“That’s why I fucked your bitch, you fat motherfucker.”
– Tupac Shakur, ‘Hit Em Up’
Okay, stupid, picture this. You’re at the movies, right? You’re with your significant other or alone or whatever. You sit down, and after twenty midnights of making jokes about casual dads and NYPD cops who kill homeless veterans to get their dicks hard, the lights go down. The completely fucking awesome DCP system starts up and like that, it’s the best time of the day: it’s trailer time.
So you’re sitting there, right? As you shovel whatever fucking shit into your mouth, the first preview starts off, and goes exactly like this…
“THIS PREVIEW IS APPROPRIATE FOR PEOPLE WHO SEE MOVIES.”
MUSIC STARTS. IT’S OMINOUS. MAYBE A COUPLE OF SUPER-HEAVY DRUM BEATS TO A RESONATING KEYBOARD NOTE.
“Sir, Air Force One has been compromised.”
A BUNCH OF FUCKING COMPUTERS, GRAPHS, CHARTS, RADARS AND SHIT. A HELICOPTER TAKES OFF OF A BIG SEA-LINER. THE HELICOPTER APPROACHES AIR FORCE ONE AND SUDDENLY A GROUP OF JETPACK PEOPLE SHOOT OUT THE FRONT OF THE FUCKING HELICOPTER. THEY LATCH ONTO THE PLANE, ATTACH SOMETHING, THE POWER GOES OUT. AIR FORCE ONE FUCKING FREE FALLS ABOVE THE OCEAN. CHOPPY EDITING.
“We have no idea who is alive or who is dead, including the President.”
FOUR METAL POLES RISE HUNDREDS OF FEET IN THE AIR OUT OF THE MOTHERFUCKING OCEAN. A NET MADE OUT OF METAL ALLOY SPRINGS UP, CATCHING AND FOLDING IN THE PLANE. IT’S BADASS. YOU HEAR METAL CRUNCHING AS THE WINGS AND ENGINES ARE CUT OFF. OH IT’S SO FUCKING COOL. THEN THE SOLDIERS EXPLODE THROUGH THE PLANE. THEY’VE GOT EVERYONE WITH THEIR DICKS IN THEIR HANDS.
“All we know is who did this…”
CUT TO MATT DAMON, PLAYING AGAINST TYPE, IN THE DESERT, LOOKING LIKE SOME CRACKED-OUT TRAVIS BICKLE LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER. TO HIS RIGHT IS A STRUNG-OUT, HEROIN-THIN ADRIAN PASDAR, WITH A BIG, NAZI, BEARD AND A TATTOO ON HIS PECS THAT SAYS “NIGGER KILLER”. THEY EMERGE FROM A BUNKER. THEY’RE ON AN ISLAND. THEY LOOK AT THE PLANE IN THEIR SUPER NET AND THEY CASUALLY WAVE AT THE PRESIDENT.
“…and what they want.”
CUT TO DAMON AND PASDAR, OPENING SOME BIG SAFE. THERE’S SOMETHING BIG IN THERE. IS IT A ROCKET? WHO KNOWS?
DAMON: “It’s worth trillions. You know it. I know it. I’m only asking for billions. And if you push me, I have the perfect test subject, and let me tell you: my trigger finger is begging to be itched right now.”
YOU HEAR SOME GRIZZLED, GRAVELLY VOICE.
“And what do you want from me, huh?”
“We read your file, sir. Black Ops. Green Berets. Viet-fucking-nam. But most importantly… you’re the President’s father.”
CUT TO: JACKED, STOIC PETER FONDA. HE’S STANDING IN FRONT OF VICE PRESIDENT CARVER, PLAYED BY DONALD FAISON. HE’S LOOKING EXTRA PISSED.
“You know, I might be a little bit rusty…”
“But your knife ain’t.”
“Knife’s only as good as the hand that uses it.”
“Then it’s in good hands.”
FONDA EMERGING FROM A RIVER BED, FULL MURDER REGALIA, KILLS TWO FUCKING WHITE POWER GUYS LIKE THAT. HE LOOKS AROUND THE FOREST LIKE, “WHO’S NEXT?”
“No. It’s in the best hands.”
CUT TO THE PRESIDENT, PLAYED BY LIEV SCHREIBER, IN A CELL, TIED TO A CHAIR AND BEAT TO SHIT. DAMON AND PASDAR LOOKING AT HIM, BLOWING CIGAR SMOKE IN HIS BEAT-UP FACE.
SCHREIBER: “You really think they care about my life? Think again.”
DAMON: “Not YOUR life, Mr. ‘President.’ Not anymore.”
SCHREIBER: “Who… are you?”
MONTAGE. FONDA AND LOCAL ETHNIC GIRL RUNNING THROUGH SHANTY TOWN. DAMON AND PASDAR IN A HUMVEE IN THE JUNGLE, PASDAR SHOOTING A MINIGUN AT ONE OF THOSE TENTED TRUCKS. FONDA ON A TREE BRANCH, ANGLING HIS KNIFE TO FALL ON SOME GOON. FONDA SHOOTING A HUGE FUCKING SHOTGUN AT SOME DUDE, CAUSING HIM TO FALL OFF A CLOCK-TOWER AND ON TO A BUNCH OF EXPLOSIVE BARRELS. WE SEE THE FLAME IN FONDA’S AVIATORS. IT GETS YOU HARD.
DAMON: “So, the President’s in danger, and they send in daddy? I want that old [poor ADR] troublemaker [end poor ADR] dead!!!”
FONDA PUNCHING A GOON OFF OF A MOTORCYCLE. FONDA AND THE ETHNIC GIRL KISSING. THE PRESIDENT IN SOME KIND OF SKELETAL IRON-CASTING. FONDA HOOKING A CELL PHONE UP TO THE SECURITY SYSTEM, HE LOOKS PUZZLED.
ETHNIC GIRL: “What’s the matter?”
FONDA: “I’m never good with these damned i-What’s-it’s!!!”
ETHNIC GIRL: “We’re running out of time!”
FONDA: “WE’RE running out of time? Hell, girl, I was running out of time before you were born.”
SUPER FAST MONTAGE. FONDA AND DAMON FIGHTING ON A HELIPAD. FONDA HIDING IN A NARROW SPACE WITH GUARDS ON EACH SIDE, HEAVILY ARMED. EXPLOSIONS. EXPLOSIONS. EXPLOSIONS.
TITLE CARD: “PATRIARCH”.
DAMON LOOKS AT FONDA, THEY’RE BOTH BEAT TO HELL.
“You fight good, for an old man.”
“Cans of whoop-ass don’t expire!”
THEY TACKLE EACH OTHER. MUSIC SWELLS UP. CUT TO BLACK
TITLE CARD: SUMMER 2014.
All the sudden, people start fucking chattering. “Oh that looks good.” “Yo, Matt Damon look crazy in that shit.” “Dude, FUCKING FONDA!!!”
Meanwhile, I’m ready to fucking burn down the theater as it is. These fucking people don’t deserve to live. They’re the worst. It’s almost 2014, and guess what? WE’RE STILL USING THE SAME ACTION STARS FROM 30 YEARS AGO.
Where are all the young action guys? SERIOUSLY? I mean, holy shit. Did Clinton, Bush Jr. and Obama cut the balls off of actors or something? It seems like everybody who has to fight Arabs and Chinamans and Russians are all fucking bazillions of years old. And worst of all, they’re all faggoty drama queens who never do their own stunts and are often running in front of awful green screens.
Bruce Willis, shut up. Sylvester Stallone, go to sleep. Arnold Schwarzenegger, get back in the TV room. Everyone else had the common courtesy to get fat or do drugs. Stop paying your old friends to show up in these all-star old-man bonanza movies and let young people do it for a change. Except Dolph Lundgren — he’s allowed because he’s fun.
But look at it! LOOK AT HOLLYWOOD!!! Jesus-FUCKING-Christ. You know who the young action stars are? HUH? Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson: 41. Mark Wahlberg: 42. Scott Adkins: 37. CHANNING TATUM IS 33 YEARS OLD. BY 2020, HE WILL BE 40.
The worst part is, Hollywood isn’t even doing anything because we’re all stupid fucking imbeciles whose dicks don’t work and our wives leave us. We’d rather see Liam Neeson play pretend dad or Steve Buscemi club some white guy to death in the 1940s. We’re such a nation of faggots who loved to be protected because we suck at money, we love pussy, and we are afraid of god.
Well, I for one am tired of this horseshit. I don’t want to see Old Man Prison Break, or Old Man Rio Bravo or Old Man Buddy Cop Movie. Get Chris Hemsworth and force him to kill robot Nazis. Get Henry Cavill a big club and make him kill drug-dealing soccer hooligans who killed his sister or some shit. Get Michael B. Jordan a bunch of leather jackets and a motorcycle.
There are so many great young actors out there, and whether they can act or not isn’t the issue. We’d watch them either way, since nobody goes to these fucking movies for acting. They go for tits, and shit that costs money that blows up, and body parts flying around like a broken fucking game of Boggle. They don’t go for some old fucking has-been who needs to pay his mortgage and pretends he’s cool for 90 minutes.
Nobody cares. Nobody wants to care. We need a new generation of badasses. I’m not talking about scrawny, Jason Bourne-esque shitheads who can do fast hand thingies. I’m not talking about parkour. I’m talking about young, sexy men, who hate old people as much as I do and want to see an America where Old People don’t exist and neither do babies. An America where girls with fine-ass titties and shapely asses are everywhere and their hobby is good fucking. An America where the President is white, small businesses are all gone, and welfare has been replaced by a hot bullet to your fucking head.
I don’t want to see Give My Daughter Back, Okay? Part III. I don’t want to see Expendabowels. I want to see My Dick Works and I’m Gonna Kill You. If you think about it, what the fuck is Hollywood gonna do when these old fucks croak? LET WOMEN STAR IN ACTION MOVIES?! Don’t even joke.
Hollywood, do the right thing. Reboot all of your properties with people younger than 30. Get real blooded guys who can barely pronounce a word without sounding like an ogre’s death rattle. Make the next generation of Nu-Metal loving, technology-addicted children have people to look up to. When I was a kid and wanted to learn about foreign conflict, I watched Predator. Domestic problems? The Running Man. Class Struggles? Hard Target. Otherwise, these kids are gonna stick to video games, cinema will die, and the only saving grace is that porn is going to get a little more violent.
Is that what you want, Hollywood? Porn with guns?
Fuck Old People. If you know any, give them Malaria so they die. Don’t let them star in your movies, either.