As a follow-up to my earlier diary, Best. Diary. Ever., I would now like to turn to the Dark Side of The Force (duh... duh... duh..., DUH duh-duh, DUH duh-duuuuuuuh) and present a list of "worsts," and give Kossacks an opportunity to offer their own. As I said in the introduction to that earlier diary:
Come, display your profound knowledge of...whatever...and indulge your snooty inner critic with nose pointed proudly toward the sky. Geek out, freak out, or reveal your inveterate hipsterism to the assembled legions. Squares, mediocrities, and sincere cliches are welcome too. Feel free to blaspheme, commit unforgivable sacrilege, or reaffirm cherished pieties to the delight of the faithful.
Note: There is more complexity when choosing the worst of something than the best, as sometimes "worst" actually means "best in another context." In other words, the worst science fiction film of all time (Plan 9 From Outer Space) is actually one of the funniest unintentional comedies of all time. So in choosing the Worst for this list, I am really trying to scrape the absolute Bottom of The Barrel in search of utterly irredeemable trash.
So, without further ado, and in no particular order, I present to you the Worst...
Horror movie: Halloween III: Season of The Witch (1982)
Runner-up: Amityville 3D
Notes: Not a single moment in Halloween III is scary. Or funny. Or clever. Or beautiful. Or sympathetic. Or creative. Or sad. Or suspenseful. Or anything other than one increment of depressing Suck after another.
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Science fiction novel: Dune: The Butlerian Jihad (2002) by Kevin J. Anderson and Brian Herbert.
Runner-up: Earthborn, by Orson Scott Card
Notes: I didn't start reading Butlerian Jihad expecting miracles - Frank Herbert was a freak of nature, and his Dune series is something that might as well have fallen out of the sky on a meteor for all that ordinary human beings can meaningfully imitate it. But from virtually the first page, this book was offensively stupid; offensively trite; and offensively unimaginative, even by the standards of mediocre franchise SF. Brian Herbert took the most fascinating background subject of his father's literary universe and took a giant, steaming shit on it. It's as if he subcontracted the job to a local middle school.
I would also make a note about the runner-up, Earthborn. This novel is the culmination of what began as a somewhat interesting series, but which slowly degenerated into laughable Mormon speechifying by an author now infamous for his wingnutty theocon conspiracy theories.
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Musical genre: Rap
Runner-up: Hip hop
Notes: I liked Tupac, Dr. Dre and a few others, because they actually bothered to make music (they called their version of rap "G Funk"). But that's pretty much all gone. Now rap consists of an unchanging beat, a sampled 3-second rhythm ripped off of someone else's music, and someone saying "Uh, uh uh, uh. Yee-uh. Uh uh uh, uh." Been that way for about a decade. It's like it's precision-crafted to appeal to Teh Stupid. Here are the last 7,000 rap videos: Rolls up in his (insert luxury car); seen wearing fedora and sunglasses indoors and throws money in the air in slow-motion; in a hot-tub with girls drinking Cristal; girls bumping and grinding; rinse, repeat. It's worse than disco; worse than glam rock; worse than hair metal; much, much worse. And it utterly refuses to go away or evolve into something meaningful, no matter how much time passes.
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Chip flavor: Anything with the word "Extreme" in it.
Runner-up: BBQ
Notes: Food is not supposed to be extreme. Extreme flavors trigger a little something called the gag reflex, which human beings evolved to stop us from dying when we've stupidly ingested something toxic or rancid. Pain is not a flavor. When I'm hungry, it is not my first thought to rub Icy/Hot on my tongue. And yet, apparently, based on the proliferation of such flavors, it appears I am unusual. As for BBQ...smoke isn't a natural flavor either. Soot is not a condiment. If I want smoke, I'll buy cigarettes. When I buy food, I want food.
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Type of woman: Selfish
Runner-up: Unforgiving
Notes: As a disclaimer, let me say that I love, adore, and worship women in general. I am the definition of a Whipped guy, and when I meet women my default attitude is set on Eager to Please. So it tends to bother me more than it might otherwise when I run into a girl who literally doesn't understand that other people don't exist solely for her convenience. I've found my interest in a woman is in direct proportion to how much she cares about others, so a completely, cartoonishly selfish woman (and I have met some) is to me totally without attraction. Almost any other character flaw can be seen as a tradeoff or even a virtue in context, but even if you're the smartest, sexiest woman on Earth, selfishness = I will despise you.
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Cinematic sacrilege: Star Wars, Episode I: The Phantom Menace (1999)
Runner-up: The Godfather, Part III.
Notes: Thanks for subjecting the world to a 133-minute toy advertisement, George Lucas, you burned out husk of an auteur you. I found Attack of The Clones and Revenge of The Sith relatively good in comparison, despite your horrendous choice of actors to play Anakin, but that is little compensation for having waited in line to see Phantom Menace on opening weekend. Offensively awful, insulting, and stupid at many points. If I could make him do it over, I would keep the scenes with Darth Maul and make him create an entirely different film around them.
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Skyscraper: This fucking horrible thing in London:
Runner-up: Ryungyong hotel
Notes: Britain, apparently not content with speculation about its sexuality, decided to end all doubt by making the centerpiece of the London skyline a Faberge egg / dildo. It is just plain silly, and in combination with the giant ferris wheel makes one wonder if London is going for some kind of Circus Circus aesthetic. Not that Britain was ever exactly a virtuoso in architecture, but until recently they at least knew that about themselves.
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(TMI Alert)
Experience with an expensive, legal prostitute: Inspected naked and then told to leave for having a freckle on my nuts, because it Could Be Something (it wasn't, and never could have been).
Runner-up: Asking for a less rough blowjob, and being laughed at. Her day job must have been Sensitivity Trainer.
Notes: The Dr. Quinn with the boob job who decided my nards were gnarly didn't know what the word "doctorate" meant when I told her that was my professional goal. Being rejected by such a person with cash in hand did wonders for my self-esteem for weeks afterward.
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Soda: Diet Mt. Dew
Runner-up: Ginger Ale
Notes: How people can drink this crap is one of those mysteries of the cosmos that should be examined on some Peter Graves series on A&E.
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English/Imperial unit: Slug
Runner-up: Fahrenheit
Notes: Why, why, why do these units still exist? Why are they not merely quaint footnotes in some "Ye Olde Almanack"?