(a fictional representation of “family movie night” at the Smith house)

Obviously, I was more apprehensive about using this title than a curious dwarf with a paper clip near an electrical outlet.  You know some fools would just click on this to read it, because they think there will be nudey pictures of childrens and/or a blog about such nastiness.  Or they might think it is a Pee Wee Herman fan site.  But alas, like a turd in a freshly stirred punch bowl, I just go with the flow.  I don’t try to stop what comes forth from my noggin’, just like Kevin Bacon breakin’ it down to Kenny Loggins.  See what I mean?

Eitherwho, I’m sitting here in my wife’s new chair – I previously purchased her a couch, chair and ottoman from some Furniture Palace, but I ruined the chair due to a Linda Blair-like regurgitation issue that occurred after me and the subject of my bromance had a “taste of whiskey” that happened to be 3/4′s of a 1/5 of 126 proof Booker’s bourbon.  Right now I’m tinglin’ the keys while watching Kung Fu Panda with the other two higher-ups in the Smith Group.  Of course, this ain’t my first foray into the animated world of kung fu junction.  I’ve seen this flick more times than that hard to detach booger on the end of your finger.  But sitting here watching it on the big flat screen TV – after having consumed some wine and being made to leave a friend’s house earlier than I wanted – I have realized that this is seriously one of the best yute movies ever.

First you got your fat panda.  Prior to this, the only funny panda-related incident on film I had ever witnessed was Tug Speedman wearing a panda head, calling Matthew McConaughey, and Matty mistaking his admitting that he killed a “panda” for him killing a hooker named “Amanda” – Bleach, lysol and lime would solve that problem apparently.  Anyway, this flick has humor as good as any literal interpretation of the Good Book.  Like some dude could survive with more than one wife.  Most guys can’t part their hair, much less a sea.  Who in the hell wears togas and sandals anyway?  Like an eye makeup-wearin’, pierced to the max, chain wallet-havin’ teenager, it’s time to get back to the Hot Topic.

This movie is funny because a fat ass, cuddly panda becomes the most badass disciple of the rodent equivalent to David Carradine.  Dustin Hoffman hasn’t had a better role since Blow-Pop or whatever that flick was where he played the transformer.  Having a Panda be the son of a duck is as funny as a four letter word that rhymes with a male deer.  It’s like it gives adoption the true comedic and heartwarming treatment it deserves, as opposed to that embarassing farce that was Twins.  Of course, Twins was also a movie that exposed the dangers of donating sperm; but trying to convince normal people that a Terminator and the husband of the saucy waitress from Cheers were twins who were adopted and had good lives is like trying to convince a mouth breather to shut the hell up.  Like I thought I was saying, it is great when Daffy’s Chinese equivalent says that he’s going to tell Po (played by Jack Black) something that he has been holding back for a long time.  Of course, you assume he is going to say that he is not Po’s father.  I mean seriously, we all know Po should have figured out that his dad had less chance of being his real father than I have of finding my stomach muscles underneath all the remnants of alcohol and drunk White Castle excursions.  Instead, he tells him that the “secret ingredient” to his “secret ingredient soup” is nothing.  The point is, you can make something special by merely making it special yourself.  In other words, take pride in what you do and realize that what you may consider normal and run-o-the-mill is special to yourself, and that others don’t wake up wearing the same flavor of drawers.  Putting on pants the same way is not a good meteorological term for such a transgression, because there are some people who have been exposed to disease, farm combines and Swine Gout that only have one good foot they can get on to do the bad thing.

Then there’s the part where Po tells his duck daddy that instead of dreaming about Kung Fu and The Furious Five, he was dreaming about noodles tastier than Ramen when you’re starving and ain’t got more than $2.00.  Who the hell dreams about noodles other than a horny chick named Lo Mein?  His duck daddy, however, is thrilled that he had the noodle dream and tells him he is now ready to take over the family business of selling noodles.  Duck daddy tells him that “we are noodle folk” and “we have broth running through our veins.”  He’s like an animated, less angry version of the Soup Nazi. Noodle folk sounds like a newly discovered tribe of well-hung Native Americans.  Saying that broth runs through your veins makes me think the writers of this movie either theorized, or broke out Wikipedia and discovered a malady that would explain why in the hell Andy Warhol painted all those soup cans.  I guess some fools are just obsessed with condensed nutritional products that need to have water added.

The movie is great for purely humorous reasons, too, like Po – who flies into an arena on a firecracker-laced lawn chair, and is mistakenly picked as the “Dragon Warrior” – eating when he gets upset.  Who among us hasn’t downed a box of Ding Dongs because you heard the door bell ring when someone you were trying to avoid showed up?  Do you think that Taco Bell would be more successful if Valium, Xanax and Lortabs were abundant and legal to all?  Taco Hell no.  That damn Mexican equivalent of a fast food colonic event is only in business because peoples lives ain’t a bed full of Guns N’ Roses.  If you weren’t having some issue in your life – like a bad day at work, significant other problems, taxes or a pimple in a nether region that you’re losing your mind over – why in the hell would you go to a place that has to make up a fake chicano desert like cinnamon twists?  Mexicans have already thought up a dessert.  It’s called Tequila, you dumbass.  My friend Octavio has told me the average Mexican does not have access to sweet spices.  In other words, if it ain’t laced with some kind of hot pepper-like granules, it don’t make it across any border.  Eating when your upset is like the only trait that everyone of us shares.  If you’re festivally plump, you eat whenever you can.  But everyone turns it on like a faucet being used to waterboard an innocent alleged terrorist in our own little slice of Cuba when the fudge hits the fan.  Even if you’re skinny, you’ve got more caloric vices than Crockett and Tubbs, but you’ve just got the metabolism fairy on your side.  That bitch is persnickety and only blesses those who smoke like it was actually Kool, or others who actually quit eating when they get full.  There are also those that are immune to the ravages of a consistent diet of corndogs, pizza, outside-a-bar cart food and Fruity Pebbles.  It’s like they are the skinny persons equivalent to Sidney Portier when it comes to Malaria.  Or the Grim Reaper when it comes to Sickle Cell Anemia.  I’ve always thought quitting when you got “fool” meant you ate until someone called you an idiot.

This flick is also inspiring because the lard ass Po beats the phlegm out of a more muscled up, mojo-havin’ Lepoard at the end to show that – no matter what you look like on the outside – you can make a difference while being the target of fat jokes along the way.  He’s like the animated equivalent of Rocky Balboa for lard asses.  At the end, when Po meets up with the leopard – and remembers all that he was taught -  he uses his gut and big fat ass to beat the animal equivalent of Bruce Lee.  At that moment, Fat asses like me across the world started to believe that we too can prevail in any situation, no matter if the odds are more slim than you were in 3rd Grade.

Kung Fu Panda is like a comedic and spiritual call to arms for all of us that are headed north of the Mason-Dixon waistline.  It is saying “Hey, being funny when you’re fat ain’t hard.”  You fart more, jiggle when you walk (which makes you look like an all-weather Jell-O snowman), and make everyone else at the gym laugh their tight asses off when you show up looking for the doughnut table before hitting the treadmill.  It teaches us that you can be fat, funny and get some shit accomplished if you put your gut to it.  There’s not a movie out there that has been more humorous, yet inspiring for fat people like myself since The Nutty Professor – the one with the formerly hardcore and funny Eddie Murphy, who decided wearing leather outfits, cussing and telling people like they hoped it ain’t wasn’t the proper career route.  So he turned to the Family Side of the Force, like some kind of formerly funny Jedi that got sucked in by the heavy cash of soft, non-controversial puss films that the whole family could not only enjoy, but quote at church.

Kung Fu Panda ain’t just about making funny noises, pulling your sack while trying to kick something at a level higher than your bean pod, or punching through brick walls with an ice cream cone in your hand.  It’s about believing in yourself, and no matter what the odds, giving it the best that you can.  Thank God that movie is funny too, because all this meaningful message shit usually either makes me start writing about how lame the theory behind it is, or drink another bottle or two of wine.

Tonight has turned out to be more of a win-win situation than a menage-a-strange with the Double Mint Twins.  If I nude any more, you’d be able to fingerprint my scrotum.  Indians liked poles whose nature was totum.  If I wasn’t bein’ sincere, I’d have cauliflower ear.  Every once in a while, I start rhymin’ like the yoddlin’ fewl on the Price Is Right was climbin’.  I need to stop, drop, and roll on outta here.