Movie legend Martin Scorsese, who is collecting his semi-annual armload of awards for cranking out yet another over-produced, overlong suit of clothing for the emperor to strut around in. His latest over-praised monument to mediocrity is The Wolf of Wall Street, the story of a cartoonishly self-involved and self-indulgent stock trader which took Mr. Scorsese three hours to tell even though all the character really does throughout the course of the movie is be a total dick to everyone around him without suffering any real repercussions as a result. Oh, he loses a wife and some kids along the way but seeing as he dumped one wife during the course of the movie to marry the second one and the only interaction he has with any of the kids is when he throws an hysterical, drug-induced tantrum when the second wife inevitably informs him that she's leaving and taking them with her, it doesn't really seem like it would make much of an impact on anything but his already overinflated ego. The Wolf of Wall Street has elicited a remarkably mixed response from its audience. Some feel that it's a harsh cautionary tale warning against the indulgences that high finance can dangle in front of our ever-vulnerable immortal souls, even though everyone who benefits from those indulgences seems to live in a bubble and never receives more than a slap on the wrist for their outrageous behavior (even when the titular antihero played by Leonardo DiCaprio loses a pile of money the size of Mount Vesuvius in a failed attempt to hide it from the tax man, it doesn't seem like the shortfall will make so much as a gold-plated dent on his lavish lifestyle). Others (like me) feel that the celluloid used to make the film would have been better used in the construction of pre-fab Quonset huts on Guantanamo Bay. To use the vernacular of the kids on the Internet, IMHO it's a huge comedown for the man who made Taxi Driver and Raging Bull, major cinematic classics whose entire production budgets wouldn't pay for a day's salary for Mr. DiCaprio's compliment of bodyguards. As for The Wolf of Wall Street, the emperor is not only buck naked, he's baked out of his mind on blow.
My longtime enemy Dan E. Campbell, who makes a return to these pages after a lengthy hiatus. Mr. Campbell likes to shake the scales from his reptilian hide and show his soft underbelly to the world by posting news of celebrity deaths on his Facebook page and then adding the down-home wail of "bless his heart," as though that little homespun nicety will make up for Mr. Campbell's lifetime of depravity. So frequent are his lamentations of "bless his heart"at celebrity passings that Mr. Campbell challenged his readership to end this year by being able to recall his first "bless his heart"of 2014, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air star James Avery who was called home on New Year's Eve and had his ticker sanctified by Mr. Campbell while the latter was watching the Rose Parade. God knows what other famous people will have their non-functional cardio vascular systems consecrated by Mr. Campbell over the next twelve months but as someone whose blood pressure rises five points every time he reads one of those inane posts, I can tell those celebrated stiffs that there's an upside to not being able to see your computer monitor any more. I just look forward to the day when I can bestow a blessing on Mr. Campbell's aorta. Although judging by the way he's treated me over the years, I suspect that there's nothing but a canvas bag filled with charred ashes inside his chest. And I say God bless it.
My number 4 enemy of 2013, Tom Ashworth. My close buddy Dr. Marcus Ringer was in town last week and I arranged a get-together of a few of his old buddies, including some known to readers of these pages like Glenn "Piece of Shit" Simon and Eddie Frierson. I proffered an invitation to Mr. Ashworth since I remember that Dr. Ringer had borrowed two dollars from him in 1987 and (given the current precarious state of Mr. Ashworth's personal finances) he'd want to try and finally get it back. Everyone who RSVPd showed up save Mr. Ashworth, who made a sorry excuse the following day that he was unable to attend because he was preparing for an audition he had the next morning (he didn't say what for but I assumed it was for another pornographic gang bang film shot in his neighbor's garage). It was a pity since it turned out to be a delightful party full of laughter and reminiscence, although it may be just as well that Mr. Ashworth didn't turn up since the main thing we reminisced about was what an oddball he was and we might have kept out mouths shut if he was there. You don't want to offend a guy with two dollars burning a hole in his pocket when you're standing together in front of a no-host bar.
Enemies List favorite Mara Marini, who celebrated a birthday on Monday. I decided to give Ms. Marini a treat by letting some of my celebrity trickle down on her on her special day by using as my Facebook profile photo this famous shot of me posing with her and her imposing rack at the LA Weekly Awards. The story of how this photo came into existence has already been told on these pages so I won't drudge up old police reports with that ancient history. What I take issue with is that after I did Ms. Marini the favor of posting the image of her and her glorious endowments in my presence, all of the comments about the picture centered around how good she looked even though I had just doused myself with Axe Body Spray and was wearing a shirt that had been laundered a scant six weeks previously. Granted, I was struggling to stay in frame as the gargantuan pair of hooters beside me did its best to take up all the cubic footage available to it, but an objective inspection of the photo should make it clear where the real star quality lies. Granted, I might feel differently if I saw pictures of the rack when it wasn't covered by faux white tiger skin, but such images remain unavailable to me until Ms. Marini removes the potted plant next to her bathroom window that is obstructing the view of my high-powered lens when she showers.
Speaking of Ms. Marini, my Facebook acquaintance Michael Lackey who e-mailed us both an online article about the least intelligent dog breeds. Topping the list were Chihuahuas and Pugs and since Ms. Marini is the doting mommy of Monroe the Chihuahua and I am the proud poppa of Winston the Pug, I suppose Mr. Lackey was trying to get a rise out of the two of us by suggesting that our pets are considered dim bulbs by the staff of VetStreet.com. My actual reaction to the story was indifference, since the reasons I love Winston have nothing to do with his cranial capacity to count to 10 with his paw or know not to use the living room carpet as a toilet. But Ms. Marini took offense to the listing, responding "Monroe is very smart!!!! I'm insulted!"(adding a playful "lol" at the end to keep Mr. Lackey from throwing himself off a bridge at the idea of having offended her). At first I just assumed it was a protective pet owner defending her darling, but after studying the photo of Ms Marini making out with Monroe on the left (and I hasten to add that Monroe is a female, making the image even hotter), I realized she was right. This is a scenario that the vast majority of people reading this listing would like to be in, including most of the chicks and certainly Mr. Lackey. Yet only Monroe had the intelligence to figure out how to make our fantasy her reality. So the next time you see an online article telling you that you're not as smart as those around you, think of Monroe being French kissed by Ms. Marini and take heart. I certainly intend to do that the next time I absentmindedly use the living room carpet as a toilet.
CORRECTION: Since this page went to print, Mr. Ashworth has informed me that his audition was at The Old Globe Theatre in San Diego and not for a pornographic gang bang film shot in his neighbor's garage. I didn't even know that they shot pornographic gang bang films at The Old Globe.