Shock Totem #10 (Jan 2016)
- Apex Publications Acquires Shock Totem Book Line
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 8
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 7
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 6
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 5
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 4
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 3
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 2
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 1
- Splatterpunk #7
Like what you've read here or in the magazine? Please consider donating.
Tag Archives: DJ Jazzy Jeff
“Wait, bro, didn’t this movie come out forever ago?” Well, YES. And congratulations, cause YOUR PARENTS LOVE YOU. My dad hasn’t taken me to the movies since the Mac & Me incident back in 1988. Because of that (and agoraphobia), I waited until Hobo with a Shotgun came out on Blu Ray to see it.
I shouldn’t have waited. Cause this movie is the greatest film of all time. Remember Citizen Kane? Neither do I—I’m American.
I keep picking up movies with titles that sound AWESOME, like it’s awesome or something. I rented Dances with Wolves. I liked it until I realized NOT ONE DUDE DANCES WITH A WOLF. What the hell’s the point? Then I saw Avatar, which I thought was about joining a web forum. Ends up, it’s just Dances with Wolves again, except with a hotter chick! WTF?
Struggling as best I could to cope inside my cloud of cinematic confusion (yeah, that was alliteration—I’m literary), I stumbled upon a movie called Hobo with a Shotgun. Within seconds, I says to myself, I says: “Cool. That’s TOTALLY a hobo I’m watching, you know, cause he’s Rutger Hauer and sad! I’m halfway to happiness!” Soon the hobo purchases a shot gun! Holy crap! This makes the most sense since Mom told me Santa Claus wasn’t real and the reason I kept getting dresses for Christmas was ’cause Dad wanted a girl all along…
They’re all disappointed in you, Ryan…
No one will ever care, Ryan…they’re not even reading…they saw your name and left…
Okay, so Hobo with a Shotgun. I guess I should talk plot for a second. Well, it’s about a homeless man (sometimes known as a hobo). He wants to make the world a better place, and figures the best way to do that is with a lawnmower he’s saving up to buy. (Grow up, Rutger. The neighbors stop thinking it’s cute showing up at their door with a weed whacker when you’re 26. I would know.) Seeing how crime has taken over his city, the Hobo realizes he’d be better off buying a shotgun and killing bad people instead. Violence, gore, and hilarity ensue.
That’s all great, but there’s one snag: the head crime boss of the city doesn’t like the sudden power struggle, and war erupts between the titular Hobo and the crime lord’s family.
But none of that is what makes Hobo with a Shotgun the most significant piece of film making in all Einstein’s relativity.
It’s these two:
Ends up, crime lord man knows these guys, who call themselves “The Plague.” Wearing cool armor and hanging out with your best bud in a kick-ass hideout is one thing, but when you spend your free time THANKLESSLY FIGHTING AN UNNAMED TENTACLE-CREATURE IN AN ATTEMPT TO KEEP IT AT BAY FROM THE MORTAL WORLD, you are straight up the coolest guys on the planet.
A hobo with a shotgun, a crime lord, The Plague, the most wince-inducing nut shot of all time and a school bus full of children getting flame-throwed in the same movie? I CRIED WHEN IT WAS OVER. CLASSIC STATUS ACHIEVED.
This is so much better than Dances with Wolves.
What’s that? Sounds dumb? Distasteful? Not your kind of thing? Hey, I get it. In that case, just go watch the movie based on that Jane Austen novel, Pride and Prejudice. You know, the one where DJ Jazzy Jeff screams at an alien, “I’m gonna punch you in the face now ’cause you look different than me and welcome to BBC’s Planet Earth narrated by Richard Attenborough!” And then Ian Malcolm is all like, “Life finds a way. Motherfucker.”
Enjoy your Jane Austen, loser.