The Return To Idiocy

You know those nights where you can't sleep because you've run out of Xanax, and all night your mind reels with unanswerable questions like,

Which demographic is paying the largest share of my grandparent's social security?

When did it become acceptable for seven-year-olds to have cell phones?

Why does the media think that I give a shit about Britney Spears?

The answer to these questions are, of course, the Millennials; all of us who were fortunate enough to be born during an actor's tenure as president of the United States. Some would say that the teenagers alive during this time had monopolized all of America's precious, nonrenewable Irony reserves, leaving little for the newborns to enjoy when the time came for them (fifteen years down the road) to also disdain authority and be generally pissed off at everything.

Luckily, these two generations shared a common forum for social consciousness: MTV. And with this forum came the greatest spokesmen of all time for the disillusioned and disaffected.

On October 27, 2011, after being off the air for almost 14 years, America was once again granted the privilege to watch the adventures of Beavis and Butt-Head. Adventures like getting hepatitis from a homeless person, propositioning a man to let his teenage daughter manually pleasure them or denigrating the music videos on television as they live in abject squalor.

Although it's not the first time an animated television show has returned after an extended period of unnecessary cancellation (ask Seth MacFarlane), it's still the longest period of time from which an animated show has returned. After all these years, what's remarkable about the show is how true Mike Judge has stayed to the original incarnation, down to the show's bluesy guitar opening.

The only things Judge changed about the show are what couldn't have gone without it: the cultural references and the television they vilify. MTV president Van Toffler told Rolling Stone in February that, in addition to music videos, Beavis and Butt-Head will lend their talents for criticism to movies, UFC fights and popular amateur web videos.

Beavis and Butt-Head airs Thursday night at 10 p.m. on MTV. Here's a taste, friends.

The Rum Diary

Before Hunter S. Thompson gave birth to Gonzo Jonzo, he was just another 22-year-old in 1960 fleeing to Puerto Rico after wrecking his editor's car. After landing a job at the soon-to-fold El Sportivo magazine this boozy Caribbean respite provided him with all the material he would need for his sophomoric effort into the world of conventional fiction-writing, The Rum Diary.

Only for a true Thompson freak, the book is saved from its utter plotlessness by the characters he creates (or embellishes?) around protagonist Paul Kemp, a San Juan reporter who occasionally files stories while drinking and fighting around the humid commonwealth. Written in the late 50s and published in 1998 with the help of Johnny Depp, the release of The Rum Diary to American theaters has been long-awaited for those poor souls who chose to major in journalism after seeing Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Like Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club, the film is better than the book. Depp's subdued invocation of the Good Doctor's dialect is spot-on as he chases unfavorable leads and the promising Chenault (pronounced Sha-nelle), played by Amber Heard. There's even a scene where they have a long ménage à trois on a short pier with a candy-apple red 1960 Corvette.

The booze-imbued storyline leads to much fire-spitting craziness provided by Moburg (a perfectly scene-stealing Giovanni Ribisi) a rock-bottom burnout on a Hitler kick who stays with Kemp alongside second-banana Sala (an ever-wise Michael Rispoli) through the demise of their publication and the dissolution of their prosperity.

  
The Rum Diary is the perfect gift this holiday season for those who don't need another typewriter for Christmas.