Back Row Review Show: THE HILLS

Bling is back BOY!.

I know some of you have been wondering where I’ve been. But of instead of e-mailing me, why don’t you e-mail the editor of this blog and ask him when he’s going to start paying people in DOLLARS instead kind words and ho-hos.

“Nice work” may cut it France or even in Africa, but here in Los Angeles (Redlands), “good job” and “keep it coming” aren’t enough to satisfy a beast of a woman who has somehow made it her life’s mission to take not only everything in my bank account and my kitchen, but my soul and all my Family Guy T-shirts I got when I robbed that AAAAH’s at Universal Citywalk two summers ago.

But like Ernest Hemmingway once wrote: “You can’t stop the beat bitch.” So since I’m a writer, I’ve decided to write anyway. And what a summer it’s been!

Last Monday, like the rest of America, I tuned into to MTV to watch the first two episodes of THE HILLS. Spencer, you are the man playboy! Dating hot blond girls, blinging out your apian excuse for teeth and rolling around with your boys in a range rover in the mean streets of Beverly Hills, man, what a life! Next time you have a party at Les Deux, what don’t you call swing by Bling’s stop and let me ride? I’d be the best character ever that show has ever seen! But I’m telling you now, don’t look at Bling when all the girls on the show start getting pregnant.

How can we make this happen! Easy! I urge my readers and the youth of America to start a letter writing campaign to knuckleheads at MTV and make me a character on the Hills. I can move in with Spencer or Brody when my anklet is taken off. Or, I noticed that my darling Whitney has broken up with her boyfriend. Who’s a better love interest than your boy Bling!

I’m telling you MTV: Bling. The Hills. Whitney. My fist. Spencer’s big ass jaw. It’s a match made in heaven. But again, when Whitney gets pregnant….don’t look my way. It’s love baby.

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Back Row Review Show: When a house isn't a home; it's prison

Hello loyal readers!

Before I start my review of the new DreamWorks film DISTURBIA, I have to confess something: Two years ago, I was on house arrest. To quote Ghostface Killah, “Home is not where the heart is.” House Arrest was brutal, son.

I mean, if I lived in some mansion with a bunch of girls and some large and angry pit bulls-- I’m talking like an MTV Cribs set-up--then maybe it would be sweet. But not my house. I swear to God, my wife was on me so much that I actually prayed I was in the joint giving a back massage to Jimmy C., the leader of the Local White Supremacy Chapter.

My kids were my cellmates, and boy, were they not prepared for the horrors of prison life. You should have seen their faces the first time I shanked the mailman, or paid for Chinese Food with a pack of squares (cigarettes, for my civilian readers), or took a dump in the middle of the living room. (“You go where you know,” goes the prison motto).

So, I brought this first-hand knowledge of home imprisonment to DISTURBIA. In the movie, this kid named KALE watches his father die in a car crash, and a year later, he’s so pissed off about it that he pops his Spanish teacher in the eye (Ooh, tough guy!) and gets placed on house arrest. While there, Kale, his Gaysian best friend and some girl who kinda looks like Simba but only way cuter spot a murderer living next door, and they band together to stop him.

Now, I’d love to be able to slam this movie for its inaccuracy, or making light of a depressing situation that is being locked home with a wife that wife that walks around clanging a billy club on the gates around our windows.

But I just can’t do it. Why? Because Shia Lebouf is in Disturbia.

Shia. Let me tell you something. You’re the reason I got through house arrest in one piece. Well, not really you, but your alter ego.

Even Stevens.

Yes Shia, I watched Even Stevens on loop when I was in home joint. That’s all I had; a TV with three channels and sniped cigarettes I took from the mailman’s pocket. I loved that show. Every day I tuned in, hoping that your character wasn’t whacked or voted off the show. And you know what young man? You never disappointed me.

You know what would be cool, Shia? You and I should get arrested together, and not for punching a teacher or wearing a hoodie in class. I’m talking Grand Larceny, or some Ocean’s 11 type shit. Or just something that would land us in the same house together. Then you and I could smoke pot together, watch the neighbors and discuss the news, sports, and weather when we take our showers together in the morning. I'd be Morgan Freeman to your Tim Robbins; I’d never want the horrors of home joint to take away from what a solid young man you are.

Think about it young man. And PS: I liked you way way more in LEGEND OF BAGGER VANCE than I did in this movie. Now, that’s a feature.

Gotta go! Weed doesn’t smoke itself!

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Back Row Review show! GRINDHOUSE!

Ok. Normally this is the space where you turn to me for guidance about all the good new movies hitting theatres and DVD. You need to know what to see, and I need to notch 500 hours of community service under my belt so I can finally end my God-forsaken probation. It's a good deal; we're both winners.

You should be reading a review of Grindhouse this week. But, instead I owe an apology to the good people that run and frequent the Downey 20 Movie theatre.

This is hard for me to say. I really didn't mean for what happened on Good Friday to go down like it did. I mean it, I swear. But like armed robbery and an addiction to meth; Shit happens. Now, I'm not trying to blame anybody, but let me try to explain.

The first 25 minutes of GRINDHOUSE are so good, the exact type of thing I would do if you gave me hot chicks, money, a camera and a bunch of Zombies (That's the part that would scare me, though....I'd probably get a bodyguard like the one Puff Daddy had that held the umbrella for him when it rained). It's as if the Director, Antonio Banderas, or as my dad calls him, "Tony Bananas," saw inside my heart and decided to make a movie out it. I had never seen anything that good in my life.

So that's why I started masturbating in the middle of Grindhouse. I was probably home before God's film Death Proof even started.

There's a silver lining to this. Although the screening was at 7:15 PM on a Friday night, there was absolutely no one in the theater. What's wrong with you fools? There are hot chicks from SCREAM shooting bullets out of their leg and some guy doing crazy knife stuff and you're going to see some idiots drive around on their Harleys?

Sorry, I'm supposed to be nice here. I'm glad the screening was empty, it's the only reason the management just barred me from the joint instead of calling the police. I have two strikes; a third would be a wrap for me.

But I have to get back to the apology. You must believe me, I swear. I have never pulled a Pee Wee Herman in my life and I've been to some shady porn theaters in my time. Trust me, imagine the worst crack house you've ever been to, add a small screen and some hot dogs and you're still not there. And even in those places, I've had the good sense to uhm, you know, uhm….not pull a Pee Wee in a movie theater. But something about Grindhouse….I didn't even know what I was doing until management shined a flashlight in my face. It's just that the movie was so good! The boobs! The action! The machine gun legs!

The moral of the story is, no matter how good a movie is, it's not right to masturbate, even when it's in salute to the movie. Look at my punishment, I missed out on the second half of what could have been the best movie ever made. So don't do it. And that's the more you know.

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Back Row Review Show: Stay at Home Edition!!!!

Bling Crosby Jr. is at it again! That's right folks he's found some time in his busy schedule huffing paint to do another review for us.

So please follow us after the jump for Bling's review of Winter Passing.

Hello Friends! 

After a couple of days off, (rehab followed by a quick two-night stay at my local prison), I'm back and ready to shoot from the hip about the new movies hitting theatres! 


Except this time, I decided to write about what I've been watching from my Netflix account. I know what you're saying, "hey buddy, I thought you went to the movies to review them....working from home, that's bullshit."

Well, it's not bullshit. It's called House Arrest, and even under house arrest, a man's gotta pay his bills. He's gotta pay his telephone bills. And he's gotta pay his automobiles too, even though there's this orange type thing on the tire that won't let him drive to the movies. And if it’s not enough, a repo man has been driving by my car at night. And I’m not talking about Martin Sheen; I’m talking the real repo man. None of that Two and a Half men Bullshit; this is life baby! Shit is real in the field.

So, I lit some candles, got comfy, put the wife and the kids and their kids and a few of their kids to bed, and threw in tonight's movie: Winter Passing. 

I know you think Winter Passing is a little too small for a plebian like me, to which I reply Bitch Please. I went to (community) college.....I have a large appreciation for the arts and other artsy things. Although I hadn't heard of this movie, one of my Netflix friends gave it a five star rating! His name is Brooklynkid85, he lives in Brooklyn and claims Brooklyn for life. (He says it's better than where he grew up in Rhode Island). Although last time my Brooklyn friend suggested the movie it was thing called ALI; FEAR BITES THE SOUL. I was like "sweeeeeeet....A new sequel to Ali!" But guess what, there was no Will Smith and there wasn't even English. 



So, on to the movie. This is the funniest film I've seen all year! Director Adam Rapp must have been as fed up with that indie bullshit as I was, so he made like a SCARY MOVIE type spoof of Art Films.

Does it work? 

DOES IT EVER. 

Here's what happens in the first 20 minutes. 



Our hero, played by ELF's Zooey Deschanel, gets all sad after she doesn't get an audition. 


-She does coke. 


-She has three one-night stands and kicks them out. 


-She does more coke and more sex.

-She tends Bar (because she's a people's person)


-She Slams her hand in a drawer because it's the only way she can feel. 


-Her cat gets sick, so she put him/her in a bag and dumps said bag into the river. 



Pretty funny, right? 

So I rated it five stars and told my friend from Brooklyn how funny it was. But here's where the story gets weird.....he tried to tell me it's not a comedy.

Kill that noise! This shit's funny! 

Here's what he wrote me. 

"You uncivilized animal. How could you think this brutally honest and emotional portrait of apathy in both the zoo that is the post-modern American city and the hell that is the modern arts communities could ever be conceived as a comedy? This is what happens to people who live in the shadow of famous people, pain and other stuff." 



What! How can this be true! Do all tortured rich girls have one night stands and put their hand in drawers! My wife doesn't do that shit, and she's effing tortured. She may cry herself to sleep in her pillow and the curse the day I was born, but she'll get over it. (I stopped paying attention to her a looong time ago...)

As should my Brooklyn friend. Lighten up buddy, this movie is funny.

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Bling Crosby Knows Movies!

The Incredible Mr. Limpet just gained 300 pounds! That's right, we had a baby, and we're calling him Bling Crosby. The kid loves movies, so much so, he wants to take them out behind the middle school and get them pregnant.

Writing from the cultural center of Southern California, aka the Inland Empire, Bling takes precious minutes away from his deviant lifestyle to lay before you a buffet of art theory. Pick, choose and nibble to your liking, but just remember to take what you touch.

Once more, a round of applause for the one, the only, the BLING CROSBY!

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