That Brett Ratner is one of the greatest filmmakers of our generation is an inarguable fact. His Rush Hour films brought an end to long-standing black man/Chinaman tensions and X-Men 3 proved once and for all that levitating a giant suspension bridge with your mind is the most efficient means of crossing a small body of water. You’d think life would be easy for an auteur possessing his level of success but it is simply not the case. There’s the occasional dead hooker to dispose of. And sometimes it turns out that the hooker merely lost consciousness after the blow to the back of her head but unfortunately you don’t discover this until you’ve already got her half-buried. Do you keep throwing dirt on her and hope for the best or do you dig her back up, cave in her head with the shovel and bury her again? A conundrum. Another Ratner vexation: Despite the fact that there’s a sign declaring that the restaurant is “all you can eat,” the asshole manager at Hometown Buffet seems to think this offer is no longer valid just because its closing time. But worst of all, when your Brett Ratner, people just won’t stop fucking TWITTERING about you. Ever. In fact, the way everyone’s been carrying on, you’d think Brett Ratner was the only reason Twitter had been invented!

Find that hard to believe? Well just ask the leading authority on all things Brett Ratner: The Ratman himself. According to Ratner’s article on the internet website edition of Black Book Magazine (which should not be confused with Black Tail Magazine, a far superior publication), the director of what was clearly the best film in the Hannibal Lechter canon—Red Dragon – can’t even leave his house without someone Twittering about it! An excerpt:

‘I flew to New York the other day. I had taken a car service to the airport, and before my plane was even ready to take off, I noticed that the driver had tweeted about his gratuity: “Wow! Brett Ratner is really generous. He took care of me.” While at the airport, two girls sitting next to me—self-described “performance artists”—invited me to see their strip show. They then posted on Facebook and tweeted that I was coming to their show in New York. My girlfriend didn’t really like that.’

Wow. That sucks, dude. But Ratner, being the sort of fountain of positivity that he is, did manage to find a silver lining in all this constant social networking “surveillance” he’s forced to endure:

‘Maybe I should look at the positive side of constant surveillance. Maybe it’s a sign that when one of my films comes out, and it’s really good, all of those secret spies will tell everyone about it, and get more people into the theater for opening weekend.’

Um yeah… I’m thinking… I’m thinking probably… probably not.

But okay, I will give you this, Ratman: If one of your films comes out and it’s really good, people will definitely be Twittering about it. But it will also be the headline of every major paper, the top story on every TV news outlet, and the breaking story on websites like CNN and MSNBC.com because that would in fact be the first sign of the fucking Apocalypse. Brett Ratner makes a good movie, the Four Horseman of Death descend from the Heavens followed by swarms of fire-breathing locusts — that’s how it goes, it’s in the Bible, look it up. However until that time I think you can rest assured that if there’s anyone out there Twittering about you at all it’s to talk about what a dipshit you are for writing this article.

First of all, how the hell did you know the driver of your limo or the pole princesses you met at the airport were Tweeting about you? Are we to believe that you’re actually a “follower” of these near-perfect strangers? Of course not. It’s because you’re obsessively typing “Brett Ratner” into Twitter’s search bar every 15 seconds looking for mentions of your name. That’s the only logical explanation for the conceit of your article — that you are constantly being Twittered about — which I don’t believe any more than your tall tale about losing your virginity to a paraplegic swinging from a tree.

Which brings us to our second point: How do these people even know you’re Brett Ratner? Do you seriously believe one cameo on Entourage makes you an instantly recognizable celebrity? Maybe to the four or five hundred popped-collared bottle service douchebags who still watch that show, but to everyone else on Earth, you’re just some fat dude with a three-day-old beard, a gravy stain on his shirt, and wearing a blazer. The only way people could know who you are is because either a) the gravy-stained shirt in question is emblazoned with the words “I AM BRETT RATNER THE FAMOUS DIRECTOR” or b) you accost everyone you meet with some variation of: “Do you do know who I am?!? I’m Brett Ratner! Brett fucking Ratner! The director! I could buy you and sell you ten times over! I made Rush Hour 3, man!! Do you know how much money I made doing that movie? Enough to buy my way out of anything! Yeah, that’s right! Brett fucking Ratner! Brett R as in Rob, A as in Alex, T as in Tom, N as in Nancy, E as in Edward, R as in Ratner! Did you get that? Should I write it down for you? Hold on, let me get my pen…”

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