He called me the other day, and told me to get the movie JCVD from Netflix. He went off for about three minutes about how great of a movie it was. In Darren‘s defense, JCVD really is a good movie, and you really ought to check it out. It’s a well-written, well-executed movie, and easily the best thing that Van Damme has put out since Universal Soldier. However, this isn’t a blog about the movie. I can’t do that — that’s Joe’s job. This is a blog about Darren‘s reaction to the movie, which led me to conclude that August has no penis.
When he was telling me about the movie, he told me “I cried. Tears were flowing down my face. It’s…ooogh…”
At this point I felt a terrible pain eating at me. My friend was in dire need of help, and I was hundreds of miles away.
“I only have one request Coons,” he tells me.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Watch it alone.”
“Okaaaaaaay…” I tell him with hesitation.
So I added it to my queue, and watched it. It made Darren cry. I invite the reader to take a bite of sherbet, like a pretentious rich person, to cleanse their pallet and swish that last sentence around in their mouths to savor its many flavors.
Darren cried during a Van Damme movie.
I haven’t cried since 1996, when Rob Liefeld was granted complete creative control of Captain America. I’ve had a lump in my throat a few times since then, like during my dad’s funeral, when I used to tell this one story you haven’t earned yet, and at the end of A.I. However, the next morning, I woke up, looked out the window and said “Space aliens? Really?” and never thought of that movie again.
Holy shit, Darren cried during a Van Damme movie. He has no penis. He must have a Lee Press-On Schlong that he bought at the Halloween store, which he affixes to his nether-region with spirit gum in order to service his wife.
I’m trying to assemble the events of the night in question in my head.
After having a good long cry, he must have went to the bathroom and meticulously lit three hundred candles, making the place look like some lame adult contemporary music video, and used $60 worth of scented soaps and oils to take a four hour-long bubble bath. In this time, he then consumed a bottle of red wine, and masturbated with the detachable shower head.
After his bath, Darren then put on flannel pajamas, sat in front of the mirror in his bedroom, and brushed what precious little remains of his natural, living, breathing hair one hundred times with a stiff-bristled brush. Then, Darren climbed under his 186,000 blankets and fell fast asleep.
This had to have been what happened.
Crying during a Van Damme movie! Fuck! This is a serious misstep — he must atone, and I can’t help him because I don’t know any Level 5 Clerics.