The Adventures Of Twisp And Catsby
We had hit up the View Askew site - partially because Kevin Smith is our lord and savior, but also because we were curious to see what information there was about the film Jersey Girl. The movie in question apparently wasn’t made for critics, which struck us as a rock-solid strategem. This culminated in the direct application of that principle to our own work, which produced something very much like what we would have done anyway. It may be impolite, but the weight of a perfect stranger’s sour opinion on our work is approximately nothing.
Apparently Kevin Smith has sold out though, claims the chorus, for producing a film which does not refer to oral sex. The movie may be bad for any number of reasons, I honestly don’t know - like many other people I have not seen it. I don’t know that I ever need to. However, I’m not sure what selling out has to do with anything. I have a feeling that Kevin Smith pretty much does whatever the fuck Kevin Smith wants to do. Maybe you haven’t seen Jay And Silent Fucking Bob Strike Back, where he and his friends just kind of fucked around while the cameras rolled. Oh yeah, he’s a part of the fucking machine.
I have a feeling he’s getting older and that he would like to make a different kind of movie than he has typically done. Yet it falls upon people who don’t know the man to determine his secret heart via their infallible methods of detection and find him wanting.
We receive the same stern appraisals, which always grips me with consternation. I honestly don’t know what selling out is supposed to mean anymore, the term is leveled with such regularity. I was under the impression that it meant that your principles were for sale, that an indeterminate sum had changed hands and now you were under command. You can actually be a completely independent webcomic and not pass muster. Now it appears to involve infractions of some impossibly austere, orthodox hipster code, complete with constant play-by-play analysis by psychic forum trolls and betrayed fans who gleefully plot the coordinates of your downward trajectory.
Switching gears, I wrote a short poem about Scott Kurtz being eaten by a crocodile, entitled “Someone Please Help, Scott Kurtz Is Being Eaten By A Crocodile.”
“It hurts,” thought Kurtz, while being chewed
“It is, of course, considered rude
To speak while one is eating, but
Mightn’t one speak, when they are food?”
you have to synthesize