Or better yet, Kelsey's character is about to perform oral sex upon Cassius, Clay, or both, and they announce "Down goes Frasier! Down goes Frasier!"

I think your pouty, snotty, hysterical response proves that it has to wrap up. Thanks for helping the cause.

Phrasing. Are we not doing that anymore?!

I watched a bloopers reel that had Julia doing her spastic bad dancing, and she was so embarrassed to do it. She's not a natural ham, but her comedic instincts are superb.

Sexiest body of water? Tits.

What a funny, funny, funny, so funny joke. Funny…

Your tactic of beginning your comment by denigrating and insulting both me and my ideas after you're already made it so passionately clear how cowardly and nefarious you find what you consider to be my use of an ad hominem attack—which I didn't do—is very indicative of your conflicted, irrational mental state. Nothing…

"My 5 year old nephew plays with it…"

Silly cat people. Pussies.

I'll humor you for exactly one more comment, then that's it, I'm sure to be at my limit of tolerance for your bland, predictable, tediousness. Nothing personal.

The glove box popping open on Jim's knee, and Magnum constantly and calmly insisting there was no need for guns. Loved it.

Your painfully, stridently, unashamedly conformist mainstream tedious definition of beautiful art and artistry is the real expression of elitism. You equate arbitrary manual skill with potent, relevant, worthwhile importance. If a hack charlatan can render your likeness reasonably accurately, realistically, you…

Chong. Tommy Chong.

I'm much more a Rockford man. Jim Rockford set the highwater mark for casual unassuming manliness, with just a touch of adorable cowardice. Then comes Magnum. That mighty mustache is magnificently macho. And sentient.

I'll take The World According to Garp, Moscow on the Hudson, The Fisher King and Get Smoochy easily over Good Morning Viet Nam or Mrs. Doubtfire. I found The Birdcage to be very uneven and often tedious. Also, Good Will Hunting is overrated.

Yoko is primarily a visual and conceptual artist, and not a gifted or even talented vocalist, obviously. She uses her voice for something other than creating sympathetic sonic vibrations, or nice sounds. She exploits her naturally dissonant, shrill harmonics to create a very disruptive, unexpected sound wave; a…

If harmonious, mellifluous, melodic musicality is the standard by which you judge artistry, then no, Yoko's cacophonous caterwauling will not qualify in your book as art. But if you embrace—or at least tolerate—the philosophy that the best, most relevant, most worthwhile art directly confronts and challenges society's…

Her art is an acquired taste, for sure. But if you remember to place her work in the context of a world—our world—that is so completely, thoroughly, utterly demented in terms of celebrity worship, in subjugating and brutalizing women, and in pursuing inane, pointless, wasteful lifestyles to the point that we're now…

I can easily imagine Ronald Reagan, for example, being continually elevated in stature till one day he is spoken of in the same reverential tones as George Washington or Paul Revere. His "biographers" have been toiling so furiously to prop up the existing myths as witnessed by the incessant references by hopeful…

I LOVE how deeply, profoundly, sublimely outraged people get with Yoko's existence. You see, John didn't just tolerate or accommodate Yoko's outrageous artistic gestures, he enthusiastically encouraged the intentionally disturbing, almost hostile ugliness of her conceptual statements, even if it disrupted his own…