It's an accepted fact that Rocky IV is the best Rocky. It's got Dolph Lundgren, that creepy lurch who fucked Flava Flav, a Russian backdrop, and awesome songs. When people think of the tunes from this epic masterpiece "Burning Heart" and "No Easy Way Out" are the first ones that come to mind. Understandable. They're the breakout soundtrack hits that made Survivor and Robert Tepper musical legends. However, they are not what gets my blood bubbling when I watch the fourth Balboa installment. What makes me want to swim across an icy river to save a bunch of orphans who are stuck on a sinking glacier is Vince DiCola's bombastic score. Listen to the song below and try not to fight a dragon to the death, I dare you....
THEN listen to THIS song and try not to land a malfunctioning airplane full of pregnant Olympians...
THEN try and listen to THIS song and not dance your pants off...
The third installment of The Matt Leary Vlog has arrived! I'm well on my way to building that vlog cabin in the woods. I'll be able to sit by the fire, watch the vlogs burn, sip on some egg vlog with my sheep vlog, Otis, sitting by my side.
Let this all be a lesson to you... you can overdo a pun, and the results can be disastrous. You may be saying, "no way, not me, I can control my puns"... that's what I used to say, now I'm a slave to my puns. Soon your puns won't even really be puns, like that monstrosity you see above. You don't want this nightmare, YOU DON'T WANT IT, SON!
I degress, let's get on with it, shall we?
This week I finally decided to get a library card. It's about time I start illuminating my mind and filling it pertinent information, and there seem like no better place then the New York Public Library.
In order to make room for all this intellectual infomacion, though, I need to kick the trivial slop that is currently squatting in the attic of my brain and doing heroin on the dirty mattresses of my cerebral cortex. So, today I will be booting these space fillers out of my noggin and shoving them into the street of the internet...
Ahhhh, much better! My brain is now an empty vessel, ready to be filled with historical facts and philosophical concepts. Ha, who am I kidding, I'm just going to end up renting movies for free and gawking at all the old creepy people who frequent that smelly book hut.
I've decided that I want to be a poet. I feel that poetry is the most telling form of art. One line of poetry can paint a sea of beauty on the walls of the cavernous brains. A single Haiku has the ability to caress the world's heart and pump blood into society's veins. Poetry will also make chicks think I'm super deep.
Here are two poems I recently worked on...
There is an evil inside of me
It has traveled to my core
Bubbling, brewing, a Devil's stew
Converting my purity, crippling, wretched, merciless
I ate Chipotle and KFC today
A four sided gathering of those who defend
Gaggles of hopeful youths from beginning to end
Giving out warmth and tenderness for free
Drum circles and street bands create new melodies
I wish they would all fucking shut up and move out of the way
So I can get to Goodburger and eat before Jack and Jill starts
If I miss the previews I will be mad
Ah, the beloved R.L Stine. What would our childhood be without him? He gave us Say Cheese and Die and... other ghoulish treasures that I refuse to remember at this point... fuck it, he wrote like 400 books and I was pubeless when I read them, excuse me for not remembering, asshole. It's safe to say that this haunting Hebrew hitmaker is the most successful children's writer aside from Dr. Suess. Here's a little known fact though...
R.L Stine's mother, Anne Stine, was also a horror novelist. It's true! Below are some of her more famous works to date:
- My Son Didn't Pass The Bar Exam
- The Haunted Violin That My Son Refuses To Pick Up Even Though His Father Spent A Lot of Money On It
- My Son Won't Eat More!
- The Shiksa Who Possessed the Bubby
If you thought any of this was even remotely humorous then you're a Nazi and you should be ashamed of yourself.
Happy Spooky Day! Still don't have any costume idea? Don't fret! I have some leftover nuggets that you're more than welcome to use.
You could go as...
Cousin Oliver from The Brady Bunch
The Joker being Borat
Liam Gallagher's Penis
Casey Anthony's Dad
Antoine Dodson's sister
Samantha from SATC2's bleached butthole
A pack of Rolos (everybody loves Rolos)
Kevin Sorbo (from the last season of The OC, not Hercules)
Doug Funny as a Nazi
Sexy Internet Predator
It's been quite a bit of time since the last (but first) episode of the Matt Leary Vlog. I've become a much more sophisticated and worldly gentleman since then. I now only drink Rosemount Diamond Shiraz, read The Economist and watch classy softcore erotica (the kind with smooth jazz accompaniment and no visible penetration).
If you compare the first episode of the Matt Leary Vlog with the second one, which is posted below, you will surely be able to see the differences in urbanity and refinement. It's clear that my new intellectual persona has done wonders for my work...
and here's the first episode in case you missed it...
For the past four weeks I've been reviewing (aka shitting on) Terra Nova on CharacterGrades.com. Recently the creator of Character Grades, Katie Lucas, and I have deemed the show unwatchable. This means I will no longer be following the brutally boring Shannon family as they stick their fingers up dinosaurs' butts (if they actually did this in the show it would be watchable).
Help me bury Terra Nova by checking out my farewell letter (plus song) in Charactergrades.com...
Goodbye, Terra Nova
After you check that out you can watch this video of French Bulldog puppies being dick-punchingly cute...
If you know me then I'm sure you're aware that my dream has always been to be a rapper/R&B heartthrob. I mean, I don't shut up about it! And if you know me then you are also aware that my dream is TOTALLY reachable. I've got the looks, I've got the voice, I've got the flow, I've got the uncanny ability to treat women like sex objects... what else do I need, really?
Anyway, I want to be the next white Usher so I've been making some banging tracks in my free time. I just made a new one called, "My Time Machine", do yourself a favor and give it a listen...
I'm still working on a cool stage name. Currently, White Usher is on the top of my list but suggestions are welcome. My second choice is Dominatrix Ghost Baby.
Oh, and here's another jam I made a lil' while back called, "You Smell Like McDonalds", it's about Kelly Rowland.
Carlos Santana, born Carlos Santana, grew up on the streets of Elizabeth, New Jersey in the mid 1950s. His mother was a cobbler and his father was a cobbler's assistant. Carlos had a happy musicless childhood. He enjoyed watching The Goldbergs, a little known sitcom about a Jewish couple from the Bronx, and playing Jai Alai. Carlos grew up to be a very successful manager of a Wolworths in Bergenfield and married his childhood sweet heart, Beatrice Manglove. Carlos had it all, until one fateful night...
On Oct 22nd, 1986, Carlos was struck by lightning while teaching his child the art of Jai Alai and fell into a deep coma. Back then doctors were unaware of what comas were so there was very little hope for his survival. Beatrice stayed by Carlos' side during the coma, or as the doctors called it the "demon life pause", but after a year she decided it was time to move on. Carlos was left all alone.
When Carlos awoke from his devil sleep in 1998 he had no recollection of his previous life. The doctors gave him a bag lunch and sent him on his way. Carlos roamed the streets of New Jersey looking for a meaning to his life to no avail. Things were looking completely hopeless until one night when he stumbled upon a vagabond playing the guitar. Carlos was stunned by this melliflous noise coming out of the guitar, or as Carlos called it, the giant stringed shoe horn. Carlos politely asked the stinky man if he could try and play the shoe horn and the odoriferous fellow obliged...
What came from Carlos' fingertips that Autumn night was nothing short of a miracle. A man with no previous musical talent, who was sheltered from music all his life, made the most beautiful latin rock fusion in all the land...
What happened next was even more nothing short of a miracle. As the orgasmic guitar solos ejaculated out of the base of the rancid, rank, reeking homeless fellow's guitar Matchbox Twenty's Rob Thomas, The Calling's Alex Band and Michelle Branch's Michelle Branch walked by.. The three music megastars, who were coming back from their weekly IHOP brunch, immediately bickered over who would work with Carlos first. Bickering turned scuffling and scuffling turned into fisticuffs until Carlos broke them up. Carlos told the three that there was enough Carlos to go around and that his newly discovered gift should be shared. The rest was history...