She gets spanked by Magneto. Not as hot as it sounds.

In my review, kinda, of Beastly, I said there was a movie coming out this year that I couldn’t wait to see called Antiviral, as directed by a first-timer called Brandon Cronenberg. I also said that Brandon Cronenberg was the son of Canadian director David Cronenberg, who–when he was younger–had cinematic balls the size of boulders. All I have to tell you about the risks this man took is the image of James Woods pushing a betamax tape into his chest-vagina in Videodrome. This was a man who did not care less about being polite or conservative or conventional. And as Tarantino doesn’t want to happen to him, around middle age, Cronenberg the elder started reining all of that in. Either because he discovered maturity or had a family or just wanted to start being recognized for all of the courage he’d had earlier, his movies started being more about families dealing with true-to-life horrors than about Jeff Goldblum turning into a half-fly/half-human horror. He also started casting Viggo Mortensen in everything, but I think that was coincidental and a product of a good working relationship.

And so, in the Oscarbaiting twilight of his career, we have A Dangerous Method, the second movie this year wherein Michael Fassbender is compelled to have deviant sex. Only this time, instead of being a twenty-first century young man, he’s Carl Jung, the psychologist responsible for pretty much all of modern theory (statement not intended to be factual). One of his patients, later friend/mistress and fellow frontal lobe pioneer is Sabina Spielrein (Keira Knightley), a woman who–as a child–was sexually excited by her father’s beatings and the feelings of shame they aroused. To deal with this patient, Jung applies Freud’s theory of talk therapy. Of course, to make sure he’s doing it right, he writes to Sigmund Freud (Mortensen) personally, having him weigh in on all of his problems and discussing the issues in the field of psychology for hours on end.

Sadly, this movie is really good. It has really good performances, excellent costumes, good cinematography, fine editing. It’s also really easily summarized in fewer than a hundred words and not really distinct beyond that. Fassbender is once again great as Jung, but if you want to see the performance he was snubbed by the Oscars for, go watch Shame. Keira Knightley does a fantastic job as Spielrein, if a bit of a superficial performance. The same goes for Viggo Mortensen as Freud. Overall, it’s par for the course as an Oscar movie. A great performance in a serviceable movie surrounded by superficiality. Which I’m not convinced is the fault of the actors.

You see, for all I love the fact that David Cronenberg was utterly fearless, his movies have never sold me on character. The people on film have never resonated as real people, but instead as Characters in a Play that is being Shown on film. Like Fincher–another director noted for tackling stuff others shy away from–he seems more interested in style than story. And while that’s always satisfying for the kind of Oscar voters that like to make sure all attempts at reality and necessity are eliminated, it’s not my kind of movie. Yes, it’s nitty and gritty, yeah there’s a lot of spanking and whipping and tying and deflowering, but if it’s not the best Michael-Fassbender-is-compelled-to-have-deviant-sex movie of the year, it really could’ve had some work done.

I liked A Dangerous Method. I was entertained while watching it. Sadly, I was little more and after it was done I found myself with the strongest urge to finally see The Fly. THREE STARS

The takedown of Megaupload only came about due to money from the entertainment industry. If you have the dollars to pay the United States government, they will attack and destroy anything you want them to. Which, in these days, makes them paid attack goons for the American entertainment industry, as well as the food and military industries. Private contractors can pay the United States to do anything they want, and the US will agree. If you are a private entity with enough money, you can pay the United States to ignore “innocent until proven guilty” and tear down an entire company just because their users engage in illegal behaviour and it’s easier to tear down a service with legitimate uses than police its users. You disgust me.

The truth is, I’d love to get ranting and raving on this, I would. But the entire issue depresses me so heavily that it gets impossible to see how any statement anywhere can make it any better at all ever. We’re occupying, we’re protesting, we’re blacking out popular sites, but the internet will continue to be shut down and closed off by a government that has just started to realize its full, stupid power. Its absolute stupid, dumb power. If great responsibility comes with great power, the United States will ignore that responsibility until the end of western civilisation, signing into legislation more and more faith-based, well-funded idiocy with the intent of making every person on Earth a criminal so that they can decide who the people they want to punish are and decide how long they want to punish them for. We’re seeing arbitrary arrests. We’re seeing massive overreaches of power. And some people are still convinced of an external threat, come to kill us all.

This is what weighs on my mind after the death of Megaupload. This is what I see. Not “oh, if you knock one down, five more will take its place”. I see the greatest nation on Earth falling to theocratic fascism, and my last option is going to be to move to Sweden. I’m tired, I’m sad. An innocent company has been destroyed simply because someone paid a hitman to take it out. Thanks, America. For falling to theocratic fascism under the man who was supposed to make it better and instead wound up selling the American people to wealthy bankers with enough money for nothing already. You disgust me.

that’s during sleep.

wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

cos right now, I gotta go to bed for that 8am class, ya dig?

Michael Fassbender's penis, the movie.

Shame was the other movie I saw yesterday at the most empty and dreary multiplex I’ve ever visited. Let me tell you, I drove a half hour into the depths of industrial nowhere to see these two movies because that was the only place they were being exhibited and if they’d been playing closer to home, I would’ve seen them already. Probably in a theater as full as the one out in Oakville. It’s the end of cinema, delivered to you by a Canadian theater monopoly and the disappearance of the local movie critic. But that isn’t what we’re here to talk about today, we’re here to talk about Shame, the new movie from director Steve McQueen that I’ve been told is one of the best movies I’ll see this year. Certainly the furthest pushing and most transgressive and entirely deserving of its NC-17 rating.

I’ve been told a lot about this movie, and it certainly lived up to its reputation as awkward, brilliant, minimalist, overlong, improvised and awkward. Very awkward. I was also told that I would see Michael Fassbender’s penis. Let it be known, if you have any reservations whatsoever about seeing Michael Fassbender’s penis, you should not see this movie. And I probably should have warned my girlfriend about the fact that she would be seeing Michael Fassbender’s penis. Michael Fassbender, you see, plays Brandon: a young Irish man who has carefully set up his life to support his crippling sex addiction without ever having to feel personally accountable for it. Without having to feel the shame.

All of this, his comfortable extramasturbatory life in New York City, is torn down when his self-harming vocalist sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan) comes to stay with him out of the blue. Her sole presence in his life is enough to tear down all the walls that Brandon has built around his addiction to keep him from feeling ashamed and leads to a (week-long, month-long, twenty-five day long?) downward spiral in both of their lives where they have to confront their shameful activities.

I’m making fun of Shame a lot here, but that’s primarily because it’s really good. It’s a fantastic movie that is incredibly difficult to watch and not in the easy, torturous way. It is torturous–it’s awkward, slow, full of unsexy nudity. It’s a really good movie, but, like Carnage yesterday, it’s just a little hollow for precisely the opposite reasons. There’s nearly no dialogue, it crosses every line you can think of. It does it for honest reasons, to be sure, and it’s far more beholden to reality than it is to cinema. Which, again, is a really good fault to have if you’re going to have one, but it’s still disappointing.

There were several moments that in a movie would be foreshadowing, but in Shame are just moments in life. There is no moral message or heavy-handed anything. There’s no grand revelation of the cause of the angst in Brandon and Sissy’s lives. For some reason, he’s oddly possessive of her and interested in her sex life. They see each other naked all the time. They’re very physical. All of the implications of how their angst might have begun or how they might have become the broken people they are–entirely left out. It wouldn’t be mentioned in reality, therefore it isn’t in the movie. Sissy implies she’ll jump in front of a train. You can see how that would play out. It doesn’t.

Shame is fine. It certainly does everything all the people who have seen it before me said it would. But I can’t help but be disappointed by its terribly slow pace and its refusal to get truly crazy until the last twenty minutes. And its dire need to be realistic above all else. I liked Shame, but not much else. Another Oscar movie. Woo hoo. THREE AND A HALF STARS

This seems to be the agreed-upon snapshot.

Carnage was the first of two movies I saw at the most unwelcoming theater I’ve ever encountered yesterday. (Today, for the date that this is assigned.) I’ve been dying to see Carnage ever since I found out the cast, concept and the fact that it opened on a grand total of five screens last December to qualify for Oscars. It’s a four-hand screenplay based on the play The God of Carnage, as performed by Christoph Waltz, Kate Winslet, Jodie Foster and John C. Reilly; directed by controversial figure (to say the least) Roman Polanski. It’s also my first feature-length outing with Roman Polanski (aside from one ill-advised encounter with Macbeth in high school), and I can safely say that this is, without a doubt, a movie.

It’s there. It’s a movie. It’s a good movie, to be sure, but around this time of year, all the same movies start coming out. They’re the movies that all look and feel like they were made to win awards, and in most cases, they were. I’m not saying Carnage is a bad movie or a dishonest movie or any less worthy as a movie for being made as “an important movie that deserves awards”. The end result is actually quite good. It’s just that it rings a little hollow. Like a play being performed on screen for an audience of critics. But, I owe you the rest of my impressions with this movie, and that starts off with two boys, a park, and a stick.

One of the boys hits the other with a stick, and their parents have to meet to discuss the altercation between them. Winslet and Waltz are Nancy and Alan Cowan, the parents of the boy with the stick; Reilly and Foster are Michael and Penelope Longstreet, the parents of the boy who needs two new teeth. Their interactions start off fairly civil, despite the Cowans’ need to exit the fashionably earthy New York apartment as fast as possible. Yet, over the course of one eventful afternoon, there will be dozens of phone calls, property damage, accusations of mother-poisoning, vomiting, namecalling and the most childish taunting imaginable. As well as a number of glasses of scotch, cold cobbler and warm cola.

The conflict is introduced early on in the costumes of the concerned parents–Alan and Nancy wear cold, black, white and blue business attire, Michael and Penelope in warm red and brown wool and khaki clothes. The Longstreets insist on being egalitarian and hearing every side of every argument; the Cowans insist on getting out of there as fast as possible. And when the facades start to peel away is when the real selves start to come out.

For instance, after about forty minutes of being as egalitarian as possible, Michael (Reilly) finally admits that he has no interest in hearing every side of this and that the meeting was a bad idea from the outset. His wife (Foster) insists that she is the only person who has ever been right about everything. Nancy (Winslet) gets incredibly drunk and childish, while Alan (Waltz) maintains a cool, calm head throughout and is entirely detached from the proceedings.

I’ve loved Christoph Waltz since his breakout, crossover role in Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds, but I’m still unconvinced that his true potential has been mined since then. While he’s absolutely delightful here–as well as the only actor who makes the script feel like speech instead of metaphor–his role is too small to get any great development out of. And the same is really true of everyone here. These are four incredible actors, but for some reason, this movie was deemed complete at 79 minutes. It’s a good flaw to have, I guess, that the movie seems far too short to have as much substance as I’d like from it. But Carnage, sadly, is one of two movies from 2011 based on plays that don’t live up to what’s promised by the title.

I’m not saying I expected a murder, but in a small theater with half a dozen audience members, the laughter of the crowd was that of nervousness and tension. It wasn’t people laughing at good lines in a screenplay, it was people laughing to react in some way to the barely restrained violence on screen. And without a full crowd, that doesn’t warm over through peer pressure into actual laughter. Indeed, the movie I was watching seemed different from the one that the other people there were watching. I was watching a movie about four people about to kill each other. They were watching kids in a sandbox. And if there had been that one truly transgressive moment, it would’ve been this excellent re-contextualizing of all the things you’d been laughing at before.

If you take anything from this, don’t let it be that Carnage is a bad movie. Indeed, if you’ve been watching a usual diet of not that good movies this year, Carnage might be one of the best you see. But it’s so obviously scripted and doesn’t go anywhere truly dangerous or implied by the actors. It’s one of those movies that was written first and acted second as opposed to being written, acted and rewritten.

And for a movie about kids in an apartment, it still ended with kids in a park. THREE AND A HALF STARS

That ballroom looked better in '91.

It was around the 3D re-release of The Lion King‘s stellar box office run that someone said it was a sad, sad day at the movies. If Disney didn’t even have to bother putting work into making a new property, but could instead just put an old one out with a new coat of three dimensionality on it and reap cash, actual new movies that are good won’t get numbers at the box office. Disney will stop making good features. Actual movies will get squeezed out of the box office in favour of some old four-star movies trotted out again for all to see. And for some reason that I can’t fathom in hindsight (maybe I’m judging by the wrong movie, who knows), people thought ticket sales for The Lion King were cutting into Drive‘s first week. And yeah, new movies like Drive or Contagion being bumped off the top spot by Lion King is almost certainly a pisser, but were those tickets really being sold to the same audience?

In any case, I just got home from the 3D re-release of Beauty and the Beast and that’s what I’ve been thinking about this entire time. Is it really a sad day at the movies when good family films are back in theaters with a new coat of paint? Sure, it’s a lot less work than making a new feature film of equal quality from the ground up. Sure, it’s pretty much every criticism you could throw at it. But in a modern world less and less concerned with preserving our history, more and more caught up in blindly imitating it to make money, shouldn’t it be a welcome vacation to get a Best Picture nominee back on the big screen, no matter how it’s being released there? These are the days when the true family film, entertaining for all members, is disappearing entirely. To get a movie this beautiful, timeless and magnificent re-released is wholly welcome in my books. And especially when the end product looks as luscious and gorgeous as it does.

It is not a word of a lie when I say to you that aside from Avatar, this is the most beautiful 3D movie I have ever seen. The entire film feels like a living, breathing, moving painting. The backgrounds have kept their lush detail; the characters have kept their expressive faces and bodies. You feel Belle’s isolation, the Beast’s angst, Gaston’s pride, Lefou’s idiocy. All of the animation is exactly as great as it was 21 years ago. And the movie itself is still as good as it was–there is no detriment to the story or to the emotions of the characters by the 3D retrograde. Really, if you’re a parent this month and you need to take your family to a movie, make it Beauty and the Beast, because it’s much more majestic and grand than a DVD rental. Sure, you’re paying Disney to put out an old movie with a new spitshine on it. But that’ll be the last thought on your mind at the first sight of those French rolling hills and forests.

Beauty and the Beast is really one of the great movies. It’s Disney’s finest princess feature to date, featuring the one and only storyline in which the man has to change his nature entirely to suit the woman’s needs and where the princess-to-be, Belle, never needs rescuing. She’s freed from a cellar once by a teacup, but even that is so that she can go save someone else from certain death. I swear, I was sat in the theater wishing for a pressing reason to see this movie again. To sit back, start it all over again and let it wash over me. It’s that good-looking and the movie’s no slouch either.

Now, the 3D post-conversion process isn’t without its faults. Specifically, this is only Disney’s second post-conversion from 2D source rodeo, so they have a few kinks to iron out. The biggest help to them would be to learn a couple lessons from Paper Mario. No one has a problem watching two-dimensional characters in three-dimensional environments. Making the trees round? Great! Having Lefou’s nose stick out? Sorta just visually mucky with the post-conversion. You can never tell if that’s his nose or if his head just sorta bulges in the middle. Leave the characters as the two-dimensional drawings they are and we know them to be, but place them on distant planes of depth from each other. To reach out, put their hand a few planes closer to the audience. It would help immersion and help to preserve suspension of disbelief.

Also, Beauty and the Beast was notable in its initial release for its computer-generated ballroom environment where Belle and the Beast share their falling-in-love slowdance. And in two dimensions, that still looks great. It’s a jawdropping feat of animation. In 3D? It looks like really old 3D CG software test footage. Maybe in that case, you could have flattened the pillars and the chandelier a bit. It’s the concept of planes of depth at work again–when you look at cel animation when you go to capture it with your two naked eyes, you see it in planes of depth. Replicate that feeling. It’ll go over a lot better than you expect, especially combined with truly three-dimensional environments, backgrounds and set-pieces.

At the end of the day, I don’t really see it as the end of cinematic creativity that Disney are re-releasing their classics in 3D to make more money. With any luck, that money goes to making better original features. The new original features have fewer competitors due to a marketplace saturated with classics. Families will have movie-going options that don’t involve poo jokes. New generations experience the magic of cinema for the first time before they’re too old to believe in talking drawings. And in the meantime, some really good looking post-converted movies are in cinemas. Film: FOUR STARS 3D post-conversion: FOUR STARS

There was also this part where he nearly became a masked vigilante who hunted in the night, yet alas...

That title should really say REVIEW, SORTA: Beastly, but we’ll leave that be for the moment. It’s apparently Friday the 13th, and I don’t know if it’s the first Frirf the Thirith I’ve written on, but a new year is a great excuse for new traditions. New tradition: every Friday the 13th, I see a movie I wouldn’t watch otherwise. For instance, 2010′s live action Disneyfied update of the Beauty and the Beast tale, Beastly, starring Vanessa Hudgens and Alex Pettyfer as the title roles, respectively. But reversed. She’s the beauty. He’s the–you get what I’m saying. So we all know the gist–superficial golden boy is cursed by a hag of a witch until he convinces someone else that there is value in him beside his looks. But how is Beastly, the determinedly inoffensive reimagining, any different? How is it unique? What does it do that’s special?

Well, very little. There is pretty much … very, very little to recommend this movie. It’s sappy, it’s overwrought and underperformed, the makeup effects are treated in dialogue like they’re from John Carpenter’s The Thing but look more like something from one of the tamer Die Antwoord videos. So not “Evil Boy”, is what I’m saying. Like, from–from “Wat Pomp”. It looks like the mask from “Wat Pomp”. It’s about as scary as a wood mask on a normal person, but everybody keeps treating it as a reason to be banished. In the final scene where Kyle (Pettyfer) has triumphantly re-entered the school to declare his love for Lindy (Hudgens), girls are shocked and near puking. And all I could think was “please–half of those girls are so turned on by the well-defined bone structure of a dude with neck tattoos and face-metal all over the place”.

It was your standard teen fare version of a fairy tale all over again, and for everything bad I could say about it–inoffensive, cowardly, safe–it did enough right that I can’t fault it. Sure, the black woman with the thick stereotypical accent was magically full of knowledge, but so was Neil Patrick Harris as the blind tutor. A sadly wasted Neil Patrick Harris who may have been feeling a little constricted by the rating and studio breathing around his neck, who seems reluctant to use his trademark racy charms. Then again, maybe I’m just used to him in Harold & Kumar and How I Met Your Mother. It’s not like he does a bad job. No one in this movie does a bad job, with most of the cast being pleasantly surprising, if not shockingly good.

I think it says more about this movie than it should that the most exciting thing I experienced while watching it was finding out that Caleb Landry Jones (whom you may know as Banshee in X-Men: First Class or the magnificently intense brother from The Last Exorcism) is the lead in Brandon Cronenberg’s debut feature-length film Antiviral, set to release this year. He plays Syd, a young man who makes his living selling the diseases of celebrities for a living, while also dealing them on the black market for extra profit. But while transporting one of these black market diseases in his own body, the celebrity it belonged to–superstar Hannah Geist (Sarah Gadon)–dies. Now Syd has to find out what the disease was and how it killed her before his body succumbs, fending off fans and black market dealers all the while.

Caleb Jones might be the most intense undiscovered actor I’ve seen in years, and I will watch any movie that has him cast in it from now until one of us dies, no matter my opinion on it from all other factors. If a director or casting agent or somebody behind the scenes has put him in their movie, you know that they know what they’re doing. And the screenplay has to be interesting and Jones must see something in the character he’s taken. Unless you have seen The Last Exorcism, you do not know the fear that young man struck in me within 10 seconds of being on-screen. The movie itself might be take it or leave for a lot of you out there, but just watch for his performance. It is a powerful supporting role that managed to outscare the rest of the movie.

Brandon Cronenberg is, of course, famed Canadian director David Cronenberg’s son. And I’ll say this much for Cronenberg–while I’ve never liked his movies, you can’t deny that he has cinematic balls the size of Everest. From the synopsis of his debut feature as writer/director, it sounds like that’s been passed down to his son, thankfully. Maybe he’ll be more gritty and not lose himself in himself. But those cojones of the Cronenberg clan–that’s just what Beastly needed after all. A movie with this concept and a cast this young shouldn’t be a teenybopper inoffensathon. It should be body horror and it should be as far out as can be. Nobody ever hit a home run bunting. Sure, you miss a lot of balls hitting for the wall every time, but when you hit it? You knock it out of the park.

Antiviral sounds like a knockout. Beastly was a bunt. Sure, it resulted in a run, but how impressive is it, really? TWO AND A HALF STARS

My morning routine is to get up at the sound of my braying, obnoxious alarm clock, roll out of bed and head downstairs to shower. And today was really no different. I woke up an hour late, but I was getting a ride to college, so that evened out. I got in the shower, turned on the hot water and started thinking. Thinking the way we only do in the shower. We take the sensory deprivation of the shower for granted in North America, just like the clean, drinkable water we use for it.

Just yesterday, I had started my Saints Row 2 campaign. And by started, I mean only that. I’m not even out of the hospital yet. I don’t even know if my game will pick up where I left it cos I don’t think you can save in that mission. In any case, I was/am playing as an ageing yet attractive Asian woman with blue hair and smeared purple lipstick. I told Dave this yesterday, and he said I should play as Gaben. Huh? “Gaben.” Huh? “Gaben!” Two seconds. “HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT A GABEN IS–”

At which point the computer had shut off. So, I googled it when I got back home. It’s a legitimately hilarious meme in which somebody cut the beginning of the Team Fortress 2 commentary, provided by Gabe Newell, into a stupid statement dance mix. “To stop the Gaben, press the Gaben” and so forth. His email is gaben@somethingtodowithvalve.com (not his real email, I forget what it is). And I thought of all of this in the shower, then thought to myself, “I should email Gabe Newell to tell him that Portal 2 is one of the best games I’ve ever encountered, let alone current generation, let alone console or developer–it’s just one of the best, period.

“But man, Chad and I are seriously stuck on that one puzzle. If only we could turn the lightbridge sideways in order to stop us midair over the exit platform. Too bad we can’t. Hey, what else could stop us midw–”

And then I said this out loud.

“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD“

I rinsed off my hair, leapt out of the shower, ran upstairs to my cell phone and immediately texted Chad saying I knew the answer and needed to get back in the game today to get it out of my system. Naturally, as it was six in the morning, Chad didn’t respond immediately with the kind of enthusiasm I expected. I think he’d figured it out as well in the ensuing week and a half since we’d stopped playing, but I did have to tell him where to stand when I started to work my magic.

So who knows, you know? All of this is to say that the reason there was no post today is because from 9 to midnight, I was downstairs on the PS3 playing a game I intend to review for this site myself by myself for this my own site myself. I really wanna do my own game review, but I’m pretty sure it’ll be crap because I have no idea what experiences exist that you could possibly compare Portal 2 to, let alone have I played them. I’ll just compare it to the kind of stuff I normally write about. That won’t be too bad, will it?

this is gonna become one of those if this keeps up.

I did my other new year’s thing before I wrote tonight and my mom’s occupying the tv like it’s zucotti park, so I thought I’d do something different.

here’s some raps I wrote a while ago!

I’d say I fucked your girlfriend, but I don’t wanna kiss’n'tell
I’m a fucking rapper, you’re a monkey with a speak’n'spell
Wishing well, ask the genie for infinite wishes
Bitches, fishes, dishes, stitches and new britches

I call me Mr White, FYIV or Joe Criger
I don’t own a gun but I’m about to pull the trigger
When I spit you see reflections of yourselves, but the dark parts
My surname isn’t Riddle but I’m practising the Dark Arts

Bitches on my dick like it’s a motherfucking kennel
Goin’ back to college at West 5th and Fennel
My allusions are deeper than an Olympic swimming pool
My references are wide, unlike the Queen’s gene pool

I write shitty comics when I’m not rappin’
But I can’t write so how in the world did that happen?
Stones in my kidneys and death on my mind
Got a two-finger ring, ragtop on the ride

You ain’t heard another motherfucker spit like me
My rhymes are fresh and clean cos I got OCD
I’m a writer on the set and a pirate on the net
If you do my income tax, take a fuckload off the net

Got strictly legal income with obvious rhymes
The rhyme in this line is just wasting your time
I text this shit to Dan cos I know he won’t forget it
Don’t sweat it, I’ll type it up and put it on the record

Drinkin’ water by the gallon like I’m a fuckin’ fish
Some actual talent is my actual wish
But I’m stuck in the same one stop sign town
Watching my dreams come up and just go back down

Shootin’ movies, bustin’ booties–got a watch with fuckin’ rubies
I could rhyme this with Jacuzzi or doobie or fruit smoothie
I’m not a fucking writer, but this is a movie shoot
Two seconds, I’m breaking in–seein’ if I get the boot

I’m back with a wig, a couple cameras and a tripod
And some cute production assistant’s fucking iPod
If you’re a man, then I’m Zod–prepare to kneel or be destroyed
Or am I god like every speck of dust floating in this void?

Either way, you better salute your rapping superior
Interior or exterior, I always put the fear in ya
Spittin’ fine with written lines but not bitten, I’m
Hittin’ bullseyes with every dart right on the dime

Got two of these left, so I guess it’s time to conclude
Never talk in my theater, son, because that shit’s rude
I don’t need a qualuude if I wanna pull a chick tonight
Just a smile and my raps, you know that’s fucking right

In conclusion, your shitty raps can eat a bag of dicks
I’m the Tony Hawk of rapping, dude, I fucking invent the tricks
Tropes, cliches and everything you hear
So if you rap after this, then you owe me a beer.

peace.