Here we go again…
44. George Lucas
Charges: It needs to be said: George Lucas is an awful writer and a shitty, shitty director. His second Star Wars trilogy absolutely sucked from beginning to end, and was in fact the least brave creative endeavor he could possibly have chosen, a guaranteed grand slam. Lucas has grown so accustomed to massive commercial success that he has no idea he’s putting out the worst work of his career, and no one dares to tell him. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, because an army of sexless, sedentary thirty-something dweebs with an unhealthy fixation on Princess Leia will insist that his schlock is brilliant as if their lives depend on it, and an absurdly disproportionate media blitz always brings the kids in. But everything that was great about the first trilogy—reasonably decent acting, an engaging storyline and cool model-based special effects—is gone, replaced by detestably unsympathetic characters reciting torturously bad dialogue in a manner so wooden that coaching from Keanu Reeves would have helped, and CGI effects that, while painstakingly crafted down to the nanopixel, somehow looked less real than plastic spaceships and Muppets.
Exhibit A: Already revising the new trilogy for DVD releases.
Sentence: Cast into the gaping maw of Tatooine’s all-powerful Sarlacc and digested alive for a thousand years, along with a talkative Jar Jar Binks.
Charges: Wasting billions of minutes of time and millions of dollars in bandwidth on the thin hope that a few poor saps will be stupid enough to believe that a Nigerian banker actually wants to give them millions of dollars, or that responding to an unsolicited e-mail is the smart way to refinance their mortgage or enlarge their penis. Every day, we must perform the tedious task of combing through our e-mail and deleting the nine tenths of it which consist of the most retarded marketing in history, along with mean-spirited swindles and ads for the vilest pornography imaginable. All because these jack-offs can think of no better way to support themselves than by pestering the entire fucking planet.
Exhibit A: Your inbox.
Sentence: Faces repeatedly smashed into keyboards until dead; bodies made into actual Spam; greedily devoured by Nigerian bankers.
19. James Sensenbrenner
Charges: Hates free speech. Sensenbrenner is every truculent moron who ever shouted you down for informing him or called you a traitor for disagreeing with him. Sensenbrenner wants to apply criminal penalties for broadcast indecency—jail for swearing. Sensenbrenner and his supporters don’t know a damn thing about freedom or democracy; they may not even understand that they are clearly against these concepts. They are terrible, mindless, trained by decades of churchgoing into an unquestioning loyalty and a bitter resentment of dissent. That’s why they didn’t mind when this turgid cock abruptly ended a hearing on the Patriot Act after a single round of questioning because the witnesses were talking about Guantanamo. Sensenbrenner gaveled the hearing to a close over the objections of many, and when it became clear that the Democrats weren’t leaving, this old, worthless bag of shit turned off the microphones and ordered CSPAN to turn its cameras off, clearly enraged by the idea of liberals getting a turn to talk. Specializes in legislative attacks on civil liberties and the separation of powers, such as the Patriot Act and 2005’s REAL ID Act, which made it’s way into law as a rider attached to a military spending bill, and allows the Homeland Security Department to bypass any law or court to erect physical barriers at our borders.
Exhibit A: If Sensenbrenner ran the country, we’d go to jail for writing this.
Sentence: Spine-mounted electrode racks Sensenbrenner’s body with searing pain every time he utters an article, pronoun, or any form of the verbs “to have” and “to be.”
Charges: If your answer to the age-old question of God’s existence is “yes,” your next question should be, “Why is he such a dick?” After three major natural disasters, not to mention the eternal constants of famine, war and disease, to believe in God is to believe either that He enjoys fucking with us, or at best has totally lost interest in the whole “people” thing. Never calls anymore.
Exhibit A: Mosquitoes, Ralph Reed.
Sentence: Forever listening to an unending stream of idiotic, mundane prayers uttered by the dumbest, most inarticulate people in His creation.