BrokenJPG

A Copywriter’s Blog

Q: What’s the worst joke you can tell someone, only it’s not a joke and when they realize you’re serious the laughter dies in their throat almost as quickly as their will to live?
A: Will Smith is re-making the Karate Kid.

karate_kid

This is not the first time the entertainment industry has tried to murder me via coronary by retroactively destroying my childhood. There was that Shite Rider crap. And the GI Joe movie (more on that in a few days). But this may be their master stroke.

This time they’re not content to simply exhume and anally violate one of the cornerstones of my childhood. No, this time they’ve conned one of the few actors I respect(ed) into doing it. They’ve discovered how to sodomize both my past and present simultaneously. If we’re lucky the resulting black hole from bending the space/time continuum this way will destroy us all before their plans are complete. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just smother myself in honey and hit bears with a baseball bat. Anything to lessen the pain.

I’m going to be honest here. This was not a bad idea because Jackie Chan is on board, and he’s old. It’s not a bad idea because supposedly the kid travels to China and learns Kung Fu, which isn’t fucking Karate you damned ignorant fucktards. It’s a horrible, flawed, embarrassingly bad idea because the entire premise behind Karate Kid is simply retarded.

newkaratekid

I loved the Karate Kid. We all did. We all really, really wanted to believe that we could learn martial arts from some diminutive foreigner who was probably in the country illegally and start kicking bully’s asses left and right. I don’t know about you, but when I was ten, that was the American Dream.

And back then, it worked. It was a good movie. But -and I’m serious here- it only worked because we were idiots.

Listen to me Will Smith, or whoever is controlling the Will Smith robot suit that’s giving the orders- that was a simpler time. We all believed that painting fences and sanding floors might actually turn us into deadly fighting machines. It’s because we were stupid.

We’ve got the internet now. We’ve got the UFC. We know what real fighting looks like. And we know the truth is that if Daniel-son had gone into a real tournament, he would have been choking down his own excrement inside of 30 seconds. If repetitive motion automatically granted martial prowess, every right-handed male from the age of 11 and up would be kicking ass like Bruce Lee. (The lefties would be doing it mirrored) But that’s just not the way it works.

karatekid

At the time, it was great. But we’re talking about a generation of kids who- and I’m including myself in this- honestly went home after seeing the movie and practiced the Crane Kick in the mirror. I mean we really fucking considered it for a minute. I have a tiny bit of experience in the martial arts, and I can promise if you tried to pull that shit in a fight the only reason it would work is because your opponent might laugh so hard that they rupture something. My point is that the film was great for it’s time. Leave it as a warm, fuzzy memory of a simpler time in our lives. You really can’t make this one cool again.

And as for you, Will Smith- No. NO. Bad, Will Smith. Very bad Will Smith. You go sit in the corner and think about what you’re potentially going to have done.

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NBC is trying to kill me Ben Levy 13, August

I must have been an axe-murderer in a former life. Maybe a child-molester. Clearly I’ve done something horrible. And Fate, not finding a suitable punishment for me in the present-day, has decided to destroy the last fond memories I have from my childhood.

Dear reader, I apologize for what you are about to see: a grown man’s warm youthful memories, callously used as the kleenex for NBC’s programming ejaculate.


What they have done is create the Anti-Rider. This is the perfect antithesis of all that was good about the show. I won’t even discuss the plot here, for fear of spontaneously combusting through sheer hate. Suffice it to say there’s deeper writing in teletubbies porn (never mind how I know, shut up). But look- NBC has graciously found a way to sum up this travesty for me:


KITT happens? KITT happens? Oh fuck you. Seriously, bring me the writer and/or studio executive who thought that was a good idea, and I will gouge their eyes out. With a blunt shovel. That I have dipped in whale urine. And set on fire.

The worst part about this is what they’ve done to KITT. I would have thought a car would be impervious to this sort of career-suicide. I mean, sure he did that stint with Hoff in Germany, but it could have been worse. It’s not like he drove himself drunk. But clearly I underestimated the geniuses at NBC. They couldn’t come up with a good catch-phrase, but they did discover a way to destroy the last shreds of dignity for another of my childhood icons:


What the fuck is that? Why does it have three dicks on its hood? Is it for an automotive bukkake scene? Because that would actually make more sense than the rest of the shit you’ve shoved up KITT’s tailpipe. Did you have to chop it up worse than Joan Rivers’s face? Even if it was based off a 1982 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am, the real KITT would still be the baddest car on the road today. Oh you’ve got fucking flame decals? He’s got g-damned LAZERS. Which he can use to set your car on actual fire, douchebag. This is not a common list of standard fucking features.

Now listen to me very carefully NBC. Very. VERY. Carefully. There is still a way to salvage all of this. It’s not too late. If you follow my directions to the letter:


Do exactly what you’re doing. Keep the PR machine rolling. Fuck it up even more, I don’t care. Play the first episode. Then, 5 minutes in, have the real KITT burst onto the set, destroying everyone and everything for the next 40 minutes. Sets will burn from his flamethrowers, lazers will punch through the grips and cameramen. In the climactic ending, he’ll launch into the air from a turbo boost, and pop the director’s head under his tires as he lands. Then the camera will zoom in on that one, scrolling LED and he’ll say. “You didn’t really think I’d let them get away with this, did you Ben?”

Then he’d open the door, I’d jump in, and we’d ride off into the sunset. Dun-dada-dun. Dun-dada-dun. Dun-dadadaDA-Dunnnnnnn. Da-dun!

But if it doesn’t happen exactly like that, every NBC exec who’s responsible for this should be corn-holed by a rusty tailpipe.