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In June of 2007, You Learned: HOW COULD THIS POSSIBLY GO WRONG?.
"Two slacker morgue workers, Motown and Darius, are desparate to win the KHIP HOP 3on3 Streetball Tournament. The problem is, they can never seem to find anyone to play on their team. But when a fellow morgue worker, Franklin, creates a huge Frankenstein type creature, Motown and Darius think they've struck streetball gold." (synopsis for Frankenhood, directed by Damon "Coke" Daniels. Coming soon from Lion's Gate Films.) WHAT CAN I EXPECT TO SEE IN FRANKENHOOD? 1: Even though it is not an essential ingredient to playing streetball, Franklin, the morgue worker, will nonetheless find a very large black penis for his Frankenstein type creature. (And yes, when Frankenstein type creature is brought to life, someone will refer to it as "Franklin-stein.") 2. The aforementioned large penis will be the subject of several "outrageous" jokes, including one where Franklin proudly reveals the penis (off-camera) to Darius and Motown, who then bug out their eyes in disbelief. 3. And another where a woman, upon seeing the Frankenstein type creature's penis, does one of the following: - waves hand in front of face and then faints (old lady, white lady)
*bonus points if overweight/unattractive woman tricks Frankenstein type creature into having sex in a very dark room, or traps him into having sex through the following directions in the script: FRANKENSTEIN TYPE CREATURE ENTERS HOTEL ROOM, WHICH IS EMPTY. HE LOOKS DOWN AT THE PIECE OF PAPER IN HIS HAND—A NOTE THAT READS, "EMERGENCY BASKETBALL PRACTICE TONIGHT, 9PM. HONEYPOT HOTEL, ROOM 69." JUST AS HE BEGINS TO REGISTER CONFUSION ABOUT THE LACK OF A BASKETBALL COURT IN THIS ROOM AND THE PRESENCE OF A KING-SIZED BED AND SEVERAL LIT CANDLES, HE HEARS A VOICE BEHIND HIM. O.C. VOICE FRANKENSTEIN TYPE CREATURE WHIPS AROUND TO SEE: CRAZY FAT LADY, dressed in revealing negligee. She is using her considerable bulk to barricade the only door in or out of the room. CUT TO: INSERT SHOT FRANKENSTEIN TYPE CREATURE CRAZY FAT LADY ENDING A: Frankenstein type creature bugs eyes out as crazy fat lady flicks off the lights. Cut to: the next morning - Frankenstein type creature wakes up with bunion-covered lady feet in his face. The room is a wreck. We see empty bottles of champagne, half-eaten chickens on room service trays, fur-covered handcuffs, a riding crop, cans of whipped cream, and end on a large, empty container of WD-40. Frankstein type creature sneaks out of room. He is limping, and grimacing. ENDING B: Frankenstein type creature busts through wall, leaving Frankenstein type creature shaped hole. As we peer through hole in wall, we see into the next room where two old or fat people are having sex loudly on the bed. 5. Frankenhood's Frankenstein type creature, like the legend that inspired it, will be afraid of fire. Specifically, the fire made by a lighter as a giant marijuana cigarette is being ignited for consumption. However, unlike its namesake, this particular Frankenstein type creature will learn to "cool out" by getting very high. And please remember that when Frankenstein type creatures get high it's not the same as regular people. It's much A) crazier, B) funnier, C) nastier, and D) hip-hop. In other words, yes, while he's high he will hear some doo-doo talking to him. 6. And basketball highlights? Will there be any to look forward to? Well... 7. Finally, here's a question we have been getting a LOT lately: "What are the Frankenstein type creature's special powers, other than his ability to ball?" You're going to be pleasantly surprised, because in addition to a kind of super-athleticism, this Frankenstein type creature possesses super-strength, super-speed, super-dancing, and super-boning.
THE SHOCK OF THE NEW.
Well, well, well...I'm gone only three weeks and already another Dunkin' Donuts has elbowed its way into another downtown location, right next to a Subway Sandwich franchise. Congratulations, jerks! The new DD looks like it just pushed the surrounding buildings aside to secure its position, like one of those old Chinatown ladies determined to squeeze themselves and their seventeen pink shopping bags filled with dried shark fin into the impossible sliver of middle seat left on the subway during rush hour. It's so narrow that its (many) employees have no choice but to sidestep their way along the space behind the counter. I'm not sure why they even bothered. People often lament Starbucks as the death knell of any neighborhood in the city, but Starbucks is a quaint old-world bohemia compared to Dunkin' Donuts. (Or "Fuckin' GoNuts" as I prefer to call it, to the delight of all!) At least Starbucks (Or "Fourbucks" as I prefer to call it!!) has the decency to attempt to blend in with its surroundings. The understated greens and browns are almost a polite apology, their restraint desperately but quietly compensating for their ubiquity. Then there's the miserable chocolate frosted big top circus that is Dunkin' Donuts. The interiors are more brightly and starkly lit than most operating rooms, in order to provide their security cameras maximum clarity, even as it induces migraine headaches for customers and employees. And DD's brand colors—tangerine and pink, both filtered through a fecal-tinted gel—coordinate with absolutely nothing, which is obviously the point. They're designed to confront, to draw attention to themselves. Those colors are the nouveau-riche creeps who rent a neon-yellow stretch Humvee to parade their PlayStation-fattened teenager and his friends around on prom night. If Dunkin' Donuts were a person, he would name his yacht "The MILF Hunter" and cruise the harbor while blasting Snow's "Informer" from his boat's $50,000 stereo system. I realize Dunkin' Donuts is a juggernaut and it's probably silly to protest it this way. It's like trying to cure AIDS—most people have just gotten used to it, right? But the thing that bothers me about the newly minted one in the area near my office is that it's directly across the sidewalk from one of those mobile doughnut carts. This cart, in particular, has been doing a really brisk business for as long as I've seen it, and part of that is a credit to the owner/prisoner trapped within it. He seems genuinely happy to be some kind of half man/half vending machine, and it kills me that now there's a nationally franchised doughnut shop staring him in the face each morning. I wonder if he drags his store home at night and laments to his wife and seventeen children about how "All day it is a party in there, with sprinkles and coollatta!" "These millionaires with climate controlled air and straws that are also spoons!" "What am I to do?" And sure, he could change locations, by pushing himself a block south, but that's not the point. The point is, it's utterly depressing to watch a tacky chain like Dunkin' Donuts pop up with no other apparent reason to exist than crowding out a one-man operation. And it's even more depressing when that one-man operation is out of blueberry muffins and Dunkin' Donuts has delicious and fresh-seeming ones in stock, so now I have to remember to hide a DD muffin bag in my backpack as I walk past the doughnut cart each morning. No one wins here, except my belly. And Dunkin' Donuts. Well, I guess technically everyone wins except the man who lives inside a metal box built for doughnuts and pastry.
A FORMAL APOLOGY.
I haven't been able to write things on this site about kittens and homeless people and all the trivial things that mean a lot to me, because I've been out of town working on a job that has consumed much (nearly all) of my time, and requires that I occasionally cuddle baby foxes. I'll write more when I'm finally back in New York, cuddling full-grown cats and my pretty girlfriend:
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