I Hate The State of Robert De Niro's Career

Robert De Niro's agent should be skinned and then rolled through a sandbox filled with crumbled salt and vinegar chips. No, no, no fuck that - he should be bound with electrical tape, water-boarded with bum urine, then skinned, and then rolled through a sandbox filled with crumbled salt and vinegar chips. Because what he's done to the career of one of the greatest actors in history is an absolute fucking travesty. And yes, I know, the agent's agency is really to blame (CAA, which De Niro, believe it or not, finally wised-up and fired in 2008) but still, I'm blaming this one particular agent, one who I'm sure has wispy $20,000 hair-plugs and one who wears douchey sunglasses indoors with a big stupid DG insignia on the side and silk-slacks that perfectly highlight his balls to the disgust of everyone who is forced to sit and look at his fat ass as he downs a salad coated with Ranch dressing and crumbled bacon, because it's easier to channel all my hatred toward one person than an entire company.

HOW COULD YOU FUCKING DO THIS, YOU FAT FUCK? LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO BOBBY! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

(sobs under a table)

The decline of De Niro's career since the end of the 1990's is scary. It went from a 10 to a 2.5 in less than a decade. His performances over the past ten years have been cringe-inducing and borderline embarrassing. It's like watching an old divorced man re-released upon the single's scene, frequenting bars and hitting on a bunch of hot chicks who want nothing to do with his Wrangler jeans and comb-over and scent of approaching death that trails him. You know at one point in his life, this guy could have had pretty much any girl he wanted. Now, he's just a fucking creep with cheap-gin-breath and a warped perception of what's "cool." And that sums up what De Niro's career has become. It's so lost, it's not even mockable anymore. But I don't blame De Niro entirely. No, no - I mostly blame his agency, because they're the ones who should have been steering him away from the nonsense he's been marqueeing over the past decade. Let's be honest - if you had the track record De Niro had, and someone gave you $10,000,000 to be in a shitty movie, you would take it. Because, why not?

But just as a reference, here are most of the gems he's starred in from 2000-2009:

2000 - "Men of Honor"; "The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle"
2001 - "15 Minutes"; "Showtime"
2002 - "City by the Sea"; "Analyze That"
2004 - "Godsend"; "Meet the Fockers"; "The Bridge of San Luis Ray"
2005 - "Hide and Seek"
2006 - "The Good Shepherd"
2007 - "Stardust"
2008 - "What Just Happened"; "Righteous Kill"
2009 - "Everybody's Fine"

Aside from "Meet the Parents" and "The Score" (both of which hit theaters before the end of 2001, which, for those of you keeping score, was almost nine years ago), he has wasted ten fucking years making heaping-piles of unwatchable dogshit. "Stardust" is the worst title in the history of film; it sounds like the biopic of Clay Aiken. And what the fuck is, "The Bridge of San Luis Ray"? And “Rocky and Bullwinkle”? Are you fucking serious? Robert De Niro in a live-action cartoon? Just writing that past sentence makes me wish I had a pistol. Someone must have been blackmailing him with photos of him strangling a drifter with piano wire, because it's the only excuse for such an abysmal run.

I understand when comedic actors hit their apex and then start making bombs (i.e. Steve Martin, Chevy Chase and more recently, Jim Carrey), because unfortunately society adjusts to what is currently considered "funny." But how does this happen to a perennial Oscar contender like De Niro, who, up until 1999, was nominated about 8,000 times for best actor? It doesn't make sense.

So, in short, fuck you, ex-De Niro-agent, I hope you end up contracting gonorrhea from Susan Sarandon and go blind. You ruined a whole decade of potential movie magic. And since Bobby is not getting younger, I now have to re-watch "Raging Bull" for the 700th time in order to remember how great of an actor he was, and try not to kill myself by the end of it.

I Hate Coffee Shop Junkies

Nerd Alert

I'm not big on spending time in random places. There are too many people around and too many singing homeless men who can't hold a fucking tune (I blame it on the school system). But if I was to become suddenly wealthy, or hold a job that doesn't require me to be baked by halogens for nine hours a day, I may spend more time away from home. I love the beach, so I would probably go there a lot. Or to a lake. Lake's are pretty cool. You can fish, you can boat, you can lay in a tube and get drunk. But I know that in this fake reality of mine, with all that time spent drinking in stagnate water and removing sand from my shoes, I will not be spending any of my free time at a fucking Starbucks. Those places are the fucking WORST.

Why people choose to do this, I will never know. I would rather drink prune juice from a toilet tank. It's louder than an airplane hangar and it's always fucking PACKED, and it stinks like burnt coffee grounds. That's a recipe for terribleness.

Now, I get it when I see an elderly gentlemen sitting around, sipping coffee, people-watching, because I know that he's there to get away from his sad little apartment and brush up against young, healthy people, because it sure as shit beats hanging out in Washington Square Park with the bootleg peddlers that smell like Lo mein and the assholes dressed up like robots and the Statue of Liberty. But why in the fuck are their so many young adults hanging out in Starbucks? Do they sell heroin in the bathroom? Are they giving away free shit to nerds wearing Ramones t-shirts? Look at the guy who brought his computer - holy shit, that thing is HUGE, he dragged it all the way down here just to play brick-breaker?

And the people reading books at the coffee shop tables, I mean, c'mon, give me a break. I love to read, but I there's no way I'm concentrating on anything unless the real world is completely tuned out. Now, you tell me how in the fuck can someone sit there and pleasantly flip through Nabokov while the barista is threatening the cashier with a kitchen knife and the woman at the front of the line with the baby carriage that's big enough to haul seven bales of hay is screaming like a drunk person giving directions to a bar? I can barely think hateful thoughts in these situations, let alone attempt to digest some deep, theoretical shit. Maybe they can concentrate while a lunatic eats discarded tuna from the garbage seven feet away, but not me, I treat Starbucks like it's a morgue during the Bubonic Plague.

And it never fails that I almost get in a confrontation with one of these dickheads every time I step foot in the place. Now, some of the blame goes to the shop for packing seventy four tables into a eight-by-ten foot shop, but most of it falls on the douchebag who has seven chairs flanking his table, his skateboard, his scooter, his fucking remote control airplane and his LL Bean jumbo book bag with peace signs drawn on it, all spread out around him in every direction possible. Oh, I'm sorry I knocked over your Tony Hawk replica board, what are you 30 years old? Grow the fuck up.

I have no problem with Starbucks coffee. It's fucking coffee, the coffee is fine. But the people. And the place. Hell, pure unfiltered hell. Honestly, forget the beach and forget the lake, I'd rather spend the day with Jay Leno painting his porch plaid in the Sahara Desert, that's how much I despise each and every one of these dumpsters.

I Hate Adult's Who Ride Scooters

A few months back, I was walking the four blocks from my work to the subway, eyes fixed intensely on the sidewalk, making sure I didn't accidentally wander into that puddle of puke that's always outside of Applebee's on 50th street*. While I was studying the various piles of garbage strewn about the street, something caught my eye - a flicker of light, a quick flash of something metallic. I looked up, and coming at me was a man in a suit riding on a scooter. Right there on the sidewalk! And the scooter wasn't motorized or anything, it was just a regular scooter. He was pushing away with one foot and steering with both hands, zig-zagging his way through pedestrian traffic.

Needless to say, I was SHOCKED. A man, a grown man, on a scooter. Why? Why was he riding a scooter? How far did he ride it? Did he ride it in from the suburbs? Did he bring it on the train? If some fucker sat down next to me with a scooter, and this person wasn't six-years-old, I would tell him to take a fucking hike, because that would be just too ridiculous for me to process.

I couldn't get past what I just witnessed. It was like seeing Jesus playing wiffle ball with Pat Morita. Slowly, the shock wore off and the anger flooded in. I wanted to grab the guy by his lapels, shake him violently for a few seconds, and then scream in his face until I passed out and began weeping hysterically. WHY? WHY? I NEED TO KNOW WHY YOU ARE RIDING ON A SCOOTER THROUGH MIDTOWN MANHATTAN WEARING A SUIT. YOU BETTER HAVE CRIPPLING SAMURAI SWORD WOUNDS TO YOUR LEGS OR ELSE...

This sort of thing is not acceptable. Not under any circumstance. Unless you're fucking Hansel from "Zoolander", you have no business, as an adult, riding a scooter. Do you think you're helping the environment? Well guess what? YOU'RE NOT. Walk. Walk like every other asshole. And you know what, fuck that, this is NYC, the concrete jungle, kids shouldn't be riding scooters on the sidewalk, either. Go ride in the park, or the MOMA, or the Great Kills Landfill, I don't care, just make sure you know that if you bump into me, I'm throwing that thing down a sewer, you spoiled little shit.

I tried to put myself in the scooter guy's position, get into the mind of a man who went out and bought himself a scooter to zoom around on, but I just couldn't. I wouldn't be able to look my family in the eye ever again. My friends would literally make fun of me until I commited suicide. I'm not even joking.

Since the first time I saw the guy on the scooter, I've seen many more people riding these things. One guy in his 60's holding a briefcase; a younger guy in a blazer smoking a cigarette; a woman wearing a helmet - A HELMET! You are literally rolling three-fucking-miles-per-hour down the street, what could you possibly be afraid of? Is your skull made out of graham crackers? Now barely a day goes by where I don't see an adult riding a scooter. I'm convinced it's all a big conspiracy to make my heart explode. Or it could just be one big ridiculous fad that will pass, sort of like the guy who barfs of 50th street each day and my wishes that one day I will not have to see someone's regurgitated Big Mac.



*Just FYI, this is completely true, someone vomits outside of Applebee's almost bi-weekly. Now, I will gladly pay someone $20 to find out who throws up there, and for what reason, because the puke is there at least 5x-8x a month, in the exact same spot. I will gladly fork over cash to speak to someone who is so upset with Applebee's that he/she feels that vomiting outside their door on a regular basis is a solid form of payback. Amazing.

Weekend Reprieve - April 16-17

Growing up, I was obsessed with boxing. Now, not so much, but in the 80's and 90's, I couldn't get enough of it. I would buy seventeen magazines a week and read them cover-to-cover. OMG, ANDREW GOLOTA LIKES HAMBURGERS TOO. I would draw pencil portraits of boxers and show them off to classmates who had no fucking clue who Harry Greb was. I boxed for the Yonkers PAL, and I did so willingly, albeit poorly. I used to create my own rankings for every division, and stress for hours over where to rank losers like Oliver McCall, like I was fucking Jose Sulaiman or someone of equal corruptness. I would also write fantasy matches between Mike Tyson and Riddick Bowe and Lennox Lewis and other heavyweights (nerd alert) who I severely overrated. Obviously Tyson won each of these contests by viscous KO, because at that point Tyson was still in prison and I imagined him being released and killing everyone upon his return to the ring (FYI - didn't happen that way). My first America Online screen-name was "Battling38" named after Battling Siki. Don't know who that is? Well, most normal white suburban kids don't either, but like I said, I was a huge dork when it came to the sport.

Anyway, in my opinion, there is no other boxing movie that captures the essence of 'real' boxers like "Raging Bull" does. De Niro should have retired from acting right after he made this movie, because his portrayal of Jake LaMotta was flawless. Most boxers are not good guys. In fact, most of them are bad guys. Fuck "Rocky" - I love the movie, but that shit is fantasy. These guys are fucking insane. MMA is very tough, but imagine standing in a ring for 36 minutes getting punched in the fucking face. PAINFUL I tell you.

Anyway, watch this clip, and if you don't laugh and cringe at the same time, then you're a communist.

I Hate Your Public Display of Hygienics

Image courtesy of Getty

I never expect a pleasant experience when I use the work bathroom. It’s the size of a gym locker, has random stains that make me think it's been the scene of several rapes/murders, and reeks of stomach viruses and shame. It’s also filled with certain assholes (no pun intended) acting as if they’re in their own personal bathroom, more comfortable and at home than Tom Cruise in a gay bar. They turn the place into their own fucking private sanctuary, carrying along a cute little bag that's bursting with supplies, sure to keep them healthy and happy forever and ever.

Well, I hate these fucking people, because brushing your teeth in public is flat-out fucking gross. And flossing is even worse. If public brushing is Pol Pot, then flossing is Josef Stalin. When I walk into the men's room at work and come across someone brushing and flossing away with their disgusting mouth wide open and shit flicking onto the mirror and their little baggy of hygienic tools sitting on the sink ledge, I often times have to fight off the urge to sap them with a push-broom.

Why do I care if some douchebag decides to take extra-special care of his body, you ask? I don't know—I guess it has something to do with me being CRAZY. But the hate exists, so let’s run with it. Brushing? Flossing? Gargling? Nail-Clipping? What's next - whipping out your dick and doing some hedge-trimming? Why not install a fucking shower? Let's turn this place into a fucking gym locker-room. You and your good-time buddies can whip each other with towels and make racist remarks about the cleaning lady. It will be a fucking blast!

And these assholes always act so nonchalant while in the process. Sometimes they try to talk to me while they're flossing. What? I can't understand you, you fucking asshole, you have a 2x4 sticking out of your throat and it sounds like you’re deaf. Oh, I'm sorry, you wanted to discuss the Mets rotation woes? Okay, let me stop pissing so we can chat, because nothing is more pleasant than watching you clean your fucking mouth with a toilet-brush while we’re surrounded by the smell of paint-peeling shit.

There’s nothing more awful than being forced to watch someone remove decomposing steak from his teeth while you wash your hands. I don’t ever want to see you brush your teeth—what am I your fucking wife? And if you can’t find five spare minutes to cut your nails at home, then please do us all a favor and walk into traffic, because you are the worst person ever at time management.

Here's a stern warning for all you fucking champions of cleanliness: stop subjecting me to your fucking grooming habits or else I'm going to steal your toothbrush, use it to clean all the dog shit off my shoes, the floor, and the entire run of 48th street, and then return it to your little fucking baggie while you're out having a blast chomping through some spare-ribs and asparagus.

I Hate Your Facebook Profile

Facebook is great tool with many enjoyable and practical uses for daily entertainment. You can stalk random people you barely know, see who's gained the most weight since college, tag friends in photos that will hopefully get them fired, and link your poorly-scribed blog to increase traffic from 10 people to 20 people a day. But like any good thing, people tend to take things too far. By becoming obsessed with Facebook, people reveal things about their persona that should be kept tucked away, hidden in shame. for starters, self-absorption. And an absolute need for attention. If you're so obsessed with attention, why not start writing a blog full of swears and weakly constructed arguments? Trust me, it will make you will feel very important. But if you choose not to create a blog, then please, please stop letting me see that you became a fan of "the sun." It makes me die a little inside.

Here are a few other things that drive me fucking insane on Facebook, and hope that soon they will become offenses punishable by caning in front of every single person you know.


Weather Statuses
I am not stuck in solitary confinement, I can see out my fucking window. So can every other fucking person you’re friends with. Nobody likes the rain, I get it, you share the same sentiment as EVERY OTHER PERSON ON THE FUCKING PLANET. Wah wah wah when will the rain stop? Wah wah wah, when will I see the sun again? I know when, right after I KILL YOU.

Veiled Statuses
These are posted by assholes that would suck poison from a syringe found at the bottom of a homeless man’s garbage bag if they were promised social attention in return. Oh, you can’t believe you did “that” last night? Well, I will naturally assume that “that” is being gang-banged by thirty Ecuadorian immigrants, so if I ever see you again and don’t happen to make eye contact, well, at least you know why.

Page Suggestions
Let me explain something, and I’m sure I speak for every other fucking person I know: I am almost thirty-fucking-years old, I can decide which websites I like all-by-my-fucking-self. So no, I do not want to click through your independent marketing page. It fucking sucks. And it looks like it was designed by a four-year-old. And you have gotten fat and gone bald since college. So stop sending me this shit.

Requests to Do Shit
I haven’t seen your ugly face since elementary school. Even then, I wasn’t friends with you. I don’t think I’ve ever said a word to you. I only accepted your friend request so that when you eventually go on a murder spree, you will hopefully spare my life. But seriously, why in the holy fuck would I ever want to see pictures from your Farmville game?

Mass Event Invites
Oh, sweet, a fucking birthday party! Open bar? Even fucking sweeter. Wait…9,763 people are invited? Where is this party being held, the Javits Center? Should I really expect to see our 6th grade English Teacher and your Aunt Sally there, or did you send this out to every motherfucker that you’re friends with?

Status Junkies
You are driving home…You are watching “Dancing with the Stars”…You are ready for bed…You are having coffee…You are hating work…You are excited to leave work… You are driving home…You are watching “Dancing with the Stars”…You are ready for bed....

You know what? Do me a favor, let me know when you’re about to thwart some would-be-robbers with a flare gun and a butcher knife, because I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOUR LONELY, BORING, MONOTONOUS FUCKING DAY!

Fan Pages
Just once, I would like someone become a fan of “diarrhea” or “murder.” Then, and only then, will my opinion on this matter sway. Because fan pages are just another way for someone to cry for attention. “Hey look at me, I like the ocean! Do you like the ocean too? Holy shit, we both like the ocean! We should let people know on Facebook about our collective love of the ocean. We’re definitely not like the other 459,000,000,000 people on the earth that like to look at the fucking ocean!”

**EDIT**
This last one was brought to my attention by a keen-eyed reader, and I just had to add it in.

Status Updates while on Vacation
You are in one of the most beautiful places on God's Green Fucking Earth, and you're updating your status? Really? REALLY??? You know what? You don't deserve a vacation. What you deserve is to be kidnapped and shackled to a boiler in a basement and then forced to watch Rosie O'Donnell take a dump for three weeks.

Two Day Hiatus

Be back Thursday, until then, watch this until your eyes bleed.

Chappelle's Show The Playa Hater's Ball