I was going to post this yesterday, but it was April Fool's Day and no one can take anything you fucking say seriously. So, here's what I was going to post: Dear Tyler Perry, Just fucking retire already. Your friends, Honkeys. I mean, honestly. Tyler Perry. Let's be honest with one another. Every movie, every television show, every cartoon you have ever done or had any say in is exactly the same. As if naming them different things is somehow going to miraculously trick people into watching it (and, really, I have to assume that this is the case because you're still fucking employed). I went into my local Family Video store and glanced around, looking for some Hollywood scrap that I can forcefeed into my DVD player. The problem here is that I've seen every movie that appeals to me, or that doesn't but was introduced to me and I enjoyed it (I'm looking at you, Across The Universe and Requiem For A Dream). But that's neither here nor there. On my quest of futility I had to overcome hurdles. Hurdles of forced silence and strenuous grimacing. You see, every seventh movie on the wall was a Tyler Perry mind-shit. Tyler Perry's House of Payne season whogivesafuck, Tyler Perry's Why I Got Married And Became A Generic Movie Black Man That Isn't Comedic Relief, Tyler Perry's Tyler Perry Dresses Like An Elderly Woman For The Sixty-Fourth Time. Christ, man. I get it. I don't know if they get it, but I get it. You're black and come from a black family and you are inspired by the blackness of your family and you absolutely must makeseven thousand productions a year or we might forget that you're black. Maybe I should start producing films with a two-hundred thousand dollar budget. About fifth-or-sixth generation Polish people. Who live in a state where the economy and job market are deader than your imagination and view on the world. [...]
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