When I first launched this blog, I promised myself that I would no longer stoop to spewing the oh-so-familiar venom that once defined my writings. And thus far, I’ve (more or less) kept that promise. But as the Ecclesiast wrote, there is a time for peace and a time for war…
So lemme tell ya something…
If I EVER meet a career ‘critic’ at a restaurant, I’m going to dump my beer over his head. Then I’m gonna whack him upside his empty skull with the mug. And after he falls down, I’ma snatch up the plate of ‘beer nuts’ from the counter and shove those nuts – one by one – right up his nose.
After that, I’m gonna grab him by the collar and drag him outside, into the nearest alley. NOT so I can actually hurt him, mind you…
I just wanna pee on him.
After I zip my pants back up, I will empty the nearest trash can right on top of that darn critic. I won’t care if he’s a ‘film critic’, a literary critic, a music critic, or even a daggone food critic… the last thing I’ll do before I walk away will be to set him on fire. *foomp!*
And he’ll deserve every ounce of my abusive treatment, too. Trust me. And in case you, my dear reader, haven’t already figured this out…
I… HATE… CRITICS!!!
I saw a movie last night that absolutely blew my mind: The film version of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s iconic play Cats. Words fail me, honestly; I don’t know where to begin. Even the unfortunate appearance by Taylor Swift didn’t dim the overwhelming grandeur of the film. (The incredible talent of Taylor’s Auto-Tune guy really showed, boy howdy! The poor fella sure had his work cut out for him.)
But guess what? The self-righteous, obnoxious critics claimed that Cats was total garbage; in fact, they’ve been trashing it ever since the initial release of its ‘teaser trailer’. Aaaaaand the dim-witted masses of ‘sheeple’ responded by doing exactly what sheeple always do: They slavishly obeyed their media masters. The end result? Cats cost over a hundred million to produce, and the movie barely walked away with a box office take of less than ten million.
That’s a tragedy, in my book.
Where do these critics get off, anyway? They slammed the latest Star Wars film, which I thought was brilliant. They heaped praise upon Avatar, which I thought was an over-produced load of absolute crap. They also said that the album Black Sabbath was un-listenable, despite the fact that it launched a new musical genre (heavy metal) and went on to become an eternal classic. Let us all come to our own conclusions already, and quit trying to sway public opinion before we’ve even seen/listened to/read/eaten whatever it is that you’re trashing!
I don’t have an intellectual point to make here, honestly; I’m just kinda ranting. These damn critics act like they hold some kind of mystical power; they assume that we’re all under some mandate to arbitrarily listen to their stupid ravings. But they’re speaking upon whose authority? Theirs? Really?
Don’t make me laugh.
Critics unjustly scuttle careers and slanderously tank albums, plays, books, and movies. They fling their opinions around as though they were the gospel truth, and hold their noses in the air while hard-working artists suffer the un-deserved consequences of the critics’ arrogant, hot-air opinions. I have about as much respect for career critics as I do human traffickers, child molesters, rapists, and drug dealers.
Okay, I’m finished.