As reported earlier this week, legendary director Roman Polanski was arrested in Switzerland and held for extradition to the U.S. on a warrant related to his 1978 conviction for having unlawful sex with a minor. Since Polanski’s detainment there’s been an outpouring of support for the Oscar-winning director. Hollywood luminaries such as Martin Scorsese, Woody Allen, Harvey Weinstein, and David Lynch have added their names to a list of over 100 entertainment industry professionals demanding Polanski’s immediate release. We here at BOPSy would like to join them in making our voices heard on this matter, as we issue our heartfelt plea for Roman Polanski…

To be thrown in jail and forcibly sodomized by a gang of well-hung inmates.

But first, I’d like to make it clear that I have profound respect for Roman Polanski as a director. He has given us classic films such as Chinatown – awesome – Repulsion – awesome — Rosemary’s Baby – sucks until the burnt Satan baby shows up then becomes awesome – and The Pianist – which I didn’t see because I’d confused it with another film and was afraid I’d have to see Harvey Keitel’s penis. And while the crimes he was accused… er, convicted… er, confessed to were admittedly heinous, I’ve never had a problem separating an artist from his/her art. Hell, half the music on my iPod was created by church-burning, devil-worshipping, murderous Norwegians. And while I probably wouldn’t ask Varg Vikernes to take care of my cats for the weekend, this hasn’t prevented me from enjoying his screams of blackened hate on my headphones during step-aerobics class. Simply put, Polanski is one of the most significant directors of our time and his contributions to the world of film cannot be denied; but unfortunately, his contributions to the world of child rape cannot be denied either. Hell, he didn’t deny them, why should we? In fact it could be said that Polanski’s just as much a maverick of pedophilia as he of cinema. Bravo to you, Mr. Polanski; but alas, pedophilia’s a serious offense in America and since you already copped a plea and all I think it’s time to man up, get on that plane back to America-land and serve your time. In other words: Don’t be a bitch, Polanski. There’ll be plenty of time for that once you’re behind bars.

I understand that Polanski’s life has been tumultuous and frequently tragic. He escaped from the Kracow ghetto only to find out that his mother had died at Auschwitz. At the height of his career his wife was carved up by the Manson family and his unborn child used to smear Beatles lyrics on the walls of his Benedict Canyon home… a poor decorating choice, even in the late 60s. He’s been forced to live in exile for three decades for the simple crime of loving too much, too soon and in the wrong hole. Life’s sure been hard for Roman Polanski, but I can trump all that with one deliciously sexy phrase: He raped a child. In the asshole. And even if he’d directed 1000 Chinatowns it wouldn’t excuse him from the repercussions of that act, repercussions that will no doubt include being pinned down by five gang members who will take turns teaching the 76-year-old Oscar-winner lessons in dramatic irony by way of his lower digestive tract.

Now some of you might say: The 1970s were a different time. Our society was much more open with its sexuality. Everyone was swinging, boning and fucking in the streets. And we didn’t have the same hang-ups about the “innocence” of youth. All true. And had Polanski been caught in a five-way with Jack Nicholson, Robert Evans and a couple of 17-year-old (and thus of legal age) Hot Dog on a Stick employees we’d be serving him high-fives, not extradition papers. But that’s not what Polanski was convicted of; he was convicted of drugging then ass-raping a junior high student. There’s a reason Gene Simmons didn’t write a song called “Christine Thirteen,” ya know. It’s because even the God of Thunder knows that the world’s most mature seventh grader is still just a CHILD, not some fuck-toy we stuff full of Quaaludes then use as a colonic cock-holster.

But Polanski maintains the sex was consensual! Yeah, it’s amazing what children will consent to when you feed them a bunch of liquor and pills. Hell, one sip of Boone’s Farm and my sister’s two-year-old Chastity rides around on my pit bull Brutus like he’s a donkey at the petting zoo. Children are retards. They are not capable of making their own decisions, especially with regard to sex. That’s why we have age of consent laws, as Chris Hansen has reminded me on several occasions. Besides: He fucked her IN THE ASS. Even anal sex between consenting adults in a stable relationship requires months of careful planning, preparation and pleading. And even then, 90% of the time the “end” result is screams of “get that fucking thing out of me!” followed by two weeks of avoiding direct eye contact. Do you have any idea what an ordeal this must’ve been for a thirteen-year-old? Hell, I still get night terrors from my last prostate exam and that was (hopefully) just a doctor’s index finger breaching my pudding-pipe.

Now some of you Polanski-pologists might say: Look at all the good child molestering has done for the world. Without child rape we would have no strippers, no porn stars, and 60% fewer lesbians. True. But we also wouldn’t have my ex-girlfriend Sheila: The bipolar methhead who couldn’t get aroused unless I slapped her so hard a tooth came loose. Or my ex Lucy: The agoraphobic bulimic who tried to stab me with a pair of scissors while I slept. Or my dear Alexandra: The girl who stole my heart, my car, my flat-screen TV and about 600 DVDs. What I’m trying to say is that if it weren’t for dicks like Polanski maybe I’d have a chance at a stable relationship for once. Maybe I’d meet a woman who didn’t use me as a revenge-surrogate for whoever the bastard was who did to her what Polanski did to that little girl.

Still on the fence? Here’s an experiment. Go down to your local middle school and make a list of all the thirteen-year-old children you’d like to bang. If that list is longer than 0, congratulations! You’re a potential pedophile too. Now don’t worry; this doesn’t make you a criminal in and of itself. And judging from the amount of traffic this site receives from Google searches for Miley Cyrus hot tub pics you’re certainly not alone. Perhaps there’s a primordial impulse that makes us want to sow our seed into any fertile womb, the younger the better. In the hunter/gatherer times this impulse likely served a purpose; most women back then wouldn’t have lived past fifteen anyway. But circa now we have a society with rules and laws that are intended to protect the common good, and part of that common good is making sure our children reach age eighteen before we ruin their lives. Polanski raped a child. IN THE ASSHOLE. By his own admission. That was and is a crime in our country, and there’s no *unless you directed Chinatown clause.

And really that’s the crux of the issue for all these celebrities speaking out for Polanski. This isn’t a matter of innocence or guilt for them. It’s a matter of letting us RABBLE know that OUR LAWS DO NOT APPLY TO THEM. You think guys like Martin Scorsese would come rushing to the aid of Glenn Hubbard — a part-time security guard with coke-bottle glasses, gravy-stained wife-beater and a windowless van – if he’d been convicted of the same crime? Do you think Martin Scorsese would even allow Glenn to move into his neighborhood? Do you think Whoopie Goldberg would go on national television and say something as retarded as “well, Glenn wasn’t actually convicted of rape-rape” like she did for Polanski? Yeah, that’s right: THAT DUMB BITCH ACTUALLY SAID THAT. But you’re correct, Whoopie: It’s wasn’t rape-rape, it was CHILD-rape, which is ten times worse. That’s right, even regular rapists think Roman Polanski’s an asshole. Chew on that next time you plan on using your show as a pulpit from which to blather your ignorance.

Roman Polanski raped a child. In the asshole. And despite being convicted of the crime then fleeing the country like a sissy he’s been allowed to continue making films for over thirty years. You’ve made a good run of it, Polanski. You’ve led a rich life, made some great movies, even garnered the highest honor a director can receive in the very country where you committed your crime. But it seems the chickens have finally come home to roost.

So serve your time like a man, child-fucker.

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Full disclosure: I’m a bit of a moron. My IQ hovers around the mid 80s depending on how much model glue I’ve been huffing, and I barely made it through a half semester of junior college before I was kicked out for stealing a vat of formaldehyde from the science lab so I could mummify a dead possum I’d found. Still my lack of cognitive skills does not excuse that fact that it took me over a week to put this together, because it should’ve been forehead-slappingly obvious from the get-go who the filmmakers have based their Jonah Hex character design on…

Yup. Fox News correspondent Greta Van Susteren. Just to be clear, Greta’s the one on the right.

To be fair to myself, it’s not like Greta’s on the brain 24/7; in fact I generally try to block her out of my mind altogether. I mean its tough enough sustaining an erection at my age, and weight (though I’m down to a slim 450 lbs. thanks to something called “bulimia”), without some neo-fascist, arthropod-worshipping screechy skeleton hovering around the recesses of my psyche. But it just so happens that I was at the gym the other day, where the TVs are — inexplicably — always tuned to Fox News as opposed to say ESPN (perhaps the folks at LA Fitness see me head for the treadmill and quickly change the channel – hoping the GOP’s propaganda network will raise my blood pressure — in an attempt to induce a stroke and free up the machine for more attractive clients). It was there that I caught a bit of Greta’s ranting and raving about her “outrage” regarding the “controversial” joke by David Letterman wherein he accurately described Sarah Palin’s daughter as a slutty baby-incubator who can’t keep her legs shut through the seventh inning stretch of a major league baseball game (specifically, Dave mused that Yankees superstar Alex Rodriguez had “knocked up” one of Governor Palin’s trailer-spawn on their recent trip to New York City).

And let me emphasize, Greta was outraged.

Until this point I’d been unaware that this was a controversy at all. This barb (they’re called that for a reason) came care of one of Dave’s typically innocuous opening monologues in which Letterman makes jokes at other people’s expense. That’s his job; and he’s been doing it adequately on national television for about thirty years. But while Dave may have been on the bleeding edge of comedy in the 1980s, back when he hosted Late Night for NBC (aka the Failure Network), his CBS show is only controversial when compared to reruns of Full House. And it’s not like Palin is even a “hot topic” anymore. So to quote Bugs Bunny: “What’s all the hubbub, bub?”

But let me re-emphasize, Greta was outraged.

Now normally I’d forgo the ad hominem attack, but since this was Fox News I was watching, and per their own modus operandi ad hominem attacks are intrinsic to “fair and balanced” news coverage: Why would Greta Van Susteren’s “outrage” mean anything to me, a somewhat rational human being, when her moral compass has been bent by a steadfast conviction that our bodies are inhabited by the souls of aliens who died in a nuclear blast thousands of years ago at the hands of an evil intergalactic space wizard named Xenu?

This is not conjecture; this is not satire; this is what she believes. THIS IS HER RELIGION, a religion contrived more or less on a whim by a paranoid-schizophrenic science fiction writer. Per the tenets of her belief system she’s also outraged by psychiatry, frowny faces and people who think Tom Cruise is gay. Hell — blueberry pancakes, Labrador retrievers and kettle whistles probably set her off too. But apparently Greta wasn’t alone in her outrage. There was a veritable army of humorless, literal-minded, right-wing-fringe lunatics out there who were similarly upset by Letterman’s joke, not the least of which being Sarah Palin herself.

Per the statement released on the Luv-Guv’s Facebook page (:-) LOL TMI ;-):

‘Laughter incited by sexually-perverted comments made by a 62-year-old male celebrity aimed at a 14-year-old girl is not only disgusting, but it reminds us some Hollywood/NY entertainers have a long way to go in understanding what the rest of America understands – that acceptance of inappropriate sexual comments about an underage girl, who could be anyone’s daughter, contributes to the atrociously high rate of sexual exploitation of minors by older men who use and abuse others.’

Ohhhh… kay… um, what?

First of all, who is the “rest of America” Palin is speaking for? Certainly not me, or anyone I know, or anyone with an IQ of 80 or above. Secondly: Fourteen? Really? Letterman didn’t specify WHICH Palin girl A-Rod had been slipping his A-Rod to, but common sense would tell you this joke was aimed at Palin’s famously fertile 18-year-old daughter Bristol. You know, the one who got mothered up out of wedlock, then kicked the bastard’s Skidoo-riding redneck daddy to the curb so she could embark on a whirlwind speaking tour — whoring lil’ oopsy and herself out to any TV talk show that would take them so she could share with the world the wellspring of knowledge she’d garnered from shooting a broken-rubber-baby out of her fetus-cannon? Yeah, that one. That’s the point of the joke. But apparently Bristol hadn’t accompanied the LuvGuv on her trip to Fancy Town, so Sarah jumped to the illogical conclusion that Dave’s joke was aimed at her 14-year-old but by no mean any less slutty daughter Willow. And that’s just WRONG, man. She’s like… FOURTEEN. 14-year-old girls don’t have consensual sex! Ever! (Though one whiff of my be-mulleted, high school freshman iteration’s index finger would’ve told you otherwise).

Palin’s equally vacuous husband Todd also released a statement, probably via Friendster because he’s a backwards rural hill-man:

‘Any ‘jokes’ about raping my 14-year-old are despicable. Alaskans know it and I believe the rest of the world knows it, too.’

Okay, now who the hell said anything about RAPE?? Let me make something perfectly clear: I am a connoisseur of rape jokes. I love them, they love me and sometimes, they are my bread and butter. So as much as I’d love for Letterman’s harmless one-liner to have been a rape joke, it just wasn’t. I know rape jokes, and that was no rape joke.

So where are the Palins getting this stuff? Read through their statements again. Or search YouTube for any one of the many, many, MANY interviews they’ve done since this “controversy” broke last week: It’s like sexual-perversion, rape and pedophilia are the sugar plums dancing in their heads. Am I the only one who finds this FUCKING CREEPY? Seriously, I wouldn’t be surprised to find a feral JeanBenet Ramsey chained to a water boiler in the Palins’ basement. These people are FREAKS.

But the true motivation behind Sarah’s very public cries of outrage is pretty clear: Sarah Palin wants our attention. Nay, she NEEDS OUR attention. She is no different than those superficial non-humans on The Hills, or John and Kate and their eight little inbred demon-spawn. Once you give these idiots a taste of the spotlight they will stop at nothing to gorge themselves on more, like ravenous piggies gobbling up every crumb of their fleeting fame. Don’t think for second that this has anything to do with Sarah’s political aspirations. She’s a politician as much as she is a beauty contestant, or a TV weather girl. Politics for Sarah is just a means to an end, another route to achieve the fame and attention she so desperately craves, despite the fact that she has nothing to offer society in exchange for such notoriety – other than being an easy punch line.

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I actually had respect for Peter Berg until 10:39 this morning, when I unfastened the gag ball and manacles for my rented lady friend, stuffed a gram of tina in her purse and assured her that if she told her pimp what happened I’d make sure the gun was loaded next time, made myself a steaming hot cup of Postum, grabbed The Hollywood Reporter off my neighbor’s front step and read this jem: Apparently Berg — director of The Kingdom, Hancock, Friday Night Lights and… well we’ll just pretend Very Bad Things never happened – is in talks to helm the big screen adaptation of Hasbro’s board game Battleship.

No, that wasn’t a mescaline flash-back. Your eyeballs just read what your brain thought they did. Battle-fucking-ship. Which is just what America was waiting for! A 40-year-old board game wherein plastic pegs are inserted into little boats for 20 minutes until you get bored and/or realize you don’t have enough pegs so you stuff the thing back into your grandma’s closet where it collects dust for another 15 years, fire up the Xbox and play Gears of War all the while thanking Crom that we no longer live in ye olden times: The Movie!

Good thing they found a “branded property” to base this movie upon because otherwise no one would come out to see it. Seriously. Look at the box office tallies, juggle the numbers — factor in home entertainment, cable TV, ancillary rights, licensing, all that good stuff – and you’ll see WITHOUT FAIL the only financially viable movies throughout history have been based on decades-old board games which contain zero plot points, story elements or characters. I know you don’t believe me. I know you think this is just bitter ol’ Ronnie Pudding all hopped up on model glue ranting sarcastic-like, but it’s true. Really fucking true. I mean that’s what the execs who put this thing in development did, right? They looked at the data and said, “well, it is a shitty idea for a film on paper, but when you crunch the numbers it’s really the only way to go.” Because otherwise they wouldn’t be making this idiotic thing, right? RIGHT?

The Hollywood, you bore me. Every day you force me to write the same story about some gimp-tarded remake, reboot or adaptation of an inanimate object. There are only so many ways to spin that, you know. Only so many ways to make “The Hollywood Am Stupid” funny. What are you frightened of? Are you so petrified of losing your job, entitlement, privilege and Facebook-friend-clout that you’d rather squeeze out countless “branded” turds like this than take a chance on the original story that would secure your place in history? You know its crap like this that put the music industry in the toilet, right? A bunch of creativity-deprived bourgeois Chicken Littles running things, doing everything they could to push out the sort of innovators on whose backs their industry had been built? Yeah, that worked out real well for ‘em. Too bad the Starbucks where Maverick Records’ old Head of A&R barista’d closed its doors. Saw him standing by the freeway off-ramp the other day holding a cardboard sign that read “will churn out generic, disposable entertainment product while pretending the internet doesn’t exist for food.” I slipped a 10 dollar bill in his McDonald’s cup, I felt so bad. No just kidding, I lured him into the park with a bottle of Smirnoff, killed him and ate him. But you notice I didn’t say I raped him. Because there but for the grace of God go I.

Brian Goldner and Bennett Schneir from Hasbro will produce. Universal will studio. Final Draft operators Jon and Erich Hoeber have signed on to type the script, which I can only imagine will be the gig of their lifetimes:

“FADE IN:

EXT. PACIFIC OCEAN – DAY

B-6, B-14, C-12, G-5, A-8…”

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It’s hard not to like Will Smith. Even harder to hate the guy. So you can imagine the Herculean effort it took for me to muster up the bilious, seething, blood-boiling hatred I feel for him right now – the “I hope you and your stupid nu-metal wife die of e-bola-AIDS” kind of loathing that if refracted through a ruby could smite an entire galaxy. I’m not saying it makes me a hero; but it makes me something. I’m like a 9/11 firefighter, but instead of risking my life to save others I hate Will Smith. We’re not that different, 9/11 firefighters and I. They have black lung, I have black lung. They have post traumatic stress disorder, I have post traumatic stress disorder. Does it really matter whether our burdens come from breathing jet fuel vapor or huffing airplane glue? Running into collapsing buildings to save kindergarteners or getting molested by a creepy uncle? What matters is that we’ve sacrificed ourselves for the sake of the many and that oh yeah, Will Smith? Fuck that guy. Not only is he mulling the possibility of DJ Jazzy Jerking Off all over Chan-Wook Park’s masterpiece Oldboy, he’s putting his Scientology baby Jaden in Columbia’s upcoming remake of Karate Kid. Yup, you read that right. Remake. Karate. Kid.

You know what, Hollywood? I’m all done with you. I’ve been writing showbiz news on this internet website for two years now and minus my genius hilarity, I can reduce the sum of it to one sentence: “Studio idiots shit all over creativity, re-purpose existing crap.” Call it a remake a reboot an adaptation or whatever you want; call it the keys to a brand new SL500 or enough fuck-you money to get away with any crime including cold-blooded murder. The crux of the matter is you’ve been sodomizing the filmmaking process for so long that not only does originality no longer matter, it’s now a liability. And why? Certainly not profitability. Oh sure, maybe you’ll luck out and get some short-term returns, but the reality is remakes and rehashes not only do not fare any better than brand spanking new concepts, they often fare worse. And you’re obviously forgetting the fact that if not for the ORIGINAL CONCEPT that someone came up with 20 years ago, you wouldn’t have a movie to remake at all. What are you going to do ten years from now? Remake the remakes of your remakes? Or maybe you’re not planning on being in the business that long.

Nay, this creative dearth comes down to two things: Fear and laziness. It’s a lot easier to pitch a proven intellectual property to your boss, and takes a lot less effort when it’s a movie you’ve seen a thousand times versus a script you might actually have to pick up and fucking READ. But beyond that, it means that you don’t have to exhibit any judgment. No one will question it, especially YOU, when you green light something that already worked 20 years ago. And the end product doesn’t even have to be particularly good, or even financially successful. When it gets to that point you’ll just shift the blame to someone else.

So in summation: Fuck you, Hollywood — and your Xenu-lovin’ Fresh Prince too. I’m gonna go make fun of something else now. Professional sports, politics, iPhone apps – ANYTHING other than your boring, predictable asses. You are no longer worthy of my snark.

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