When it comes to being a brooding, wildly misunderstood “sensitive hardass,” Vin Diesel is unrivaled. There may not be another in existence actually. Sure, at times it seems like it’s a robot struggling to learn human emotion and maybe some of his lines are delivered with the vigor and pronunciation of Sylvester Stallone after a swift blow from a sock full of quarters. But it’s that type of uncompromising nonchalance has earned him the right to have a kind of gasoline as his last name. How does one become a ruthless badass while still abiding by a complex moral compass? How can you be the most extreme man on the planet while also basing every single decision on family loyalty? How can you invoke both terror and tears?
Having a shaved head and being the physical manifestation of NOS is a start. Using melted down Stacker 2s as arm butter, wearing a white wife beater to your wedding and living your life a quarter mile at a time are more steps in the right direction. There’s something else though, perhaps more attainable and less questionable that may be the foundation of the bad boy persona. Something that won’t warrant an instant dismissal from your current place of employment or cause you immense sadness looking back on what was otherwise a beautiful wedding. The illusive genesis of being perceived as a threat to everyone around you is none other than…how you drink your beer. Scientists have worked painstakingly to extract this essence, and if you follow the steps below you too can drink beer like Vin Diesel.
- Drink exclusively Corona and belittle anyone drinking anything else
- Place thumb behind top of bottle with the rest of the fingers wrapped around the top of the beer, it should feel completely unnatural
- Hold bottle inches off of the table, and retreat completely inside of yourself
- Make small loose swirling motions with the bottle, moving the stale beer around in unison with the thoughts in your head
- Contemplate and cherish the concepts of family, loyalty and lifting for several seconds
- Glance up slowly from bottle with eyes fixated on nothing in particular, thousands of miles away
- Recite thoughtful but clever line leaving the person you’re currently talking with dumbfounded
- Smirk and lift the bottle to your lips, leaving your head completely stationary, your head should not move at all, the bottle can at times be tilted up to 90 degrees to deliver the last few morsels of beer
- Enjoy the incredibly mediocre beer as the person stands there, in awe of how completely badass and unstable you look
Vin Diesel dropped the Fast 8 poster on his Instagram and I can only imagine the circumstance. This has Vin sitting on the can trying to shake a cement protein snake loose, likely knife hitting a line of NOXPLODE and casually tipping back a Corona written all over it. Furious 7 was by any definition a perfectly executed over the top action flick. A true ode to the absurdity we grew up on, with characters that are more cartoon than human. Needless to say the mundanity of the Fast 8 poster shook me to my core…until I looked closer. On further examination this is by far the most extreme poster to ever exist and it leaves nothing up to mystery.
Those water spots are clearly arm butter repositories where Dom and the crew can get appropriately greased up for slow motion walking scenes. The Furious series as a whole is built on proper arm butter application. You see that shading in the upper right of the poster that appears to be a cloud? If you look closer you can clearly distinguish that it’s thousands of cloned Dom Torettos (Vin Diesel), wearing jetpacks and armed with mini-guns, drag racing around the edge of the city. This shouldn’t be that surprising, as Dom was virtually indestructible last movie, being able to clone himself was a predictable character evolution.
And that glowing red tower? That’s actually the smoldering hot knife of Deckard Shaw (Jason Statham). Who during his escape from a maximum security prison crashed a souped up double decker bus into a vat of radioactive material, causing him to grow into a 100 meter tall monster. How the hell do you stop a knife wielding 100 meter tall monster with a background in special ops? Simple, first use the cloned Dom Torettos to distract it. All the while, having the original Dom convince the crew they need to come out of retirement for one…last…ride. Cue monster trucks with huge spoilers Tokyo drifting around the beast’s ankles until it falls.
The Purge is a delightfully average action/horror movie that will undoubtedly go perfectly in the FX B-movie rotation, sandwiched comfortably between Ghost Rider and Iron Man. It’s suspenseful sure… though I think the real problem is every person in the movie is completely infuriating. With no discernible hero, it was impossible and disorienting to try and pick a side.
On one hand, the people partaking the purge looked like massive tools that probably pre-gamed the night at one of those bars that connects to a mall. (see Bar Louie) When not wearing stupid animal masks and creepily skipping around during the purge they’re likely working out at Xport fitness blasting their nipples in a cut sleeves muscle t-shirt. This or trampling children and or elderly at Lollapalooza to Instagram the right toe of one of the Mumfords. I actually found the behavior at Lollap more reprehensible than what I saw here. On the other hand the combination of Ethan Hawke looking infinitely stupid and his sniveling coward son that looked like the youngest Hanson brother was enough to make my blood boil. He makes Zach Braff look like a fully cycled and completely oiled up Sly Stallone.
I also found myself regularly dozing off into varying day dreams about what I might do during the purge. I think I effectively settled on paying Vin Diesel to wheel me around in famed monster truck Gravedigger, consuming several different flavored bottles of Parrot Bay rum and telling him to do as many 360’s as possible in the allotted 12 hours. That way I could purge both spirit and body. This commission would also require that he remind me several times in the night that we are living our lives “a quarter mile at a time.” Either that or go with a more peaceful route, commission Nickelback to perform a live concert at my house, VJ’d by Eugene Levy, that way I could be 100% certain no one showed up, and if they did they would promptly leave.