Saturday, May 17, 2008 - 07:42 pm, by: David Murray(David)
Hitch was on the tube recently and it reminded me of a funny.. well blog i suppose you'd call it a close friend of mine wrote a while back and i thought it may be enjoyed here so i decided to pass it on Enjoy
Why I Hate Will Smith
The other night, D1 and I were in Hollywood, checking out bars and clubs, and generally seeing the sights. Anyway, we walk out of this club, only to bump into Paul Newman coming in! Naturally, we walked over, and talked to him for a little while (very approachable by the way) and then moved out into the night. The street, brightly lit by all sorts of neon product placement, presented a jovial, friendly atmosphere, but we needed some spirits, to, erm, lift our spirits.
As we wandered down the path, we bump into none other than WILL SMITH! Being starstruck drunkards with nothing much more important to do, we wandered over for a chat. It eventuated that Mr. Smith was indeed a very friendly guy, and invited us to a Restaurant for dinner and drinking! Having been invited to eat and drink, how could we refuse? So we followed Will, and his minder through some glass doors into a fairly dark restaurant, and head for its neon-blue bar, the centerpiece of the establishment. Pulling up barstools, Will immediately ordered a bottle of Absinthe, and three shot glasses. This throat-clenching firewater sat both D1 and myself back on our heels for a brief moment, which, for raving drunks like us is no mean feat. Will, however, had no such limitations. It seemed he had an iron throat, and no sense of smell as he knocked back one after another, and the conversation became increasingly one-sided.
I guess D1 and myself may have had 2 glasses each, when Will slammed the empty bottle onto the bar and announced that it was time to eat. He had ordered us all lobster as an entree, HUGE steaks, and various expensive tasting desserts. Our degustation over, we wander back to the bar, where Will, amazingly enough orders a SECOND BOTTLE OF ABSINTHE! Reclaiming our barstools, we fully expect to end up carrying a Hollywood star out of this place, but no, the man had clearly honed his drinking in the company of sailors, shot after shot poured into him. Interrupting this manly display of drinking prowess, Will stood up and announced loudly that it was "time to take a piss!" so off he went, minder in tow.
Minutes passed, as D1 and I sat at the bar, marveling at the display we had just witnessed, when I realised that Will had indeed been gone a while. I went to the gents, to find the room empty, and began to wonder. I went to the door, and asked the bouncer if he had seen Will and he replied "Yeah he just left". This was not a good thing, and I returned to the bar to find D1 arguing with someone behind the bar. I asked what the problem was and this guy said, "I'm the manager, and I need to know who will be paying the $650 dollar bill you guys owe". Yes folks, you read that right, Will Smith, the "Fresh Prince" himself, had done a runner. The last thing I remember I was engaged in a heated argument with the manager, "saying things like" I'm not paying that ••••••• bill, Will Smith is!" He's the cocksucker that invited us here and ran off!"
Ok. I think at this point I should come clean. This was all a dream I had, but I think it was my subconscious telling me something:
Subconscious: DON'T SEE “HITCH”, ITS JUST WILL SMITH TAKING YOUR MONEY, AND IT STINKS FROM SEVERAL MILES AWAY OF BULLSHIT!
I mean seriously, does the world really need a movie where a “meterosexual” goes around foisting his “Cosmo” ideals onto bumbling jerks, turning them into shallow, crybaby jerks? We’ve already had “What Women Want” and that was horseshit on celluloid, we don’t need another. Will, scratch your balls in public, drink a beer or three and get back to kicking arse and cracking wise. Oh and don’t worry, that pleases the women too, if you need it justified.
Someone ought to make a movie called “What Men Want” They could shoot the entire thing at a tittybar; I’d even volunteer to star. It would be mainly me, drinking beer, eating steak and looking at jubblies for two hours, with a finale of me kicking the arses off some feminists that happen to wander in off the street to protest, and impaling them on barstools, all to the cheers of the tittydancers and bar staff. Roll credits with “Cowboys From Hell” by Pantera, and voila! Academy Awards, here I come.
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