Hosers Are Back

_Terry and Dean of Fubar_

around" he says at the kitchen table with his giant fuckin’ eyes, "and you’re livin’ in a shed wonderin’ ‘Where did my fuckin’ parents go?’" Oh sorry, Little Lord Fauntleroy MacKenzies, there’s no pratfall. The guy got fucked real royal like by his parents and that’s the end of the scene. Trailer Park Boys is more than a sneak peek into the capital of east-coast hoserdom, fuck. It’s more like a soap opera where, instead of Tiffany breaking up with Brad because he fuckin’ crashed the yacht or whatever, we have Trixie dumping Ricky because he lives in Julian’s car and is only growing three pot plants in the back seat (she has a kid to feed). Hey, TV show executives! Check the fuckin’ economics reports. I haven’t ever crashed even a canoe, fuck. Fubar’s another movie where you can tell the hosers who did it know what the fuck they’re talkin’ aboot. It’s aboot two hosers who have decided to keep given’ ’er right smack-dab through adulthood. Is that not a noble pursuit? It isn’t? Let’s see…getting fuckin’ hammed all day and fuckin’ chicks ’til you pass out is pathetic? Yeah, OK, that’s why every rich dude from fuckin’ Mick Jagger to Keith Richards has been doing for the past 50 years. Are ya getting it yet? These three new hoser films perfectly sumantify everything that Bob and Doug totally fucked up. Being a hoser is not aboot being a laughingstock. It’s about never giving up and partying forever. Fuck work. Like BTO said, "Takin’ care of business, every day. Takin’ care of business, every way." Fuck, in Fubar, when the Deaner realizes he has to have his ball removed, he gives a toast to his left nut, pours out a bit of brew and says, "To my left nut. See you later, little buddy." While Bob and Doug MacKenzie are drinking nonalcoholic beers with Mickey Mouse, The Deaner is willing to walk straight into cancer, fuckin’ brew in hand and a fuckin’ grin from ear to ear. You can laugh at a bunch of bangers brewing BTs and shotgunning two- fours all day, but guy, they are p-a-r-t-y-i-n-g. What are you doing? Unless you’re Maurice "The Rocket" Richard your life is about one–one hundred-thousandth as fun as a hoser’s. Just you keep sitting there in your cubicle wishing for Friday while we hosers keep fuckin’ givin’ ’er 24--7, 365, 1,000!