Comment Corner

Folks,

Unfortunately, the topic is locked, but we all got to witness once more the batshit insane ramblings of a retard accustomed to yelling at the dishwasher for the evil stalkers to come out and quit leaving water marks on the cups.

Yup, Gangstalking struck again like a bad case of syphilis.

She’s certainly entertaining, but, like always, fails to make her case at all.

What did she intellectually mangle this time? Oh, Jerry, let’s roll the tape.

1. Evidence of something else is evidence of something unrelated happening now.

Gangstalking needs to believe that her social ills are the result of a massive conspiracy perpetrated against her. Since she can’t find evidence of a current conspiracy, she’s fond of digging up wikipedia articles to show how there were past conspiracies or police states. Her pygmy logic is that if something happened 50 years ago in a European communist state, by gum, then she’s being harassed here and now. What’s the logical connection? Well, there isn’t one. It’s akin to believing that the Chinese are currently beaming telepathic satellite beams into her head causing her to believe that Gray’s Anatomy holds cryptic clues regarding her dead mother from the moon because the Americans landed there 40 years ago.

2. Pseudo-science is just as effective as actual science.

Gangstalking believes that if you use a term, you automatically use it correctly. She often refers to “qualitative analysis” to determine if bullshit sensitivity attacks are real or imagined. However, she tosses rigourous methodology right out the window along with her anti-psychotic medication.

There are a lot of problems with simply deciding if too many people are pen-clicking around you. Firstly, you’ve got to establish a base-line of how often people click pens during a random period of the day. If you’re using your memory as a starting place, you’ve already butchered your hopes of finding out for real. The human brain works to filter...

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Folks,

Every so often, there's an actor so overrated he gains the title of "Philip Seymour Hoffman". Named for the terrible actor, Philip Seymour Hoffman, a fat tub of failure who sucked up Mission Impossible III more than Topher Grace sucked up Spiderman 3, it's generally awarded to an ugly actor who appears in almost everything and generally sucks dick. The Big Lebowski was a good film about a man trying to get a rug that tied a room together back; Hoffman was like a tumour sapping the film. God he's a bad actor.



Paul Giamatti is such an actor. He appears in the background of good movies as a bit player, but like a dead skunk underneath the patio, he stenches it up good even though you can barely see him. Look at that fucker. God damn is he ugly. You could save your film a bunch of money and have an equally ugly fucker with no acting talent for a fraction of the cost if you got Mythbusters Adam Savage to drink a bucket of syrup of ipecac and yell out his lines while throwing up.



Let's take a look at some of the worst train wrecks Paul Giamatti has profaned Jesus Christ with:

Big Fat Liar

What the fuck? Malcolm in the Middle plays a little lying shit who loves Amanda Bynes. The paper-thin plot hinges on Paul Giamatti stealing Malcolm's essay and trying to instantly make it into a movie. The big payoff of the film? Malcolm paints Giamatti blue. Wooooooooooooooooooooooooo. Fuck you Hollywood. Here's a free tip; don't hire Giamatti for the live-action Smurf movie.

Lady in the Water

This is just a massive brain hemmorhage of a film. Some water bitch is living in a motel pool. M. Night Shamaalalayalananyan...

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Fuck Paul Giamatti. That's what the update is going to be. Here's a preview. Paul Giamatti is a bug-eyed little dipshit and I hate Sideways.

Folks.

If you live in a town worth mentioning on a map, you have some sort of grocery store in your town. IGA doesn't fucking count. IGAs are overgrown lemonade stands run by retarded kids looking to raise enough quarters to buy a miracle cure for retardation made from hope, popsicle sticks and dolphin teeth they found on the internet. Fuck IGAs. Ditto Sobey's.

The bottom line is, the only grocery store that even matters is Loblaws, or one of Loblaws' many subsidiary companies, like Great Canadian Superstore, No Frills, Independent (bullshit alert!) and a bunch of others I can't be bothered to look up. But these proud Canadian stores are under attack from Wal-Mart and the new Wal-Mart grocery stores popping up more than a recurring Guatemalean sex-rash. Wal-Mart has the insidious power to squeeze distributors for every last penny, in order to pass those savings onto the customer, who buy more, and the profits pay for a gilded stairway to Heaven so the Walton family can punch God in the liver.

Loblaw's needs help. Fast. This isn't necessarily a guide on how to manage the stock at the store. The easy answer is too easy: Just give the cunting food away for free. But, if you want to turn a profit, go hire some greasy egg-head economist to figure it out before he hurls himself into traffic. I'm talking about improving the Loblaws experience. It's kind of like the Jimi Hendrix Experience, but with food. Shit, the only thing you don't need to do is change the music. Michael Jackson's Don't Stop 'Till You Get Enough is both a good song and quite the psychological incentive to buy the fuck out of some groceries.

Listen up Loblawsians, this is what you need to do:

FIX THE CARTS

Loblaws currently offers three different carts to its customers. The standard metal jobby, which handles about as well as you would expect a wooden door floating in a lake to handle, a sleeker plastic cart, which can barely handle hitting a child...

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Folks,

Kids today, they simply can't be trusted. If they're not dangerously wiggling their hips with a hoola-hoop, they're banging a few pounds of uncut heroin directly into their faces. It's a mad cycle.

So, what happened with Heath Ledger? According to the tabloids from which I'm plaigarizing (and forming the bulk of my research), Heath decided it would be a good idea to get over the break-up of his marriage to Michelle Williams by mixing cocaine with road-tar and washing it down with flat Cristal. Also, he was kissing Mary Kate Olson, that freaky little ash-tray of a woman who has all the sexual charm of a moldy potato whipped into your crotch by a passing bus of French tourists.

The Comment Corner Probe got ourselves a look at the official medical examiner's report, directly from a guy over at Kinko's who made it up.



What drove such a stake into the heart of this fine young actor? Was it the success? Well, certainly not from a Knight's Tale, that movie was like being force-fed a brick. But what about Brokeback Mountain? Did he catch the gay? I hear that's fatal unless diagnosed and treated early with a steady regimen of Christian zealotry. What about the Dark Knight? It's not even out yet, but it looks like it could cause legitimately "not-gay" erections in men. What about other movies he was in? Like the Order? It's like a Knight's Tale, but without any semblance of success.



How does Heath Ledger's death affect those of us that are currently betting on either Amy Winehouse or Britney Spears in the Celebrity Death Pool? Obviously, anybody who bet money on him had the inside scoop in having Heath killed. Because, after doing extensive research of Devil May Cry 4, Heath was killed...

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