The hope is that reading this list will help you to learn more about Jason Matthews (aka “The Jay’). It shouldn’t be an exercise in bashing my taste. Cause we all like some really bad pop culture (hey Keanu!), and no one should be judged by their guilty pleasures. The idea is not for me to tell you what to like or what you should think. I’m not making a case that my list is any better or valid than any of the other indulgent Best Of The Decade lists (which all suck) that are overloading the Internet right now. I didn’t pick these movies to make you think I’m some cool, with it know-it-all. Frankly, all that doesn’t matter to me.

I’m simply saying, for me, these were the ones that mattered. For whatever it’s worth.

40 – Mean Girls

Was the catalyst for the rise (and fall) of Lindsey Lohan: failed actress, successful tabloid whore, ginger person; introduced the world to Rachel McAdams; tried to make “fetch” happen. This movie had a lot going on.

39 – Collateral

Tom Cruise is more fun to watch as a villain. Consider: Magnolia, Interview with a Vampire, Tropic Thunder, Vanilla Sky. Wait, he wasn’t the villain in Vanilla Sky? But then why was he trying to eat my soul with his mis-aligned upper teeth, serial killer mask and frightening intensity?

38 – High Fidelity

Lloyd Dobler grew up, got way into music and became a manic-depressive. A happy ending? Not quite. But it did result in a smart, hyper-literal movie with Tim Robbins getting a long-deserved beat down, totes supes CZJ side boob, Lisa Bonet singfucking us some Peter Frampton, Jack Black being actually funny instead of the not funny he’s become, the obliges John Cusack standing forlornly in the rain shot and maybe the hottest sex scene of the 2000’s (starring, shocker, Tim Robbins).

37 – Juno

Is it obnoxious writing? Yes. (I considered writing ‘honest to blog there, but didn’t really want to throw up on my keyboard, so you know.) Is Ellen Page too precocious by half? Correct. Is what the movie has to say kinda offensive? Pretty much. But I can’t take away the amazing work done by Jason Bateman, Jen Garner (her scene in the mall is a killer) and Allison Janney. And any movie that makes its male lead a Cross Country and Track star is all right by me.

36 – Old School

“He’s gonna do one!” Nuff said.

35 – Unbreakable

The best comic book origin movie that you didn’t realize was actually a comic book origin movie ever. I miss M. Night’s fastball.

34 – Atonement

If only for the score, the library sex scene and BRIIIIOOOOONNNNYYY! Also? Everything else about this movie.

33 – Moulin Rouge!

I can sing both parts of Elephant Love Medley by heart, nine years later. That has to count for something.

32 – Sideways

I hated this movie for a long, long time. And I can’t forgive the movie for causing a fungal rash of sad bastard men movies to be made (mostly all starring Paul Giamatti or PSH, obvs). But the movie got people into wine, my favorite hobby, and shined a light on Santa Barbara Wine Country, my favorite place in the world. And despite my issues with the story, THIS is amazing writing:

“I like to think about the life of wine. How it’s a living thing. I like to think about what was going on the year the grapes were growing; how the sun was shining; if it rained. I like to think about all the people who tended and picked the grapes. And if it’s an old wine, how many of them must be dead by now. I like how wine continues to evolve, like if I opened a bottle of wine today it would taste different than if I’d opened it on any other day, because a bottle of wine is actually alive. And it’s constantly evolving and gaining complexity. That is, until it peaks, like your ’61. And then it begins its steady, inevitable decline. …And it tastes so fucking good.”

31 – The Queen

A stunning picture, credits to credits. Gets extra credit for making me want to do to horrifyingly sexual things to a septuagenarian. (What? Helen Mirren is HOT. #fact)

30 – The Bourne Ultimatum

For the Waterloo Station sequence alone.

29 – Mission Impossible 3

Secretly the best action movie of the decade. And easily one of the best action movie teasers of all-time.

28 – Pride and Prejudice

The film that made me turn the corner on Keira Knightley. It’s a beautiful adaptation, has the most sweeping camera work, and the ensemble brings it with powerful yet subtle acting. Loved this movie.

27 – The Perfect Score

A perfect 80’s teen movie, twenty years too late.

26 – The Blind Side

The best movie of 2009. And it’s not even close. Saw it in theaters twice, cried both times. The best work Sandy has ever done, and she’s done a lot of great work. Hollywood doesn’t make movies like this anymore, but they should.

25 – Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

Shane Black at his sardonic, quippy, violent action best, RoDoJu bringing the funny, Val tapping into his Real Genius performance, AND Michelle Monaghan topless? How was this movie not a GIANT success?

24 – Zoolander

The movie I have quoted the most this decade. It isn’t a particularly good movie, but there’s not a person I know who doesn’t, every so often, cough lightly in public and say “I have the black lung, pop”.

23 – Taken

“I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don’t have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let my daughter go now, that’ll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don’t, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you.”*

*Gets extra credit for being the only time I went to the Bridge Cinema and didn’t have the worst movie-going experience in my life. What is WRONG with those people? Take your idiot conversations, text messaging and general hooliganery OUT of the theater. There are people trying to watch Liam Neeson kill foreigners here!

22 – The Core

Quite possibly the dumbest disaster movie Hollywood has ever put out, and that includes the one where Dennis Quaid runs away from weather, but I can’t help but love something that knows how stupid it actually is. And I can’t help but be charmed by a movie that has its hero pitch a full-on temper tantrum AT his love interest. That takes balls.

21 – Iron Man

The most fun of any blockbuster in the last ten years. Gets props for casting RoDoJu right off of Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, when no one thought he had a Franchise in him. Made Gwyneth Paltrow fun again (no easy feat). And the scene of Stark testing out the flying mechanism in his workshop is an underrated special effects stunner.

20 – Minority Report

If for this scene alone:

You may weep now.

19 – The Aviator

As someone who has fought (and occasionally won) the battle of obsessive-compulsive disorder, I can relate to this film on a molecular level. And I could watch Leonardo dress down Cate Blanchett every day of the week and twice on Sunday.

“Don’t you ever talk talk down to me! You’re a movie star, nothing more!”

18 – No Country For Old Men

Was the Best Picture in the best year for Best Pictures of the decade. And putting this here means I get to link to my Javier Bardem Oscar post, one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. Done!

17 – Ocean’s Eleven

A compulsively watchable flick, the best star cast of the decade, an instant TNT New Classic and just plain, good old-fashioned fun. Brad Pitt eating in every scene, the wink wink lame ‘happily ever after’ kiss at the end, Julia emailing in her performance, “Whisky and a whisky”, the all of the everything that is Topher Grace and Matt Damon FINALLY making me like him (if not so much his pig nose).

16 – Catch Me If You Can

Some of the best work Spielberg has done in two decades, and it all feels tossed off, making me love it all the more. Haunting, genuine work by Christopher Walken (not easy at this point, if you think about it), the best knock knock joke ever, a game Tom Hanks, my favorite opening credits of the decade and Leo being Leo. There’s something about D-Cap’s work in the 2000’s that hit me hard. He played guys missing answers and trying desperately to find them, which I heart. You’ll notice that starts to be a recurring theme from here on out.

15 – Punch Drunk Love

A mesmerizing movie, if only for the pillow talk.

14 – Mr. & Mrs. Smith

The schadenfreude alone qualifies the movie for Best Ever status. Smith has no business being good, considering its troubled production, and the fact that the movie could have just put a close up on Brangelina’s faces for two hours and called it a day and we would have ate it up, and yet it is. Very good, in fact. The Brad on Angelina fight was fantastic, the freeway gunfight with Truths Revealed sequence was electrifying (“Art?” “History! It’s reputable.”), Vince Vaughn was stellar, Adam Brody got beat up (counts for a LOT), and I can’t get enough of Brad telling Angelina she “looked like Christmas morning”. I’m on Team Aniston, for the real, but this movie almost makes up for her trauma.

13 – Bring It On

The Citizen Kane of cheerleader movies. Also, the only movie Kirsten Dunst has EVER been likable in. And, um, hello, Eliza Dushku in a bikini, washing cars. My work here is done.

12 – Kill Bill ½

Part 1 is ultra-badass, Part 2 is exhilarating filmmaking. Would rank higher if QT had taken out the anime sequence (not interested, thanks), reduced the time Uma was trapped in a coffin (my greatest fear), and eased back on the foot fetish. We get it, Uma has great toes! Can we get back to the swords and exploitation now?

11 – The Notebook

I get that I’m a guy and therefore shouldn’t have this on my list. But you can’t tell me this wasn’t a seminal movie of the decade. That it didn’t change things. You can’t. Gosling and McAdams were the most watchable lovers in any movie of the last ten years. Period. I loved this movie the first time I saw it, and when I rewatched it again for this list, you know what I found out about my love for it? It wasn’t over. It’s still not over!

/makes out with this movie in the rain

10 – X-Men

I saw this movie in theaters five times, maybe the most I have ever seen any movie in the theaters. The movie is not without issues: the ending is small, Halle Berry is atrocious, Anna Paquin makes me Ralph and the pace is like an injured turtle. But man alive, Hugh Jackman’s arms. Hugh freaking Jackman’s. Arms.

Please excuse me while I go do 150 push-ups.

9 – Garden State

I make no apologies for this movie. It’s trendy to bash Garden State because of the weak, cliché writing, but you know what all you people? Go fuck yourself. This movie is GREAT. The Coldplay, the slow motion zooms, the WIDE establishing shots, the Natalie Portman, what’s not to like? Guys ding this movie unfairly because they are jealous Zach Braff got to make out with Natalie Portman in the rain, which is (not so) secretly our greatest wish in life. But we need to get over ourselves. And wannabe filmmakers hate this movie because they believe they could do it better. But if they could, they would, and they haven’t. Braff may be a King Douche, but he gets credit for doing it. And the doing is the whole point.

8 – The Royal Tenenbaums

Wes Anderson, irritating storytelling warts and all, is a singular voice in American filmmaking. This is his best work, and it’s not even close.

“The crickets and the rust-beetles scuttled among the nettles of the sage thicket. “Vámonos, amigos,” he whispered, and threw the busted leather flintcraw over the loose weave of the saddlecock. And they rode on in the friscalating dusklight.”

7 – Wedding Crashers

Any film that opens with a ten minute montage of partying, bare boobs, cake and great dialogue, and then gives us Walken being an oddball, McAdams being luminous, Jane Seymour MILF-ing it up, Bradley Cooper playing a character named Sack Lodge, and the everything of the all that is the stage-5 clinger Isla Fisher, with a truly hilarious Will Ferrell cameo to boot, automatically makes me Top Movies of the Decade list. Hey, I don’t make the rules, I just obey them. So no excuses, play like a champion.

6 – Anchorman

I submit to you the following:

Any questions?

5. Brick

It could be the dialogue. It could be the style. It could be the camera work. It could be the score. But really, it’s about the journey. Of a guy looking for answers. A guy who refuses to just leave it be. A guy who needs to know. And who pays the price for that information.

4 – Harry Potter 3 and 5

Parts one and two are kids movies. Four is easy to digest mainstream snore. Six is too insular for its own good. But 3 and 5, Prisoner of Azkaban and Order of the Phoenix? They’re about something. They have something to say. They are filmmaking of the highest order. Two harsh, magnificent, brutal chapters in the life of a tragic boy, who wants nothing more than to be normal, happy and loved, and continues to suffer for wanting those things and having the gall to ask for them.

It’s easy to write this franchise off because of its popularity, but never forget that this is a story of a boy whose parents were murdered, a boy being hunted down every moment of his life, a boy with the literal world on his shoulders, a boy who can relate to no one, but who never backs down for a fight and will stop at nothing to protect those he cares about, even if it means dying. Let’s see Team Bella do that.

3 – Spartan

I’m a doer. I see a job that needs to get done, I do it. No complaints, no questions. I will go to the ends of the Earth to make it happen. Spartan is a movie made for people like me. Gripping, intense, honorable and the best Mamet dialogue an aspiring playwright could ask for.

And if you ever wanted to pull life advice from a movie, this is the movie to do it.

“You had your whole life to prepare for this moment. Why aren’t you ready?”

“The hardest thing, y’know what it is? It isn’t going in the door, it’s coming out.”

“Why would I want to know? I ain’t a planner, I ain’t a thinker. I never wanted to be. You got to set your motherfucker to receive. Listen to me. They don’t go through the door, we don’t ask why. That’s not a cost, it’s benefit. Because we get to travel light. They tell me where to go. Tell me what to do when I get there.”

2 – The 25th Hour

I tend to respond the most to movies about conflicted characters reflecting on their past, trying to figure out where things went wrong, and considering how to fix it going forward. This is the finest version of that story.

I dream of writing something as beautiful as the last ten minutes:

1 – Before Sunset

I look at my Top Ten and I see a pattern. And the pattern is me. We love movies for all sorts of reasons, but the ones that matter to us, tend to matter for one specific reason. Their story, in a fashion, is our story.

I started this decade as a freshman in College. All optimism, energy and naïveté. I was a hopeless romantic, with not an ounce of practicality. I had done nothing, but believed I felt everything. I end this decade a professional. I am hardened, realistic, unlike that 18 year-old boy in every way. I spent ten years searching for answers. Trying to discover the right path to happiness. And I haven’t found it yet. But I can look back, see the course of my life and understand how things fit. Why they went the way they did. Why I am here, in this place, in this moment, today. Which is good.

But that doesn’t mean I like it. And it doesn’t mean I accept it.

Before Sunset is that story. Tracking your life across a long span, deciphering the choices made, from love to career to everything else. Seeing so clearly how it all went down, but being powerless to alter things for the better. And then, in the most perfect cinematic way, two people are given a second chance. They are given an opportunity to get it right, this time, knowing now what they wish they knew then. And it’s on them to make it happen.

Before Sunset is an escape in the best way possible. It’s fun imagining I’m Neo or Riggs or John McClane or the guys from Wedding Crashers, shooting guns, being a hero, getting laid, etc. But it’s better, and more fulfilling, to imagine getting that second chance. To imagine saying all the right things in all the right ways to the right person. And hearing them say all the right things back to you.

It’s a movie about hope, the one thing I take with me the most into the new decade. The hope that I will figure it out. The hope that I won’t need that second chance, because when it counts, I will get it right the first time.

Movies are and always have been my education. I learn who I am from what I watch. These 40 movies, more than any others, taught me the most about myself this decade. And I will take the knowledge I have gained into the next decade and try to better myself, little by little, every day.

I am smarter, stronger, kinder, and more able to survive and thrive. What’s the job? Find me. I’ve had my whole life to prepare for this moment.

I am ready.

Bangarang!

(Follow me on Twitter @jasonamatthews)

Watch the video before you read on!

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

My power is more powerful than your power.

My funny is funnier.

I’m Scrunchy Von Scrunch Scrunch

My whoa is better than your whoa.

L-I-V-I-N!

My manly is more manly than your manly.

My talent is funnsmartandgreat.

I’m already my prepping my next reality show.

My TV show is more confusing.

I’m hotter.

I’m more annoying.

Your Oscar speech isn’t very good.

My batshit crazy is crazier than your batshit crazy.

Your cleavage owes my cleavage $20 bucks.

My jiggy smells like baby wipes.

Baby wipes?

My better.

My better.

Is better than your better.

My better is better than your better.

Thank you very much for coming.

TheJay.com SPARQ Training.

Just Bangarang It!

(Follow me on Twitter @jasonamatthews)

Birthday wishes go out to Steven Spielberg, my all-time favorite director, who celebrates his 61st birthday today. He may not always make the coolest movies, or even the smartest movies, but his movies are always exceedingly watchable, expertly made and laced with the type of magic seldom seen on-screen. In other words, he makes the best movies.

There isn’t a person in this country who doesn’t love at least one of his flicks, be it Jaws, Raiders, E.T., Jurassic Park, or one of the other twenty-one. His films touch our hearts, excite our minds and dazzle our eyes. He is responsible for millions of kids wanting to be film directors; and the conductor of an even higher number of childhood playtime fantasies (who didn’t run around their cul-de-sac looking for little gold idols and demeaning a tiny Chinese boy, like Indiana Jones?). He was my first inspiration as a writer and budding director, and he remains my favorite creator of movie magic. Even when he makes a movie I don’t like (like The Terminal) I still find great things in it, like the amazing airport set, which I got to walk through when I worked as an extra on the film (which means I might just love it because I’m visible in two shots of the movie).

One of my favorite recent Spielberg trends is his tendency to give himself one and then immediately give us one better as an apology. For every lame-ass Zorro sequel he produces, he gives you the superb Munich, where we got to see Bana, Blonde Bond and Captain Barbossa get their Warrior Jew on and blow up some evil doers (with some choice T&A throw in for good measure). He encourages the employment of Paul Haggis by letting him write the two Clint Eastwood war movies nobody could give a shit about, and then double backs on you with a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick of awesomeness by unleashing Michael Bay and his big mfing robots spectacular (which was actually pretty good!). And even when he gives the geek world a collective cardiac episode by bringing in the Labeouf and dumping Sean Connery on Indy 4, we quickly forgive him when he slicks us up with the “Here Comes Karen Allen” reacharound. At this point I don’t even worry about liking or not liking his next project because I know he’ll always have something coming down the pike that is sure to pwn me harder than Summer Roberts dressed as Wonder Woman.

(I’ve got a feeling that even though the entire blogosphere is walking on eggshells, Indy 4 is gonna rock hard tasty abs 24/7 washerboard-style. And who isn’t at least intrigued by his Lincoln biopic? I love that he always casts Liam Neeson when he wants to free some slaves on-screen. Good ole Qui-Gon is his go to Freedom Fighter; this country could do worse, lemme tell you…).

I’ve mancrushed more on other directors (holla, QT!), tried to Single White Female my share of indie darlings (Wes Anderson, you will be mine) and eyebrow waggled at some flash in the pans (bite my ass, PTA, making a Daniel Day-Lewis flick doesn’t make up for Magnolia. NOTHING WILL!), but I’ve never strayed too long from my love of little Stevie. He’ll always be the one I come back to. The one whose work means the most to me. The one who started it all.

He’s the Joey to my Pacey (Dawson can go screw). The Turner to my Hooch. The Bleeker to my Juno. The edgy stubble to my beleaguered Jack Shepherd. The Hiro to my Ando. The KY to my roughshod pornstar before a tricky desert sand sex scene. The Gwen to my No Doubt. The cheeto to my Britney. The snark to my Josh Schwartz teen drama. The pouring rain to my John Cusack medium shot of dramatic longing. The Keanu to my whoa.

The one who can do no wrong. (No, not even the last 15 minutes of A.I.)

To honor the bearded great one on his day of days, here are ten Spielberg Movie Moments that completely wreck me:

- The over the shoulder pull back to reveal the government base at Devil’s Mountain, in Close Encounters. The first use of what is now known as “The Spielberg Shot”. Often imitated, never topped, it is still the best way to do a reveal on film.

- The trailer over the cliff sequence in The Lost World. So well-choreographed and executed, it comes off like a Gene Kelly dance, as interpreted by Wes Craven. I love the look on Julianne Moore’s face when she realizes what’s about to happen. “Oh shit” never looked cooler on a girl.

- Two moments stand out for me from Jaws: 1. The entire USS Indianapolis speech (“..thing about a shark. He’s got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll’s eyes…”). 2. When the shark drags the first barrel underwater and Hooper loses him in a chase; I love the quiet moment when Quint stands on the end of the starboard walk ramp, holding his rifle and shaking his head, while the sun sets beautifully around him. It was a look that spoke volumes. We’re gonna need a bigger boat, indeed.

- The climax in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, when Indy is hanging off the ledge, desperately trying to reach the grail cup, while Henry tries to pull him to safety. Henry can’t get Indy’s attention, and their grip is starting to falter. Indy’s got mad glory in his eyes, but Henry realizes what’s truly important and gives Indy the lesson our intrepid archeologist has been looking for since we saw him run from the boulder in Raiders.

Henry: Indiana. Indiana, let it go.

That line gets me more than any other moment in the series. A perfect encapsulation of the life these men lead. Man alive, can Spielberg make a movie!

- The scenes of kids trick-or-treating in E.T. As a boy who grew up in The Valley, watching a movie about a young boy and his alien best friend who lived, essentially, around the corner from me (I used to play in the same park as Elliot), brought me countless fever dreams and daytime pretend adventures. The moon shot is still a stunning image, and easily makes for the best production company logo EVER.

- The epic 20 minute storming the beach scene in Saving Private Ryan, specifically the extended sequences done in silence as Tom, slightly deafened from a blast, takes in the violence happening all around him. Arguably the most realistic depiction of war ever committed to celluloid. And the fact that this film lost to a Gwyneth Paltrow romantic comedy makes me sick at both ends.

- The opening credits of Catch Me If You Can, with the Pink Panther-like animation and the John Williams jazz riff. It was a signal that we were not about to see a typical Steven Spielberg fantasy, but instead something far more playful and sophisticated. And it is easily my favorite Spielberg movie of the last ten years.

- The spider sequence in Minority Report. The creepy mechanical crawlers search the entire building looking for Tom Cruise’s John Anderton (the last time The Cruiser was effortlessly cool on-screen). They can’t detect Cruise because he’s lying motionless in an ice cold bathtub. The last spider is walking away when Cruise lets one tiny air bubble slip out of his mouth. And the spider hears it. The delicate double take of the CGI creature is so smooth, so graceful as to be almost unnoticeable. But let there be no mistake, it is a sly stroke of genius. And serves as yet another reminder why Spielberg uses CGI better than anyone else on the planet. Michael Bay better learn himself an education by next summer. Bumblebee taking a wiz on The Jesus does not a classic flick make.

- “Oh, there you are, Peter!”

- The first dinosaur reveal in Jurassic Park. Maybe the single best reveal shot of the last half decade. Ellie is going on and on about some indigenous wildlife and Grant turns her head to see what he was looking at and all we see are her eyes go wide. Ellie rises out of the jeep and then BAM, we cut to the most perfectly realized depiction of a prehistoric animal ever put on film. I can still see my Dad shaking in the theater, awestruck by what he was seeing. That’s the type of reaction Spielberg elicits in audiences. He leaves them awestruck; my favorite emotion to have while watching a movie. And I thank him for giving that to me so many times.

Mr. Spielberg… Happy Birthday, sir. We honor you here at TheJay.com. May you continue to create wonder on the silver screen for many more years to come. And you may you manwhore he she bitch slap all the naysayers and deliver the old-ass Indiana Jones sequel of our dreams (with only minor goofy detractions into LaBeouf Land).

For an absolutely fantastic retrospective of Steven Spielberg’s career, CLICK HERE.

Bangarang!

Even AWESOM-O couldn’t come up with a shittier idea for a romantic dramedy. Hilary Swank plays a girl (red flag #1) dating kinda dumpy, schmoopy jazz man Gerard Butler (red flag #2 – Butler should only play ripped badasses who have no time for music, only growing beards and killing Persians) – which, by the way, like he’d ever stoop to schtupping her when he could be nailing girls who don’t look like they had Julia Roberts-sized chiclet veneers put in instead of teeth (red flag #3), but when Butler dies she starts receiving beyond-the-grave letters from him that help her to move on with her life (red flag #4). He sets her on a creepy quest to wackily shimmy around singing karaoke, get into fishing hijinks, befriend a cranky Lisa Kudrow and further taint Harry Connick Jr.’s rep by dropping clumsy flirt bombs on him (seriously, tagging Debra Messing wasn’t the low point for him?) (also, red flag’s #5-8). Also, it was written and directed by the guy who brought you Freedom Writers, The Horse Whisperer and The Bridges of Madison County (red flag #infinity). There couldn’t be fewer reasons for men to watch this movie.

Butler could be decked out in full Spartan war gear and kick Swank into a well and I’d still wait for it to come out on video. The movie could be two hours of Swank hitting her neck awkwardly on a stool and getting paralyzed for two hours and I’d probably still skip it until it showed up on TNT. Co-star Gina Gershon could bring back her Bounce character and get down with every hot female extra on set and I STILL would opt to see Alvin and the Chipmunks if given the choice.

What I’m trying to say is I don’t want to see this movie. At all. I’ve seen some pretty shite-y romcom’s in my day (The Wedding Planner comes to mind), and I’ve sat through some weepy love conquers all B.S. in my time (hello, What Dreams May Come), but I’ve never willingly sat through anything this heinous-looking before. And I’m not about to start now.

In fact, here’s a list of all the atrocious things I’d do BEFORE agreeing to see this movie:

- Be the moderator at the “Paul Haggis Fanatics Convention”.

- Sit through Million Dollar Baby every day for a year.

- Run a highly-trafficked Two and a Half Men fansite.

- Stare down the black smoke monster after I’ve just sucker punched a nun and punted a litter of puppies off a bridge like Jack Black in Anchorman.

- Have a kickass superpower and run into Sylar in a dark alley.

- Let Alan Thicke drop a Cleveland Steamer on my chest (his specialty!).

- Walk in on Natalie Portman, Megan Fox, Keri Russell and Rachel McAdams celebrating Emma Watson’s eighteenth birthday by making her a woman, and then getting the nod to enter the game only to find I’m a eunuch.

- Be Horatio Sanz’s official taint cleaner.

- Be a steroid mule for the WWE.

- Bet my life on a coin toss with Anton Chigurth (I’ll even let him call me “Friend-o”).

- Go back in time to when I was nine, watch every Nightmare on Elm Street movie in a row, and then take enough Nyquil to drop a T-Rex in its tracks.

- Have my TiVo changed so that the only thing it will record is reruns of Designing Women and Strong Medicine.

- Stand in for Kyle and suck Cartman’s dry balls.

- Sit next to Reese Witherspoon as she reads every mean thing I’ve ever written about her, than have her turn and give me the devil face from Cruel Intentions until I have a massive stroke like the victims from The Ring.

- Get roofied by Aileen Wurmos, but not the Charlize Theron version.

- Let Brandon Walsh give me a pretentious lecture about being a better man.

- Accidentally knock up Marissa Cooper and get forced by Julie Cooper to make that dipshit psychobag an honest woman.

- Have my face permanently set to Blue Steel.

- Have Steven Spielberg tell me I’m an untalented, worthless writer who will never have the skill to write a movie for him, or even something as low rent as a Baby Geniuses sequel. And mean it.

- Piss off John Lithgow until he swears a blood oath against me (I mean, have you SEEN Ricochet?)

- Be in a horrific car accident where the only chance of survival is a combo-liter transfusion of blood from Tommy Lee and Pete Doherty.

- Attend a Blue Collar Comedy Concert.

- Spend time with Shannon Hamilton in a very uncomfortable place (like the back of a Volkswagon).

- Sit next to Vince Vaughn on an 18-hour flight while he’s hopped up on Speed and in a “talkative mood”.

- Force-feed myself Rachel Green’s Shepherd’s Pie (“It tastes like feet!”)

- Share the same needle with every member of the Celebritard club (and Britney is cooking the drugs).

- Fellashe Kevin Spacey.

- Become a Scientologist.

So yeah, I think I’m gonna go ahead and pass on P.S. I Love You. But call me when Butler gets his balls back from the pawn shop and Hilary Swank goes back to playing ugly people. Until then, you can find me daydreaming about how fantastically NSFW Amy Adams would look in a live-action remake of The Little Mermaid, wondering why James Marsden got such a hard shaft in the X-Men movies when he’s so totally ninja, and attempting to add some awesome pomposity to my humble head of hair.

I mean, really!

Bangarang!

So on Lindsay Lohan’s (hopefully dry) 21st birthday, TheJay.com wishes…

1. That she switch from blow and vodka to wine. When you drink too much wine they call you sophisticated. When you drink too much hard liquor they call you Tara Reid. That’s a big difference.

2. That she (and let it be known, I’m aware how stupid this sounds) take a cue from Paris Hilton and realize playing dumb isn’t cute anymore. Fact is it was never cute on Lindsay. Or on Paris, not that it matters. The only person that can convincingly pull of “dumb as cute” is Kelly Bundy and she’s fictional.

3. That she agrees to become Jane Fonda’s padwan learner. Sure, the partnership may lead to Lindsay going to Iraq and shilling for Arabs (Fallujah Lohan?), but at least we’ll eventually get a Lindsay Lohan aerobics video out of the deal, which would be totally worth it. There’s comedy, there’s high comedy, and then there’s Lindsay Lohan in a leotard teaching overweight Heartland wives how to jazzercise. Plus, you know, she might also become a well-respected two-time Oscar winner. Which would be nice for her.

4. That someone reminds her Oscars are not won in a club, they’re won on a film set. And we’re not talking about the set of Just My Luck.

5. That she take it from Sean Combs and never let anyone call her La Lohan ever again. It didn’t work for Puff Daddy, it’s not gonna work for Linds. Don’t make Diddy shut down the studio!

6. That a slew of really hot boys tell her over and over again that pale chicks are cool. Nobody likes a blotchy fake tan. And pale became her quite well.

7. That she’d go back to red and stay that way. If it’s good enough for the Pretty Woman, it’s good enough for the Mean Girl.

8. That screen dad Dennis Quaid knocks some sense into her, In Good Company-style. He’s been through drugs, rehab and failed public relationships and he’s as popular now as he was twenty years ago. So take it from The Quaid, Lindsay, he is all-knowing; like that mutant tumor in Total Recall that wanted Arnold to “open [his] mind”.

9. That she at least consider, CONSIDER, marrying a suspicious A-list star who will turn her into a barely believable beard for a decade then release her from her blood oath (read: legally binding contract) so that she can turn into botoxed ice queen who marries a drug addicted musician but is still awesome because she makes crazy kick ass musicals with Renton from Trainspotting and horror flicks where they’re really the ghosts! And hey, I hear Hugh Jackman might be in the market.

10. That she recognizes the fact that no actress who has ever won an Academy Award has ever shown her snatch in public. Other than Helen Mirren, of course. Septuagenarian snizz is the new black.

11. That she take a note from Macaulay Culkin and divorce the hell out her no-good parents (and maybe even consider going on a North-style cross-country search for new ones. I know Brangelina are always on the look out for disadvantaged orphans.).

12. That she try to convince Rachel McAdams to do a Freaky Friday-style career switch, only when it works, she refuses to switch back. This works in everyone’s favor because who isn’t curious what a skanky Rachel McAdams would look like?

13. That Jodie Foster would slap her upside the head. Maybe some of her awesomeness would transfer to Lindsay through osmosis. Plus, there’s a small chance some of Jodie’s closet lesbianism would transfer as well. Holding knives to Vanessa Minnillo’s throat is one thing, but holding knives to her throat while sticking her tongue down the veejay’s throat is a whole other mind-blowing ballgame. Also, it might mean that Gina Gershon would be her friend, and that’s as fantastic a friendship for her as I can possibly imagine.

14. That someone sit her down and makes her watch Clueless again, a reminder that even beloved teen stars who don’t do crazy amounts of blow, bang skeezy C-list boytoys and put knives to boy bander girlfriends can end up without a career. Sure they may get to make an ill-advised romcom with a young Benicio Del Toro first, but eventually (read: 2-3 years) everyone will forget how insanely hot they were bungee-jumping off a bridge in LA and flipping off a cheating Stephen Dorff, and only remember the ten pounds they put on right before Crisco-ing themselves into a be-nippled rubber bat suit and “flirting” with the star of Vertical Limit. The audience goodwill only lasts for so long, is what I’m saying. And Mean Girls is now more than three years old.

15. That she consider going the Heather Graham route and start exclusively doing mediocre comedies (with the occasional erotic titty thriller starring the lesser Fiennes sibling, thrown in). At least Rollergirl has her dignity.

16. That she behead Hayden Panetierre, lest the Heroes-star take over Lindsay’s “hot young starlet with enormous talent potential and even more enormous Celebritard potential” turf. After all, as it goes in their world, there can be only one.

17. That she start sending Steven Spielberg a fruit basket every day until he takes her call, Ma-Sheen in Wall Street-style. And on that note…

18. That she dress up as a Japanese anime school girl and sleep with Quentin Tarantino. Or make Spike Jonze a mixtape. Or learn Spanish to impress Alfonso Cuaron. Or bring Peter Jackson a sandwich. Basically, that she do ANYTHING at all possible to improve the level of directors she’s been working with. I think being told how to emote by Emilio Estevez might have done the trick, but who knows?

19. That Ben Affleck teaches her to embrace the irony of their tenuous celebrity and regain the public love by being in on the joke. And he knows of what he speaks. After all, Affleck was the bomb in Phantoms, yo!

20. That she resurrect The Icecrotch, if only so that she can do epic, mythical battle with Dakota Fanning in an upcoming chapter of “The Stirring Tales of Master Assassin Dakota Fanning” (coming soon on TheJay.com)!

21. That she knows if all else fails, showing your tits never hurt. Just ask Halle Berry. Early career love, mid-career stall, spectacularly bad celebrity divorce, hit a guy with her car, was virtually unhireable, showed her tits, won on Oscar, became a top shelf Bond girl, now beloved by Oprah. Doesn’t that seem like the exact career track of Lindsay Lohan? I can’t wait to see her in ten years walking be-thonged onto a Caribbean beach in “The Spy Who Loved Firecrotch” while a lecherous Daniel Craig flexes his pecs and feigns interest.

Happy Birthday, Lindsay! Try to stay out of trouble.

Bangarang!

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The date had been embedded in my mind for months: July 4, 1990. On a Wednesday in the middle of an unusually hot summer, Die Hard 2: Die Harder would be released to the public. The first film, Die Hard, had quickly become a family favorite amongst me and my two brothers. We had seen the film countless times, reciting racy lines of dialogue and reenacting brutal violence at an age when we should have been playing baseball, not terrorist and hero cop. When the release date of the film was set, our house went into a collective frenzy. There was no doubt in our minds what we were going to do the night of July 4th. Forget barbeques or baseball games, if it did not entail Bruce Willis fighting terrorists, we were not interested.

The days leading up to the opening night were agonizingly slow. The commercials advertising the film only served to increase my frustration of not having seen the film. The day finally arrived, filled with joy and the feeling of vindication. My patience would finally be rewarded. Little did I know, trouble was brewing. My mother was called into a late evening meeting, we would not make the 7:30 p.m. showing. Ordinarily this would not be a problem since most films have multiple showings on any given night. Die Hard 2, however, was a longer film than most. My local cinema, the only one playing the film, was airing only two screenings, one at 7:30 and the other at 10:45 p.m. My mom arrived home at 8:30, and we commiserated on our misfortune. Being only nine years old, my strict bedtime of 9:30 p.m. would not be wavered, even by the rogue charms of Mr. Willis. I was well aware that the film would be playing in theaters for the duration of the summer and beyond, but my desire to experience the film “right now” was too overwhelming. Clever use of a guilt-trip sullied my mother’s defenses and soon we were off waiting in line for the late show.

It was my first experience seeing a movie that late; my eyes were wide with excitement and energy. The line extended around the back of the theater but no one felt inconvenienced; they all shared my deep rooted love for this film franchise. They let us in at 10:15, and I could barely contain myself. A nine-year old ball of energy, up way past his bedtime, waiting to see Bruce Willis save the world. The lights went down, and I was hooked.

Even at such a young age, I could feel the power of the opening night. At no other time is the energy as high, the audience as passionate, or the experience as genuine. My need to see movies on opening night became an obsession I have been feeding since that fateful Independence Day. My movie-going life was changed, and film’s place in my social life was forever altered. I blame it all on Bruce Willis.

The years passed, and the opening night experiences grew in number. Braveheart, summer of 1995. Watching the movie we all knew what was happening. The first night of the film’s release and we could all sense it. We were watching a Best Picture in the making, and no one else knew. Then, Apollo 13, just a few weeks later. The air-conditioning in the theater turned up so high, I felt as if I was the one trapped in space.

November 1, 1996. Throngs of pre-pubescent and newly adolescent teenagers pack an unsuspecting local movie theater, awaiting the release of the highly anticipated re-imagining of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. I was fifteen, anxious, and surrounded by braces and Clearasil as far as the eye could see. The theater had underestimated the film’s appeal, and chose to screen the film in a theater two sizes too small. Teens were turned back at the door, openly crying at the thought of a Leonardo-less Friday night. As the 7:30 p.m. mark moved ever closer, the theater began to hum with the excitement. Six hundred adolescents giddy at the prospect of watching two hours of spastic, tragic Shakespeare. When Leonardo’s face first appeared on-screen relationships ended. Girls openly wept and their dates hid in their seats. This was not a film screening, it was hormonal torture.

On another end of the spectrum was the Friday late show of Michael Mann’s sprawling L.A. crime thriller, Heat. On an atypically scorching December evening, I decided to turn my opening night obsession into a sociological experiment. The Oxy pad crowd of Romeo and Juliet had taught me that certain sects of people would only attend certain movies at specific times. To this end, I decided to forego the usual mid-evening show, and instead see the final show of the night.

Returning to the conversations heard in my Die Hard line roots, I anticipated a crowd of film-loyalists; pretentious movie-lovers spouting home-made philosophies on the merits of Pulp Fiction as a new filmic-religion. What I got, however, was a collection of individuals so contrary to anything I had expected that all my theories immediately went out the window. Entering the densely packed theater, I first noticed a preponderance of leather. Everyone seemed to be wearing it in some form, be it the jacket, shirt or pants variety. They all seemed to be unusually large and bedecked with lengthy beards. It was then that I realized what type of audience I walked into. This was no crowd of kids. I had come to the late night trucker show, with access granted to only those who owned and operated a vehicle that could double for the malicious big-rig in Steven Spielberg’s Duel. The crowd reaction was unnatural: no catty comments thrown Pacino’s way, no standing ovations or audible gasps. The only sound you heard was the rustling of leather. I was a child amongst grizzled grown-ups. Two hours of crime drama could not go fast enough.

I began to examine the crowds that joined me in my opening night excursions, finding just as much joy and pain from who I watched, then what I watched. The unusually high number of people seated legs-crossed, near the back of the theater, for Boogie Nights. The crowd full of blown hankies and teary sobs for Carl Franklin’s One True Thing. And most famously, the crowd of somber adults, turned stone silent by the effect of Steven Spielberg’s masterpiece, Schindler’s List.

Some of my most profound movie-going experiences, both good and bad, have come from attending the opening night oeuvre of the bearded master himself, Mr. Steven Spielberg. One of the more disheartening times came when I attempted to see Saving Private Ryan with my family, but instead received a lesson on bad parenting.

Standing in line, I listened to the conversations of strangers. No one spoke of the buzz on the ultra-violent opening scenes, or the jarring, too-realistic war footage. There was however, a fair amount of conversation devoted to the agony that was Armageddon, released onto an unforgiving public just weeks before. Sitting in the biggest theater my town’s mega-plex had to offer, I could sense that the crowd of 850 strong was ill-prepared for what they were about to witness.

Surrounded by such a large audience, one does not often take the time to look at the people sitting near you. Normally, I check to make sure there isn’t anyone gabbing incessantly into a cell phone, or loudly unwrapping the four course meal they had hidden under their over-sized coat. For some reason, this time I did not take notice of my neighbors. Preoccupied with keeping my own company entertained, I paid no mind to anyone else in the theater. It wasn’t until mid-way through the Omaha Beach charge, when I heard the unassuming voice of a child, sitting directly behind me. “Where’d that man’s arm go, Daddy?” Like the silences Tom Hanks’ character experiences in the film, everything around me began to dim. The volume of life turned itself down, only one sound penetrating the silence: the innocent musings of a child who had no place in that theater.

He persisted to ask horrifyingly innocuous questions to his disinterested parent. Unable to concentrate on the film, I was appalled that the father felt he could bring his young son to a war film, and then have the gall to ignore his child’s curiosities about the brutality of war. Don’t get me wrong, I have paid good money to squirm through countless bad movies. I sat through Batman and Robin. Twice. I even attended a packed opening night showing of Two Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything Julie Newmar. Though never was I more uncomfortable in a movie theater then when I was made to see the cruelties of war, through the eyes of a child.

An inappropriate crowd can ruin your enjoyment of an opening night film screening; this is true. A child present when they should not be, people abusing the “please be quiet” rule, people booing and clapping at the wrong times. However, in all my years of movie-going, I have experienced one film event that rose above my distaste for loud, obnoxious crowds. An event so joyous that I welcomed the onslaught of boos, claps, excessive talking and young, loquacious children. On vacation in New York, walking down 51st Street, my younger brother noticed a poster of the movie Jaws tapped onto the wall of Radio City Music Hall. An odd sight indeed, we went to investigate. Under the poster, we found a group of people sitting and joking about the film. Now it’s not out of the ordinary to see people on the street talking about any number of things, but I knew this was different. I can spot a movie line from a mile away. And I knew even before my mother asked the man in the ticket booth. Jaws would be screened at Radio City Music Hall that night, in front of hundreds, and I would be there to enjoy it.

We rushed back to our hotel to drop off our bags and tourist garb, then sprinted back to Radio City. The time was 3:30 in the afternoon and the screening was at the magic time of 7:30p.m. This would be a true test of line endurance, but I was up to the challenge. I quickly found that East Coast movie lines are particularly chatty, as I came to befriend several of my fellow line companions. We passed the time by quizzing each other on the film and regaling each other with stories from other film lines. Sitting near the front of the line, we had several people tentatively approach us, inquiring about the nature of our crowd. Upon hearing that we were waiting to see Jaws their eyes lit up and their faces beamed with the glow of nostalgia. Needless to say, soon the crowd was enormous, extending nearly three and a half city blocks. People from all walks of life exuberantly clutched their tickets stubs as if it were the essence of life itself. For some, including myself, it was.

Three long hours passed, and without ceremony, we were let in. Being my first time in the Hall, I marveled at its grandeur. This was the ultimate movie house; high ceilings, wide seats and a set of acoustics that would turn John William’s haunting score into a sonic explosion. Seats filled in seconds. One thousand film lovers, having braved the sweltering August sun, cooled off in the air conditioned palace that is Radio City. And there was still an hour to go.

Naturally, the crowd grew restless. Tens of hundreds of impatient movie-goers churning in their seats like fish caught in a net. Ushers were powerless to stop the commotion of weary patrons. Chants began. The noise grew louder, louder, LOUDER! The entire hall was shaking. Suddenly, at five minutes till show time, with the crowd ready for blood, a small older man hobbled onto the stage. Not a person among us had the slightest clue who this man was, but none of us were interested in listening to a speech. We wanted Jaws, and we wanted it now! Eventually, the crowd quieted. The quicker we did so, the quicker the man would be finished and the filmic bloodbath could commence. The man stood in his place, waiting for complete silence. He took a breath, readied himself, and then spoke: “Good evening ladies and gentleman, I’m Peter Benchley.” The crowd erupted! It was the man who started it all! We were fools! How were we supposed to know that the literary giant responsible for Jaws would be presenting this movie? Every single person in the Hall was on their feet, cheering. This time Benchley smiled as he waited. Several happy moments later, we let him begin a truly eloquent and moving speech about his gratitude for Steven Spielberg’s efforts, and the quality of the resulting film. When he was finished, and the lights finally went down, the crowd was ready. Charged and already satisfied, we could all feel the intensity of what was about to happen. The curtains parted, and that familiar music swelled. For the second time in ten minutes, one thousand people stood in unison, clapping ferociously, until their hands were sore.

The film itself became an afterthought. Standing ovations came with every character intro, and with every utterance of a classic line. People were on their feet, cheering for a film they must have seen dozens of times. My obsession was re-energized. This showing of Jaws changed the way I looked at movie-going. If this many people could collectively share an experience so wonderful and jubilant, then opening nights could truly do anything. Walking out of Radio City Music Hall on that fateful night I smiled the smile of a sated lover. Somewhere deep inside me I could feel my destiny; the next challenge in the race to live my movie-going life. Jaws had solidified the purpose of my mission, and I would not fail. Two years later, I stepped in line to wait for the movie that began the tradition: Star Wars.

This is what we had been practicing for, for years. The opening of The Lost World: Jurassic Park, when my friends threw me out of a moving car, to secure a better spot in line. Godzilla, 1998, when we showed up four hours early, expecting riots, and instead found solitude. All the opening nights, all the lines, from Die Hard 2 till now… all just preparation for Star Wars: Episode 1 – The Phantom Menace.

The plan had bet set for months. We would purchase advanced tickets for the opening night, 7:30p.m show; the only show a true film lover attends. We would skip school, and spend the day at the theater, soaking up the vibe of twenty years of forced patience. The world had been waiting for this movie, and my friends and I would not let the world pass us by. We showed up at 7:30 in the morning, with chairs, snacks and entertainment in hand. Fifteen of my closest friends and family; our resolve was strong and our desire was awe-inspiring. Twelve hours till history… this is what opening nights are all about.

The day went on and the people began to arrive. They came by the hundreds, drawn to the theater like the cars at the end of Field of Dreams. People did come. And like Jaws, the line took all kinds. Adults dressed like Luke Skywalker, women with their hair in Princess Leia-like cinnamon buns. There was a lightsaber in almost everyone’s hand, and an immovable smile from their faces. Never in my life have I seen so many people dressed up on a day that was not Halloween. My friends and I took pictures and reminisced. We were seniors in high school, with the pull of the real world only days away. Star Wars was our last chance to bask in the ease of adolescence. On that day, in that line, my young life hit nirvana.

I had worked for this moment for ten years. Sitting in the theater after ten years and twelve hours of waiting, surrounded by friends and strangers, my obsession was vindicated. I was not there just to see a movie; I was there, like I had always been, to share a feeling. The same feeling I felt waiting for Bruce Willis, or for Godzilla, or Jaws, or Men in Black, the dinosaurs of Jurassic Park or the Jedi Knights of Star Wars. It was the same reason that people were dressed up in Star Wars-inspired clothes. It was the same reason that people had brought posters and action figures and signed memorabilia. We were all there to witness the culmination of our collective line experiences. Waiting in line for all the other movies seemed like a prelude to the time spent waiting for this one special film. Two men proposed to their girlfriends while on line. I spoke to another couple who planned their honeymoon around the opening of the film. I shared favorite movie moments with a grandmother who had taken her young grandson to see the first Star Wars, twenty-five years ago. The power of the night flowed through us all.

I sat with my friends. The same people who had waited with me on lines like this, for more than five years. We had bonded over countless Friday nights spent standing in front of the local movie house, and sitting in innumerable darkened theaters. There was no other place in the world that measured up to the passion, the frenzy, the lure or the wonderment of an opening night film screening. Star Wars was the climax of our fascination. We all understood the power, and we all knew what this experience meant. There would be other movies and other lines, but our work was done. We had traversed and explored every inch of the experience and came out on the other end, content. Looking around me in the moments before show time, I thanked my mother for introducing me into this world. I thanked her for inadvertently making me feel something I never knew existed. For giving me a path to take, that could guide my love of film to a road of realized dreams.

The lights of the house dimmed, the crow exploded into cheers, and I felt that familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach, one more time.

Yippe Kai Yay, Bangarang!

(Follow me on Twitter @jasonamatthews)

Enjoy the list, and make sure to get that envelope post-dated. You do not want to end up sharing a cell with Joe Francis (I hear he cries himself to sleep, but that’s what happens when you have an extremely painful level 10 strain of genital herpes and no soul).

2006 Celebrity Tax Deductions:

Lindsay Lohan: $14,000 for crotch extinguishers

Helen Hunt: $9,000 for forehead wax (and it’s put to good use)

Simon Cowell: $3000 for super-tight, v-necked black t-shirts, and $5500 for being forced to fill out such a goddawful form (he wrote in the margin “What? Is? This? This form is cabaret. It’s the worst form I have ever filled out. Other door.”)

Matthew McConaughey: $62,420 for acting-enhancing supplements (note: this is code for “weed”)

Shia LaBeouf: $100,000 in unmarked, small denomination bills, used as bribery money to the head of DreamWorks Pictures.

Mel Gibson: $50,000 charitable donation to the Museum of Tolerance (I call shenanigans on this one. Attention IRS, this is tax fraud.)

Renee Zellweger: $5,000 for face scrunch upkeep (a job-related write-off)

Nicole Richie: $7.50 for food-related costs (she went to In-N-Out one time in June last year)

Katie Holmes: No deductions, but did attach a Scientology Center-emblazoned post-it note that read “I’ll give you anything you want, just come save me. Please…”

James Caviziel: TOTAL WRITE-OFF (after all, he is the Jesus!)

Britney Spears: Audited for deducting $50,000 for “bikini waxes”. The IRS eventually dropped the audit, sent her $50 bucks, and told her to buy some underwear and never bother them again.

Jon Mayer: $1 Million US government-sanctioned payout for keeping Jessica Simpson out of the limelight (this is worth its weight in whiny white boy angst music gold)

Scarlet Johansson: $4,000,000 deduction for the time spent doing sexy photo shoots that resulted in 13 million “first sexual experiences” by our nation’s male children.

Morgan Freeman: $11,000 for narration-related expenses.

Keifer Sutherland: Deep into a drunken rage (otherwise known as Tuesday), Kiefer went straight down to the Federal office, shot 17 IRS agents, defused 6 nuclear weapons, and demanded a $1,000,000 tax refund. The IRS gave him $2,000,000 and backed away very slowly.

Barry Bonds: Attempted to deduct $700,000 in miscellaneous job related deductions. The IRS told him to go fuck himself and to “buy some bigger hats, roid head” (the IRS are Dodgers fans, as they should be).

Owen Wilson: $17050.22 for blonde shag upkeep, $26,540 for collected Butterscotch Stallion costs (mostly just more butterscotch)

Ed Norton: $800 billion deduction for illegal, untested steroids to get into proper shape to play the Incredible Hulk. Apparently, as smart as he is, he didn’t realize the Hulk would be in CGI. Norton just assumed Eric Bana was that ripped (This isn’t so hard to believe).

Keanu Reeves: Deducted Eleventy Billion Dollars for entertainment services rendered.

Bangarang!

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