This is a first installment of Pillow Babble in months. It’s good to be back. In bed. Goodnight!

Here’s a forgotten commercial about how to make a giant sandwich after you’ve murdered your entire family.

Seasons greetings, internet realm! Jerry Bloop here wishing everyone a safe and Jerry Christmas!

The sooner we’re spending every waking minute protecting our women and rations from marauding mutants, the sooner we’re not spending our money and time on cinematic feces starring a washed-up Scientologist who squandered his own comeback, a guy who went from starring in Fargo to slumming it in Jurassic Park III, a racist one-man minstrel show, and a comedian whose best role is unseen as the voice of a computer-generated space ranger.

I mean, holy fuck, who signed off on a cast this fucking random?!

Well, fuck, RANDOM is the word to describe Wild Hogs! From start to finish it’s loosely connected bullshit, like the script was written on Post-It notes during the shoot. Which, I’m sure it was! It’s all overacting, yelling and screaming and – get this! — none of it’s funny or entertaining, and it drags on forever!

If you find random shots of a guy singing “Don’t you think your girlfriend is hot like me” to be funny, you’ll love this. If you think an hour-long scene in which a bull chases after our daring heroes while shitty banjo music plays, then slap your knees and throw popcorn all over your awful, plaid carpet.

If you think four guys, naked, in a hot spring for far too long is the zenith of Comedy Mountain, then buy rush tickets to Jeff Dunham’s next show because you’re a fucking idiot.

PANDERING is another word. Or is it pathetic? Ah, either one. Peter Fonda shows up at the end to defuse the situation – Oh yeah, our silly “wild hogs” manage to upset some “real” bikers and they threaten to beat everyone up. OK, whatever. But hey, get it?! Peter Fonda’s in it because he was in movies about bikers while he was in his prime! He just looks happy to be working!

And y’know how they’re saying, more than ever, that actresses have no decent roles in Hollywood? To prove it, you need not look any further than Marisa Tomei. She’s played the same damn character for the past decade, shit, her entire career! Maybe? Sure.

Tomei always plays the Loser’s Girlfriend. In Anger Management, she’s Adam Sandler’s girlfriend for some reason. I guess because he plays the same character in every movie he’s in, too, so that makes sense. In the first shot of Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead she’s fucking Philip Seymour Hoffman, his flabby ass pounding away, wheezing, exhausted, fretting over drugs or banana sundaes or whatever.

Then, in The Wrestler, the Oscar-winning Loser movie, she takes a risk and plays the Loser’s Almost Girlfriend. They never actually seal the deal in that one, which is probably the reason why it was pretty okay. I mean, I was totally rooting for Randy the entire way, except when it came to banging her amazing 40-year-old butt. That just wouldn’t have been realistic at all! But holy crap, her body, man. She has a better figure than women half her age, man, it’s ridiculous. I feel BAD for all you 20somethings, fuck, hit the gym, your thighs disgust me.

Oh god, where was I…?

Oh yeah, so she’s William H. Macy, the wimpy loser’s love interest in this. Another hour of the movie is dedicated to their courtship, so that’s like, a subplot I guess. Or a plotplot, since there’s really nothing else going on besides Ray Liotta wanting to kill them. Oh shit, yeah, our friend Ray Liotta’s in the same fucking movie. Like Tomei, he’s stuck in a rut. All he does is yell and stare as hard as he can at people, and he does it to considerable length here and it’s painful to watch. I’d rather floss my teeth with razor wire than put up with more of Liotta’s bullshit.

So after Liotta tries to punch Macy’s teeth in, Fonda shows up and is all, “HEY GUYS LET’S GET ALONG!” and that magically fixes everything. Then, we’re treated to a scene of our heroes riding their HOGS down a sunny strip lined with bikini babes as The Beach Boys plays on the soundtrack. Cue one more stupid gag. Cue wild applause.

Wild HOG applause.

Y’know, the biggest disappointment of 2009 was, out of all those hundreds of celebrity deaths, no one involved with Wild Hogs kicked the bucket. You’d think the Law of Averages or something would be on my side here, but I guess not.

Even if Tim Allen and everyone suffered explosive leukemia tomorrow Wild Hogs would still exist in the DVD collections of morons across the world. It would still be played in syndication on FX every fucking Tuesday. Right inbetween Fantastic Four 2: Rise of the Silver Surfer and The Day After Tomorrow. Thanks, idiots. Thanks for keeping ball jokes, middling gay jokes and Travolta’s career alive.

Ride on, you pioneers. Right over the edge of a volcano.

***Tim Magus is Julius Bloop’s film reviewer. Visit his website – Grump Factory***

A lot of people seem to be confused about what a hipster is. Here is a surefire way to differentiate the hipsters from the weirdos

I want to thank everyone for supporting Julius Bloop during this era. It is time to move forward. Please welcome Camela with open arms. You will be seeing her from now on!

If the world is my oyster – I must be allergic to shellfish. I’m either the loneliest rich guy in the world or the richest lonely guy in the world.

My servants often ask me to smile but staying awake is exhausting enough, Jeeves. Sure, I’ve led a privileged life – my father was a great mother and my mother was a great brother. When they passed away in that horrible yachting accident, I was left with the family fortune and ownership of the fortune cookie factory.

Yet, here I am in megalomaniacal misery. Sitting on my diamond beanbag, petting my stupid pet tiger and waiting for the sun to take its daily space nap.

Nobody needs my help at the factory – the fortunes are written by computers and robots make the cookies. I don’t even sign the paychecks anymore because my third wife took that as part of our settlement. The judge said she has better girl handwriting on account of her organic reproductive organs. I guess my synthetic breasts didn’t come with a handwriting application.

All the kids I’ve sired over the years have either moved away or live in a remote wing of my mansion where I can’t seem to find them. I’m positive my son Xavier created a series of candlestick levers and sliding bookshelves to hide from me and I suspect my daughter Bernice is living in the center of that new hedge maze in the backyard.

Who needs family when you have hobbies, right? Unfortunately, I’ve mastered everything from plate spinning to cross-dressing and I couldn’t be less fulfilled. Even vacationing at this point seems like a needless hassle. Do you know what the Earth looks like from the peak of Mount Everest? A bunch of clouds – it’s pretty dumb.

Thankfully, there are a couple outlets I still enjoy from time to time – one being my three-story bouncy castle stocked with topless babes. I got a great deal on some former Barker Beauties from The Price Is Right and they stay relatively civil if you feed them the occasional can of Emerald Nuts.

Another remaining passion of mine is the smash-y room. Basically, I take things poor people need, like food or cars and I flamethrow them to oblivion. Typically, I’ll run over the remains with a steamroller but sometimes I drop an anvil from a crane and watch everything go BOOM!

I’ve decided to move out of this mansion, though. The servants hound me endlessly and I feel like the contractors I hired are re-modeling rooms as they see fit. I like pillows as much as the next gent but why cover the walls with them?

So I’ll start anew. Donate my savings to one of those underdeveloped countries you hear about on the news when your maid lets you watch TV. There are plenty of options out there for a guy like me. I know I can find my niche as soon as I find the key to this jacket.

Thanks to everyone who has subscribed to my YouTube channel and commented on my videos. I really appreciate your feedback and support. If you would like a Julius Bloop T-shirt please let me know. It’s one of a kind, ya weirdo!