Because you can’t really call them movies can you? I know I can’t. There’s something about Justin Timberlake in a movie with “dog” in the title that just doesn’t seem right to me.
I wonder what these Hollywood producers are thinking? “Well, he’s an awful musician, so he MUST be good at something! Perhaps that something is acting!” No. That something is pumping gas.
And what about Stomp the Yard? Really? Stomp the Yard? I don’t think that title even makes sense in ebonics. But I guess there weren’t enough movies about a new kid or outsider in a new location having to adapt to his surroundings and doing so by dancing.
Yeah, I remember back when my Dad was in the Air Force. We’d move to a new place and to make friends, well, I can’t tell you the number of break-dancing competitions I won – along with the hearts and minds of everyone at my school. And it’s a good thing I did, because otherwise the money raised by such events would have never been given to my ailing mother/grandmother/dad by my dance-team – the very group that once despised me who now respects me. And my arch enemies? Well, we’re all friends now. Because we danced together. Sure we hated each other and even might’ve fought over a girl, but when you get into your six-step after your top-rock and then bust out the hand spin? Well, it turns even the toughest gangsta into a big ol’ teddy bear. Now that’s the kinda respec I’m talkin’ ’bout.
Maybe our president could learn a few things from these movies. Rather than costly weapons and armor, we could train our soldiers and our new Iraqi allies to be devastating on the mic AND the dance-floo’. Because Al-Qaeda can blow up Iraqi citizens and our soldiers, but they won’t be able to stop themselves from blowin’ up our T-Mobile Sidekick III’s with messages like “Damn Son!” and “YEE BOOI!” and plead us to teach them how to headspin.