Shitty Reviews

A Parody of Reality


Wind is Mother Nature’s fuck you to poor people. Alongside poverty.

Raise your hand if you're poor!

Raise your hand if you're poor!

Surprisingly, however, wind is a very misunderstood act of nature. Wind is the flow of air and gases in the atmosphere – or in other words, air molecules moving amongst themselves. How does that make it misunderstood, though? I can explain that in a single word: fucked. That is everything and nothing that you are when wind rapes your body from every direction.

Let’s consider the positives first: wind is one of the most powerful forces on Earth, and it utilizes its power to annihilate everything in its path. Once upon a time there was no wind. You wouldn’t remember these years, mostly because you suck. I was there. Man, you should have seen it. Back before Jesus screwed us all to burn in eternal Hellfire by totally getting himself killed on the behalf of people that didn’t even ask for it the world was calm and stable. Water didn’t move. It didn’t have to. There was no water. We drank air. I actually still drink air. You can piss a lot more discreetly when you’re just pissing out stinky air. It’s like I’m farting from my dick.

Slightly less sexy than air escaping my testicle tent.

Slightly less sexy than air escaping my testicle tent.

During these early years, I destroyed empires using the leg bone from an impressively large specimen of dinosaur, Oprahsaurus, and I shit all over wherever I wanted to. There is nothing more demeaning towards ants than shitting on their hills. It takes thousands of them to lift a healthy shit log, and all you’ve gotta do is drop another one right on top in the middle of the migration, and blam, super pile of shit coated in thousands of writhing, foul-smelling ants. Excellent.

The original wind was caused by an earthquake – the one that actually killed the dinosaurs. While the Big Bang Theory seems sound enough, it was actually the Big Ass Earthquake that did it. The earthquake was caused by tectonic plates crashing together in the modern day Atlantic Ocean region. The force was so incredibly powerful that water was moved for the first time (all of the other earthquakes up to that point were pussies), and the sudden friction in the water caused the temperature to rise slightly. This rise in temperature caused air bubbles to form and lift, and once the gas escaped into the air, we were fucked forever.

I remember the first time wind ever pressed against my nubile, gorgeous features. I burst into tears at the feeling and carved poetry into my wrists for forty days and forty nights. At the end of these nights, my weeping became so intense that God appeared before me. After I had sex with Natalie Portman, Matt Damon agreed that wind had to stay forever. While distraught, I kept a strand of His hair. All is well. I am manlier for it, and have never cried since.

Wind is tricky, like a hobbit.

I fucking hate trixy Hobbits.

I fucking hate trixy Hobbits.

Regardless, it has done some very good things for us. For example:

  • Lifted Marilyn Monroe’s dress.
  • Moves cigarette smoke into the nostrils of hippies.
  • Blows off trucker hats.
  • Kills babies.

There are plenty more things I could talk about, but wind would kick my ass if I kept giving away all of its secrets. So, let’s switch to the negative of wind. Wind is a fucking dick. It hates anything that is wider than a chain-link fence pole or thinner than existence. Wind brings cold air. Cold air is a douchebag, the cousin of wind, that shows up every few weeks to shrink my hairless, botoxed nuts into obscurity.

Cold originated in Scandinavia, which is bad ass, but instead of carrying some wench-raping Vikings to plunder our ilk, it came alone, with birds and shit. Fuck that and fuck birds.

Cold, you fucking douchebag.

Cold, you are a fucking douchebag.

Instead of teaching us the ways of wearing animal skins, it forced us to wear animal skins. I don’t want to fucking wear animal skins. I like animals (except for birds, but I don’t think they have skin). So there I am in the first century, dealing with cold, wearing a moose I killed with my cock, holding on to my nuts and cursing wind for what it has brought me by being related to a douchebag. But wind and I have sort of an accord with each other now.

In 1973, O.J. Simpson became the first pro-football player to ever rush 2000 yards in a pro-football season. You know why? Wind. I asked wind to do it. Why would I ever ask wind to do that? You see, O.J. sold his soul to me for that record, and when I came to collect, he backed out like a big, memorabilia-stealing pussy. Welcome to court, you son of a bitch.

He won that one. Fucking Johnny Cochran. Lost the next one, though. HAH. GOTCHA, YOU BALL-CODDLING ASSHOLE NUZZLER.

Suck it.

Suck it.

Don’t back out on a deal with me, or I will frame you for murder. If the glove don’t fit, you’re a piece of talentless shit.

I was drinking some beers with Pillsner last night, and wind showed up in the bar. I immediately became pissed off, because between you and me, wind owes me six thousand and eighty-four dollars, but I was cordial enough. I was like “sup, you money-thieving cunt?” and wind was like “oh, hey, how’s it going man?” So I went to wind’s house and fucked his wife. I took a shower when I was done, and guess what? Dry in six seconds flat. Fuck yeah, how’s that for a blowjob?

The Japanese have a word, Kamikaze, that roughly translates into “divine wind.” They believe that wind is a gift from God, but I ask Matt Damon for shit all the time and all he’s given me is a restraining order, not a natural force of power that can create tsunamis, crush mountains, and roll rocks in front of skateboard wheels at the park. In Norse mythology, Njord is the God of Wind. Fucking Njord, the biggest bad ass since the title character of Bullets, Blood, and a Fistful of Cash, is the God of Wind. That’s insulting to mythology, and more so, insulting to Njord. He should be the God of Killing Everything, because that’s what he fucking does.

I was just looking at wikipedia to find some more random facts about wind, but I don’t understand what the fuck these people are talking about. Solar winds, cyclones, baroclinicty, etc etc. Baroclinicity? Chris Brown has a better grasp of reality than these people. There are only a few words that should ever be correlated with wind: fucked, dickhead, bitchass, annihilator, Trogdor, and superassrammerstraightfrommattdamonsingloriousballoonknot.

As I’ve said, I’m not someone who gives ratings, but I think that wind deserves one. We’ll go with a rating of old people falling down in terms of how awesome it is: I say seven old people falling down and breaking necessary bones out of ten. Surprised? Seven out of ten, and all I’ve done is shit in wind’s cereal?

The simple fact is that wind is the perfect asshole of the natural world. It can do whatever the fuck it wants, and you can’t do anything back to it. Have you seen that commercial where the kid traps wind in a jar and takes it home to his old ass grandfather’s birthday party, and the wind breaks free, blows the cake everywhere, and slaughters the family before devouring their souls?

"His father tasted like gold (must've been Jewish)" -Wind

"His father tasted like gold (must've been Jewish)." -Wind

Seven out of ten. Wind crushes lives. Like Vikings. You know, I erred a bit earlier, when I said that wind allowed cold to not bring us Vikings. Vikings and wind are like peanut butter and tattoos, but Vikings think cold can suck a fat goat cock. Have you ever seen a Viking? They don’t feel cold. They swim in glaciers, nude, floating around on their gigantic porpoise dicks, telling cold to go fuck its mother. It does it, too. You do what a Viking tells you to do.

Wind rules.


March 26, 2009 Posted by | Shitty Reviewer | Leave a comment

Rap Music

Not to be confused with the illustrious hip hop, rap music sounds like what Asian men look like. If you’ve ever heard a woman talk incredibly fast without taking a breath, only to tell you some overly-saturated inane story full of pronouns and feces, then you likely grasp a smidgen of the pain that music centered around the same concept can bring the masses. There was a time in history when rap music was actually a positive aspect of the music industry; when “gangsta rap” was fresh, exciting, and new. Now, there’s an influx of “horrorcore,” and other such nonsense where the idea has switched from worthwhile music to talk about guns, bitches, and champagne.

Don’t get me wrong – I love firearms, surly bitches, and alcohol as much as the next guy, but there’s a difference between an adoration for something and a fiery desire to spit rhymes about shit anyone without a soul has consciously experienced. Try again, 50 Cent.

Eat shit.

Yeah, I don't either.

Yeah, I don't either.

There is very little hope left in the annals of rap music, with only a few shining examples that some people still, at least sometimes, get it. Nas hit a good shot with his last album, and though he’s a megadouche, Kanye West gives me hope that there might be some aspect of actual musical talent to music these days. There’s also the underground hip hop movements, aka Definitive Jux and Rhymesayers, two fantastic labels, respectively, but then you have, well, every other label.

Have you ever listened to a Jay-Z song? I’m going to assume no, because if you have managed to read this far, you obviously don’t listen to rap; rappers can’t read, they throw stones against a wall (I think they call them dice?) and try to rhyme their excitement when the police chase them out into the Atlantic City nightlife. Alright, let’s examine a stanza of lyrics from the Jay-Z song “Jigga That Nigga,” and see if we can’t comprehend his altruistic, and more so autistic, writing style:

Come on the track duh duh da-da
With a throwback jersey and a fitted
Might blow a bag of hershey in the sidd-ix
Or might take sips of army with a chidd-ick, I’m so sick widdit
Lampin in the Hamptons, the weekends man
The Stan Smith Adidas and the Campers
Or playin guts on the cruise, Hermes bow shoes
The Izod bucket on I’m so old school
Yellow wrist watch, Gucci flip flops
Six top model chicks, who is this hot?
J-A, ladies help me say it now
Y-Z, mami why you playin with me?
Ride with me, get high as me
It’s how it’s supposed to be, when you rollin with G’s, Hov’!
Back up in this bitch like whoa
Jigga get this whole bitch jumpin like six-fo’s

Okay, let’s try this, then:

Ejaculate on your high school track field, duh duh da-da (squeels from a retard, most likely)
Wearing the jersey of your favorite high school football team, and a tight (the thought ends here for some reason)
I might throw some shit, ironically, on Nikki Sixx
Or drink army soldiers (which isn’t gay when he does it), because I’m sick
I enjoy the warm glow of lamps on the weekend, bro
Shoes are also something I am fond of
And boats owned by mythological figures
I wear old buckets (?)
My watch is bright like the sun, and my shoes are gay like Elton
Six girls from America’s Next Top Model (the losers) must argue amongst themselves to discover if any are actually hot
Ja Rule is here now (?) and I need help saying it in English
Come for a ride in my Hummer, and please give me one, as well
You are supposed to blow me at all times when we are around one another (especially you, Ja)
I need to put this vehicle in reverse for an unknown reason
Oh, it’s because I like numbers

I’m being unfair to the rap community, I suppose. There are always gems sparkling in shit, especially if you eat a lot of glitter (I’m looking at you, Mariah), but that’s not to say that the genre as a whole is not in a horrible trouble. This could be solved pretty easily, however. How? Very simple. Matt Damon records a rap album.

Rolling through the N-Y with the hip of my crew, glock in my belt and shit on my shoe (Ben Affleck).

"Rolling through the N-Y with the hip of my crew, glock in my belt and shit on my shoe (Ben Affleck)."

Maybe I should take a time out here and try to talk about what I actually consider to be the difference between rap and hip hop. Hip hop is a very cultured style of music, where there is not only a focus on genuine instruments in the created music, but also meaningful, insightful lyrics. While bellowing “HUUUHHHWHAT” and “YEYAH” brings in cash, it doesn’t bring in respect. Unless you are retarded.

Rap is just that: money-grubbing concept music. Think All-American Rejects without the gorgeous, sparkling eyes, beautiful smiles, fantastic hair, and vaginas.

The "vagina" comment was unfortunately preemptive.

The "vagina" comment was unfortunately preemptive.

There is a saturated market for this kind of music, which is the most painful aspect of it. While Narnia is being overrun with Kevin Spaceys, there is a completely separate industry war going on right at our doorsteps, and no one seems to notice (or care). I have a proposal to fix this skirmish, however, and I believe it is the only plausible course of action:

Change the names of Detroit, Atlanta, Chicago, and Miami to Seattle.

Genius, isn’t it?

Of course, the idea that Seattle-inhabitants simply killing themselves for living in Seattle is silly and uncouth. To back up this claim, doctors created a disorder known as SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). Basically, cold weather causes people to kill themselves. Ha ha, oh you crazy doctor bitches. So let me get this straight: being cold translates into a more powerful desire for suicide? Let’s examine this further:

"Nothing would end my pain more than a bullet to the brain."

"Nothing would end my pain more than a bullet to the brain."

"Holy fucking shit balls, it's hotter than Sandra Bullock. Take me back to depressing snow land of the future."

"Holy fucking shit balls, it's hotter than Sandra Bullock. Take me back to depressing snow land of the future."

Fuck that hokey bullshit. It’s not some disorder called SAD, it’s because the community in Seattle still hasn’t fully comes to grips with the shit-stain that was Nirvana. I forgave them years ago (around the time that Cobain handed them a bloody apology letter), but they just haven’t been able to move on. It’s sad, really. Now, it’s time to push that sadness onto the epicenters of shitty rap crushing this country in a veritable hurricane of anal expulsions.

I have plenty more to say, but I need to finish writing my e-mail to Matt Damon. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

“Dear Lord and Savior, Mattimus Damonus,

This letter is not worthy of your presence, but please, hear my words and take them into the eternal consideration of your black, cold heart. The world is in peril. The Kingdom of which you created with your heart-wrenching performance in The Legend of Bagger Vance is being smothered by a musical jackknife. Please, you must save us all from rap music.

Please let me suck your dick. PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF YOU.



I hope he likes it. Fuck rap music.

March 25, 2009 Posted by | Shitty Reviewer | Leave a comment

Prison Populations

I’d like to take a moment out of your busy day to discuss an increasing problem in the prison systems today: Some states, like New York, have massive over-crowding, especially in the maximum security sector, nearing 130 percent. That’s pretty over-populated, something akin to jamming four hundred refugees into a single life boat.

Who fucking farted.

Seriously guys, who farted.

As you can see this does not look too comfortable. Multiply that by 1 in every 3 prisoners aching to burst your butt cherry, and you’ve got some pretty interesting, albeit sleepless, nights. Sharing a bunk with Bobby the Pedophile probably wasn’t what you had in mind when you pulled a knife on that little old lady… and then promptly slaughtered her. But what can we do about the over crowded prisons, you might ask? The answer is actually quite obvious.

Gladiator games, of course! I’m sure you’ve thought of it before whilst high off your ass and thinking “holy shit that’s awesome.” Watching prisoners fight to the death would be an excellent, and entertaining, way of lowering the pet… I mean prison population. It’s like Gladiator, meets Death Race, meets the pointy end of a stick in your face. Imagine the money saved! Not including the appeals process, which every death row prisoner goes through, it costs ~ $ 36,000 to house one death row inmate for one year. That’s more than your mother spends on dildos in a life time.


The only obvious solution is to end this nonsense of spending more on prisoners and their comfort than we do on sexual pleasure. There’s something seriously wrong with a society that does that. To combat the rising tide of death row inmates and their associated costs, the only solution is to watch them die in (we hope) hilarious ways. We can profit from their death, thereby lowering tax payer costs and increasing state revenue, all in one swift blow!



All that remains to be done is deciding what weapons will be used, how to reward the victor, and how to ensure that you have a constant supply of combatants. I propose we up the ante a bit on how executions are carried out; get back to our roots a little. For years we’ve used pussy devices like gas chambers, or lethal injections. The time for torture is at hand! Faced with days of agony before their ultimate demise, many potential gladiators will flock to the arena if only to escape death by spider monkey.

Yeah, this guy.

Yeah, this guy.

To handle potential combatants winning multiple battles, a procedure will be put into place to ensure said gladiator never leaves the arena alive. It will, of course, be made to look accidental, but if possible pardon and freedom is offered to the victor, the sands will run red with blood. Taxpayers will save more money, and society as a whole will be better off.

And if not, who the fuck cares? I, for one, would welcome the chance to sit down to my evening meal and watch 2 grown men slash each other to bits with creatively constructed weapons.

Imagine this up your ass.

Imagine this up your ass.

-The Bitter Pillsner

“Fuck you, I’m this drunk”

2/5 mutilated corpses for the present prison system death penalty

March 25, 2009 Posted by | Pillsner | Leave a comment

Nicolas Cage

Interestingly enough, I have seen perhaps one or two Nick Cage movies in my life, and yet, I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that Lindsay Lohan is a better actor than he is, and I do not base that solely on my powerful adoration of her pale, freckly tits.

The most recent movie I have seen with Cage in it is Ghost Rider, a horrific shitstorm of an adaption of a mixture of Ghost Rider comic books. He plays Johnny Blaze (not to be confused with Method Man – who would have played a much better Ghost Rider. Did you see him in Garden State? He was fucking harsh.),

Fuck you students in a forest doing a report on unsubstantiated bullshit.

I found the Blair Witch, and he is high as fuck.

a defunct, boring, soulless stunt biker with nothing going on for him except a distant story of where he almost had the opportunity to sleep with a younger, uglier Eva Mendes. Oh, and he sold his soul to an old ass devil-like figure for the sake of saving his father’s life. Yawn.

You know who would have made a much better Ghost Rider than Nick Cage? Dane Cook. I really have nothing clever to follow that up with, but I suppose that explains Dane Cook’s humor well enough to get the idea across, anyways. Ghost Rider as a whole is actually a bastion of shitty acting, mind-numbingly horrendous plot “twists,” and overall CGI-absurdity. Eva Mendes was the only decent actress involved, and I say this having no idea what her voice sounds like or what her face looks like.

I should stop here, I suppose, to admit that there is one Nicolas Cage movie that I can sit through happily without any genuine complaints: Con Air. This is for two reasons, being that John Cusack is in it, and that adorable little Hispanic girl that danced on the plane they stole. No, I’m not going to mention Danny Trejo – the knife-thrower from Desperado doesn’t need any god damn mention to be more amazing than Brian Boitano’s triple lutz, candy-coated with Jason Statham’s semen.

Nick Cage is probably most famous for his collection of overrated National Treasure movies.

You don't want to know where his hand is.

You taint-tickling son of a bitch.

I have never seen these movies, which is exactly why I can say they’re overrated, because too many fucking people keep telling me to see them. Why? If I want to watch shit dry I’ll sit in front of the carpet surrounding my toilet that looks like a paper bag from Whole Foods. From what I understand, the premise of the National Treasure movie franchise as a whole is that Nicolas Cage’s character, Ben Gates, uncovers a plot where Scientologists plan to take over the world using a serum implanted into the jelly of donuts through some multi-national company of donut makers in which “You ‘Kin Do It!”

Having uncovered this plot, Mr. Cage frolics through the catacombs of a McDonald’s in Salt Lake City and blah, blah, blah, no one fucking cares and no one ever will. Let me tell you the real plot of the movie, and every other movie Nick Cage has ever been in: Nicolas Cage does his own hair after taking a shower in short-cut face whiskers and cat shit, puts on a wife-beater and/or leather jacket, finds a torch, and mimics Keanu Reeves’s empty, enigmatic voice for roughly two taint-torturing hours.

That’s it. There’s nothing fucking else. Did you see City of Angels? You’re God damn right you didn’t. No one did. No one with a dick, at least, unless you were a fan of the Goo Goo Dolls.

Alright, "Iris" was pretty good, I guess.

Alright, "Iris" was pretty good, I guess.

In summation, it’s not so much that Nicolas Cage is a shitty actor, but that he doesn’t act in the first place. Keanu Reeves is a shitty actor. Kevin Spacey is a shitty actor. Kevin Spacey is a shitty actor. Kevin Spacey is a shitty actor. Oh, and Kevin Spacey. That guy is a shitty ass actor.

Once upon a time, I had high hopes for Nick Cage. I watched Con Air, which was the first movie I ever saw him in, and I thought to myself, “wow, I only looked at porn on my computer twice during this ball tugger, I bet this guy does some great movies in the coming years!” Unfortunately, I was simply young and incredibly stupid. Hell, in those days, I hadn’t yet realized that if I used my other hand during masturbation, it would feel like a retard was slapping at my groin. It helped a lot that I have a drooling problem and find South Park funny.

In the long run, I don’t believe that the cinematic world will have too much of a stain on it from Cage’s “contributions,” but it’s a very depressing view to see that he is an increasingly higher paid actor, whereas people like Matt Damon aren’t the lead-actor in every single movie. Can you imagine Matt Damon playing James Bond and Vesper in Casino Royale? He would have been all over himself, and still had enough saliva left to spit in Le Chiffre’s gimpy-ass eye.

A man can dream.

According to Wikipedia, Cage is playing a character called Balthazar Blake in an upcoming 2010 movie called The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Does that not infuriate you? Balthazar Blake, god damnit. Blathazar fucking Blake. The movie is based on a poem of the same name by Goethe. That son of a bitch is going to ruin a Goethe poem.

Goethe would shit on his face without even taking off his manly sun dress.

Goethe would shit on his face without even taking off his manly sun dress.

Might I mention that Nick Cage’s middle name is Kim? Or that his last name is Coppola? He is living a lie, and we are eating it up like whiskey-flavored beer. You know, that’s an idea right there: get drunk before I watch one of his movies. Everyone acts better when you’re pissed out of your ass on booze.

I don’t give ratings, but if I did give ratings, Nick Cage would get a ten out of ten douche bags. That is if my ratings revolved around douches, and the higher the number you get, the bigger piece of shit you are. This is all hypothetical, of course.

March 25, 2009 Posted by | Shitty Reviewer | 11 Comments

Welcome to Shitty Reviews

As a turn of courtesy, allow me to introduce myself as the Shitty Reviewer (Shitty for short), and on this small nugget of the internet, myself and a few others will both offend and entertain you with reviews of anything and everything.

As a firm believer in honesty and colorful, hurtful language, I trust that as an assembled group,  we will either disgust you, amuse you, or you will be wholly apathetic towards whatever we regurgitate forward. Honestly, we could care less which one it is.

Get bent,


March 25, 2009 Posted by | News and Statements | Leave a comment