People I'm Pretty Sure I Would Waste in a Fight

Dakota Fanning

Kurt Russell (future post) has been quoted as saying that Dakota Fanning is the greatest actress with whom he’ll work in his entire life.  Well, Kurt, do you think that might be because your film resume includes such heady endeavors as Poseidon, Overboard, and Captain Ron?  That’d be like the singer from Smashmouth telling me who the greatest guitar player in rock history is.  

Don’t be fooled, Dakota won hearts all over the fucking place in her breakout role in the film I am Sam (the one where Sean Penn is retarded).  People didn’t find her as amusing though when she starred opposite Denzel Washington in Man on Fire and ended up getting his kick-ass character killed just so she and her stupid teddy bear could continue to live the bourgeois lifestyle in Mexico City while the majority of its population die of starvation in the slums.  

And after a little digging, guess what… Her first name isn’t even fucking Dakota!  Yeah, exactly.  That was my reaction as well (assuming you just punched your computer).  It’s actually her middle name that she “goes by” in Hollywood.  There are already two fucking states with that as part of their name, what right do you have to go pimping it for yourself just so you can star in mediocre shitshows like Dreamer: Inspired by a True Story?  And everybody’s favorite old man who won’t die, Kris Kristofferson, who was also in that suckfest claims that Fanning is, “Bette Davis reincarnated.”  You fucking pervert.

I’m a solid twelve years older than Fanning, and I’d wager I’ve got at least four to five inches and a good thirty pounds on her.  This fight would be like fighting a dead kitten, if the dead kitten had voiced Lilo in Lilo & Stitch 2.  Oh, and I feel obligated to mention that the image I pulled of Fanning was off of a Wordpress blog titled Tween Scene.

Fight Length: 3 minutes

Opponent’s Special Power: crooked-fang tooth that tears flesh from bone

Ideal Fight Location: Mexico City

My Final Move: Fanning unleashes the crooked-fang tooth on me in a last minute desperate attempt to gain the upper hand.  Unphased, I do a flash kick (from Streetfighter where you light your foot on fire and then do a backflip kick to the head) that knocks out all of her teeth which I then drill small holes into and fashion into a decorative necklace to celebrate my victory.

Steve Jobs

For anybody who doesn’t already know, Steve Jobs is the Chairman and CEO of Apple Computers.  I guess I’d like to say thanks for making better computers than Dell, and brining peace to Darfur by the advent of the iPod, but that aside, fuck you, Steve Jobs.  I’m having to fightblog today from a remote place because of your goddamned faulty power cords.  I’ve got a PowerBook G4 laptop and as of today, my mean little power cord that’s been messing with my sanity for about six months finally officially died in a flurry of blue sparks and smoke from where it burnt my carpet.  What if I had left that shit plugged in while I went to get my protein shake and egg-white omelet this morning, you asshole?  

The thing is, Steve Jobs is old.  I mean, not that old, he was born in 1955.  Still, I’m pretty sure that gives me a serious one-up when we finally get to tango.  There’s another reason that I’ve not mentioned that makes Jobs eligible for a heinous beat-down: he’s the largest shareholder of Disney.  Jesus H. Christ.  Like you don’t have enough money?  Why don’t you do something productive like solve the fucking energy crisis instead of buying up shares of Mickey’s empire with all of that money?

This guy, like my power adaptor, is toast.  With fucking butter and jelly.  No, he’s fucking rye toast with cream cheese and lox on it.  And maybe a few capers.  Here at fightblog, I’ve decided to add a couple of explanatory additions to my previously very brief fight descriptions.  Enjoy.

Fight Length: 6hrs 11min

Opponent’s Special Power: continually distracting his adversary with new, touch-screen versions of all of Apple’s products

Ideal Fight Location: on top of Epcot Center at Disney World

My Final Move: tie two iPods together by their ear buds, turning them into impromptu nunchucks.  I begin to spin them so fast that they create the illusion that I’m in like nine places at once (like Matrix shit).  Jobs is so confused that he starts to run from me, but I’m like everywhere.  I mess with him a while (hence the long fight length) and then finally grab him, tear off his arms, and then beat him to death with them.

Haley Joel Osment

Whoa.  The Sixth Sense was like having your teeth shattered by a Frenchman wielding an over-sized glass dildo.  It wasn’t Bruce Willis’ fault; that guy kicks total ass (even for a bald dude) and I would never claim that I could waste him.  Then who’s to blame?  Famed twist-ending specialist Director M. Night Shyamalan?  Donnie Wahlberg as the confused, stripped near nude Vincent Grey?  Producers Kathleen Kennedy, Frank Marshall or Barry Mendel?  

Fuck no.

It was that unholy freakshow of a pre-teen with absolutely no room for scleras in his eyes because his pupils are so unnaturally large named Haley Joel Osment.  His famous quote from the film is, of course, “I see dead people.”  Well, I see one as well, Osment.  I did a little digging recently and discovered that Osment was born in 1988.  This makes him a full six years younger than me, meaning that I could automatically wreck the fuck out of him in a man-battle.  

The aforementioned horror film though wasn’t the first time that Osment rubbed me wrong.  On the last season of what is second only to Becker as obviously the greatest series of all time, Murphy Brown, that cocky little blond shows up out of absolutely fucking nowhere in the final season to replace premium child actor Dylan Christopher as Murphy’s son.  Way to break the fourth wall, you dick.  Christopher was Murphy’s kid for six, count em, six full seasons and you think you can just flutter those press-on stripper eyelashes and think we’re going to be OK with it?  Welcome to the real world, bitch.  We don’t deal with shit like that here.

Then, he shows up on Walker, Texas Ranger for one single episode and plays the role of a child dying of AIDS.  No sympathy for you, Osment.  Should’ve wrapped it up or used a clean needle.  And what is a six year old doing having sex and using intravenous drugs anyways?  Boo-hoo.  Cry yourself to sleep, because I don’t waste tears over baby junkie nymphos.  It’s probably going to be sooner than later that I end up scrapping with this kid because he’s not even famous anymore.  He probably shops at Safeway and doesn’t even buy organic food.  Most likely, we’ll bump into each other near the avocados.  Here are the stats:

Fight Length: Less than 8 seconds

My Final Move: I smash two full avocados into his eye sockets (nobody notices the difference) and they drill into his frontal lobe, giving him an obnoxious stroke and when he falls to the floor he wacks his head and dies

Randy Quaid

The first time that I saw National Lampoon’s Vegas Vacation, I got so pissed that I threw a brick through my own car window while driving home from the theater.  The thing was, I didn’t even care that I had to spend $600 to replace my windshield because I was too busy being so goddamned angry at Randy Quaid.

Remember that part where he takes Chevy Chase into the shitty part of Vegas to try and help him win back all the money he lost?  I couldn’t believe that scene made the cut of the movie.

 It’s like the editing team was on the cutting floor and said, “Hey, since we’ve made one of the best movies ever, maybe it would be unfair to keep it so awesome.”  And then this other guy who worked in there was like, “Remember that scene that we cut earlier where Quaid and Chase go to that broke-ass casino?  What if we put that in to like balance out the equation?”  Then the first guy goes, “Holy shit… that’s perfect.”

It took me years to get over it, and I actually got a restraining order placed on me because I kept calling his agent in LA demanding that he meet me at the Hard Rock Cafe to eat some fried macaroni and cheese and then get his ass kicked.  So for a little bit I figured maybe I ought to just cut it out.  Then I saw Independence Day.

First of all, I hate the shit out of outer space.  I thought I was going to see a movie about America wasting terrorists and then drinking tall, cool glasses of Budweiser. Apparently, I was misinformed (AKA fucking lied to).  The apex of this shitshow of a film was when Quaid, playing his usual dick-nosed ass-master, commandeered a fighter jet and shot his way into the vagina of the alien mothership.  In the last moments of this retarded and unimpressive suicide mission, dude yells something to the effect of, “Payback’s a bitch!”  Oh yeah, Quaid?  I think you’ll probably find that out soon enough.

As you can see, just because Dennis got all the good genes and Randy got the hereditary equivalent of sloppy seconds does NOT mean that he gets to be in movies, too.  Quaid is going to be getting his soon enough.  So, when I do indeed run into Randy Quaid the next time I’m forced to visit the hell-on-earth that is Los Angeles, CA, here’s what I think will happen:

Fight Length: 4.8 minutes

My Final Move: Probably take a snowglobe covered in olive oil and force it through his ear canal, then smack both his ears hard so it shatters into his brain.