DAY THREE: A Real Mouthful
29 Films
Yesterday <> Tomorrow
Flashback!
29 Films in 29 Days (2012)
“Funny videos from the funny video brothers, eh? So you guys think you’re real funny guys by making all these “quote-unquote” funny videos, eh?”
It’s not about whether or not the short film is funny, okay. It’s about the art.
“So, would you say-”
(Fart noise made by a mouth)
DAY ONE: Spring Cleanin’
DAY TWO: Gold Rush
DAY THREE: A Real Mouthful
DAY FOUR: Laughing Time
DAY FIVE: Perspective
DAY SIX: Burger w/ Sleaze
DAY SEVEN: Whitemans Can’t Jump
DAY EIGHT: Positive Changes
DAY NINE: There’s Always Tomorrow
DAY TEN: T.G.I.F
DAY ELEVEN: Peace, Out
DAY TWELVE: Flame Bro-wer
DAY THIRTEEN: Fffttt! Like a Cheetah!
DAY FOURTEEN: I’m With Cupid
DAY FIFTEEN: Loaded Wish
DAY SIXTEEN: Call of Doodie
DAY SEVENTEEN: High Strung
DAY EIGHTEEN: My Bad
DAY NINETEEN: Encore
DAY TWENTY: Life After Death
DAY TWENTY-ONE: Wish Beats All
DAY TWENTY-TWO: This Means War
DAY TWENTY-THREE: Pranks For Nothin’
DAY TWENTY-FOUR: I’ve Got My Pie On You
DAY TWENTY-FIVE: Another Banana Fiasco
DAY TWENTY-SIX: Another Special Day
DAY TWENTY-SEVEN: The Thin Red Wish
DAY TWENTY-EIGHT: Frowntown
DAY TWENTY-NINE: King Nothing
That’s right: it’s another leap year, which means we cranked out 29 short films in 29 days – all of which involve our prop beloved baby, Metallica (who just might have a few tricks up his little magical sleeves this year!) Essentially, what this means is this: we drank an inhuman amount of Red Bull until we thought something was funny, and then we turned these “jokes” into new movies, and then we put the movies online for you to enjoy or scoff at. It is an exhaustive and exhilarating exorcise in form and emotional stamina to try to make so many compelling sorta funny videos.
We did this in the leap year of 2008. You can view that batch of baby jokes to catch up on our antics and see how we’ve mah-too-errrd as comedians and filmmakers. (Oh, gawsh, I hope some one notices!) And, hey, you don’t wanna be the only one under the mistletoe at midnight on February 29th who feels a little lost in the content of our grand narrative thing!
If you find them amusing, you can also view lower resolution versions (!!!) of some of them on Funny Or Die – while you’re there, make sure you click “Funny” if a) you thought they were funny videos, or b) you want us to think you thought they were funny. And if you don’t like them, well, I don’t know what to tell you. I mean, it’s not like you can ask for a refund: they’re free movies.
It’s over! The shortest month of the year turned into the longest month of the year, and we came out relatively unscathed with 29 new funny videos!
16. Ostensible
Ostensibly, he wore the make-shift super villain costume to hide his true identity, but in actuality, I wear it to hide from my true identity.
Backward <> Forward
Wordsward
15. Xylography
Why Young Abigail initially ended up on the back porch, playing with her father’s old pocket knife, is anyone’s guess – mine: boredom. But that’s not important. What’s important is why everyday since, she would at some point find herself splayed out on the weathered pine, digging the blade’s word tip into the surface of the planks and blowing the splinters and chips away like they were the flames of candles on a cake not quite designated for a birthday. She didn’t really know the reason, herself. All she knew was that suddenly she’d be there, working on yesterday’s pattern, which was an elaboration what had been carved the day before, and so on.
It was strange to Abigail – she had never much liked drawing or even doodling. She wondered if it had something to do with physical ease of dragging a pencil against paper. When she was chipping wood away, her mind would be so absent of the image – or anything really – as her hands seemed to be focused and preoccupied enough for the whole of her.
Occasionally her mother, whose routine these days was emptying a pack of cigarettes in the kitchen until she felt the obligation to prepare some form of a dinner, would forget to shut the back door. In such instances, it would be common that the billow and escape through screen door’s shoddy wire, and the cloud would distract Abigail, letting all the sounds and sights of the here and now remind her of something big and scary and not altogether real. There was an ever-present darkness within and among Abigail that was difficult for her understand or even really be aware of, let alone explain to her mother or school chums.
Actually, it’s tricky for me to explain too, because I’m not Abigail, but I do know more about it than you. All that I can feel comfortable saying about the darkness is that each etch and groove that was chiseled from the pine was bit of whiteness carved out from behind the mass of pitch-blackness she could sense. However, her hands knew that evening out all of the floorboards to a new, more or less, flat surface would just yield all of the white dim down into what it had been. There was something important in the tactile variance of depth. Something real.
Spin the seasons one good turn and you’ll see Abigail, still young but much older, standing on the rails and digging the knife into top-most trim of the porch, where the design had grown and where it would end.
Eventually, Abigail hopped down, barefoot onto the rough and ornate floor of the porch. She didn’t really know what to do. After a silent meal with her mother in a smoke-drenched kitchen, she decided it might be time to visit her father’s grave.
Backward <> Forward
Wordsward
14. Crucible
I wish I had a gun so I could just blow my brains all over the test and hand that in to Mrs. Bitch, the dumbest, bitch-faced teacher in the whole bitched-out school. I guess I couldn’t technically “hand it in” but I could write my name at the top of it, make a note on the back that says Here’s my test, you bitch, turn it back over, and then blow my brains all over the front of it. This is why I should bring a gun to school. That’d show the bitch.
Who is the author of the work?
a) Tennessee Williams  b) Arthur Miller  c) John Proctor  d) Dr. Seuss
Fuuuccckkk. None of the above? I don’t know. I mean: duh, it’s not Dr. Seuss. I hate it when teachers pull that shit. They think it’s funny and helpful to throw a joke answer in there, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s, like, patronizing as fuck. We’re not idiots, you bitch.
Maybe I would have actually read the damn play if at the end of last class, she had actually reminded us that we were having a bitch-ass test today. I mean, what kind of sick bitch tells you a week in advance that you’re having a test, but doesn’t take two retarded seconds out of her day to say, Don’t forget to study for the dumb-fuck we’re having next time!
The nerve.
What hand-made gift does Mary offer to Elizabeth in Act Two?
a) a voodoo doll   b) a supposed olive branch  c) a poppet  d) all of the above
What the shit-dick is a poppet? Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Bitch, did you forget how to spell “puppet”? I’m gonna say that do her. I’m gonna stand up, walk over to her, slap the test on the desk, point my finger to “poppet”, and ask her if she’s retarded.
A fire alarm starts screaming right before I was gonna do it.
Everyone stands up and Mrs. Bitch says, “Okay, hold on everybody, let’s stay calm and exit in a single file.”
In the halls it literally smells like smoke. And I’m like, hell yeah. It’s like God finally got his shit together.
Outside, everyone’s split off into their stupid little groups except for me, and then firetrucks start showing up. Then another class gets out and I can see Wendell coming toward me, grinning his ass off.
“What’s tickling your balls, asshole?” I give him a fist bump and then he looks from side-t0-side.
“Let’s go behind the old gym. Like in stealth mode, bro.”
On the way, he tells me that a week ago I mentioned I had that stupid test, and he remembered because it was the same day as his math test.
“At first, I was like, fuck it, ya know. I figured I’d just get the hall pass and pull an alarm. But then the next day, I was like, no way, that’ll be so obvious. So I thought since my brother is in town, he might do it for me. And he was like, ‘Pulling an alarm will buy you 15 to 30 minutes tops. If you want to be out of school for the whole day, you gotta set a fire.’ So I ended up paying him 35 bucks to swing by the school, all incognito, and set a fire in the fucking library dude!”
“That’s the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life, man!”
“Nah, this is: I’ve got a fuck-ton of paint thinner in my back pack and you’ve just been elected to huff it with me.”
“Dude! Best day ever!”
All of a sudden, I’m hugging him. I don’t even remember doing it. I guess I just haven’t been this happy in a really, really, really long time.
Wendell pushes me away and said, “Don’t touch me, faggot!”
“Don’t call me ‘faggot’, queer!”
We do this for a while until we’re not best friends anymore. I threaten to tell everyone what him and his brother did. And then he says if I do that, then he’s gonna tell everyone that I’m a fag and that I hugged him. We agree that we’ll both stay quiet, and then he goes off to huff paint thinner without me. I wish I had a gun.
Backward <> Forward
Wordsward
13. Thole
Marvin and Frinkle had just sat down for breakfast at their usual booth, in their usual diner. Their usual waitress, Esther, stopped by the table and gurgled, “Well, well, well – look what the two cats dragged in. What’ll ya have?”
“The usual,” Marvin and Frinkle said. And then both tried to act fast, saying, “Jinks! You owe me a Shasta Cola!”
The two shared a polite laugh, and Esther threw up in her mouth and then swallowed it.
“I guess I’ll be buying Frinkle a Shasta Cola,” said Marvin.
“And I suppose I’m buying Marvin a Shasta Cola of his own,” said Frinkle.
Esther left before Marvin and Frinkle shared another cordial giggle, and then returned afterward with two Shasta Colas.
“Thanks, Esther. Now, Frinkle, where did we leave off last time?”
“Criminy, I don’t know. Something stupid like the meaning of life or something equally as presumptuous, I’m sure.”
“Oh, yes, let’s talk about that. The meaning of life will do just fine.”
“Come off it, Marv.”
“Come off what, Frink? I think it’s something worth talking about. It’s a little out there, sure. But it’s almost recklessly large in scope, so why not?”
“Because then we’ll be a couple of lizards.”
“Look at us, Frinkle. We’re getting old, we’re comfortably poor, and we talk all day long – we’re already a couple of lizards. Go on, tell me: what’s the meaning of life?”
“Nonono: this is your big topic of the day. The Meaning of Life by Marvin. Go.”
“Alright, lets see: I’d like to think the meaning of life is something both unknown, but also somehow always known, you know? Like something wordless, cosmic, and inherent in all things – all materials of the universe. In every subpart of every thing. And in all the subparts of every subpart. Something that’s fuckin’ huge in one sense and beyond microscopic in another.”
A dish breaks somewhere, and Esther wakes up and wanders into the kitchen.
“Scale it down a little, Marvin.”
“Okay, okay: it’s not that I think there’s a God in any conventional sense of the word – not like some king of the clouds or nothing – but, yes, I think there’s something out there that’s larger than us.”
“Like an elephant?”
“Suck on a rock, you son of a toilet.”
“Marv: scale it down.”
“Ah, Christ. Okay, the point of life is to-”
Marvin stalled to smile at Esther, who was approaching.
“The Early Bird Special for you,” Esther mumbled moistly to Marvin, and then set down his plate of: bacon, two eggs sunny-side-up, a biscuit with gravy, a side of hash browns, and Texas toast with a slice of American cheese sort-of melted on top. “And the number four for you.” Esther coughed, burped, hiccuped, then coughed again before finally setting down Frinkle’s place of: four cigarettes, four matches, and an ashtray.
“Thanks, Esther,” said Frinkle, a cigarette already in his mouth. He struck the match, lit the cigarette, inhaled, said, “Alright, she’s gone – tell me the point of life”, and exhaled.
“The point is to grow, to become aware, to learn as much as you can about yourself and the whole experience of life as possible. While! While knowing full well that you’ll never know everything.”
“Oh yeah?” Frinkle blew a beam of smoke at Marvin as he was sprinkling hot sauce on his eggs. “To what end?”
“Are you kidding me? To the end. Death.”
“And what’s the meaning of death?”
“Death is… life.”
“Christ.”
“Alright, hang on a minute.” Marvin dipped a piece of bacon in egg yoke and then in gravy, took a bite, and pushed his eyebrows together as he chewed. “Right, okay, so the point of death is making way for new life. It’s letting everything you’ve learned and felt be added to the whole fabric of everything. It’s about your body becoming one with the earth and your soul becoming one with the universe.”
Stamping out the cigarette in the ashtray, Frinkle should his head slowly, and lit another.
“What?” Marvin asked this with an edge in his voice, punctuated by clink-dropping his fork onto his plate. “Am I not ‘scaling back’ enough for you? Huh? How about you try taking a shot? Go ahead, Frinki-dink, what’s the meaning of life?”
“It is what it is, Marvin. Ain’t no meaning to it.”
“Very wise words, you old lizard. Care to elaborate?”
“Not really.”
Frinkle smoked in silence save for the sound of Marvin’s silverware cutting food into bites and almost chipping the plate beneath.
“Okay!” Marvin stopped dividing his eggs. “Tell me, what’s the point of life to a guy like you?”
“Oh, pretty much the same as what you said. Point is doing whatever you got to do, thinking whatever you got to think… to just… get through the damn thing.”
Marvin thought on this while wearing the face of someone who had to sniff excrement like doing so was his job. Frinkle used the cigarette he was smoking to light the next one on his plate, then slid the last one behind his ear and pocketed the extra matches.
Esther came by with the check and wiped spittle from her chin before grunting and asking, “Either of you boys got an extra kidney you ain’t using? Also, are either of you in the market for a new one?”
Backward <> Forward
Wordsward
12. Valorous
My father had once instructed me to find purpose in a verb rather than a noun; this was the only way to become a noun worthy of a positive adjective in this life. That which lived between these wise words had lain dormant within me for years, not quite forgotten, but never really called to mind either. Until the day my eyes first stopped to absorb her light.
Her. She was exchanging money for a hot dog with a vendor who smiled with a width that suggested he knew there would be no other customers that shone so bright for some time, if ever again. Based on the motioning of hands and the actions to follow, it would appear that she asked for extra mustard, and the old Italian smiled and obliged. A human after my own heart; I carry a travel-sized bottle of yellow mustard on my persons at all times.
The day was beautifully confused: frigid air to accompany the visual warmth from a cloudless sun.
Fortunate eyes held gaze on her as she strode by them. At the turn of a corner, compelled legs moved of their own accord to fulfill the wishes of eyes. This was not a stalking; it was magnetism.
An wisp of newborn cloud touched the line of eclipse, which had previously brought her to the sun and the sun to her, but no more. All subparts – the eyes, the legs – fell back into my ownership, and the trance fell to pieces. While she was swaddled in temporary shade, I could barely understand where I was or how I had gotten there.
Follow? The verb did not suit me well, nor did it entice the sort of adjective I wished to bear with my actions. All this from being enamored of a particularly lovely noun.
Shame would be both my noun and my verb as I turned my back to the accidental hypnotist and began to walk in the direction required of my initial errands to be ran in the city’s heart. The shrill cry of a woman tapped my shoulder, and before I knew it, the eyes were once again falling on a sun-drenched beauty, presently with a gun pointed at her ethereal face, whose change of expression switched temperatures inside the veins.
The lower portion of the mugger’s face was covered in bandanna, while the upper section was sheathed in a baseball hat and sunglasses. He barked at her and shook the pistol in front of her nose until she tearfully handed over the half-eaten hot dog. The sun reflected to me a woman crouching onto a sidewalk and using her hands to smother sobs.
Closer and closer, the burglar ran toward me, mustard flying behind him as a result of the movement of his sprinting arms – a golden mist.
The thought occurred and then was carried out before I had time to weigh the pros and cons. Right hand reached to the left breast pocket, retrieving my emergency bottle of yellow mustard. As the man approached, I painted the sidewalk yellow. As he slipped a little and then corrected his balance, I pointed the bottle at his face and closed his eyes for him. He screamed from the vinegar and dropped the hot dog into my outreaching hand.
“My hero! How brave!” She bestowed these words, these gifts, upon me as I handed the half of a street-vendor hot dog back to her, the rightful owner. “Thank you so much, my knight in mildly-shining polyester.”
“No pr-AH-blemo!” My voice cracked as I said this and I got embarrassed and scuttled away and slept under my bed for a few nights, cuddling dust bunnies who knew nothing of the power of words and would remain quiet until I gave them funny voices.
Backward <> Forward
Wordsward
11. Kudos
She began criticizing her close friends for the meals they would order at restaurants. She would occasionally recite healthy recipes in public as if they were poems. She even started a health food blog. In the beginning, people had merely resented her in silence, but soon they were barely tolerating her obnoxious and rather vocal vanity.
As this behavior continued, no one was returning her phone calls or e-mails. When she went on her morning and afternoon jogs, she sometimes saw people she knew, but they all avoided eye-contact or pretended to be answering their cell phones. And when her friends and family received the Christmas card of her wearing a red bikini and Santa hat while eating gluten-free fettuccine, not one sent theirs in return.
It had been over a year since she lost the weight. In as much time, she had also lost everyone she had once cared about. The initial praise she received for the accomplishment had gone to her head, and she knew it. But all things considered, she was just grateful that it hadn’t gone to her hips.
Backward <> Forward
Wordsward