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Posts Tagged ‘divine justice’

History hasn’t been kind to Hitler. And rightly so, of course. But the depth of study into his upbringing and the intense examination into his past have revealed some not-so-flattering facts and birthed some not-so-fortunate theories about the dictator. Some of these theories border on wild speculation while some are more verifiable, but if you believe all the Hitler experts out there, he was basically a syphilitic, mentally-disabled, insecure drug-addict who raped his niece and obsessed about his own feces.

It’s our nature to want to make him more monster than human, so a lot of these theories should probably be taken with a grain of salt, but one thing the experts agree on as being factually accurate: Hitler had an agonizing flatulence problem.

“Spasmodic stomach cramps, constipation and diarrhea, possibly the result of nervous tension, had been Hitler’s curse since childhood and only grew more severe as he aged.”

It seems as if he was in a constant state of fart. His quack doctor tried to remedy the problem with snake-oil pills — whose main ingredient was strychnine — which Hitler gobbled down 16 times a day. Some experts even point to evidence that he showed serious signs of strychnine poison toward his bitter end, leading us to the startling and ironic realization: Hitler very nearly gassed himself to death.

Albert Speer recalled that the Führer, ashen-faced, would leap up from the dinner table and disappear to his room.

Does Hitler’s gastro-intestinal torment even come close to making up for his legacy of terror? Obviously not, but it’s a small little victory to imagine him walking around in a cloud of his own flatulence, like Pig Pen from the Peanuts. As if his own body wanted to constantly remind him that he was literally rotten to the core.

His Kampf

Hitler’s flatulence problem was effing awesome.


Congo, the Movie

The 90’s were good to Michael Crichton. Jurassic Park was a ginormous success in every aspect. He sold millions of books about nerdy high-tech concepts that most Americans would have been otherwise unable to comprehend. The movie adaptation of his novel Disclosure had Demi Moore AND Michael Douglas in it ferchrissakes — two of the most 90’sy actors who ever existed. He was at the top of his game. Enter: Congo, the Movie.

Congo the book is the story of an ape who can speak sign-language, craves martinis, and helps some flailing scientists locate a secret long-lost city in Africa where diamonds practically rain from the sky and a tribe of lethally-trained murderous monkeys can smoosh your brains into pudding with a deadly melee attack involving clay tablets. Even on paper it was ridiculous. So let’s make a movie out of it!

Rather than tone down the conceptually bonkers book for the big screen, the filmmakers decided to amp the crazy up a few notches, and then hired the most inappropriate cast imaginable. Suddenly volcanoes are erupting and lava is flowing and Amy The Talking Gorilla is saving the stupid humans from a demise of their own making (in addition to the murderous monkeys, corporate greed is the evil beast this time around). By the time Laura Linney is shooting satellites out of the sky with a makeshift laser-diamond-rifle, well… you can’t help but shed a tear or two, and thank the Lord above that there was enough cocaine in the world to fuel the mind of any screenwriter who could concoct such a huge pile of festering crap.

Congo: The Movie is everything Michael Crichton ever deserved.

So why is it awesome? Well, because as it turns out, Michael Crichton, who wrote the subpar novel and watched as it was made into one of the most ludicrous travesties of all time, was also kind of a douchebag. When he wasn’t believing his own hype and acting like a know-it-all in every single interview he’s ever given, he was denying global warming and climate change, basically suggesting that he, THE GREAT MICHAEL CRICHTON, purveyor of trash science and savior of all humanity, knew better than 99% of actual educated climatologists.

So basically, there is the hope that the epic failure that is Congo, the Movie managed to knock Michael Crichton down a peg or two. A guy like that needs a wake up call of his own fallibility from time to time. Of course, he was also reminded of his own mortality when he died in 2008. But no one should want to dance on the grave of a deceased author who made millions of people happy, so we’ll just sit back and let Congo do it for us. Plus, it’s just so painfully awful in every single regard that it’s almost fun to watch.

Congo: The Movie is effing awesome.


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