As the car came to a stop, the driver leaned across the seats and popped the door open, her breasts giggling against the dash. The man climbed in, and they looked at each other up close for the very first time.
After a pause long enough to grate her nerves he finally said something.
"Somewhat dangerous, picking up strange men like that. Don't you think ?"
"Yes. And you look like trouble, at that."
"So what's your thinking ?"
"I figure if I submit myself early and wholly you're intelligent enough to use me rather than hurt me."
"That's a point," he responded, pensively. Then after a pause, "What's your name ?"
"Jennifer. But my friends call me Jen."
"You're a smart girl, Jennifer."
"Thank you, sir."
That is how the dialogue should sound, of course, to ring true. All of it, and all the time.
That's not how the dialogue rings, of course, in any Hollywood production, for the past who even knows how many five year plans of glorious socialism -- and The Redditardi is no exception. That it consequently rings hollow is no concern of the inept jews involved, their aim is not to ring true but to dick around with the flashlight under the covers.
Missing thereby any chance whatever to cultural relevancy, The Redditard continues in the vein of jewfiction, depicting the usual trinity of man as forever and eternally seen in Faggot Identity Fic : either utterly inept redditard (the title character), harmless cuckolded husband (the "competitor", alternate pick for "President") or else utterly inscrutable and necessarily evil asshole, incapable to signify and therefore incapable to matter irrespective of any (much reviled among the jewry) personal abilities. He's unloved, don't you know, and that's the key to meaning in jewfiction. If you've the patience to sit through yet another rendition of the utterly inept redditard, Dave Foley does a very credible impersonation, with all the squealing, purposeless movement, entirely powerless rage explosions and the whole rest of the repertoire of the sort of child women that haven't a husband always end up stuck with. It doesn't seem to tax his art at all, which is as good indication as any that he doesn't have one.
Is anyone ever going to start making actual movies, at some point, somewhere ? Rhetorical question, of course, the Romanians have, for a while, the Italians have as well, there's the early Tarantino and the early Guy Ritchie and so on. But nevertheless -- can the wastage of reels with this inept, empty, uninteresting masturbation cease already ? There's scarcely any need to waste even more carbon footprint or whatever the fucktards call it to record yet another rehash of the same spinstery bullshit. It's not even fucking funny, it's just sad, like a gaggle of fat whores grazing away on the Oscars set, apparently confused enough as to their own identity to fail to realise they don't belong there. It's pathetic, and it doesn't belong under the Sun.
Keep it under the covers and out of the public space, exactly like you would if for whatever mental health reasons you found yourself unable to flush your shit down the toilet like everyone else and instead suffered under the sad compulsion to keep all the turds, individually wrapped in cellophane. Stop trying to show them to people! Nobody wants to see your sad girly turds! Really!
- 1997, by David Steinberg, with Jennifer Tilly. Released in some markets as "The Wrong Guy" for inscrutable reasons. [↩]