Hmmm, the first episode where Blonde Journalist Girlfriend doesn’t appear – and is barely even mentioned, in fact – turns out to be the best of the season so far. Just a coincidence? Correlation does not imply causality, my little scientists. Just ask our friend, Dr. Bunsen Jude, The Science Dude. He’s basically Bill Nye the Science Guy, except his show still exists in 2010 and he looks like David Alan Grier.
Bro, we got a meta-crossover situation here! Last night, Bones took an extended trip to the Jersey Shore-verse, peopled by tan muscle-bound idiots and the women who fight with/over them. It all started when a beach prospector found a particularly horrible-looking dead body on the beach. (When you retire, don’t you want to be the freaky old man who brings a metal detector to the beach?) The corpse was decomposing faster than usual: “Catastrophic Cellular Mycosis,” said Brennan.
Meet Hannah: war correspondent, multiple Peabody winner, wounded thrice for the greater glory of journalism, metaphorical kicker of Christiane Amanpour’s metaphorical ass, lover of Booth, and all-around mastodon in the room. Her face fits comfortably in the golden ratio. She’s like Lois Lane with blonde hair and an untraceable accent, and in just a few scenes, she took the new season of Bones into some treacherous territory.
The sixth season of Bones began with a series of terrifying sights. A freakish toddler skeleton. Sweets’ grody facial hair. The least convincing Afghanistan in TV history. We were crosscutting between the old Jeffersonian gang, who were scattered all around the world after May’s emotion-imploding finale. (We didn’t get to see Hodgins and Angela in Paris.
Give the Dogg a bone: Snoop’s portrayal of zombified gangsta Jimmy Bones echoes the sadistic cool of horror titans like Krueger and Myers. In the 1970s, Bones, a benevolent hustler who actually walked around the hood handing out cash, was killed by crack-slinging rivals. When some meddling kids aim to turn Bones’ Amityville-style townhouse into a dance club, a beast is resurrected that only Pam Grier, his baby’s mama, can tame.
Bones, a creepy-crawly horror movie starring Snoop Dogg as a ’70s ghetto crime stud who comes back as a bad-mutha ghost. It’s trash, but trash made with the oozy psychedelic zest of a movie like ”A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors.” Snoop invests snarling meanness with as much authority as Clint Eastwood used to.
The dog, a black husky, has dirty matted hair and eyes that glow like cherry-red Jolly Rancher candies. Your basic rabid devil dog, in other words. But then it opens its mouth, and – how can I put this tastefully? Frankly, I can’t – it projectile-vomits a swarm of wriggly live maggots, which proceed to rain all over a dance floor of writhing young partiers. All together now: Eeewwww!
(H)OOPS In what seems like a rare case of a publisher canceling an author’s book deal because he didn’t have time to go on a promotional tour, Ballantine Books has rescinded Justin Timberlake’s seven-figure deal to publish the ‘N Sync singer’s literary debut, ”Inside Drive: A Novel of Basketball, Life and Love.” ”We felt very strongly that we needed him to be able to go out on the road and do national media appearances and bookstore events,” a Ballantine spokeswoman told the Associated Press.
Talk about out of this world. Kevin Spacey’s alien dramedy ”K-PAX” topped the box office charts this weekend with an impressive $17.5 million, according to estimates.
Four kids planning to open a nightclub in a decrepit building on the wrong side of the tracks run afoul of ghosts. Fortunately, local clairvoyant Pam Grier is on hand to bitch-slap the evil dead.
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