The new Harry Potter gritty Hollywood reboot in the year 2025

We all know that in Hollywood instead of making movies clever and original, they simply sit back, watch a movie from their childhood with a mountain of coke and then do a gritty reboot. What is a gritty reboot you ask? It just means you put a lot of tits and gore into a time honored, much beloved TV series or movie from 30 years ago. It's easy and it doesn't take a lot of talent, which is why I'm submitting my 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows' new ending now. We all know it's coming.



INT. HOGWARTS 3 YEARS AFTER EPIC BATTLE

Harry is walking down the lone corridors of Hogwarts incredibly drunk. Students are walking all around him not trying to make eye contact, when a student inadvertently runs into Harry. Harry pulls out his 'wand.' (really his penis)

HARRY
You want some 'tips' from the guy who
fucked up Voldemort? YOU WANNA GO?!

Ms. McGonagall comes out of her classroom upon hearing the ruckus.

MINERVA
Mr. Potter! You put that thing away!

HARRY
You didn't seem to mind it last night, Minny.

Minerva blushes a bit.

MINERVA
Um... Err. Just put the 'ol Basilisk away.

Harry winks over at Minerva as he puts his thing away. Minerva slinks away back into her classroom. A group of girls walk past Harry, who has gotten out his real wand and gives them all a slap on the ass with it. Harry staggers down the hallway and it confronted by his oldest friend Ron. Ron is wearing new robes.

RON
Harry.

HARRY
Ron, you old bastard! What a turd! How's my old post at the Ministry?

RON
You should go home.

HARRY
What? Back to my Godfather's house? I can still see him walking the halls you know.

RON
After how many Firewhiskey's?

HARRY
Shut up ginger. What a mong.

RON
All right, let's go.

In a flash Harry gets out his wand and points it at Ron.

HARRY
Levicorpus!

A large number of gashes appear on Ron's skin as Harry stands there and laughs. Ron points his wand at himself and mumbles a charm and his cuts disappear.

RON
You're sick! Sick I tell you!

HARRY
Do you know how much ass I've gotten?

Ron shakes his head and quickly gets out of the hallway. Behind Harry is Hermione looking very pregnant.

HARRY
What now?

HERMIONE
It's yours, Harry! It's yours.

Harry gets out his wand again and points it at Hermione's uterus.

HARRY
Infantus Evada Kedavra!

A green woosh enters Hermione's belly button and her stomach sags a bit.

HARRY
Tea?

FADE TO BLACK.

My kidZ are AMAZING!!#!#%$%@!

You know that parent that can't shut up about their kids? That's me. I'm that guy. Because you know what? My kids are smarter, faster, and better than your dumb children.

I make no apologies for what I say. I KNOW this for a fact. Why, you ask? because I'm a parent who CARES about my kids. My parenting skills could kick mother Teresa in the nuts. Only such a skilled caregiver could have children with such a highly defined early childhood development that would make the writers of the Baby Einstein videos kneel down on one knee and weep huge sobs into their hands.

Your kid was potty trained at 2?
My kids were potty trained four days out of the womb.

Your kid knows numbers at 1?
My kids were splitting atoms at 6 months.

Your kid spoke at the 16 months?
My kid was quoting 'The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich' by memory during the sonograms.
How do I know? I shoved a tape recorder WAY up there.

Don't feel bad about my child's obvious superiority to your mindless lump of vomit. It's not their fault. It's YOUR fault. You're just a horrible parent. Remember the time you smacked your kid's hand away from almost touching the burner on the stove? Yeah, I didn't and you know why? I allow my children to explore their surroundings. Did I take them right to the hospital? No. They need to learn actions have consequences. And did I bandage them myself rather than going to a qualified doctor? Yes, I did. They need to learn not all of life's problems come in pills and prescriptions to soothing burn ointments. And is it now too late to separate their wounds and they now have Johnny Tremain-like hands, not being able to use their thumbs? Yes, they do. Because I wanted my children to have character, not having everything handed to them on a silver platter, as of now you can't hand them anything. How else could they learn rights from wrongs? Not from me, I barely know left from right. But the one thing I do know is this:

My kid is as dumb as yours. They are neither more intelligent nor are they more brilliantly creative than yours. All kids are vast holes of nothingness and just because your kid did something before my or any other parent's kid doesn't make him a fucking brain surgeon. Because let's face it, if your kid acted the way they do now but only at the age of 23, they'd just be retarded.

Ceramics for a living? Good luck with that. Part 2

And onto contestant number 3.

Sarah actually makes money with her ceramic skills by teaching kids in high school how to make their very own bongs. I would say something very rude here and also very belittling but Sarah is pretty cool. But she does teach retards how to mold clay into a method of getting high enough to take ceramics in college.

Last but not least there's the one and the only Lucas.

Lucas once said the crossing flags (one checkered and one with a Chevy logo) across his chest was classic, you know, like everyone should have one. Lucas is, as my wife calls it, a sexy bulldog. Basically this means he's the male version of the female 'but-her-face'. Good body, nasty ass face. So Lucas had the body of a Greek god but the face of Dr. Ruth. There are stories about Lucas taking a female class member down to Vegas to get clay for their class. By the end of the story they had gone to get the clay, then he got drunk and high, got a tattoo, the girl got hit on by a midget at the tattooists and Lucas was trying to lure her to stay with him rather than spending the night at a friend's sister's house . I believe the enticement was him rubbing her back saying "It's all right baby, you don't need to go. Because I can always date rape you."

Okay he didn't say that last part. He just thought it.

Did I mention he loves to get high? Oh yeah, he's smoked so much damn weed he has literally no short term memory whatsoever. AT ALL. I met his stupid ass three times before he knew who the hell I was. But what is he doing now?

He ended up at the college where my wife attended as the assistant teacher of the ceramics class. He also has recently been fired from said position for selling grades for sex. Apparently he thought porno's are based in fact, rather than disease ridden fiction and has paid dearly for it by way of paycheck and a case of the drip.

way too go Lucas. You are my hero. (and I do mean the sandwich)

My Easter at the Jersey Shore.

As the sun rose in the east, or as Vinny says "the shiny part of the sky", the rays hit our eyes making everyone in the house squint from a wicked hangover. The night before we were in the clubs fist pumping. Mainly to music and not each other, although I did see Pauly D and Ronnie leave to go to the bathroom together. Everybody, one by one, woke up next to the disease ridden love tryst they picked up the night before, cleaned the congealed vomit off themselves, and rose shakily for the day. I got up reluctantly and went downstairs. This simple act seemed almost impossible because I had passed out in the jacuzzi on the roof all night and my feet were shrunken down to more than half their normal size. A bad start to Easter sunday.

"Do you have to run that stupid blender at this time in the morning, Ronnie?" I whined as I limped over to the breakfast bar.

"How will I know if I'm awake if the blender isn't running?" Ronnie asked just as a little bit of drool dripped off of his chin.

"I don't know Ronnie. I just don't know." I sat down on a stool only to jump back up after realizing I just sat on a huge aerosol can of spray tan. Knocking the canister over was like trying to get a 200 pound turtle to roll over after it had landed on it's back. Once the damn thing hit the ground it exploded, spurting out orange liquid all over the kitchen. It looked like a mass murder had just occurred in the Oompa Loompa's break room at Willy Wonka's factory.

It was just then that the 'Situation' came in from the bathroom declaring that no one should go in there because of the 'situation.' Yeah, like we haven't heard that one a million times already, MIKE.

After thirty-six minutes of high levels of homo-eroticism as all the guys just 'hung out' without shirts on, the girls finally made it into the kitchen demanding pancakes.

"I'm on it!" I was eager to impress J-WOWW. With a name like that it can only infer high society. (and I do mean the porn magazine.) I jumped up ready to make some batter. My thought process was that if she saw what I could do to flour, eggs, and milk; maybe the same thing could be done with her in the bedroom. But as I was getting out the ingredients for the pancakes, she started dry-humping Pauly D while taking most of her 'clothes' off. I was crushed. I didn't know how to go on. Only after realizing that gonorrhea now isn't in my immediate future did I recover. Time to realize this? .03 seconds.

We were all sitting around the breakfast bar enjoying the pancakes and bacon I had just whipped up for everyone when suddenly the house started shaking. It lasted mere seconds, but it came back. Another small tremor endangering our sweet pad. In an instant we knew what was going on. Snooki was slowly making her way down the hallway, stomping her feet and breathing fire. Her nostrils were flared and within was the red hot glow of the fiery pit of her soul. The horns on her head looked sharper than ever and the talons on her hands were ominous as she staggered toward us. We had forgotten the chaos she caused the last time she wasn't fed. We got comfortable, careless, and stupid to let it get this far. Snooki, the only member on Jersey Shore who's mother was a gargoyle and father was a troll, was terrifying on every level. She'd make out with you, then rip out your heart. (Not a metaphor, she'd kill you before you could get the case of gel you store under your bed open.) Her angry red eyes took us in, eating pancakes without her. She opened her mouth and sprayed Vinny into horse meat with the flames of eternity. Sammi's torso was no match for Snooki's razor sharp talons. She then turned her attention to the situation, who was ironically watching the situation unfold, and bit his face clean off and spat onto the floor. Pauly D and Ronnie both ran for it. J-WOWW and Angelina took the cue and ran after them, but they didn't get far. No, Snooki's ability to summon a horde of destroying angels took care of them. They won't harm anyone now in the phantom zone.

She took one look at me and I remembered the only defense mechanism I had in middle school when bullies turn against me and immediately soiled myself. Although the stench wasn't a pleasant one (I had asparagus the night before) it did nothing to detract her from wanting to kill me. I thought this all out. My mother crying over my grave. My Father muttering under his breath a vow to hunt down the midget/witch and burn her alive. Then something in my head turned to kindness. I don't know what it was. Probably a lame last second attempt to make up for a life of hedonism to try to get into heaven. But the thought held, so I offered Snooki some pancakes I was saving just for her.

She cocked her head slightly to the left and devoured them in a single gulp. She then slowly turned away and started to walk back to bed. I was left there to clean up not only breakfast, but the corpses of my fellow cast members. Snooki looked over her shoulder at me, smiled, said these words in my mind without moving her lips "Come join me later for an 'Egg Hunt.'" She walked back into her room without taking those souless black eyes off me.

She didn't even offer to help clean up.

What a bitch.

Ceramics for a living? Good luck with that. Part 1

When I met my lovely wife we were going to college. Me at a junior college just turned state college and she at a major university. Which is like the janitor hitting on a CEO. At the time she paid for her education with her talents. She had a scholarship through ceramics and spent many hours at a ceramic wheel with her smelly schoolmates who were also at their wheels making what would inevitably become a bong.

I remember spending time there while she finished school projects and I played guitar and failing to act cool. I played a song so horrible once she actually told me "could you take the hippie crap somewhere else?" Needless to say we have a very open and honest relationship, like once when I got emotional over something my daughter did and she told me to "suck it up, fag."

But I'm off the point.

My wife did not pursue the exciting career of clay pot making, something the modern world moved past sometime after rome fell. Instead she helped me get into the entertainment business by paying the bills when we moved to California while I was doing free jobs to gain some contacts. And please don't read too much into 'jobs', we all have to pay some dues.

After almost 8 years of marriage and two kids later, my wife got to chat with one of the 4 or 5 people she used to hang out with in the pottery room, listening to bad reggae and playing with mud, something I grew out of when I was 3. She got the info on all of them and the results of their lives. Now remember when they were all together they talked about nothing but spinning clay and making it in the hard fast living of your modern ceramisist (which is about as hardcore as a professional chess player). The results are somewhat telling.

First there is Skylar.

Skylar wasn't just a ceramicist. He was also a painter and habitual drug abuser. He had taken so much acid in his life that on paper was clinically insane, which for him was a highlight on his resume. This information was actually given to my wife after one time after dark she asked him to walk her to her car for protection. On the way he told her about his drug use and insaneyness and she then realized she asked the one person she was trying to avoid to be an escort to her car. So in her attempt to be safe on the journey to her car had epically failed. Where is he now? He's on some mountain recovering after a drug relapse. He's doing much better than we all could have expected.

Then there's Cassy also known as: The reptilian girl whom my wife got in a fist fight with.

If you thought ceramisists where just peace freak hippies, you've never been in the middle of an argument about the optimum slip consistancey for slab building. Yeah, I don't know what that means either but apparently it's enough to give out a little chin music. This very thing happened between my wife and Cassy on a workshop trip to Phoenix. Besides her reptilian looks, the only other thing that bugged me about Cassy was she looked just like a dirty penniless hippie who smelt like the stinky butter the Sea Shepard throws at Japanese whaling ships, but she drove a Lexus her dad got her and a bank account full of cash. So instead of being what she was - a rich little brat with all the cash at her fingertips - she decided to be what she thought she should be, an annoying artist with mud under her fingernails. Today Cassy an unemployed architect.. the dream dies again.

Avatar.... I finally saw you and I am left wondering, why?

I want to talk about the top grossing film of all time. If you think it's Citizen Kane, The Godfather, or Casablanca, you're wrong. Today we're talking about Avatar. James Cameron can make a movie. Great, so could Ed Wood, but Wood never received an Oscar for his films, which are the cinematic equivalent of George Takei quoting the Bible with tourettes.

When I went and saw Avatar, I went to the 3D version of the show. Did it totally enhance everything and make me think I was there in the forest looking at blue nipples? No. It did not. Good thing too, because if I thought I was on a planet full of mutated Smurfs I'd go after 'home tree' too. (either mutated Smurfs or mutated baboons, where the blue asses have spread to the body, I have yet to decide.) The 3D for the most part got in the way. Rather than enhancing the experience it just annoyed it. As though it was possible to annoy the experience more with the two dimensional characters and the stale wooden dialogue.

James Cameron can't make a great movie, but the thing he's a genius at is making a movie that appeals to the mass audience. Which doesn't take much. In fact if you wrote a book on the Cameron's style of film making it would be called "The Lowest Common Denominator: Movie Making, The James Cameron Way!" If you don't believe me, here's some "dialogue" from Avatar.

JAKE: That's right -- to embed with the Omaticaya. To find out how to screw them out of their home. By deceit or by force, he didn't care. And if it turned out to be force, then how best to do it.

GRACE: And what about now, Jake?

JAKE: I'm not that guy any more.

GRACE: I know.

RIVETING! That's almost as brilliant as Twilight, where if you tell a girl you can read people's minds, she just stares at you.. for two solid hours until you ask for your money back.

Apparently it took Cameron 12 years to develop the technology to make Avatar, which is something I can appreciate, but in that time the only thing he realized plot-wise was: Plants are sacred, corporations want nothing more than to rape all nature, the military wants to kill all foreigners, and on other planets the local natives are basically the black jungle stereotypes Carl Denham hired to help him capture King Kong. I mean seriously, am I the only person who saw that? Just because they're blue doesn't make it any less racist.

All in all, Avatar was way way WAY too long, the story was basically Ferngully with a lot more blue private parts and 3D natives weren't at all convincing as 'real' entities. But whatever, shit blew up, right?

Right?