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New year, new you! Too bad everything else is still the same. Welcome to 2020 Part Two: Electric Boogaloo (Boys)

Movies Coming Out In 2021, Ranked By How Much They Will Test My Resolve To Not Be A Complete Moron And Go See Them In Theaters

2020 was not a great year for the film industry. The problems started in March, when movie theaters closed due to Covid-19, and continued all the way through late December, when we all realized that, despite our highest hopes, The Irishman would not end this calendar year. 

For moviegoers, all we have left is to look forward to the bevy of exciting movies coming out in 2021. Here are a few of them, ranked in ascending order of how likely they are to compel me to be a totally irresponsible dipshit and go sit indoors in a room full of strangers for two and a half hours.

5. Top Gun: Maverick

Haha just kidding. Eat shit, Tom Cruise, you middle-toothed psycho shitweed.

4. Black Widow

Look, I’m pretty careful about Covid-19 precautions. But I’m only human. And when you give me not just a first look at MCU Phase Four, but also David Harbour as what appears to be an overweight, booze-addled Russian superhero has-been, you are basically inviting me to put a couple hours of entertainment ahead of my obvious responsibilities to the health of myself and my community.

3. The King’s Man

The coming prequel, which will round out the spectacularly fun Kingsman trilogy, looks to be a surprisingly dramatic and intense war movie. It has Tywin Lannister, the warlord from Fast 7, and the war hero from Inglourious Basterds AKA the villain from Captain America: Civil War. And I’m supposed to stay at home and acknowledge that my actions have consequences???

2. No Time To Die

James Bond movies were made to be seen in theaters, or otherwise to be binge-watched on Tuesday mornings when you’ve just graduated college and still don’t have a job. This one is no exception. I’d like to be considerate of the world around me, but this movie might tie my hands (and also put me in a chair with the seat cut out and proceed to slap the hell out of my nuts with a rope knot).

1. F9

THE IDIOTS FROM THE FAST AND THE FURIOUS FRANCHISE ARE GOING TO SPACE! I REFUSE TO NOT BE A DICKHOLE!!! 

The Case for a Philip Rivers vs. Alex Smith Super Bowl

After the dumbest week in the dumbest season in the dumb history of the dumbest sport, the NFL playoffs are set. There are a few noteworthy elements of this year’s bracket: Ron Rivera has once again led a shitty team to the playoffs by virtue of being in a terrible division, the Cleveland Browns are in the playoffs for the first time since 1840, and Tom Brady is still not eating strawberries.

While these narratives should add some flavor to the first week of the playoffs, there’s another one that’s much more important: there is a chance that we could have a Super Bowl that pits Philip Rivers against Alex Smith in what would surely be the most glorious rockfight between two twilit quarterbacks since Trent Dilfer and Brad Johnson faced off in Super Bowl XXXV. And if you’re not rooting for that outcome, you’re either clinically insane or you prefer to watch football that is good.

Let’s just go through some facts here. For starters, Rivers and Smith (to be sung aloud in a Head And The Heart voice) have been alive for a combined 75 years, and I think that’s beautiful.

Alex Smith, who has done so much game-managing that he has rightly earned the title of Dungeon Master, instigated America’s racial awakening when he was benched in favor of Colin Kaepernick in 2012. He had SEVENTEEN surgeries after his leg injury two years ago. (I know what you’re thinking: that has to be at least two surgeries per Philip Rivers offspring! Well, it is not.) Somehow, he still decided he wanted to come back and play football for a team whose three-letter appellation reads as the sound of quiet fart. 

Philip Rivers, on the other hand, spent sixteen fairly prolific years stuck in San Diego because Eli Manning is a mouth-breathing peen, finally leaving last year to take a shot at a ring with a new team. He has the facial expressions of a Blue Mountain State character and the political views of Rick Santorum. That’s not an exaggeration, he literally stumped for Santorum. The politician, not the anal ooze.

For all the immense quarterback talent in this year’s playoffs — Aaron Rodgers, Pat Mahomes, and some other marquee names who, and I cannot stress this enough, can still get the Rodgers Rate and/or the Patrick Price at State Farm — I think it would be fun as hell to see two grizzled, socially conservative veterans duke it out for their last chance to hoist the Lombardi trophy.

Hell, I’ll even take it further than that: these two guys represent the New American Dream. They started their careers in California, realized it sucked ass, and moved back East to settle down with their families and fade away into obscurity. They pulled off the Reverse Steinbeck and stuck the landing. 

Lamar Jackson, Baker Mayfield, Russell Wilson — sure, they’re fun and all, but this year, I want something different. So, with that in mind, I encourage you to join me in a refrain that has echoed through Corporate America for centuries: give me the mediocre middle-aged white men.

Was New Years Always This Dumb A Holiday?

In most years, the last couple weeks of December are a frantic rush to make sure I have New Years plans. Not necessarily anything big, even, but an opportunity to bring a few friends together, share a bottle or two of champagne, and watch Ryan Seacrest be a dipshit on TV. Making these plans is usually pretty stressful, because I know that if I spend yet another New Years alone, drinking shitty beer and playing a game of Civilization in which all of my cities are named some variation of Gooch — Goochtown, Goochville, Fort Gooch, Buenos Gooches, Stratford-Upon-Gooch, you get the idea — it’ll be a little bit depressing.

This year, though, I had an excuse to not make any New Years plans, because of the pandemmy. And it was...magnificent? I made dinner, took multiple edibles, watched Greyhound (it’s not a terrific movie!), and went to sleep at 12:30am. I woke up feeling distinctly un-hungover and, besides the usual existential malaise one naturally feels upon waking up to realize the world is still turning, pretty fantastic.

It makes one wonder: has New Years always been such a useless holiday?

Like, I get that it’s a natural occasion to celebrate. The passage of time, new beginnings, fond nostalgia for the last year, posting all your stupid pics on Insta, etc etc. But are there not better ways to celebrate? For instance, getting high as balls and watching a joyless Tom Hanks pace around a destroyer in the North Atlantic?

Here’s my proposal: let’s all just agree to not celebrate New Years anymore. No more starting the year hungover, no more fretting about plans, no more making out with your friend’s high school friend in a suburban basement. How about we all just stay at home, watch a movie, notice that it’s past midnight, and go “oh wow, guess it’s 2022 now. Huh,” then promptly go to bed and have dreams about getting married and opening up a Bed-and-Breakfast with Elisabeth Shue.

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