My Inner Thirteen-year-old Boy is Gay for Johnny Knoxville
My favorite part of Jackass: The Movie was Steve-O getting a tattoo of a happy face on his arm while riding in the back of a Hummer while Henry Rollins drove them down a corrugated dirt road. Bumping and bouncing and getting stabbed in the arm over and over again by a needle filled with ink. The resulting mess on his arm was horrendous. (Here's a picture of it after it healed.) Still, just looking at that picture makes me laugh. It's so stupid.
Why? Why is there also a part of me that watches that and says, "AWESOME!"
Jackson liked the part when the guy had a raw chicken hanging out of his jockstrap while he dangled himself over a pool filled with alligators.
Why did I let my five-year-old son watch an R-rated frat-boy piece of shit like that?
I have no one to blame but Netflix.
All right, maybe this disgusting head cold has destroyed my already weak sense of propriety. Maybe entertaining a sick child for five days in a row has left me flat out of energy for dot-to-dots, Candyland, and craft projects involving pipe cleaners and paste.
The whole movie is a fascinating object lesson in what not to do, ever, but my common sense finally kicked in when the guy was about to stick a Hot Wheels car into a condom and work it up his butt so they could take an X-ray WHERE'S THAT REMOTE LET'S GO INTO THE KITCHEN AND GET A SNACK WHAT DO YOU SAY?
Jack will have nothing to do with it. But now we're stoked for Jackass Two.