Tuesday, November 23, 2004
My Spastic Colin Spews Firth
We have a new leader for the Oddest Search String To Produce This Blog As A Result: Nicole Richie's Favorite Flower, via Google. The Bucket came in at number 67, but it's an honor just to be nominated. There are two possible reasons why a person would even attempt such a search: 1) Stalker. He wants to have said flowers pulled apart one petal at a time, then spread across her bed after he breaks into her house. Plus they will serve as a poetic decoration when he dismembers her strangled corpse. 2) Someone at work trying to look up heroin or heroin related products. Remember, Nicole loves the smack. So Nicole Richie -> Heroin -> Opium -> Poppies -> Flowers. It's subtle, but it's less scary than the stalker thing.

I would also like to say quickly how disappointed I am that I don't get more search engine hits for the phrase Vietnamese Hookers despite my best efforts. But as Jesse Jackson says, I should keep hope alive. Or more accurately as he says "Keeb hoba laaaaahf." Is there anyone else in the whole world with the same accent as Rev. Jesse? I swear he made that up himself, obviously without the help of a focus group.

Preliminaries out of the way, today's post begins now:

If I ever see that bastard Colin Firth in person, I'm going to punch him right in the face.

No, not Colin Farrell, broody, dark, smoldering-hot Irishman currently starring in Oliver Stone's gay snuff film epic Alexander, recently announced star of the very necessary film version of Miami Vice. Oh, and once he nailed Britney Spears.

I'm talking about Colin Firth, star of stuffily dull movies whose prime attraction is the employment of an English accent (Pride and Prejudice, The English Patient, Shakespeare In Love and Bridget Jones' Diary to name a few).

I'm sure he's a fine person and not at all deserving of a smashed-in cranium, but really, I'm completely tired of the man. Not only has he prominently featured in my latest Entertainment Weekly, but I've seen two news-service stories on him in my local paper as well as an interview in my latest Newsweek.

That last bit is just going to far. I read Newsweek with the explicit intent to be scared to death about the rapidly deteriorating political situations all around the globe and why it's all George Bush's fault. The last thing I need is some smirking limey thespian sniffingly dismissing the very necessary Bridget Jones sequel of which he is a primary part and complaining about how he wants to "stretch" as an actor.

There are certain people whose overexposure you expect and accept. Let's go back to Britney Spears for a second as an example. Sure, she can't sing a lick and has never to my knowledge even tried to sing live, unaided in any way by any sort of recording. But she does have giant fake breasts and dresses scantily while she does that hip-jiggly thingy when she dances. That type of a person you expect hundreds of thousands of newspaper and magazine pages to be devoted to. And well earned, I must say.

But this Colin Firth guy... it's all "oh, look at me, I can act and everything. Wow, aren't I proficient in the medium by which I earn my living." Bo-ring. Ever dance in a halter top while carrying an albino python? Didn't think so.

But for some completely unexplained reason, American women just swoon.

Did I mention he was English? Bastard.

OK fine, here it is, I'll lay it out for you. Here's what's bothering me. If Mrs. Pops had a blog/website, it would probably look like this. Or this. Or this. Or this.

Of course there is just the slightest outside chance that it would look like this, but really, does it make a difference? The point is still the same: I am a sad little insecure man who is easily threatened by pretend people portrayed by certain actors.

Therefore I would be totally justified punching him in the face.

This post on the Narcissus Scale: 8.4


I was wondering what you had against such an innocuous actor as Colin Firth--now I know! Pops, if you're gonna get threatened by a milquetoast such as he (although he did pack a mean whallop in the first BJ), you're even less of a man than I think you are. Now march up to Mrs. Pops, sweep her off her feet Rhett Butler-style, and give her something to think about! And I don't mean the grocery list.
Can I give her the grocery list AND the... "other thing"? Some stuff just needs to get taken care of no matter which English actor guy is on your mind.
OK, but only if Mrs. Pops is cool with it :)
And I think the title of this post will have to win the Best Title of a Post by Pops Award.

(I like me some English dudes, too. But I hear they are milquetoast in bed.)

Not really. I just wanted to be cool like Steph and use the word 'milquetoast.'
Hmmmm....I spend the night dreaming of bouncing quarters off of Colin Firth's ass and you have a post about him the next day. That is a good title, every single one of mine are better, but good title nonetheless.
SJ: I was particularly proud of that title. It sends a clear message without the burden of making actual sense. Ah, the linguistic flexibility of the pun.

MPH: Great. Thanks. Now I will have the visual of an Englishman's ass blinding my mind's eye as I try to sleep tonight. And it will be making change, no less.
I'm as English as Firth himself, but I find him insufferably tedious and hopelessly unattractive. Hope this helps.
Urban Fox, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. Plus, if you see him around, could you punch him in the face for me? Thanks muchly.
I read that Firth is in the running to be the next James Bond. This is something I can't even imagine.
SHHHHHH! I didn't print that on purpose. I don't want to give the speculation life by helping in ANY WAY to make it blog-rumor-truth. The official position of Pops Bucket is the next James Bond is down to Sean Connery (again!) and Pete Dinklage.
As much as MPH loves his ass, Firth as Bond? Hells no! Absolutely not. I forbid it. And even though becoming Bond seems to doom actors' careers (save for Connery's of course), I think Clive Owen's the best of the lot in current contention. He would inject some much-welcome gravitas in a role that's become way too cartoony of late. Can we have some real smoldering sexuality, please? Is that too much to ask?
It doesn't matter who is Bond so long as they hire someone OTHER THAN a room full of monkeys to write the next script. That last Bond movie was well past lame. Bond paragliding on an Arctic tidal wave... Jesus wept.

I'm still pushing for Dinklage.
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