Earlier this week I was in court serving my duty as an American as a trial witness, in this case at the trial of my former friend Dale, who is looking at serving a life sentence for allegedly hiring some guys to kidnap his wife, turn her into a sex slave and then have her killed abroad in a foreign country, all for the purposes of collecting on a $15,000 life insurance policy. Of course, he did not do it, but the courts shall not be wise to this, as I framed him for it and I am not speaking of this openly but only in hushed tones behind closed doors with trusted members of the community.
One of the smartest parts of the whole frame up involves my friends Chopper and The Slow Kid bribing Dale's lawyer to misrepresent him. By this I don't mean he is lying to the courts or committing perjury, but he is merely being as lackadaisical as possible in representing his client without raising suspicions on the part of his client or the judge, which is pretty clever indeed.
This lawyer, a real slick willy type, has become especially demanding of Chopper, The Slow Kid and myself in exacting payment for his work in losing the case. One of the things he is demanding in payment is that we spend time with him. Lawyers usually do not have any friends, especially defense lawyers who represent scummy criminals who instead of hanging themselves waste taxpayer money by pleading not guilty and forcing long, expensive court trials. The day the trial began, we recessed early after Dale had an outburst in which he called me all kinds of names and swore at me, which undermined his efforts to portray himself as a fairly heavy church-goer, a family man and all around good guy. When Dale refused to calm down and repeatedly, and loudly, called me "a lying piece of dog shit!" in front of the court, and would not obey the judge when told to sit down and be quiet, we got a little easter egg called an early dismissal, like kids do in school.
And so, it was time to celebrate. I wanted to go to Faidley's for some crab cakes and cognac, but slick willy insisted we go to the movies. We got into his car, a Porsche he likely paid for with his misgotten lawyer money, and took us to a small, independently owned theatre downtown. My nose immediately did wrinkle as I know these kinds of places are real havens for hippies and commies.
Turns out this theatre was showing Mel Gibson's latest anti-Jewish propaganda piece, Apocalypto and once again I was seen to most immediately wrinkle my nose. This looked like it was going to be a long film and I could not get my mind off of crab cakes.
If you have never seen Mel Gibson, either in a movie or in a still photograph, you may not realize that he is a biological anomaly. It is apparent from gazing at him that he was somehow beheaded in his youth, and we know who it is that does things like this, even though the hippies and liberals and the private armies of Joe Biden like to pretend otherwise. We can also tell that he lived through the beheading because, well, he is walking around and talking and getting drunk and driving automobiles while drunk and making motion pictures. This leads to the only logical conclusion, which is that after the beheading, some sort of witch doctor or voodoo instigator took a watermelon that was rolling around on the streets of someone's beloved homeland, carved it into the likeness of a man's face, then used the same kind of drying and curing process they did in the times of the ancient Mayans and then mounted this ungodly creation upon the neck of Mel Gibson, securely fastening it to the neck moorings and then pushing their unholy creation into a film career.
So many of Mel Gibson's films have carried some kind of anti-Jewish message, from the city in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome that relied on pigs for energy, his remake of Hamlet in which Uncle Claudius is Jewish, and of course that other one there about Jesus. This leads us to the logical conclusion that Mel Gibson's carved watermelon head transplant was done by people actively seeking to not only push him into a film career in order to pay for the operation itself, but to advance their sick and twisted political views. As a middle aged man of mixed races, whose father was German and whose mother was of Palestinian stock, I am quite sensitive to these issues. However, my head is the original one that came out of my mother and has no seeds inside it and I am sensible. Mel Gibson can make no claims as such.
The answer to the long standing questions about who it was that paid for and performed the watermelon head transplant are answered in Mel Gibson's latest film. And now we will see why, as I will explain.
During the previews, I had an urgent need to go to the bathroom, and so I excused myself while Chopper, The Slow Kid and Slick Willy Lawyer remained in their seats, eagerly waiting for the show to start. Then I stopped at the refreshment counter to inquire about some popcorn and a drink. As I was paying for these overpriced items from my very full wallet, filled with money I have because I work hard, invest well and know how to handle finances, and therefore deserve every damned cent of it, I noticed there was a poster asking for donations to some kind of misguided anti-war cause. I immediately sought to dress down, belittle and curse out the pimple-faced refreshment counter worker and when he acted all meek and hippie-like, I reached across the counter and smacked him hard upside his head. Then I came around to the other side of the counter and continued hitting him in the face with closed fists until a manager and other employees appeared and restrained me.
They wanted to either arrest me or make me leave the premises, but I informed them that I had bought a ticket to the film and that I had a lawyer with me, and I emphasized that he was a real Slick Willy type, so they relented and let me go back into the theatre, being wimpy liberal types unwilling to stand up to the kind of threat I was posing. The only problem I had then was that in the scuffle my glasses had gotten broken so that a lens was missing from over one eye while the other was still present. This made it very difficult to watch the film in any kind of clarity because I am blind as a bat without my glasses and it was hard for me to close the one eye and watch with just the other because of how everything looks different when you only have one eye as opposed to when you have two.
What was even worse about the broken glasses issue, which I am currently suing the theatre over for 1.2 million dollars, due to lost business revenues causes, was that the film was in subtitles and the characters were speaking some kind of gibberish that made no sense to me, even though I speak three languages, English, German and Horse. I kept trying to focus, but all I saw were a lot of small brown people running around and yelling all sorts of things that made no sense to me. And one of the characters seemed to look like a basketball, which apparently was some kind of homage to Mel Gibson's watermelon head transplant. All in all, partly due to my spectacles being insufficient for movie going, and partly due to the inadequacies of this director, the film left me unfulfilled.
One of the things I did learn from the film was through the drawing of logical conclusions. Since Mel Gibson's watermelon head was dried and cured in a fashion known to the ancient Mayans, it is obvious that they were somehow involved in the operation that allowed him to have a film career and a normal life. Let's face it, people without heads are either shunned by the community at large or sent out into the deserts or places like Siberia to die like the worthless, cursed, idiots they are for allowing themselves to be beheaded in the first place instead of making a stand, as I did at the refreshment counter. This is what sets us wealthy, industrious people apart from the kind of scum who want government handouts and school vouchers. So, why did Mel Gibson make this movie, which lacks any good looking movie stars or a refreshing dose of ample white girl cleavage?
Mel Gibson sold his soul to the ancient Mayans for a watermelon head. That is what this movie is all about. Am I wrong? You decide.