Fake Movie Review: Mike Tyson Vs. Thor: The Dark World

By Andrew Blumetti Mike Tyson

Hello blog readers and potential victims of mine!

Change your fancy drawers, because sitting in today as a guest writer for this Blumes blog thing is me, heavyweight champion of the galaxy and greatest person ever to walk the planet, “Iron Mike” Tyson. 

I’m lucky enough to bless you regular folks with my earthy movie knowledge and Ivy-League wisdom.  Actually, you’re lucky enough to have me do this, cause if there’s one guy who knows what he’s talking about, it’s one with a giant tribal tattoo on his face.  Today, I will beat your eyes up with infinite pleasure and send your brains to the E.R. as I will give you my sparkling review of Thor: The Dark World.

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To properly convey my feelings about said film, let’s first define the movie’s title.

Webster’s Dictionary defines “Thor” as “painfully sensitive” or “hurt or inflamed so as to be or seem painful“.

Let me use it in a sentence:  “After I banged my fist on the Pizza Hut delivery boy’s jaw, it was thor.”

“Hey Hammer, U Can’t Touch me!”– Mike Tyson

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Now, there is a big freakin’ hammer in this new Thor movie, but at no point does he ever hit his finger with it and it’s never thor, so I don’t know why they named the movie that.  I felt my blood begin to boil and I was ready to punch the director’s head off for confusing my delicate and delicious brain.

Ya know, I think I saw this blonde man before in The Avengers movie last year.  Supposedly someone named Iron Man was in that movie.  Now, they call me “Iron Mike”, but I don’t know why they didn’t offer me the job for that movie instead.   And look at all that metal in my mouth- Mike’s the real Iron Man!

“This tattoo is happy to be on my face!”

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A few years ago, this Thor guy said his character was gonna “fight like me“.

Now, I don’t know if this Fabio-lookin’ chump knows how things work with Iron Mike, but when you throw down a challenge like that, I accept.  He may not have been thor in the movie, but after he meets me, he’ll be thor in real life.

Here’s a picture I drew of me biting off his ear:

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When I was watching Thor, I got up in the middle of the movie to get some popcorn and Milk Duds–  they’re Mike’s favorite sweet treat to tell my thtomach to shut up.   When hunger strikes, I beat the everlovin’ crap out of it and its mother, ya know?

Unfortunately, Mike got lost in the lobby and walked back into that silly Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs movie instead.  I sat there for a half @#!$ing hour until I realized it was the wrong theater.  I just thought it was raining Italian food on that blonde guy, and I started punching the screen, and yelled, “Hey screen!  I’ll rip your heart out, dance on it and bathe in your screen blood, then put it back in and rip it out again!”

So, I ended up mithing the last half of Thor and that made me wanna find that usher and feed his no-good spleen to his children and make them pay me for the privilege of doing it.

Oh yeah!  There was also this loud baby who was crying the whole time during the Meatball movie, and I just couldn’t take it.  He finally shut his ‘lil pie hole once I punched him right in his baby face.   Now his face has a tattoo of Mike’s fist!  No baby can go ten roundths with Iron Mike!

IRON MIKE: 1, BABY: 0

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So, in conclusion, since I didn’t see the whole movie, it’d be really methed-up to give you a score.

…but I will anyway.

Action score:  It was action-packed, and full of more hammers than my trip to Home Depot.  I give it FOUR earless Evander Holyfields:

           

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Drama score:  Drama’s sthupid.  I didn’t pay to see the Thisterhood of that Pants movie.  I’m hungry, I’m gonna go punch me some lunch.

(waiting…)

(waiting…)

Wait, what?  I gotta give a score?  No.

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Overall score:  Trust me, if Iron Mike says a movie is good, my word’s as good as gold, and you’d better go see it or I’ll knock on your door and meth you up.  I don’t see a lot of movies, and I didn’t even see this whole one, but I will say, Thor is the best movie since Thnakes on a Plane.  On a scale of one to ten, I give it an A+.

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Don’t let me find out you didn’t see it, or I’ll make you thor.

Thank you to Blumes for letting me beat him up so I could write this.

I love you all, and the pigeons under the bridge,

Mike Tyson

“Let me kith you.”

Mary Jane Candies: The Journey from Plant to Your Garbage Can

By Andrew Blumetti

The most perfectly wrapped cow chips money can buy!

It all starts with an innocent peanut.

Just an ordinary peanut growing in the sun-drenched fields, not much unlike any of the other millions of potential allergy-ruiners that reside on the fertile farmland soil.

It never hurt anyone, never caused a problem, never made a scene, but hey brotha, sometimes, fate just deals you a crap hand, and the next thing you know, you’re being picked up faster than a tequila-filled college sophomore on spring break by a guy in a non-ironic John Deere cap.

From legume to leDOOM!

From there, it’s just a quick slide straight down crap mountain as that simple peanut who was just kicking back on the soil soon endures the fate of an unfortunate Jigsaw victim in Saw IV, V or VI, being roasted, toasted, and grinded into a deliciously gooey paste.

“Hello peanut, I want to play a game.”

Let’s get to seasoning–  toss in some salt, a dash of sweetener, jar it, pop a lid on that sucker and this once fresh peanut, full of potential and possibility, is now part of something bigger and something even more tasty:  your favorite two words, and mine–  peanut butter.

…but with that title comes infinite possibilities or infinite doom:

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Meanwhile, somewhere sweeter…

In a secret lab which just has to be run by old ladies in supportive knee-high hose, sugarcane or sugar beets are getting a once-over of their own, refined and turned into sweet, sticky, syrupy mess, more popularly known as molasses.

You know the stuff.  It’s got the pitch-black color of the heart of a teacher who gives you homework over Christmas break, it’s sweeter than the last three minutes of an episode of Full House, and moves about as fast as a tired sloth full of NyQuil.

“zzzzzzzloth”

Not an item that typically ends up at the top of your shopping list, molasses is oddly enough, the unheralded star of some of your favorite eats.  Without it, certain barbecue sauces, desserts, beers, and rum just wouldn’t have the same taste.  Heck, in a pinch, molasses can even help remove the rust from the hood of your old ’93 Pontiac your weird uncle sold you.

…and about a century ago, this marriage is where things went horribly, horribly wrong.

Just two years after the disastrous sinking of the Titanic, the world was met with another horror, this time one of the candy kind.  In 1914, The Charles N. Miller Company decided to Frankenstein us all, adding peanut butter and molasses together. And much like the destructive giant green monster, sparks flew, wires had gone berserk, everything went awry and this abominable creation was bestowed upon us:

Ladies and gentlemen, the Mary freakin’ Jane.

Later owned by Stark Candy Company and currently by classic confectionery outfit, Necco, this taffy sugar candy has lasted over 100 years.   And with that legacy, comes a timelessness, as that maize and red wrapper signals a generationally-beloved goodie to dispense to adorable, grimey-fingered trick-or-treaters who crowd your doorstep come Halloweentime like packs of salivating wolves waiting to pounce on a raw porterhouse.

well…

hmmm…

“Give us one more Mary Jane, and you’re getting a flaming bag of dog poo on your porch!”

yep…

OF COURSE THEY’RE NOT, THEY STINK.

Simply put, Mary Janes are the scourge of the Halloween candy world.

Yes, I’m talking about you.

If you’ve ever spent weeks picking out that perfect costume and hoofing your tired little feet all over the crunchy leaves of the neighborhood, the sweetest reward is coming back home to dump out your obnoxiously huge bag of hard-earned cavity-makers all over the rug to sort them out like some sort of supreme candy god.

Making piles and separating the goods from the not-so goods, here’s a few of the biggest offenders that will soon find a permanent home in your trashcan or chucked at your sister’s head:

 

• Good & Plenty:  The dreadful licorice candy you can fortunately sell to deadheads as pills.                                            

 

• Non-descript Black and Orange Wrapped Candies:  I’d start gnawing on drywall for survival before I resorted to these.                                       

 

• Bit-O-Honey: The candy that makes bees enjoy stinging us.                               

 

…and in that ill-fated batch of not-so-dandy candy, sits that same lone peanut we started with–  mashed, smashed, and forever bound to molasses, with a one-way ticket to the Island of Misfit Candies.

“Nobody wants a Charlie, Mary Jane in the Box!”

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Wow, that’s pretty harsh, right?  That paints a cold, cold picture.  Maybe even I’ve changed my own mind.

So, this October 31st, when you look in your plastic Halloween pumpkin and are sourly disappointed to see you walked up those steep stairs to a old lady’s mothball-ridden doorstep for a half-squashed Mary Jane instead of a colorful pack of delightful M&M’s, maybe it’s time to do some corn-syruped soul searching…

Just think, maybe this could be your arm!

Perhaps there’s someone out there who will love the sweet journey of that poor peanut.  Perhaps there’s a generation who hears “Mary Jane” and instantly doesn’t associate it with potheads sitting in a drum circle.  Perhaps this is just a textbook case candy ageism, and we should respect our sugared elders, giving them a second chance.  And perhaps come November 1st, an open mind will reward us with our new favorite treat.

And if that’s the case, please send me your address so I can mail all of mine to you, cause those things are gross.

HAPPY SNACKING EVERYONE!

–Andrew

Three Scare Meals a Day: Everything You Never Wanted to Know About Count Chocula, Boo Berry, and Frankenberry

By Andrew Blumetti

As the once fresh-green leaves begin their inevitable journey to crunchy Orangeland and Yellowville, and the mercury on the thermometer drops while the daily dose of white girls in yoga pants fawning over Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte on Facebook shoots up, there’s no denying it any further ladies and germs-  We are in full autumnal mode.

A season I never was super crazy about as a child, (what red-blooded kid really likes the carefree summer ending and school to start again?) years later, I absolutely love this time of year.

There’s a refreshing crispness to the cool evening air, football season is in full burst, fresh-pressed apple cider is on every shelf, and Halloween season, my favorite holiday, is ramping up speed.   Chock full of creepy haunted houses, blood-curdling horror flicks, just-carved pumpkins, and spooky decorations as far as the eye can see…

…and don’t think your the walls of your local supermarket can keep you safe. 

Rise and shine, wipe the gross eye-gunk out and look twice in the morning, cause your simple breakfast is now in danger.

The “Monster Cereals” have once again been unleashed upon us–  a classic line of cereal created by General Mills, complete with a cult following, found annually on store shelves from September through Halloween.  At one time produced year round, they now are only available seasonally during the fall, just in time to make Tony the Tiger run for the hills and Snap, Crackle and Pop shake in their sugary britches.

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CHAPTER I:  MEET THE GOBLINS YOU’LL BE GOBBLIN’

COUNT CHOCULA:  Vampires drinking blood is sooo Twilight, cause this fanged-fiend has a Sweet Nosferatooth.  His cape is nearly indistinguishable from his hair, he’s got a Barbara Streisand nose, square buck-teeth fangs, and “hunka-hunka burnin’ love” sideburns that’d make Uncle Jesse green with envy.  Get your daily dose of Bran Stokers!

 

 

BOO BERRY:  Get your spoooooooooooon ready this moaning, cause it’s paranormal snacktivity time when this blueberry ghoul fills your bowl.  While his snazzy bowtie and hat may scream out “1920’s jazz musician”, it’s you who will be screaming when this always-tired looking poltergeist joins you at the breakfast table.

 

FRANKENBERRY:  With all those gears, clocks and whistles on his head, he looks like a steampunker straight out of Victoria’s Secret, but this Pepto Bismol-y hellion is anything but.  Flamboyantly tasty, this strawberry Frankenstein is “igor” to make your breakfast frighteningly delicious.

 

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CHAPTER II:   HOLY CRAP!  THE LEGEND OF FRANKENBERRY STOOL

Take a trip back to the early 70’s…. Once upon a time, when disco reigned king, lava lamps had yet to become “retro”, and Cher had less fake body parts…

After the introduction of Frankenberry, the bloody-good cereal caused some unexpected and jarring scares to moms and dads nationwide…

As the tale goes, the mad scientists from the spooky lab at General Mills used a certain red dye to give the cereal its trademark color.  Frankenstein had his final revenge on the living as said red dye didn’t fully break down in the human body, and the pinkish scare parents received during potty time became an unintended hilarious result infamously known as “Frankenberry stool”.

The braintrust at General Mills wisely decided this “my cereal’s turning my poop red” press wasn’t a wise marketing move, and have since changed the boo poo formula to a more stomach-friendly dye.

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CHAPTER III:  THE MONSTERS HAVE RECORD SALES!

I always thought my parents’ old Elvis records were a collector’s dream, but if you’re a true vinyl lover, your wax collection isn’t close to complete without off-tune breakfast ghouls serenading you.

Presented here, for your listening enjoyment, is one of a line of free records included with the cereal, entitled The Monsters Go Disco.

We’re still holding our breath on that ghastly  cover of “I Will Survive”, but in the meantime, fasten your bell bottoms, here’s a taste of campy monsters gone campier:

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CHAPTER IV:  QUENTIN TARANTINO AND FRUIT BRUTE-  A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN

People of Internet Land, meet Fruit Brute…

Upon first glance, this hairy Halloween hooligan may not be instantly recognizable as a household name.

There must be a full moon out because here’s a fruit-lovin’ werewolf who met his eventual discontinuation in 1983.  Much how John Travolta’s sinking career was thrown a grindhouse-y life preserver from director Quentin Tarantino, he also attempted to toss one to the Brute, as an old cereal box made a cameo appearance in some of QT’s most prolific films from the 90’s:

Here’s his appearance in with Lance, a mangy heroin dealer in 1994’s Pulp Fiction:

…and with Mr. Orange in 1992’s Reservoir Dogs:

“Are you gonna bark all day little Brute-y, or are you gonna bite?” 

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CHAPTER V:  THAT CRUMMY DUMMY NAMED FRUITY YUMMY MUMMY

 

To fill the void of those who love fruit cereal and missed the ‘Brute, “Fruity Yummy Mummy” was introduced to a yearning public.

You’d think calling a character fruity might be a bit politically incorrect, but it pales in comparison to his originally offensive moniker, “Wrapped-Up Flamer”.

Much like The Mummy films, public interest was tepid at best.  Production “wrapped up” on Fruity Yummy Mummy as he joined the Brute in the cereal graveyard in 1993.

but…

As the old saying goes, “everything old is new again”.

On a stormy, cold, early autumn evening, as the howling wind blew the rickety shutters around like a worn-out ragdoll, it was said that a unkempt cherry-scented paw and a decrepit fruity wrapped hand both broke open the foggy, cold cemetery ground and rose up from their breakfast graves, shambled past the chipped, weathered headstones of “Nerds Cereal” and “French Toast Crunch” …

…and then they traveled into your local supermarket. 

Tell your milk to suck it up and get ready for a crap-your-pants scare.  2013 marks the long-awaited return of both Fruit Brute and Fruity Yummy Mummy to store shelves.

 

The Smiths may never get back together, but this is a pretty close second place. 

 

 

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CHAPTER VI:  TATBOO!!

A rabid cult following often leads to obsessive behavior-  fanatics still line up for midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture show, and diehards camp outside McDonald’s for the yearly appearance of the fast food Bigfoot known as the McRib.   Keep that in mind when the next time you come between a man and his breakfast food…

Skulls, crosses and heart tattoos are too pedestrian for these inked-up cerealites, as they’ve made their love of Monster Cereals permanent.  While some monsters want to get under your skin, these monsters will have to settle for being on it.

Blumes note:  Ladies, if you dig these, let me know, I just may end up with one.

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CHAPTER VII:  PRANK CALL MATERIAL

Ever meet someone with an unfortunate last name you know they grew up being teased with?  Ask any “Tom Banana”, “Lisa Smurfs” or “Bill Spaghettios”, every day of high school ridicule must’ve been a daily nightmare.

Growing up with the surname of  “Frankenberry” couldn’t have been a jolly walk in the park either, and I’m sure all these people could testify to that fact.

LISTINGS OF LAST NAME “FRANKENBERRY” IN THE UNITED STATES:

 The Frankenberry family reunions in Pennsylvania must be a real hoot.  Every meal is pink and the three-legged race is a suspenseful thrill ride.

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CHAPTER VIII:  MOVE OVER AL ROKER

Today’s forecast calls for a 30% chance of raaaaaaaaaaainnnnn!  (Get it?  Like a zombie?)

Actually, if we were to name this after Al Roker, we’d have to call it Poo Berry.

(rimshot)

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CHAPTER IX:  COUNT ON A FIGHT!

There’s only room for one friendly non-blood sucking vampire in this town, and the eternal battle’s waged on for years.  Hide the garlic, and stay outta the sunlight, this is most likely how True Blood will end one day:

“DING DING!  Ladies and Gentlemen!  Welcome to tonight’s main event–  a fangy Battle Royale for the ages!  Two pale purgatory pugilists in a fight to the (un)death!”

“In this ring, straight from a cardboard coffin in some creepy Cocoa Transylvania, the deliciously… the chocolately…  the sideburned…  the Riboflavin-y…  Mr. Count Chocula!”

“And in this ring, hailing from Sesame Street- he’s lilac-colored, he’s got eight total fingers, he’s good with numbers, and he’s got Snuffleupagus poop on the bottom of his shoe…  it’s Count Von Count!”

Frightened readers, it was said the infamous vampire battle went on for hours.  So long, Abraham Lincoln and Buffy even konked out and lost the urge to slay them.  In the end, it was Sesame Street Count who reigned victorious…

in one round, two rounds, ha ha ha…

“Number One baby!”

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CHAPTER X:  COUNT CHOCULA AND FRANKENBERRY WERE CROSSDRESSERS

They wore the same thing!  How embarrassing…

Ru-Paul made a living out of dressing like a woman, but when it comes to dress-wearing, these bozos oughta stick to their day jobs.   But I guess if it’s good enough for J. Edgar Hoover, it’s good enough for them.

Blumes note:  Tell me you weren’t thinking Frankenberry looks like Charles Nelson Reilly.

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