BY KEITH EVANS
After having two seperate conversations with two different about two seperate subjects, I feel obliged to write this...
...well, HALF write this. (You'll see what I mean in a moment.)
The first convo was about telling a lot about a person based on their #tbt posts. For those living in a void, "tbt" stands for "throwback Thursday", a weekly internet holiday celebrated by us masses to either muster up nostalgia or simply repost pictures of oneself when oneself looked either better or worse and brag or sulk about said visual transformation.
We discussed how most #tbt's are predictable, and the very ones you can predict on a week to week basis are 7 times out of 10 either a mother who longs for her slightly slutty glory days or some whiney averagely obese person showing pics of how skinny they were "back in the day", or worse, how much fatter they were. I say worse because this person is generally talking about this all week long as they virally abduct us into their public journey of weight-loss.
Obviously, as most convos go with me, I made them laugh for about 15 minutes, then in a delirious haze, got completely off track and started a rant about how I wonder if #tbt for sex offenders is called "teen boy Thursday", which then turned into a more heated debate about how I don't believe statutory rape exists within the gay community. But of course THAT'S a blog for another day.
The second convo was sort of a recurring theme I've had all week about the Nightmare On Elm Street series. Coincidentally enough, Mr. Goodpaster and I filmed an episode of #FirstWorldAnswers about our favorite one out of said series (slated to air this very Friday).
This convo took a dastardly turn once this person mentioned how they really loved the horrific Michael Bay remake. After labeling them "autistic", then realizing that anyone who likes any Michael Bay remakes is a complete goon and it is offensive to autistics to compare them to that, I directed this person to look up my review of this movie almost 4 years and 1 month to this date, as to prevent me from re-upsetting myself.
Obviously they didnt find it. Probably because in 2011, my blog was on blogspot, and also, I'm not Perez Hilton, so my blogs don't just pop up on Google without a little digging.
It then occurred to me, "Keith, it's Throwback Thursday! Why not just repost it for all the world to see how unwavering and consistent your immaculate thought process about trivial subjects has remained over the past 4 years!"
(That's literally how I talk out loud to myself in the mirror)
So after 10 minutes of Google searching it, (which is equivalent to 5 months of missing children searches in the real world), I present to, not only that bumbling, artless goon, but also to the rest of you....
...EFTH's First Ever #TBT Blog Post...
Michael Bay Raped Me: The Movie That Scared My Anus
"Maybe I have just a younger voice than many other directors." - Michael Bay
Perhaps that explains his some sort of homo-erotic revenge scheme on one fo the greatest horror icons of all time. You'll have to excuse me, I just saw Nightmare On Elm Street, the Michael Bay version, and I am traumatized. As a small child, I recall, vividly, my memories of the phemomenom that was Freddy Krueger. I remember every Nightmare On Elm Street installment (including Freddy's Dead AND New Nightmare) as well as every bad dream I had after each one. I remember Freddy's clever wit and Batman villain-esque like one liners. I remember my first Freddy glove. I remember Renee Hardin letting me stimulate her clitoris with that very glove, years later, to ultimate success. I remember laughing off the utter ridiculousness of Freddy's Dead. I remember that to this day, I am still slightly un-nerved by Nightmare On Elm Street 2. Freddy Krueger was a champion antagonist to most kids of my generation, black or white. Sure, within the story he was a child murderer, serial killer, and all around asshole, but simply put, he was a pop icon.
Not anymore. . . .
My problem is not particularly the film itself. Apparently, Michael Bay, along with Wesley Strick and Eric Heisserer, decided, in what seems like a terrible attempt to up Mr. Krueger's terror, to change him from awesomely snarky murderer to. . . . .
. . . drumroll please. . .
. . . pedophile. . . A Goddamned pedophile. Michael Bay just ruins my whole fucking childhood by replacing my beloved Fred with this creeptard Fredophile version.This is not a knock to James Earl Hailey either. I feel that he played the part well, according to the script. My issue is simply that my memory of Freddy being a badass, dream hopping smarty pantshas now been molested by this baby fiddler.
Now when I think back on famous Krueger qoutes, such as "You're all my children now" and "Wanna suck face?" I gotta be disgusted and pissed? If and when I have my traditional, one time Elm St. movie nightmare, do I have to worry about Freddy fucking me in the ass?
Not cool. . . . .
******Spoiler Alert********* There's one point, when Nancy falls asleep, she wakes up in this bed, all decked out in the same kind of school girl dress that the creepy little chics wore in the originals. Apparently, Nancy was formerly one of those girls in real life, back when Freddy was scamming kid tail. She lays there, he shows up, and at some point, starts tracing his his finger blade down her neck, around her chest/breast towards her belly button and eventually to God knows where. All this as he recites a classic line from the original "I'm your boyfriend now, Nancy". Really?
Fucking ewww. . . . .
What next? In the Smurfs remake, we find out that PaPa Smurf is some weird, sex crazed, bi sexual scientologist cult leader. Max Headroom was the first ever Neo-Nazi/Aryan internet prototype. You see my point? Now, when somebody dons the customary Freddy mask and metal clawed brown leather glove, they're just an asshole,. . . . . the skeevy kind, not the lovable Kanye kind.When sex offenders get registered, they should just recieve government issued green and red striped sweaters, so we know who they are.
Total ruin. . . .
It's like I feel as if Freddy just got made to look like a total fuck nugget by the media.Is this how Condoleeza Rice felt when she first saw Oliver Stone's "W."?
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