Archive

Posts Tagged ‘Steven Seagal’

The 2011 Cunt Awards

January 2, 2012 15 comments

Lawyers. Bankers. Politicians. Hipsters. Women that read vacuous gossip magazines. People that overuse the word “like” in sentences when like, they like, speak (especially like, Americans). People that use hashtags as if they’re actual things because of fucking Twitter (#Cunts). Scott Pilgrim fans. Hunters. People that watch David Lynch films. White guys with dreadlocks. People that say “Epic Win” and “Epic Fail”. Nerdy gamers that “boost” online to acquire trophies/achievements instead of getting them naturally by just playing the fucking game. Guys that wear skinny jeans that look like they’ve been painted on their skinny chicken legs. The Hollywood executives that cancelled Eureka and probably Community. These people are all cunts.

You see, the world is full of cunts. You might even say the planet earth is just one giant planetary cunt. And yet, the preceding paragraph didn’t even scratch the surface on the amount of cunts that inhabit this floating sphere, which is why it’s necessary to award those most magnificently cunty of cunts for their very cuntyness in what I’ve titled the ‘2011 Cunt of the Year awards’, or the Cunties for short. In this article I will award the cuntiest people and things the year had to offer. Each winner, be it a cunty person or a cunty thing, receives the following prestigious accolade acknowledging their incredible contribution to the overall cuntyness of 2011:

Finger licking good.

If you haven’t already read the precursor to this article where I look back at the year 2011, then read that HERE. Go on, I’ll wait.

Done? Good. Then without further adieu, here are the award winning cunts of 2011!

Cunty TV show of the year: Deal or No Deal (UK)

Facing stiff competition from the ever-cunty Two and a Half Men and Jersey Shore, the UK edition of Deal or No Deal fully deserves the opening award for being the most insufferable puddle of rhinoceros piss to ever contaminate television screens. Firstly, there’s the concept: someone chooses a box to open from a selection of boxes……and that’s it. Each box has randomly assigned amounts of money inside, of which the contestant loses the chance to win when opened. It’s completely random. And viewers lap this shit up like it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. People watch other people opening boxes, glued to the fucking screen. Every. Fucking. Day. CUNTS!

Secondly there’s the host Noel Edmonds. If ever I wanted to invent time travel for the solitary reason that I could covertly infiltrate a Nazi concentration camp and trick a soldier into letting me throw someone in the oven, Noel would be the reason. His cheesy voice and bland personality; his ridiculous lion’s mane haircut that looked lame back in the 1970’s, let alone now; his unfunny little asides to the “banker” as if he’s a comedy genius; his forced melodrama during the show. Every time I see him I hope that after the show he gets sodomised by Mr. Blobby in the dressing room. CUNT!

I even heard Edmonds on this Godforsaken show describe it as tactical. How the FUCK does this game involve anything remotely resembling tactics? You open a fucking box. Then you repeat that action until all boxes have been opened. It’s FUCKING RANDOM. Then they play the dramatic music over the studio speakers to further enhance the overall cuntyness. Oooh, such tension! And all the other contestants wish each other luck and are all emotionally invested in each other’s success. Why do they give a fuck? If it was me opening a box for them I’d say I hope it’s £250,000 inside and that they go home with a fucking fiver and then get mugged on the way home so they actually have less money with them than when they left the house to begin with. Plus the other contestants apologize or accept praise if their assigned box has a high or a small amount in it, despite the fact that they have no control over the amount inside their box! CUNTS!

I’d like to pop out one of the boxes one episode and kick Edmonds in the nuts. It’s the ultimate show that’s made by cunts, starring cunts, for cunts, and thusly, deserves the award more than any ever show.

Cunty movie of the year: Twilight: Breaking Dawn

Remember when the vampire genre used to be a staple of horror? Remember when vampires were portrayed as vicious, malevolent, treacherous and evil figures that seduced their prey before violently sinking razor sharp fangs into their necks and feeding on their life essence? Remember when vampires were legitimately frightening? Remember when they weren’t metrosexual emo pussies?

Yeah, those days are long fucking gone, thanks partially to the general emasculation of the male gender, and mostly because of these unendurably heinous displays of cinematic feces known as the Twilight movies. The latest installment in these foul abominations continues to feminize the vampire and the genre irreparably. No longer do vampires prowl the moonlit shadows striking fear into all and sundry, noooo. Now they want to have intimate hugs, discuss their feelings and cry during sunsets. Plus, if Edward Cullen is anything to go by, they all look like they’ve had their faces smashed in with a fucking tire iron. And is this Kristen Stewart bitch supposed to be considered attractive? I’d rather fuck a toaster.

The opposite of this award goes to Drive, one of the coolest movies I’ve ever seen and definitely the best film of the year. Breaking Dawn on the other hand is a film that appeals only to ugly overweight bitches, moronic tween girls and raving queers. And they’re all cunts. If you like this movie, you’re a cunt too.

Cunty musician of the year: Diddy/Puff Daddy/Whatever the fuck this douche bag calls himself now

He just heard one of his own songs.

P.Daddy, Poofy, Diddy Kong, whatever the hell he’s called now, fucking sucks. There are some terrible rappers out there, but none on the outstandingly cunty level of Mr. Sean Combs. Kanye West is equally as cunty, but not as bad a rapper. Not only is Diddy the worst rapper to ever rhyme over a beat on a professional level, but is a multi-millionaire for doing so. The conceited, egocentric and self-proclaimed “Bad Boy” not only produces awful music, but is involved in equally abominable clothing lines, a “man’s perfume” range and reality shows that cunts all over America, especially the “ghetto is cool” entertainment media and dumbass, easily-influenced suburban white kids lap up like the sheep they are. A king cunt, beloved by cunts. Only Lady Gaga and Rhianna come close in this category, the latter for the primary reason that her entire appeal is based around blatant, unrestrained sex. She might as well have a minge for a face, then oblivious parents might actually realize just exactly what their kids are listening to and why their 12 year old daughter has more sexual experience than they do.

What ever happened to good hip hop, you know, like that classic album Mr T released Mr. T’s Commandments?

That was actually better than Last Train to Paris. And it’s true, the Bible does indeed make it clear that you have Mr. T to fear. It’s in there, trust me.

Cunty sportsman of the year: John Terry

On the football field, the Chelsea and England football captain is a perpetual warrior with unwavering dedication, a proud leader of men and a tremendous defender. Off the field, he’s a monumental cunt. With the dead eyes of a seasoned insomniac, no one else in the sports world deserves this award more than everyone’s favorite football pikey, JT.

When not shagging other player’s wives behind their back or fueling a massive gambling addiction, Terry likes nothing more than racially abusing black players on the pitch, as he allegedly did recently with Anton Ferdinand. In Terry’s defense (see what I did there), technically what he said was true. He called Ferdinand a “black cunt”. Well, Anton is black. And despite not winning an award here, he’s also quite clearly a cunt. Hence, “black cunt”. And Terry’s a straight talking guy. He’s always called a spade a spade.

Some might say Terry’s simply had enough of defending crosses and now just wants to burn them. Though he didn’t do himself any favours in a recent training session when he misunderstood some instructions and dribbled the ball around Drogba, Ramires and Ashley Cole, which led to manager Villas-Boas shouting “No, John! I said dribble around the CONES!”

Racist or nay, Terry comes from a family of crass mongoloids, with his crack-dealing dad, kleptomaniac mother and brother Paul Terry that shares John’s knack for extramarital shenanigans. And with a family like that, it’s no wonder that someone like JT wins sports cunt of the year.

Public cunts of the year: Clipboard charity workers

This award goes out to every cunt that’s tried to accost me when I’m walking along the street with their fucking clipboard in hand, prepared to ask me redundant questions about whether I want to donate money to their useless fucking charities. No, I’m not interested in donating money to anorexic Ethiopians. They should just eat all the flies on their heads. BBQ ‘em, bit of salt, done. Plus the pound coin in my pocket’s getting me a delicious Smarties McFlurry. No, I have no desire to give money to your charity for midgets with ironically oversized heads that keep falling over when they walk due to their hilarious disproportion. Fuck off!

These people are like zombies in Dawn of the Dead. They keep spreading. When I see one of these fucks in the street I refuse to even acknowledge their existence, and I avoid them as if they’re Freddy Mercury with his AIDS-ridden cock in his hand. I should just carry a sign with me that reads “NOT INTERESTED YOU CUNT” and hold it up every time one of these fiends tries to make eye contact with me. Well done guys, you deserve this award.

Unfunniest cunt of the year: Kevin James in Zookeeper

Kevin James is about as funny as testicular cancer, yet this wasn’t always the case. He was reasonably humorous in his old sitcom King of Queens but then something happened, some kind of grotesque transformation from funny fat man to unfunny fat cunt. He also exudes an air of corpulent smugness, as if to say “I know this shit I’m making is terrible, and I’m being paid millions to do it so I can fill my bulging belly with donuts, you stupid gullible suckers”. Paul Blart Mall Cop, Chuck and Larry, and now this filmic torment.

I could watch a 12 hour marathon of hidden camera footage from the basement of Josef Fritzl as he abuses his children and still raise more smiles than sitting through Zookeeper. Runner up for this award is Margaret Cho, whose fanbase can only logically include heavily stoned lesbians and special needs children that’ll laugh at anything. She also looks like she died and was brought back to life three times. Good-looking Oriental chicks are the most attractive in the world, which makes this ugly bitch even worse.

Cunty moment of the year: The Royal Wedding

There was no cuntier moment all year long than the public wedding of William and Kate, and the mass hysteria that surrounded it. TV stations across the globe cancelled their originally scheduled programming to air this overblown, ostentatious puddle of wank, while in England, the country stopped in its tracks to embrace the equine prince and his bride to be as if it were actually an important event. CUNTS!

Cunty lifetime achievement award: Steven Seagal

"I invented the front kick, bread and humanity."

Readers of my humble little blog will already know how I feel about Fat Stevie (https://theflyingguillotine.wordpress.com/2011/08/17/the-ridiculousness-of-steven-seagal-part-1/) and the bloated bigamist could easily win ‘Cunt of the year’ for 2011 on his recent foray into the world of MMA training and typically absurd post-UFC interviews (and those yellow shades), but this award is far more substantial than that. This is a lifetime achievement award, given to the rotund whale for a lifetime of being the worlds most hilarious and ricockulous cunt. Try thinking of one, just one human on this planet or even a human that has ever lived that’s more of a cunt than Seagal. You just can’t. Because it doesn’t exist.

A lifetime of grotesque narcissism, disregard for weight or personal appearance, misogyny, absurd “hair”, pathological lies, attempts at transforming into different ethnicities, atrocious acting and lack of effort in everything, awful music, incredible delusions, insecurity, bullying, cowardice and pseudo-mysticism all mean that no one deserves this award more than you, Sensei, you glorious, glorious cunt. Just try not to eat or rape your sex slaves with it.

Cunt of the year: 

This is the big one, folks! An award for someone more annoying than the angry sun level in Super Mario Bros. 3, more insufferable than a room full of Jewish criminal defense lawyers, more cunty than a Madonna house party. The nominees are Donald Trump, Floyd Mayweather, Rupert Murdoch, Barack Obama, Lindsay Lohan, Kim Kardashian, The Pope, Danny Dyer, George Lucas, Sean Penn, Sarah Palin, Justin Beiber, James Corden, the entire cast of the Jersey Shore and Lady Gaga. And the winner is…DANNY DYER!

"I just won wut? 'Oo juss called me a cunt?"

Despite perhaps being somewhat of an underdog in that list of remarkable cunts, there is no one more deserving of this distinguished award than England’s biggest, most notorious chav Neanderthal himself, Daniel John Dyer. The East London simpleton is human excrement, with all the sophistication and social grace of an anal wart, and all the intellectual capacity of a mentally-challenged cockroach. Renowned throughout the UK for being the thickest celebrity around and for making the most asinine and unintentionally hilarious movies in the world next to Steven Seagal, Dyer solidifies himself as cunt of the year by frequently attending D-level celebrity events and engaging in as much hooliganism as his schedule will allow. He’s always clad in the finest chav-du-jour Burberry and Ben Sherman and consistently exuding the lack of class and lowlife attitude that a propa ‘ard geeza should, walking as if he’s wading through jelly and talking like he’s just been the victim of a swift lobotomy.

Even though I’d literally rather have Susan Boyle sit on my face and suffocate me than watch a Danny Dyer “film”, there are some gems out there that you may wish to put yourself through if you’re a fan of bad cinema. The Football Factory and Dead Man Running rank as his most hilariously dreadful.

Not content with being the World’s Worst Actor tm, Dyer continues to embarrass himself with numerous gormless TV shows, such as Danny Dyer’s Real Football Factories, Danny Dyer’s Deadliest Men and probably the funniest of the lot, Danny Dyer: I believe in UFO’s where he eloquently refers to potential extraterrestrial life as “that mob up there”. Look them up on YouTube, folks!

Dyer is a right cockernee geeza, awight, and if ya disagree he’ll come round yer manor and open up yer fackin’ canista, ya MUG! Congratulations Danny, you’re the biggest cunt of 2011. And 2010. And 2009, actually. Hell, the whole decade.

So there you have it, a celebration of the finest cunts 2011 had to offer. As for next year, who knows? However I do predict this time next year we’ll all be marveling at the comeback of Mel Gibson and hopefully, finally the death of Lindsay Lohan. There’s no way that coke-addled whore is making it another 12 months. No fucking way. Maybe 2012 will bring us ever closer to the hoverboards and flying cars reality of Back to the Future Part 2 (only a few years to go, buttheads!). And without a shadow of a doubt, Steven Seagal will make a complete fool of himself, as always.

Oh, and the world will end too. I almost forgot about that.

The Ridiculousness of Steven Seagal Part 2

August 17, 2011 198 comments

This is the second and concluding part of my comprehensive list of the most ludicrous aspects of Steven Seagal’s life and career. If you haven’t yet read segments 1-5, read them in PART ONE. Otherwise, here’s reasons 6 to 12 of why the fatman is the most ridiculous man in the world.

6- His terrible movies

Aside from Seagal’s first few efforts, which were genuinely good action movies (‘Out For Justice’ is a classic), the fatman has amassed a filmography worse than Ed Wood’s. With the aforementioned ‘Today You Die’ and the ‘has to be seen to be believed’ atrocity that is ‘Attack Force’ leading the pack as the very worst (and most funniest) of Seagal’s rotten output, reading through the list of his films on Imdb is akin to perusing a record of Holocaust victims — absolutely tragic.

Even when Seagal was younger, thinner and gave a modicum of a fuck, he still had all the acting ability of a roadkill badger. Frown, squint, mumble, kick, repeat. For my money, nothing comes close to ‘Today You Die’ in terms of execrable acting/directing/writing and pure unintentional hilarity. One of the funniest scenes from that contagious anal rash of a movie is when Seagal is sent to jail but isn’t required to conform to prison uniform regulations like everyone else, and is allowed to constantly wear a massive buttoned up overcoat that is never taken off, including when he wakes up fully clothed from an insinuated sex scene (the actress must have thanked God when she found out the sex scene wasn’t going to be filmed). Covering up Seagal’s porcine figure is evidently more important than the most basic forms of realism.

With his insipid films mostly taking place in Eastern European shitholes on typically low budgets, Seagal is renowned for putting in less effort than a narcoleptic snail. With an unprecedented level of lethargy, Seagal usually makes up about 2% of his fight scenes, being doubled for everything but the close-ups. Frequently, he is doubled for even the most physically trivial of endeavours, such as walking through a door or the complex act of standing. The directors and fight choreographers share Seagal’s apathy considering little is done to hide the fact that the double’s are usually half Seagal’s weight and are sometimes even wearing different colored clothes.

It’s come to the point where oftentimes Seagal even has to have a VOICE double because his hushed, mumbled and often improvised (didn’t read the script) dialogue is regularly indecipherable. Here’s a scene from ‘Attack Force’ with the worst dubbing since 70’s kung fu flicks:

For sheer comedy, if you haven’t already, seek out a Seagal DTV flick.

7- His pathological lies/delusions

It would take a month to extensively list all of Seagal’s copious lies and deranged delusions, so I’ll stick to a select few, the biggest of which is the nonsense Seagal long spewed about possessing a mysterious CIA background. He once said:

“You could say that I became an advisor to several CIA agents in the field and through my friends in the CIA, met many powerful people and did special works and special favors.”

In actuality, as you’d expect, that’s a steaming pile of horse shit. Seagal never worked covertly for the CIA or anyone else, and Gary Goldman, an ex-mercenary (for real) and former business partner of the fatman revealed a hilarious story:

In an interview with Spy, Goldman says he had long known that Seagal tends to tell grandiose tales about himself. Late in 1988, a former soldier of fortune and treasure hunter named Randy Widner invited Seagal, Goldman and another man to hunt for treasure off the coast of Barbados. At that time, Seagal had been telling Goldman that he’d been a U.S. Navy SEAL. Evidently this was one frogman who did not take well to water. As Goldman recalls, “Randy was driving [a Zodiac raft] in circles while Steven and I carried the gear out to him. The surf was unbelievable, really tough… He started screaming and panicking and was sure he was going to die and all that crap.” Goldman says Seagal had to be helped onto the vessel. “Wildner had to pull Seagal by his hair; I pushed his ass onto the boat with my shoulder.” Later that evening, Goldman says, he realized that Seagal could not read a compass or a map. (Seagal describes himself as “autistic with numbers.”) With that, Goldman says, he totally dismissed the notion that Seagal had ever been involved in any covert operations. In his letter to the Times reporter, Goldman wrote that Seagal “would surely die of starvation if he was given a compass and a map that led to a restaurant five miles away.”

The closest Seagal has ever come to being a Navy SEAL is this picture:

As well as claiming he learnt blues from the masters despite only being 5, Seagal also claimed he spent much of his youth in Brooklyn (probably to augment his then Italian persona), despite probably never once going there when he was young. Then there was Seagal’s claims about daringly battling the Yakuza (the Japanese mafia) when he was in Japan, and claimed to Movieline “I jumped right in their faces. I was a tenacious motherfucker, man, and I was fearless.” His first wife, Fujitani, cleared up this nonsense however:

“It is a lie. He once chased a few drunks away from the dojo but never was involved with Yakuza.” Fujitani also delivered some insight into the mysterious attainment of Seagal’s Aikido black belt. “The only reason Steven was awarded the black belt was because the judge, who was famous for his laziness, fell asleep during Steven’s presentation. The judge just gave him the black belt.”

Where Seagal’s lies begin and his delusions end is debatable, but what’s not is the fact that it’s a fucking comedy goldmine.

8- His pseudo mysticism

One of Seagal’s most entertaining qualities is his half-baked Buddhist ramblings and assertion that he’s the reincarnation of a 17’th century Buddhist lama. Wouldn’t it be a tad more believable if it were claimed he were the reincarnation of a warthog, or perhaps a triple bacon cheeseburger? And Seagal has to be the most hypocritical, fraudulent Buddhist alive. He’s exhibited anything but the philosophy of peace and compassion that Buddhism is supposed to preach. But what’s funniest about the rotund bastard and his obsession with Eastern spiritualism is when he attempts to take on the role of ‘wise old master’, robing himself in circus tent-sized kimono’s and brainfarting gems like this:

9- Real life situations

Seagal has told more tall tales than Walt Disney but the side-splitting truth is that when the fatman has been in a position to substantiate some of his physical claims he’s usually he’s been made to look a fool. There isn’t a more amusing Seagal tale than the time he was choked out by Judo champion and stunt coordinator Gene Lebell. Seagal, who has a history of abusing stuntmen on the sets of his films, often by kicking them in the nuts when they don’t expect it, finally got a taste of his own medicine when he arrogantly declared he could never be choked out by anyone, and lo and behold, was taken down by Lebell. The reason this story is so funny is because not only did Seagal pass out, but he proceeded to urinate and defecate all over himself in the process. At long last Seagal managed to experience the metaphorical equivalent of what moviegoers had been put through every time they saw one of his films. Of course, a lawsuit towards Lebell followed, so Gene had to stay quiet about it all.

Then there was Seagal’s problems with the Mafia over a monetary dispute relating to his business partner Jules Nasso who was connected to the mob. Suffice to say, during a meeting with some mobsters, Seagal almost had another ‘Gene Lebell moment’ and was said to be completely terrified during the time spent with them. Where was Seagal’s steely poise and tough guy attitude when faced with genuinely dangerous criminals? This website  goes into much deeper detail over the whole hilarious series of events.

How about the time Seagal ran away from his eternal rival Jean Claude Van Damme at a party at Stallone’s house? Sly remembers it:

“But I remember once, at my home in Miami, I believe it was in 96 or 97, Van Damme was there with Seagal, Willis, Schwarzenegger, Shaquille O Neal, Don Johnson and Madonna, it was a heck of a party. Van Damme was tired of Seagal saying he could kick his ass and went right up to him and offered him the chance to step outside so he could wipe the floor with him, or should I say wipe the backyard with him. Seagal made some excuse and left. His destination was some Ocean Drive nightclub in Miami. Van Damme, who was completely berserk, tracked him down and again offered him a fight, and again Seagal pulled a Houdini. Who would win? I have to say I believe Van Damme was just too strong and Seagal wanted no part of it. That’s just my opinion.”

Maybe Seagal’s sudden evasive tactics had something to do with the fact that he’s never actually competed in an competitive fight. Throwing around compliant uke certainly doesn’t count. Van Damme may have been going through his lamentable drug addict phase, but what better time for Seagal to back up his lofty claims? No, Seagal would rather take cheap shots at stuntmen, or sneakily put martial arts instructor Dan Inosanto in a joint lock when he was supposed to shaking his hand. He’s like a caricature of a despicable cartoon villain, and I love him for it.

10- Terrible Products

If there’s one thing worse than Seagal’s mind-numbing movies, it’s his inane products, like Lightning Bolt, the Seagal energy drink which comes in such flavors as ‘Asian Experience’ and ‘Cherry Charge’ and include such beloved ingredients like ‘goji berry’ and ‘cordyceps’. Such mystery! Such spiritual power! Presumably ‘Obese Cunt’ is still in the early stages of production.

Since I’d rather pour a glass of Gary Coleman’s liquefied feces inside my mouth than consume a can of Seagal’s vile drink, I’ve taken other reviewers word for it when they’ve said Lightning Bolt tastes like “rancid peaches, cigarettes and vitamin pills”. Hell, it could contain Seagal’s putrid sweat for all we know. Regularly consume large quantities of this shit and you’ll probably end up looking just like Seagal, including ponytail. Avoid like the plague!

Then there’s Seagal’s line of fetid aromatherapy oils, designed to turn your skin as leathery and repellent as the stout sensei’s. The only thing that’s essential about these oils is never putting them anywhere near your body.

Seagal also has the distinction of having the single worst ever video game in existence, The Final Option for the SNES. Believe me, I’ve played it. And you thought his movies were bad! Sheesh! The fact that this digitized anathema was never released is akin to if the Holocaust had never taken place. It was that painful. As the titular fatman, you shuffle around a warehouse in search of keycards, punching scientists and kicking guards that look like mailmen, falling off ledges with the gayest screams ever recorded and struggling to work around bizarre controls and nonsensical level design. And if in any circumstance this fat fraudulent fuck were truly the final option, you know you’re in some desperate fucking times.

11- Seagal as a cop

“I only did this for the free donuts.”

Thought Seagal was done pretending to be other people? Think again! Now he’s a cop! His recent reality show Steven Seagal: Lawman will have to go down as one of the most unintentionally hilarious shows of all time. Whether it’s Seagal transforming into ghetto-mode every time he encounters a black person (and he’s a cop, so it’s a lot), waiting back and screaming “WHERE HE AT? WHERE HE AT?” while real officers chase after criminals, or Seagal explaining how due to his magically heightened perceptive ability (I like to call it, ‘Seagal Vision’) he can tell if someone is about to commit a crime simply by a flick of the wrist or a turn of the head, it’s vintage Seagal comedy the whole time.

 

“WHERE THE CHOCOLATE AT?! WHERE THE SUSHI AT?!”

12- Rebirth as an MMA grandmaster

Lastly, there’s Seagal’s recent claim to fame as a mixed martial arts Mr Miyagi, somehow weaseling his way into UFC fighters Anderson Silva and Lyoto Machida’s training camp and forming part of their fight training, infusing it with some of his Aikido knowledge (despite most Aikido being either illegal or impractical under MMA rules). Other than the introduction of his latest retarded appearance (yellow glasses, all the time), the lulz have flowed like a fine wine thanks to Seagal’s typically bullish claim that he taught Machida and Silva the basic front kick, which he also supposedly invented, and that no one else knows. A basic front kick.

Grandmaster Fatman, with those patented yellow shades.

Also according to Seagal, Anderson sent him a memo saying “will you please teach me your deadly stuff?”. In one of his sessions with Machida, Seagal implored that Machida should “Use your mind. Use your mind! I don’t care if you kill him. I don’t care. You fuck him up. You take him out.”. ‘Deadly stuff’ and disregard for the death of an opponent — that definitely sounds like Buddhist compassion.

The greatest thing about all this madness is that both Silva and Machida won their last fights with front kicks, so Seagal has genuinely somehow had an impact on them, even if it was just emphasising the use of front kicks. Now every time they fight in the octagon, Seagal is sitting there in the front row (taking up 4 seats, naturally), wearing his now trademark yellow shades and providing constant entertainment for us all.

—–

In all honesty, Seagal is a serial con artist, a pathological narcissist, an insecure misogynist, a cowardly bully and a self-aggrandizing, deluded, languid, physically grotesque, psuedo-mystical madman. But most of all, he’s the most ridiculous and entertaining man in the world, and for that I will always be an ardent fan. Never change, Steven. Never change.

The Ridiculousness of Steven Seagal Part 1

August 17, 2011 130 comments

Ladies, gentleman, hermaphrodites, mongoloids, midgets and the Welsh, I have something heinous and shocking to admit to the world — I’m a Steven Seagal fan.

Now that you’ve thoroughly cleaned your keyboard from the abrupt shower of vomit that I just caused you to disgorge, allow me to explain. I’m not a fan of the obese, squinting, washed-up action star for the same reason that the majority of his small, loyal fan base of muttonheads are. No, I love Steven Seagal because he’s the most unintentionally funny man on the planet. There is literally no one else on God’s green earth that is more ridiculous, absurd and mind-bogglingly delusional than the beached whale bigamist. So I decided to catalogue the most ludicrous aspects of Seagal’s cookie crumb-laden life and career and provide a comprehensive list, narrowed down to 12 segments. Because of the length of this post, I’ve halved it into two parts.

1- Seagal’s Weight

Evidently fond of copious trips to All You Can Eat buffets, with his countless layers of flab in 2011 Seagal closely resembles a bloated, leather-skinned Michelin Man. With an enduring love for stuffing cheeseburgers down his gullet with all the verve of a crackhead at a Colombian coke lab, Seagal hasn’t worried about his widening girth affecting his status as an aging action hero. Closely resembling Mr. Creosote from ‘The Meaning of Life’, Seagal’s bulbous mammaries, quadruple chins, sagging jowls and a gut that looks like it’s impregnated with triplets tell a tale of a man that clearly stopped giving a fuck a very long time ago. In fact, if Seagal were to explode like the aforementioned Monty Python character, there would be enough ‘second helpings’ discarded in the close vicinity to feed the entire population of an average Indian village.

Prone to wearing long overcoats in his movies in an embarrassing attempt to mask his repulsive corpulence, Seagal has all the carnal appeal of a three hour rectal examination. For someone to have made a living as a superstar in the action genre to show such laziness and flagrant disregard for his body in nothing short of hysterical. Yet in his mind, he is a self-proclaimed ‘sex symbol’. I’d imagine 9/10 women would rather fuck a rhino, plus it wouldn’t smell as bad.

2- Seagal’s Ego

The only thing that can legitimately rival the size of Seagal’s belly is the enormity of his egotism. In this man’s deranged cerebrum, he is an undefeatable demigod, incapable of being physically bested in battle by any man (Gene Lebell disagrees, but I’ll get to that in part 2). To exhibit his supposed invincibility, Seagal has always ensured that he barely receives a scratch from his enemies during movie fight scenes, where he almost always destroys foes without succumbing to a solitary punch. There is never a struggle, because Seagal’s ego won’t allow it.

One of his most hilariously narcissistic episodes involved Seagal refusing to film a death scene for his character on the set of Executive Decision, claiming that his fans wouldn’t accept such a monumental event. He held up production for days until finally acquiescing after being threatened with contractual breach.

John Leguizamo, who co-starred in the film, said that during rehearsals Seagal sauntered onto the set and arrogantly declared “I’m in command, what I say is law, anyone not agree?”, which understandably led to Leguizamo cracking up with laughter at this absurd pomposity. Seagal then took it upon himself to cheap-shot Leguizamo, a guy half his size, and slam him into the wall for his insolence. Leguizamo also said that when the fatman finally relented for his big death scene, “It was 6am, he was supposed to die… and we shot his death at 8 p.m”. Not only is Seagal’s ego the size of his gut, but he has all the class of a pubic louse.

Another priceless example of Seagal’s ego was when he hosted Saturday Night Live and demanded that the cast perform sketches that Seagal himself had written rather than the material they already had. One of these masterful ideas, according to Dana Carvey, involved Seagal playing a psychiatrist that talks to a rape victim, and while she tearfully explains her experience, Seagal would feel her up and attempt to rape her himself. Lorne Michaels spent hours explaining to Seagal that the concept wasn’t funny nor even if they made a rape sketch funny, they would never be allowed to put that scene on the air, but Seagal thought it was comedy gold.

When Nicolas Cage said that he could be the biggest jerk to ever appear on SNL, Lorne Michael’s replied “No, no. That would be Steven Seagal.”

3- Seagal’s Misogyny

Which transitions succinctly to the next chapter of Seagal’s ceaseless hilarity — his horrendous treatment of women and deluded belief that he’s some kind of sex symbol. It seems rape scenes aren’t something the fatman likes to remain simply in a fictional realm.

Numerous reports have been made by women that claim Seagal asked them to take their tops off for him to grope their breasts, which according to the stout sensei was done so he could show them where their “spiritual meridian points” were located, as well another woman saying that he claimed he was “looking for lumps”. Man, Seagal really is a charitable fella, huh? The same woman also claimed that “Seagal reached his hand down my pants. He said, ‘I just wanted to touch it for a second to see what it felt like.’”

Ironically these days it would be more entertaining to motorboat Seagal’s man-breasts than a female assistant’s. And if Seagal said to you “I want to eat you out” he’d probably mean he’s about to put your ass on a barbecue. But it’s not just unknown women that have complained of Seagal’s molesting malarkey:

Jenny McCarthy was one of Seagal’s casting couch victims. “They were casting Playmates for Under Siege 2,” she recalled. “I was the last audition, dressed frumpy and plain, the way I usually go, and I walk into his office and it’s only Steven. His office has a huge shag carpet – shag, I’ll repeat that, shag – and a huge screaming casting couch. Casting, casting, casting, casting couch. And he says, ‘Listen, I can’t tell what your body looks like with what you’re wearing, so why don’t you stand up and take off your dress?’ “I started crying, and I said, ‘My video’s for sale for $14.99, go buy it if you want to see.’ And I ran out to my car, and he grabbed my arm and followed me and said, ‘Don’t ever tell this to anybody.’ I was like, ‘Dude, you are gonna regret this one day.”

She was a handful.

Ticker actress Jaime Pressly also claims Seagal tried to give her an “unlicensed massage” during some downtime on the set in 2001. Speaking about an appearance on Howard Stern, she said:

“I got back at Seagal on Howard Stern, I didn’t press charges against him for violating my privacy. I never had that happen to me before, inappropriate behavior. He crossed the line. But I got word from his lawyer that Seagal doesn’t want me saying bad things about him. I told my lawyer to tell his lawyer to tell him that I wouldn’t say another fricking word about it because I already got back at him on the Stern show, but people wouldn’t say bad things if he didn’t do bad things. “

But there’s MORE! Julianna Margulies worked with Seagal on Out For Justice, and said:

“His trailer is around the corner from mine on the Warner Bros. lot, and I was walking by recently and he said, ‘Margulies, come over here and show me some respect!’ He’s not someone I keep in touch with.”

As you’ve probably gathered, Seagal has about as much respect for women as he does for his own physique, and his rampant bigamy further suggests that’s the case.

While still married to his first wife Miyako Fujitani (whom he was obviously just using in order to stay in Japan) he married former Days of Our Lives actress Adrienne La Russa. During his time with her, he met Kelly LeBrock, who he began a relationship and had a child with. His marriage to La Russa was annulled, and he then married LeBrock, but then divorced from her while having an affair with Arrissa Wolf, a nanny to his children. He’s currently with a fourth wife, who must spend every waking day worrying about what’s going to occur first; Seagal’s inevitable affair with another woman, or waking up inside a large cooking pot with Seagal pouring salt on her thighs.

Yet another report was made about his treatment of women, by former CIA employee Robert Strickland:

Raeanne Malone, one of four women hired by Warner Bros. to serve as Seagal’s personal assistants, is in the bathroom of his trailer, brushing her teeth. Strickland watches as Seagal begins loudly calling for Malone, saying he needs her immediately. She emerges still brushing her teeth. “Gee, Raeanne,” says the man of honor and protector of the weak, “You look like that when I come in your mouth.”

In May 1991 all four assistants – Malone, Nicole Selinger, Christine Keever and another woman – quit because of Seagal’s continuing piggery. Three of them threaten to bring sexual-harassment charges against him. Malone and another of the women, in return for a pledge of confidentiality, are paid in the vicinity of $50,000 each.

But the coup de gras of Seagal’s sexist belligerence was the revelation that he had been trafficking sex slaves after a former assistant, Kayden Nguyen, alleged that he sexually assaulted her and kept two young Russian girls in his residence to indulge in his every sexual need 24/7. The whole case happened to mysteriously fade away with no conclusive ending, which means Seagal once again paid out a fuck-load of cash to keep her quiet. Either that or he revealed to her why Richie did Bobby Lupo, and that knowledge is priceless.

The highlight of these wacky shenanigans was the accusation by Nguyen that Seagal exhibits a “unique physiological reaction” to sexual arousal. While possibly the most revolting, vomit-inducing imagery that could ever be conjured up, the idea that Seagal probably develops lactating nipples every time he gets an erection just furthers his status as the world’s most ridiculous man. He could probably breastfeed a whole preschool with those things.

His feelings towards women are highly ironic when he himself exudes a much more feminine presence every time he attempts to run:

4- Seagal’s Hair

Completing his look as the most hideous man in the world, it looks like Seagal exhibited some of his mysterious “Ki-power” on an unsuspecting skunk and killed it before proceeding to place the dead animal on his head as a makeshift toupée. Whether it’s a wig or hair plugs, the thing resting on top his cranium resembles a rugged piece of old carpet or the fuzzy material they used to use for GI Joe (or Action Man as it was known here in England) doll’s hair. It never moves (much like the man it’s sitting on top of), and even in the windiest of gales would remain as stiff as a corpse.

Early on in his career, Seagal’s hair was balding significantly, as the below picture shows:

Rapper DMX (who unsurprisingly had nothing but negative things to say about his experience with the fatman — “He’s a dickhead” said Mr. MX) claimed Seagal has spray on hair. Whatever it is, that Dracula widows peak and trademark girly pony tail ensure Seagal never leaves the house without looking like he belongs in a circus troupe.

5- Pretending to be black

Either Seagal is the biggest fraud on the planet or he genuinely happens to transcend race and transforms into new ethnicities over time, kind of like a fucked up Dr Who. Shockingly, it’s actually not the latter. In the past Seagal has enjoyed pretending to be Italian and Japanese respectively, but his current adopted cultural persona is that of the black man. Just when the sight of a bloated, squinting, pony-tailed douche bag couldn’t get any more ridiculous, Seagal decided to try his hand at “Ebonics”, the language of the ghetto. All of a sudden Seagal was “gangsta” and seemingly under the impression that he was from the hood.

In the majority of Seagal’s direct to DVD era filmography, Seagal has portrayed this insane ‘black man’ version of himself, most hilariously of all in the abominable ‘Today You Die’, an unintentional comedy classic where Seagal mumbles out ‘thug talk’ with all the street credibility of Bill O’ Reilly. Seagal even ensured that one of the black characters remarked that he “walks like a black man and breathes like a killer.” Absolute madness.

Das mah nigga rite dere!

But it wasn’t just in his movies that Seagal asserted that he was a genuine brotha, oh no. Seagal took it one step further, and took on a second career as a black bluesman from the deep south, surrounding himself with actual black people for authenticity and releasing two hilarious albums with his band Thunderbox, including such hits as “Talk to my ass”. But according to Seagal, he’s just as valid a bluesman, who in his own words said:

“I came up in Detroit and there was a lot of blues. I didn’t learn blues from a fucking record; I learned it from the front porch. There were all these people from Mississippi, Louisiana and Texas and I learned from them.”

Now, Seagal and his family moved from Lansing, Michigan to Fullerton in California when he was 5 years old. So according to the fatman, all these old black blues players taught a 5 year old boy everything they knew, as if he was some spooky infant prodigy with the soul of a struggling black man (note: Seagal is half Irish and half Jew). Quote the Seagull:

“Little Milton hadn’t heard me play before. I was doing this Lightnin’ Hopkins thing. Milton looked at me and nodded, like he was trying to say, “This mutha ain’t white.”

No Steven, what he was trying to say was “this honky needs to lose some fucking weight and stop acting like he’s got a year long tan”. Fraudulence or insanity? I’d say a healthy dose of both.

That’s all for part 1. Next up are segments 6-12 in part 2 below, complete with accidental typo:

https://theflyingguillotine.wordpress.com/2011/08/17/ridicuousness-seagal-part-2/

Steven Seagal on Twitter.

March 31, 2011 3 comments

Ah, social networking. How I loathe thee. Nothing screams out “I’m a cunt, look at me!” more than the online narcissism of Facebook, MySpace, Twitter et al. A vain, asinine generation obsessed with themselves and their own mundane lives. Of course, dear reader, you may be thinking I’m displaying colossal hypocrisy by writing about myself, in a way, but blogging is different. On a blog, I’m not desperately trying to accumulate an ever expanding ‘friends list’ while simultaneously promulgating to the world that I just “ate some grapes lololol”.

There’s more chance of Christopher Reeves family deciding to take up equestrianism than me ever having a Facebook account. The closest I will ever get to it is if I find out where Mark Zuckerberg lives, break into his opulent mansion and force a malfunctioning Macbook up his multi-million dollar anus. However, maybe I’m being too harsh on Twitter. When it comes to your average everyday nobody tweeting such compelling and thought provoking messages as “I just scratched by balls” and “Charlie Sheen is mad, lol” then I’m justified in my contempt for the concept, but when an interesting celebrity or someone you’re a fan of tweets, it can provide a window into their lives without you having to resort to deranged stalking. And for the record, when I was caught up that tree outside Jessica Alba’s house, I was bird-watching. And my erection was accidental. The cops got it all wrong.

So when I found out that morbidly obese bigamist and action legend Steven Seagal had gone on to Twitter, I suspended all scorn and basked in all the insight that only an delusional Aikido master and egocentric sex slave trafficker could give.

Seagal never met a burger he didnt like.

These nuggets of wisdom only lasted a day, and since it was posted, it’s been taken down. Fortunately for you, I copied and pasted those badboys for your reading pleasure, and present them to you here. Enjoy.

I’m currently on set in Romania for my latest movie ‘Out To Kill Justice’. It’s a 3 week shoot, so naturally I’m only needed on set for 2 days.
About 22 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

I’m sitting in my trailer and I’m not leaving until my demands are met. It was written in my contract that a luxurious throne would be constructed in the middle of the set for me to sit on while small Asian women wash my feet. I don’t see either. It’s an outrage.

About 21 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

These pricks finally got me what I asked for, and I just finished filming a strenuous fight scene. I had to walk all the way over to the other side of the set for a close-up so my stunt double could do all the fighting. I’m exhausted.

About 20 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

More problems. Apparently the director doesn’t appreciate my improv. It’s not my fault-I haven’t actually read the script. This movie could be about Nazi pedophiles for all I know. Even if I play Hitler I refuse to die though.

About 18 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

I just looked over the script for the first time. I’ve given it a quick, badly needed rewrite. My character now wears a do-rag and talks ebonics. I wonder why they wrote me as a white character first? Crazy Honkys. I’ve also added 4 sex scenes and lectured the actresses on the importance of authenticity.

About 18 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

One of the actresses has stormed off the set accusing me of rape. All I did was feel around her breasts to make sure she didn’t have any lumps. So much for gratitude, the cunt!

About 18 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

I’m done with this movie. Either the director goes, or I go. Can you believe this fuck just asked me to receive a solitary punch in one of the fight scenes? Doesn’t he realize I’m a reincarnated demigod?

About 16 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

Me and my bodyguards left the set to go and find food. I’m in Burger King and I’m ready to rock. This could get messy.

About 15 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

Some snot-nosed little punk tried asking me for my autograph while I was lining up for my fifth Triple Whopper. One of my bodyguards pushed him to the ground, but really I defeated him with my ki-power.

About 15 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

This old bitch behind me moaned about all the snorting and grunting I made while eating and complained to the manager. They demanded I leave! But I stole a ketchup satchel on the way out, so I got the last laugh!

About 14 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

I saw a poster for Van Damme on a wall. I hate that guy. I taught Anderson Silva how to kick. What’s that fag ever done?

About 13 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

On my way to McDonalds now. It’s a windy day and my wig just fell off, so one of my bodyguards killed a skunk and I’m using that instead. Can’t tell the difference.

About 13 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

Just consumed my 12’th Big Mac and fries. I feel uncomfortably bloated. I haven’t felt this bad since one of my sex slaves discovered I have lactating nipples.

About 12 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone

I’m in the bathroom having a shit. I don’t know what’s worse, the smell of my putrid feces or the stench of all the aromatherapy oils I’ve got on the shelves. This is hell. If I run out of toilet paper I’ll have to use one of my Aikido belts to wipe my ass.

About 10 hours ago via web

I’m still sitting on the toilet. I’m starting to regret that last double cheeseburger now. Shit will literally not stop hurtling out of my ass. Will this terror ever end?

About 9 hours ago via web

I’ve been sitting on the toilet now for over 3 hours. My asshole feels raw and my thighs are plastered to the seat. I can’t feel my legs anymore. Somebody help me. Please.

About 7 hours ago via web

Enlightening stuff, huh? And to think I was against Twitter…