Why I Make Bitches Drop Their Britches

It’s t-minus seven hours until I watch the new Star Trek, and I have to confess, I’m pretty pumped. Is it cause I’m going to see it on a man-date with my friend Tony DeSisto and he typically treats, which makes me feel like the beautiful, pert-bosomed belle I was back when we met in college? No, but that doesn’t hurt. I’m hopeful because this seems like a Star Trek film that will actually appeal to the masses. And I don’t mean that to come off like I’m some super-smoove fucker that is too busy raw dogging Cubana porn stars and competing in mixed martial arts to know a Romulan from a Klingon (I’ve had plenty of time on my hands since I restricted my porking of Havana Ginger and fighting in the octagon to Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays), but, mother fuck, that show can get geeky even by my standards sometimes. (And for those of you that had never heard of Havana Ginger and just Google’d her only to learn she has areolas the size of .50 calibre exit wounds…don’t judge me. Don’t judge me.)

Much as I love William Shatner (for all the wrong reasons, foremost among them his Canadianness, the fact he had to wrap an innertube around his gut to cram his fat ass into a Starfleet jumpsuit and the unrepentant whoring out of his fame for a buck), I’m relieved to see someone playing Captain Kirk that looks like he won’t suffer a heart attack if he happens to lay pipe between some Vulcan vulva. Kirk is supposed to be a cocksman of intergalactic renown…and it’s been a while since I could look at Denny Crane and see him being able to ravage anyone with his photon torpedo (that’s a euphemism for dick!). The man hosted “Rescue 911,” for God’s sake. Was I supposed to think that he, Robert Stack and John Walsh were out crushing buns after taping episodes of their stupid call-in shows that I watched entirely too much of as a kid? Because I didn’t! Even at that tender young two things were on my brain non-stop: 1. Captain Kirk probably couldn’t get it up anymore and 2. boy did I like to play with dolls and think about kissing boys a lot. I kid, I kid…back then my entire sex drive was focused around cutting out the lingerie ads from the Sunday paper where the models’ nipples hadn’t been airbrushed out. You kids and your internet porn. You don’t know how lucky you have it.

Other than a fresh young cast (I would gargle with the new Uhura’s bathwater, which I would in no way advise doing with the bathwater of Nichelle Nichols. Well, at least not at her current age. Though I’m not above admitting that I’d have engaged in sexual intercourse with her in her prime, if you know what I mean), it’ll also be nice to see some special effects that don’t look like they’re straight out of The Fly. And I’m not even talking the Jeff Goldblum Brundlefly version, which, by the way, is the single finest movie ever made (he melts motherfuckers with barf! Sorry, just got excited thinking about it.) No, I’m talking that piece of crap 1958 version with the big dumb fly head and one fake claw hand that looked like crap even when you were four years old and so stupid that you thought Big Bird was real. Star Trek always had ass special effects as far as I was concerned, and its aliens looked horrible, even compared to those in Star Wars, which, for my money, were just Star Trek aliens with a spray painted butt plug or two taped to their face. What can I say…a little effort goes a long way. You ever take the time to really look at Spock’s ears in the original? All I’m saying is they could have put a touch of effort to make them resemble Leonard Nimoy’s actual skin color instead of wood putty. You get the feeling if Sammy Davis, Jr. ever guest starred, they’d have lazily stuck the same damn ears on him and tried to pull some bs about Vulcans all having white ears regardless of the rest of their pigmentation. Ah well, I’ll shut my yap before I talk myself out of going to see it tonight. Nothing like spitting on someone in full Klingon garb in front of his 300 lbs girlfriend to make you feel good about yourself, right?