Dear Whoever Stole My Laptop,

Not cool. And you suck.

Not only have you deprived me of my computer, but you’ve also deprived NextRound readers of the two or three semi-clever things I thought to myself over the last couple of days. You’ve also done irreparable damage to the financial condition of several adult websites who depend on the copious amount of pageviews I provide to pay their bills.

I imagine you didn’t consider the ripple effect that would take place when you decided to permanently borrow my laptop bag, but the injured parties are numerous and growing.

I hope you can sleep at night. But if you can’t, I’ve got the first two seasons of “Always Sunny in Philadelphia” on my hard drive and they will totally pass the time.

Regards,

Maske

Until recently I only quietly hoped Hugh Hefner would die in the near future. It wasn’t keeping a secret or anything. If I found myself in a “the world would be a better place” conversation I wouldn’t deny my position on rooting for the demise of Hef. I just wasn’t so convicted that I felt the need to pitch the point to all who would listen.

Well now I do.

Over the last few months numerous things have occurred that–in addition to my already well established reasons–have persuaded me to openly lobby for the guy to expire. Or at the very least for him to pull a Johnny Carson and pretty much pretend he’s dead for the last few years of his life.

A person in Hef’s position has to realize that in your 80’s your finest “creative” days are behind you. The problem is that Hef is just too fucking old and senile to comprehend that it’s not humanly possible for him to have “it” anymore. It’s that vicious cycle that has led to the marginalization of everything Playboy.

Here’s a rundown of recent occurrences that have made Playboy completely irrelevant.

“The Girls Next Door”. There’s no arguing that the show is entertaining. It’s un-American to dislike anything that prominently features hot blonde chicks with below average intelligence. But this show has done irreparable damage to the Playboy mystique. Too much information. Too much of everyone associated with Playboy coming off as less-than-ordinary people. And way too much of…

Hef Being Senile and Super Creepy. It’s a bit difficult to respect someone and the “hip” product he produces when you’re pretty sure the same guy flung poop at you the last time you visited your Grandma in the nursing home. I’m no expert, but there may be a correlation between being an octogenarian and…

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Sylvester Stallone may go down as a misunderstood prophet. Mark my words.

The public at large (including myself) has found it easy to marginalize the actions of Frank Stallone’s less talented brother, but the sixty year-old body builder/star of “Rhinestone” has officially enlightened me to his way of thinking. All it took was for the 2008 version of “Rambo” to prove to be a tremendous return on investment for whatever drug lord financed it.

Now, I’m never doubting Stallone again.

That’s why I’m siding with him on the HGH debate. Count me on board as of this second. And ten years from now, when HGH is over the counter–just like Sly predicted–I plan to point to this column from Valentine’s Day 2008 (as well as my well-chiseled figure) as evidence to the world as to how fucking smart I am.

Highlights of Stallone’s Pioneering History:

1970: Porno. Sly knew the industry had legs and got in early (figuratively and literally).

1976: “Rocky”. No one wanted to make it and no one wanted Sly to star in it. The rest is history. A big F U to the movie biz. All the best screenplays are written in three days.

1979: Sequels. Sly handed Hollywood the blueprint for easy cash.

1987: Arm wrestling. With “Over the Top” Sly introduced the world to the best kept secret of alternative sporting.

2006-08: Old man action movies, HGH, McCain for Republican nominee.

If that track record doesn’t get you aboard the HGH express, you’re a lost cause.

Not me though. I’m all in. I personally can’t stop thinking about the improved state of this nation ten years from now when we’re all injecting HGH into each other. It’s going to be glorious. Think about it:

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Ever since I saw “Mission Impossible 3″ and thought it was pretty damn good I’ve had a theory about actors sabotaging their own careers. It’s called “The Tom Cruise Effect”.

You see, “MI:3″ was pretty damn good, yet it didn’t make any money. And the reason it didn’t make any money was because it starred Tom Cruise. That’s why Paramount canned his ass shortly after the movie’s release.

Why don’t people go to see movies starring Tom Cruise? You guessed it: Because Tom Cruise is a fucking whackjob.

This is pretty much the three-part thought cycle everyone I know has when they hear the name Tom Cruise:

1) They think: Tom Cruise is the messiah of Scientology.

2) They think: I don’t want a Scientologist pouring my coffee at Starbucks, let alone starring in the movies I go see.

And,

3) Then they spend five seconds silently mourning Maverick from “Top Gun”.

But I’m sure informing you of your feelings on Tom Cruise is in no way earth-shattering. You already know you think Tom Cruise sucks.

What is pretty interesting is applying the principles of “The Tom Cruise Effect” (or TCE) to the careers of other famous actors. Things vary case by case, of course, but essentially suffering from TCE means that someone who once did solid work inflicted irreparable damage on their own career by publicly acting like a dipshit on a regular basis.

The end result is usually either a public boycott of that actor’s films OR that actor being blackballed by the industry. Here are some examples as well as some different variations of TCE:

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You know you’re in dire straits when you’re banking on Nick Cage in his shittiest of shitty haircuts to save your holiday theater going.

Yeah, it’s that bad. Because as far as big studio releases go, “National Treasure: The Sequel, Cage vs. Hairplugs” is about the only thing I’m looking forward to.

(Seriously, WTF is up with this dude’s hair? It’s hard enough to take him seriously before having to deal with him going to Mark Cuban’s barber.)

I’ve gone through the majority of high profile flicks opening through the end of the year and efficiently divided them into three distinct categories: What Maybe Won’t Suck, What Will Most Likely Suck, and What Is Guaranteed to Suck Out Loud.

Let’s get started…

What Maybe Won’t Suck

“National Treasure: Book of Secrets”

Despite no buzz and looking really cheesy at first glance, the original “National Treasure” was inexplicably solid. There’s no denying that.

So as long as the writers maintain their “Da Vinci Code” without all the Jesus stuff approach, the sequel could be just as good. Of course, with a Nick Cage-led film you are always running the risk of Cage doing his best David Caruso impersonation for half the movie. And that can prove to be more of an obstacle than even the most talented writers can overcome.

On the bright side, the guy who’s directing this flick also directed “Cool Runnings” AND “3 Ninjas”, so they have that going for them.

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We here at NextRound have openly debated our stance on Justin Timberlake for quite some time, and I–like the rest of us–have regularly swayed back and forth between thinking the guy is kinda sorta money and thinking he’s a big pussy.

I admit it.

But now I’ve come to an adamant conclusion: I hate Timberlake. And I’m prepared to fight him, anytime, anywhere.
You hear that, Timberlake? Just name the time and the place and pray to that big fat pedophile that made you famous that I’m not in an exceptionally shitty mood.

And do you know what’s pushed me over the edge? It’s not humping Jessica Biel, or being able to dance like a black dude, or getting all kinds of cool swag for free, or whining like an ugly chick who didn’t get asked to prom every time the paparazzi takes your picture, or decimating Britney in her prime, or pretending to to be 6′1″ when you’re clearly 5′11″, or the SNL appearances, or the sparkling public perception.

Nope, I can handle those things. What I can’t handle is Timberlake getting his own fucking PGA golf tournament.

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My priorities are arguably in the wrong place so I find myself concocting inane pop culture theories on a regular basis. The latest one struck me the other day when I got sucked into “Saving Private Ryan” on HBO. This happens roughly five times a year as it’s one of about ten movies that I physically cannot turn away from if I start watching it.

This viewing led to a unique idea though, a new way to define a movie’s greatness. All you have to do is figure out how many people’s careers peaked in a single film. The higher the ratio, the better the movie is.

If you think about “SPR”, it’s hard to deny that it was a career pinnacle for pretty much every person who starred in it. The movie is just that good. And outside of Matt Damon, you really can’t argue that anyone else involved has gone on to bigger things since. The lone exception (Damon) can be fairly easily explained as his role in “SPR” is essentially just a glorified cameo.

Let’s take a look at everyone else on a case by case basis:

Tom Hanks.

There’s no denying that anything Hanks does will be quality, but can you name a movie he’s done since “SPR” that rivals it? Sure, “Cast Away” and “Catch Me If You Can” are solid, but they don’t really compare. Couple that with Tom’s flobee haircut in “The Da Vinci Code” and it’s safe to say it’s been downhill since.

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The success of “X-Men” and “Spiderman” earlier this decade jump started the phenomenon of “superhero” or “comic book” movies. Sure, the “Superman” and “Batman” movies of the 80’s and 90’s were successful, but the former really established that these movies have serious mainstream potential. If you ask me, the real key was that both “X-Men” and “Spiderman” confirmed that special effects advances created the ability to negate the cheesiness that coincides with translating animation to live action.

But, of course, like with any sort of overwhelming success, there’s a dark side. We’re all familiar with hangovers, morning afters, and rebuilding years. Here the equivalent is REALLY bad superhero movies.

And the weird thing about bad movies in this genre is that–for the most part–regardless of just how mind numbingly shitty they are, they all seem to make money. Even the ones that don’t crush the box office do enough to break even, creating a more than acceptable risk for studios.

After waking up Monday and seeing that “Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer” did $58 Million in the box office, I knew this column needed to be written. Did nobody see the first “Fantastic Four”? Outside of the gratuitous shots of Jessica Alba–who’s awesomeness has been well documented on this site–the first “Fantastic Four” was excruciatingly bad. “Caddyshack 2″ bad. Michael Chiklis looked like a post hangover turd. Some movies just shouldn’t be made. Some things–regardless the advancements in special effects–are just going to be unwatchably cheesy when translated to live action.

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I finished watching “Deja Vu” a couple of days ago, and I have to say that I enjoyed it. Then yesterday I saw the movie poster for “American Gangster”, which is coming out this summer with Denzel and Russell Crowe. I haven’t seen a trailer yet, but the poster alone gave me an anticipation chub, so needless to say I’m looking forward to it.

These two things got me to thinking about the career of my boy, Denzel, and how much respect I have for the guy. Denzel is a straight shooter who rarely disappoints. I never get “Nic Caged” by Denzel. And by that I mean I can tell just from the trailer when a Denzel movie is something I don’t want to see (i.e. “John Q”), whereas other actors–most notably Nic Cage–churn out a plethora of movies that kind of look the same and you’re on your own to sort out what’s watchable and what’s garbage.

Denzel is the Marvin Harrison of the movie business. Not a lot of glitz. A superstar, but still a bit under the radar. He shows up every night, does his job to the best of his ability, plays hurt, blocks downfield, never truly disappoints. Even when Denzel’s movies aren’t tremendous (i.e. “Deja Vu”), they’re still on par with the old bad sex/bad pizza line: even when they’re not very good, they’re still pretty good.

So in honor of Denzel never delivering a really bad movie (not counting “The Preacher’s Wife”, because if you went into that with any expectations whatsoever saw that movie, feel free to stop reading and click here), I’ve put together a list of Top 5 Underrated Denzel flicks. This list breaks down the quality flicks that flew under the radar and are not the household names/award winners (”Glory”, “Remember the Titans”, etc.). Don’t email me that “‘Training Day’ rocked and should have been on the list.” Of course “Training Day” fucking rocked, everyone knows it rocked, my Grandma thinks it rocked.

And now, on to the list:

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click here for What is Irrefutably Lame? Part I

Back for another edition of ‘What is Irrefutably Lame?’, the segment where the NextRound Team (aka Team Cool & Tough) passes judgment on what you can get away with and what is irrefutably lame. REMINDER: we don’t think any of the things we’re passing judgment on are particularly cool, we’re just determining whether they should get a pass or you should get a Punch in the Face Friday nomination for them.

In case you’re still unfamiliar, check out Part I for further explanation.

And here we go…

Is Making Conversation at the Gym Irrefutably Lame?

I thought we’d start off with a no-brainer that is also kind of a public service announcement to anyone who may have somehow brainwashed themselves into thinking talking to people you don’t know at the gym is OK.

The inspiration for this struck a few weeks ago when I witnessed some Under Armour wearing goon attempt to start three separate conversations about politics with other dudes in the gym. Three separate conversations. He actually got one off the ground. I don’t really care to get into details (I don’t really care for politics), but let’s just say things got uncomfortable for everyone near the free weights. And let’s just say that it’s a good thing some genius invented the MP3 player, because otherwise this guy would have certainly taken a ten pound plate to the cranium. True story.

Bottom line: You can only speak to people at them gym if you already know them prior to the gym encounter. Head nods are the maximum form of communication for everyone else. If you find yourself attempting to start generic conversations with people just because they are in close vicinity to you and those same people completely ignore you, that’s a you problem. I’d suggest some serious internal analysis.

Making conversation at the gym is irrefutably lame.

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