the interim, maybe the good doctor could swing by and start working with Britney's 16 year old sister and Nickelodeon star Jamie Lynn, who recently announced she was pregnant. Think about the possibilities of a Dr. Phil teenage baby love triangle. Yes, chaste Jamie Lynn claims the father is her 19 year old child molester boyfriend, but I'll reserve my doubts until we see if that baby comes out pedaling self help books in a Texas twang.

I think the moral of this whole Dr. Phil/Spears saga is that celebrities, no mater how messed up they are, are still real people with real problems, who should get help from real doctors. And if they can't get her a real doctor, getting her some real panties would be a good first step.

[Britney Spears] [Dr. Phil] [Jamie Lynn Spears] [MTV]

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2007's Sexiest Men Alive?

Its that time of year friends. There's a chill in the air, and we're coming to the end of the calendar, which can only mean one thing: People magazine is going to unveil it's list of the Sexiest Men Alive. Not to give too much away, but the winner this year was not me. I finished fourth, sandwiched in between Brad Pitt and George Clooney. For the record, lets all agree never to use me, Pitt, Clooney, and the word sandwich in the same sentence again.

The actual winner this year was Matt Damon of Good Will Hunting and Bourne Identity fame. Apparently the criteria for the folks over at People includes mediocre acting and spending an entire film crazy glued to Greg Kinnear. Alright, enough hating on Matt Damon and his fraudulent victory. Its important to remember that I'm just entering the peak years of my loiny goodness, and besides, there's plenty of opportunities for all us young bucks in Hollywood to be bitten by the bloated, Lyme disease inducing tick that is pointless list making.

With that in mind, I'm composing my own list this year and its called 2007's Sexiest Men Alive? These scientifically proven rankings count down all those men we thought were dead but somehow aren't.



1). Carrot Top-I know he's still around. Maybe its just wishful thinking.

2). Keanu Reeves-No doubt exhausted from his research for the Matrix films, he's probably sitting on a beach somewhere making the Keanu face, a potent glare that melds total confusion, sheer wonder, and a self-assured smile into a look that suits every role.

3). John Stamos-I originally wrote that outside of Full House re-runs nobody has seen him in years. It was later pointed out to me that he is currently featured on what must be the 30th season of ER. I stand by my earlier statement.

4). Matt Le Blanc-Just the mention of his name makes me nostalgic for David Schwimmer and that monkey. I hear the monkey is now doing porn in South America. Sadly, the way his career is going, Le Blanc may not be far behind.

5). Tom Green-The Canadian funny man once famous for showing his bum and sucking on cow utters now has his own internet show, joining the likes of Lonely Girl and Muscle Beach. That's creative, an internet show is so 2006, why don't you just be really old-fashioned and start a blog...oh.


[Sexiest Man Alive] [Tom Green] [Matt Damon] [David Schwimmer] [Matt Le Blanc] [George Clooney] [Brad Pitt] [John Stamos] [Carrot Top] [Keanu Reeves]

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Transformers the Movie

After a lot of procrastination, I finally saw Transformers the movie, from which we can learn 3 very important things:

1). Apparently, all black guys do is talk jive, dance, and try to avoid the wrath of fat grandmothers always up in their shit. Props to Pat, you were right.
2). It is actually paintful to watch Shia LaBeouf on screen. Was Carrot Top busy? All he did was stutter and blurt out random, incoherent phrases. If I'm the casting director I just go out and find a kid with tourettes and save myself some cash.
3). Fuck Meryl Streep and Jessica Tandy. Meghan Fox is the greatest actress ever, especially if you use the criteria I do for evaulating talent; how they look in a belly shirt while bent over the hood of a car. I rewound that scene so many times it took me 7 hours to watch the whole movie, although in my defense, its difficult to operate the remote control when your hands are practically glued together. Must've looked like a dolphin trying to wriggle free from a tuna net. Anyway, her first of many marriages will be to Brian Austin Greene of 90210 fame.

Where would we be without Michael Bay? Frankly, I don't want to know.


[Transformers] [Megan Fox] [Meryl Streep] [Jessica Tandy] [Shia LaBeouf]

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