THE DUKE OBSERVES
PAULY SHORE IS DEAD
PAULY SHORE IS DEAD
Dear Pauly Shore
Here’s the news, pal. I don’t give two fucks in a bucket that
nobody thinks you’re funny anymore. Way back in the day, way back
when, I think maybe I laughed at a couple films you were in, but
to be honest, I probably laughed more at Brendan Frasier or Kid N
Play or whoever the hell you were standing next to. Truth be
told, I never found you that entertaining, man.
Still, I didn’t wish you no harm.
Back when those Punk’d motherfuckers thought it was funny to go
up to you and say shit about “Hey Pauly, what happened to your
career?”, well, to be honest, I just thought that was some smug,
intolerable bullshit.
Did you know those fuckers played a trick on Kirsten a little
while back? Did you know that? Did you know they thought it was
funny to have Her almost weep? They sicken me to the very back of
my innermost nuts, Pauly Shore, let me lay that shit out for you
right the fuck now.
So to recap – I never thought you were funny, I thought you were
annoying, but some folks did, and you made plenty money, so fuck
it, everybody’s happy.
So anyhow, I just got finished watching this new picture of
yours, this film by the name of Pauly Shore Is Dead, and I
figured what I’d do is scribble down some thoughts, since it’s 4
in the A.M and I don’t got no lady-friend right now, so what the
fuck else is a man to do? What else can I do to keep myself from
screaming with regards the sheer fucking agony swallowing me limb
by limb, Pauly Shore? Really, when it all boils down to it, what
can keep a man’s mind off of this bottomless chasm within his
very guts, if not writing a critique of the latest Pauly Shore
picture? I can’t even for a second think of anything more fitting
for this moment.
Tell you the truth, I figure this kinda activity is just a
solitary notch up from wanking into some cold soup, in terms of
Activities Fit For The Soul-Scarred Loner. I’m guessing The
Driller Killer would’ve been saved a whole hell of a lotta money
if he’d just had Bio-Dome for to evaluate of an evening. I’m
guessing The Nostril Picker would’ve found said activity so
bitterly poignant that he probably would’ve never even had to do
that funky chant and then turn into a schoolgirl and then chase a
transvestite around with a dildo.
The Bad Lieutenant would’ve known true degradation, Pauly Shore,
if all he had to do with his evenings was watch the latest Pauly
Shore picture. Dancing round the living room naked in a heroin
stupor would’ve been a Godsend to him, had that been the case.
So I’ll go ahead and tell you all about what your new film, Pauly
Shore Is Dead, concerns itself with, since most likely you’ve
forgotten the fuck all about it by now.
What happened is that, following your brief moment in the spot-
lights of the global media, ie, MTV, you hit something of a brick
wall when folks decided that, whilst it was amusing seeing you do
that stoner shtick the first couple million times, it had worn
itself fuckless by the time The Curse Of Inferno rolled around.
Think up somethin’ new, Shore, was the public’s perception, or
else get the fuck outta my face, which you ain’t even in anyhow,
since I ain’t saw a damn film you made since In The Army Now.
According to Pauly Shore Is Dead, which you’ll recall is your
debut as co-writer / director / producer / star, you were plunged
headlong into an abyss of self-doubt and cheap porno flicks.
This first half-hour of Pauly Shore Is Dead, I’m gonna go ahead
and suggest that it’s pretty wonderful. For sure, you still ain’t
funny, you still think the most hilarious things in the world are
homosexuals and poor people, but I let all that slide for the
first half-hour, just cause you were so self-effacing about it
all.
Watching your eyes glow as that shitty sitcom nobody saw plays on
the telly, and you’re sure it’s gonna be the next Seinfeld, that
shit there was just great. I like a man who can laugh at his own
inadequacies, like this one time I made a joke that my manhood
was shockingly useless to a lady, and although she just thought I
was pathetic, I thought the joke was really quite funny.
So then what happens is the ghost of Sam Kinison arrives, tells
you he’s your guardian angel, and advises that maybe if you wanna
be flung into the stratosphere, what you should think about doing
is killing yourself.
On account of the fear and paranoia and depression eating your
face second by second, you decide to do just that, except the
twist is that you’ll fake it, and then run around in a weird
tramp costume for a time.
There are things in this first act of Pauly Shore Is Dead that I
never, ever wanted to see, but there they are, and I salute you
for the bravery required. Like the bit where you’re wanking over
a porn video. Pauly Shore, I didn’t ever want to think about you
in such a way. You’re a motherfucking American Icon, man. How
would you feel if you saw Lincoln wanking over some porn? How
would you feel, if there was Lincoln with his bare asshole in the
air, trying to get a hooker for to touch him even though he only
has 83 dollars? Sorry, 84 dollars.
This here is one of the running jokes in the film, Pauly Shore,
the thing about 83 Dollars. No, 84 Dollars. It wasn’t very funny.
I did quite the like the whole “Is there a part in it for me?”
thing you got going, though.
Anyway, what happens is that you get caught, and folks don’t like
that you fucked with their emotions in such a way. You’d think
they’d be overjoyed, that they thought Pauly Shore was dead, and
then it turns out he was, in fact, dead, but look, here he is,
not dead at all. Quite the opposite. Alive, you might say.
The Jerry Springer Show has gone from being about I Was Pauly
Shore’s Lover to being about Pauly Shore Gave Me A Disease. The
world has turned on you once more, and this time it’s not even
because you weren’t funny, it’s because you turned out to be a
right bastard as well.
Following this fake-death stuff, to be honest, I think the film
takes a serious nosedive for a while, and you gotta work hard to
keep it from ploughing into the gravel road and killing every
motherfucker inside. There’s stuff here that I thought we’d seen
the back of as a culture. I had hoped to fuck that making fun of
poor people and homosexuals and blacks, I thought that kinda shit
had been swept under the carpet along with sexism and ageism and
Pauly Shore. See, if the return of Pauly Shore, as is suggested
by this picture, is to be the source of many reasonably
entertaining, knowingly self-parodic confections, then I’d be all
for it. Bring it on, I’d say, and then bow and remain silent for
a time, since I don’t know if you know, but Bring It On is the
name of one of the very finest pictures Kirsten was involved with.
However, if the return of Pauly Shore means an abundance of jokes
about white folks saying “Nigger” instead of “Nigga”, if it means
that homosexual folks in films are once again represented as high-
pitched, over-sensitive, limp-wristed morons, if it means that
we're expected to laugh because somebody can’t afford to live in
anything bigger than a trailer, if that’s the kinda shit you
intend to bring with you, then The Duke, in no uncertain terms,
is likely for to say “Oi, Shore, how bout you fuck off again?”
Basically, Shore, I think the whole sub-plot about the crazed
redneck fan who comes after you for to kill your very head, I
think that shit should’ve been flung someplace between here and
Pluto. It’s bad enough that horror cinema tells us constantly how
the disenfranchised rural poor are murderous barbarians, we don’t
expect to see it in a Pauly Shore picture.
I don’t find lines like “He done messed with the wrong inbreeder”
funny, Shore. I think it’s sickening, to be honest, I think it’s
a fucking spoilt rich-fella laughing at folks with nothing, and
that right there is about as endearing as a fella announcing
himself by saying “Vote Nazi, and here, I’m just gonna cum into
your mothers face for a second.”
I don’t think it’s funny that a character tells his son to go to
his room, and the son says “But dad, I’m already in my room.”
You better be thankful I know it’s just cause you’re fucking
stupid, and you don’t think for a second about what you’re doing.
If I thought you had a glimmer of intelligence, Shore, I’d be
fucking raging right now.
It’s evident throughout that you don’t, though, so what’s one
more stupid fucking scene in a film stuffed to the throat with
similarly moronic notions?
Except I’m gonna contradict myself right now, by way of
illustrating your own contradictions. There are a couple moments
in Pauly Shore Is Dead that are nothing short of genius. One of
them is the Sean Penn scene. I never had any doubt of the worth
of Mr Penn as an actor, even when he went ahead and got married
to Madonna, even then I never considered for a second that he
might suck. His appearance in Pauly Shore Is Dead, one of a
dizzying array of cameos including Ben Stiller, Dr. Dre, Chris
Rock, Britney Spears, Carrot-Top and all sortsa folks, some of
whom will probably be making their own …Is Dead feature in a
month or two, his appearance as Sean Penn in a bar trying to
remember the name of Bio-Dome, that scene is the best in the
film. Possibly the best in any film. Would Aguire, The Wrath Of
God have been improved immeasurably had Herzog bothered for to
have a scene where Sean Penn forgets the name of Son In Law? Of
course it would’ve.
And then there’s the bit where the Latin prisoner mistakes you
for Adam Sandler. That scene is just off-the-cuff enough to be
sublime. That scene has some of your best comic acting, Shore.
And then there’s the line you deliver about “I scored some pills
from Corey Feldman”, and there’s Feldman, all done up in black,
standing in an alley-way. For just a second, I thought he might
say “We don’t ride with vampires”, but he didn’t, Shore, and I
was gutted to the guts, is the truth of the matter.
But here’s the thing. Even though there’s the horrible smugness,
the detestable homophobia, the sickening racism, the subtle
misogyny, in spite of all this, I’m gonna go ahead and put Pauly
Shore Is Dead down as a triumph. Nobody expected a half-way
decent Pauly Shore film, never mind a really quite good one.
Nobody thought you had it in you to be so critical of your work
and your persona, nobody. For sure, it’s nowhere near as
intelligent as you seem to think, and I’m guessing you had some
shit like Deconstructing Harry or 81/2 in your head when you were
conceiving of it all, but even though it falls a fair old fucking
mile or forty short of that, it’s still at least as intelligent
in so far as the post-modern humour is concerned as, say,
Scream 2.
I gotta say, credit where credit’s due, man. Your comedy glands
are still clinging to 1993, but fuck it, there’s at least half an
hour of prime hilarity stuffed inside this nonsense, which is a
fuck of a lot more than can be said for In The Army Now.
I just don’t get why you would feel so low that you would need to
fake your death, man. Let me spell it out for you, Shore. There
is a very, very good chance that Kirsten knows who you are.
There's every chance in the world that She was in a video store
one time, and some demented friend of Hers suggested getting
California Man (except in America they call it Encino Man).
Probably, if you went up to Kirsten in the street, She would say,
oh, shit, it’s Pauly Shore.
You think She knows me, Shore? You think She’s read my appraisal
of Mona Lisa Smile? You think She ever even once heard me doing
Of Kirsten Dunst or The Ballad Of The Kirsten Dunst Tennis Ball?
Like sweet fuck, Shore. Like fuck She did.
You sicken me Pauly Shore.
Thanks Pauly Shore.
Thanks folks
Drop The Duke A Line Via Electronical Email
Here’s the news, pal. I don’t give two fucks in a bucket that
nobody thinks you’re funny anymore. Way back in the day, way back
when, I think maybe I laughed at a couple films you were in, but
to be honest, I probably laughed more at Brendan Frasier or Kid N
Play or whoever the hell you were standing next to. Truth be
told, I never found you that entertaining, man.
Still, I didn’t wish you no harm.
Back when those Punk’d motherfuckers thought it was funny to go
up to you and say shit about “Hey Pauly, what happened to your
career?”, well, to be honest, I just thought that was some smug,
intolerable bullshit.
Did you know those fuckers played a trick on Kirsten a little
while back? Did you know that? Did you know they thought it was
funny to have Her almost weep? They sicken me to the very back of
my innermost nuts, Pauly Shore, let me lay that shit out for you
right the fuck now.
So to recap – I never thought you were funny, I thought you were
annoying, but some folks did, and you made plenty money, so fuck
it, everybody’s happy.
So anyhow, I just got finished watching this new picture of
yours, this film by the name of Pauly Shore Is Dead, and I
figured what I’d do is scribble down some thoughts, since it’s 4
in the A.M and I don’t got no lady-friend right now, so what the
fuck else is a man to do? What else can I do to keep myself from
screaming with regards the sheer fucking agony swallowing me limb
by limb, Pauly Shore? Really, when it all boils down to it, what
can keep a man’s mind off of this bottomless chasm within his
very guts, if not writing a critique of the latest Pauly Shore
picture? I can’t even for a second think of anything more fitting
for this moment.
Tell you the truth, I figure this kinda activity is just a
solitary notch up from wanking into some cold soup, in terms of
Activities Fit For The Soul-Scarred Loner. I’m guessing The
Driller Killer would’ve been saved a whole hell of a lotta money
if he’d just had Bio-Dome for to evaluate of an evening. I’m
guessing The Nostril Picker would’ve found said activity so
bitterly poignant that he probably would’ve never even had to do
that funky chant and then turn into a schoolgirl and then chase a
transvestite around with a dildo.
The Bad Lieutenant would’ve known true degradation, Pauly Shore,
if all he had to do with his evenings was watch the latest Pauly
Shore picture. Dancing round the living room naked in a heroin
stupor would’ve been a Godsend to him, had that been the case.
So I’ll go ahead and tell you all about what your new film, Pauly
Shore Is Dead, concerns itself with, since most likely you’ve
forgotten the fuck all about it by now.
What happened is that, following your brief moment in the spot-
lights of the global media, ie, MTV, you hit something of a brick
wall when folks decided that, whilst it was amusing seeing you do
that stoner shtick the first couple million times, it had worn
itself fuckless by the time The Curse Of Inferno rolled around.
Think up somethin’ new, Shore, was the public’s perception, or
else get the fuck outta my face, which you ain’t even in anyhow,
since I ain’t saw a damn film you made since In The Army Now.
According to Pauly Shore Is Dead, which you’ll recall is your
debut as co-writer / director / producer / star, you were plunged
headlong into an abyss of self-doubt and cheap porno flicks.
This first half-hour of Pauly Shore Is Dead, I’m gonna go ahead
and suggest that it’s pretty wonderful. For sure, you still ain’t
funny, you still think the most hilarious things in the world are
homosexuals and poor people, but I let all that slide for the
first half-hour, just cause you were so self-effacing about it
all.
Watching your eyes glow as that shitty sitcom nobody saw plays on
the telly, and you’re sure it’s gonna be the next Seinfeld, that
shit there was just great. I like a man who can laugh at his own
inadequacies, like this one time I made a joke that my manhood
was shockingly useless to a lady, and although she just thought I
was pathetic, I thought the joke was really quite funny.
So then what happens is the ghost of Sam Kinison arrives, tells
you he’s your guardian angel, and advises that maybe if you wanna
be flung into the stratosphere, what you should think about doing
is killing yourself.
On account of the fear and paranoia and depression eating your
face second by second, you decide to do just that, except the
twist is that you’ll fake it, and then run around in a weird
tramp costume for a time.
There are things in this first act of Pauly Shore Is Dead that I
never, ever wanted to see, but there they are, and I salute you
for the bravery required. Like the bit where you’re wanking over
a porn video. Pauly Shore, I didn’t ever want to think about you
in such a way. You’re a motherfucking American Icon, man. How
would you feel if you saw Lincoln wanking over some porn? How
would you feel, if there was Lincoln with his bare asshole in the
air, trying to get a hooker for to touch him even though he only
has 83 dollars? Sorry, 84 dollars.
This here is one of the running jokes in the film, Pauly Shore,
the thing about 83 Dollars. No, 84 Dollars. It wasn’t very funny.
I did quite the like the whole “Is there a part in it for me?”
thing you got going, though.
Anyway, what happens is that you get caught, and folks don’t like
that you fucked with their emotions in such a way. You’d think
they’d be overjoyed, that they thought Pauly Shore was dead, and
then it turns out he was, in fact, dead, but look, here he is,
not dead at all. Quite the opposite. Alive, you might say.
The Jerry Springer Show has gone from being about I Was Pauly
Shore’s Lover to being about Pauly Shore Gave Me A Disease. The
world has turned on you once more, and this time it’s not even
because you weren’t funny, it’s because you turned out to be a
right bastard as well.
Following this fake-death stuff, to be honest, I think the film
takes a serious nosedive for a while, and you gotta work hard to
keep it from ploughing into the gravel road and killing every
motherfucker inside. There’s stuff here that I thought we’d seen
the back of as a culture. I had hoped to fuck that making fun of
poor people and homosexuals and blacks, I thought that kinda shit
had been swept under the carpet along with sexism and ageism and
Pauly Shore. See, if the return of Pauly Shore, as is suggested
by this picture, is to be the source of many reasonably
entertaining, knowingly self-parodic confections, then I’d be all
for it. Bring it on, I’d say, and then bow and remain silent for
a time, since I don’t know if you know, but Bring It On is the
name of one of the very finest pictures Kirsten was involved with.
However, if the return of Pauly Shore means an abundance of jokes
about white folks saying “Nigger” instead of “Nigga”, if it means
that homosexual folks in films are once again represented as high-
pitched, over-sensitive, limp-wristed morons, if it means that
we're expected to laugh because somebody can’t afford to live in
anything bigger than a trailer, if that’s the kinda shit you
intend to bring with you, then The Duke, in no uncertain terms,
is likely for to say “Oi, Shore, how bout you fuck off again?”
Basically, Shore, I think the whole sub-plot about the crazed
redneck fan who comes after you for to kill your very head, I
think that shit should’ve been flung someplace between here and
Pluto. It’s bad enough that horror cinema tells us constantly how
the disenfranchised rural poor are murderous barbarians, we don’t
expect to see it in a Pauly Shore picture.
I don’t find lines like “He done messed with the wrong inbreeder”
funny, Shore. I think it’s sickening, to be honest, I think it’s
a fucking spoilt rich-fella laughing at folks with nothing, and
that right there is about as endearing as a fella announcing
himself by saying “Vote Nazi, and here, I’m just gonna cum into
your mothers face for a second.”
I don’t think it’s funny that a character tells his son to go to
his room, and the son says “But dad, I’m already in my room.”
You better be thankful I know it’s just cause you’re fucking
stupid, and you don’t think for a second about what you’re doing.
If I thought you had a glimmer of intelligence, Shore, I’d be
fucking raging right now.
It’s evident throughout that you don’t, though, so what’s one
more stupid fucking scene in a film stuffed to the throat with
similarly moronic notions?
Except I’m gonna contradict myself right now, by way of
illustrating your own contradictions. There are a couple moments
in Pauly Shore Is Dead that are nothing short of genius. One of
them is the Sean Penn scene. I never had any doubt of the worth
of Mr Penn as an actor, even when he went ahead and got married
to Madonna, even then I never considered for a second that he
might suck. His appearance in Pauly Shore Is Dead, one of a
dizzying array of cameos including Ben Stiller, Dr. Dre, Chris
Rock, Britney Spears, Carrot-Top and all sortsa folks, some of
whom will probably be making their own …Is Dead feature in a
month or two, his appearance as Sean Penn in a bar trying to
remember the name of Bio-Dome, that scene is the best in the
film. Possibly the best in any film. Would Aguire, The Wrath Of
God have been improved immeasurably had Herzog bothered for to
have a scene where Sean Penn forgets the name of Son In Law? Of
course it would’ve.
And then there’s the bit where the Latin prisoner mistakes you
for Adam Sandler. That scene is just off-the-cuff enough to be
sublime. That scene has some of your best comic acting, Shore.
And then there’s the line you deliver about “I scored some pills
from Corey Feldman”, and there’s Feldman, all done up in black,
standing in an alley-way. For just a second, I thought he might
say “We don’t ride with vampires”, but he didn’t, Shore, and I
was gutted to the guts, is the truth of the matter.
But here’s the thing. Even though there’s the horrible smugness,
the detestable homophobia, the sickening racism, the subtle
misogyny, in spite of all this, I’m gonna go ahead and put Pauly
Shore Is Dead down as a triumph. Nobody expected a half-way
decent Pauly Shore film, never mind a really quite good one.
Nobody thought you had it in you to be so critical of your work
and your persona, nobody. For sure, it’s nowhere near as
intelligent as you seem to think, and I’m guessing you had some
shit like Deconstructing Harry or 81/2 in your head when you were
conceiving of it all, but even though it falls a fair old fucking
mile or forty short of that, it’s still at least as intelligent
in so far as the post-modern humour is concerned as, say,
Scream 2.
I gotta say, credit where credit’s due, man. Your comedy glands
are still clinging to 1993, but fuck it, there’s at least half an
hour of prime hilarity stuffed inside this nonsense, which is a
fuck of a lot more than can be said for In The Army Now.
I just don’t get why you would feel so low that you would need to
fake your death, man. Let me spell it out for you, Shore. There
is a very, very good chance that Kirsten knows who you are.
There's every chance in the world that She was in a video store
one time, and some demented friend of Hers suggested getting
California Man (except in America they call it Encino Man).
Probably, if you went up to Kirsten in the street, She would say,
oh, shit, it’s Pauly Shore.
You think She knows me, Shore? You think She’s read my appraisal
of Mona Lisa Smile? You think She ever even once heard me doing
Of Kirsten Dunst or The Ballad Of The Kirsten Dunst Tennis Ball?
Like sweet fuck, Shore. Like fuck She did.
You sicken me Pauly Shore.
Thanks Pauly Shore.
Thanks folks
Drop The Duke A Line Via Electronical Email
