Mark Lobo and Yuri Koskov-Koskov Review 'The Lube Mobile'

The Lube Mobile

Mark's Rating - GPA 6
Yuri's Rating - GPA 1

Review Segment Transcription:

Mark: Yuri, the latest homegrown film to hit the screens in Australia is The Lube Mobile. The hype was huge, with advertisements even cropping up in the yellow pages. Unfortunately, the response was dismal. It appears that this musical/drama ended up slipping right out the back door of the box office and straight on to free to air T.V. A real shame.

Yuri: Well, Mark...

Mark: Oh, here we go...

Yuri: Well, Mark, I can't say I'm too bothered, myself. I thought the film was awful.

Mark: I loved the film. It was fun, exciting, the soundtrack was comparable to a good night out on Broadway...

Yuri: The soundtrack? Don't get me started on the soundtrack! That child who does the lead vocal at the end couldn't sing, not to mention couldn't act! He was cracking up when he went to sing the final line - I'm sure that wasn't in the script...

Mark: Since when was a bit of improvisation and traversing the boundaries of a "script" a crime? When I was in the Wizard of Oz, I used to play all characters at once as I felt the other actors were inadequate. We are seeing the talents of a new child prodigy emerge with the now famous and memorable line "firteen firty firty two". Heck, I even have the "firteen firty firty two" t shirt!

Yuri: Look, even if I agreed with you on that; anyone who saw the film could see that the film just didn't go anywhere. They go to reasonable lengths to establish that the 'Lube Mobile' crew are a band of mechanics going around helping people with car troubles - but then what? It just goes into a montage of children singing some shitty song! I'm sorry, Mark. It was pathetic. Hollywood musical indulgence at its worst.

Mark: Im sorry, but it seems you simply don't understand the meaning of the word 'musical'. 'Musical' is a latin based word derived from the word 'music'. Emphasis here on the word "MUSIC" [Mark does bunny ear quotes]. The music is all that matters in a film like this and the little boy's singing throughout the film was perfectly justified within this genre. Imagine if The Sound of Music didn't have any music in it!? it would be nothing but a bunch of kids bopping up and down in the mountains to nothing! NOTHING!!!! Would they name the film The Sound of Nothing then!? My point is; the crew of the lube mobile were just there for the sake of being there just as the irrelevant children in the sound of music were there to bob up and down. I'm expecting the soundtrack of this film to win a few ARIAs this Sunday and put Delta to shame.

Yuri: Mark, the movie was crap. You can dance with small children and masturbate over Julie Andrews all the times you like - it doesn't change the fact that the whole genre is rubbish.

Mark: No, you are rubbish. I hate you.

Yuri: You're just a sook. You know I'm right so you just say 'I hate you' to try and get me to back down. You're a weak little man. I hope you die.

Mark: No, you die! I hope you choke on your fucking champagne!

Yuri: Oh, so I'm the one living the high life, sipping champagne with the stars all day?! Last year at the Cannes festival I spent the whole time trying to get you into the studio to film our review segment and you just refused to do anything but drink Don Perignone with Pauly Shore!

Mark: Hey! I'm not the one with Gucci sunglasses! And, anyway, did I say ANYTHING about you living the high life? I just wanted you to choke on your fucking champagne! Nothing else. I don't even know why you were at Cannes. The TV network only paid for me to go. Holy shit, is the camera still on?

Yuri: Oh fuck, it is too... anyway, I give this film a GPA 1.

Mark: GPA 6.

A Good Tradesman Blames His Tools - A Screenplay

FADE IN

EXT. OF GRAHAM’S HOUSE – LATE MORNING.

GRAHAM walks outside of his house to find a TRADESMAN kneeling down outside his fence, looking through a tool box. Graham stands next to his rocking horse and takes it under his arm, and begins to point and yell at the tradesman with his other arm

GRAHAM

I’ve got a rocking horse and I’m not afraid to use it, cobber!

The Tradesman notices Graham, stands up and acknowledges him with a tip of his hat.

TRADESMAN

Good morning sir, I -

GRAHAM

Don’t patronise me, sunshine! I know your type!

TRADESMAN

Look, sir, it’s just that you -

GRAHAM

Look; if YOU want to put MY street number on MY letter box because you were paid to by ME, just go ahead! See if I fucking care!

The Tradesman nods and again starts sifting through his toolbox.

TRADESMAN

Certainly sir, I’ll -

GRAHAM

Just fuck off.

TRADESMAN

What?

GRAHAM

I said, ‘FUCK OFF!’ Get off my fucking property!

TRADESMAN

OK.

GRAHAM

Cunt.

The tradesman packs up his toolkit and runs away.

FADE OUT

A Story, A Diatribe and a Final Solution

I was in Indooroopilly Shopping Centre the other day (a Sunday as it turned out - big mistake) with the intention of having a pleasant afternoon watching a film whilst sipping on a Vanilla Coke. It seemed like a perfectly hedonistic yet still somewhat respectable idea at the time. As I entered the complex - I realised that, as I was 20 minutes early for the film, I had to kill some time. So I did. My method of time extermination, I decided, would involve walking around the shopping centre in circles for a while, going to HMV and then circling the shopping centre for a little while longer - should add up to about 20 minutes, I thought. And 20 pleasant ones at that.

I was wrong. Dead wrong.

'So, what could possibly completely ruin 20 minutes of waltzing carefree around a shopping centre?' I hear you asking. 'Overconfident and intrusive salespeople? A misguided purchase? A freak accident with a shopping trolley?'

No, no and no. You're all completely wrong. There's only one force powerful enough to spontaneously turn a relaxed and quite jolly man into a angry, vomiting wreck: I speak, of course, of High School Students.

There is NOTHING on earth worse than a high schooler out and about in the city. And there were fucking hordes of them at Indooroopilly on Sunday. It was disgusting. In the space of the 20 minutes before the movie started, I had to run to the bathroom 3 times to violently spew my guts up just because of the sheer sight of them. In fact, half way through the movie I had to go out again to vomit because I thought I spotted another high schooler a few rows in front of me.

Next time you're out and about and see a group of high schoolers smoking or giggling about sex, providing you can resist the urge to flay them (though it's fine by me if you can't), take a few seconds out to look at them. You'll notice quite quickly that despite all clearly being inane delinquents with repugnant acne and no personalities - these high schoolers have somehow acquired fantastically large egos. Now, let me get this straight: High schoolers don't deserve to have any self-esteem. I deserve self-esteem. Not them. If they're parents did the right thing and sent them to the Solomon Islands the first time they started dressing like dicks and sluts and congregating in groups at shopping centres with fuckwit friends, perhaps the problem could be mitigated. But, alas, I am not in charge of parenting. Which is why I have come up with a better solution.

My idea is that the Australian government creates a new territory right in the middle of the country, in the harshest and least arid land in the nation, just for high schoolers. And I don't mean like a detention centre for bad high school students. I mean ALL high school students - they all look just as bad to me (I will make a couple of exceptions though - my cousin for example). What we do is send the high school students to this territory for the duration of their high school period (or until the students stop being idiots) until they are ready to rejoin society. They won't be allowed to congregrate in groups at shopping centres because there won't be shopping centres. If they want to socialise they have to do it whilst toiling in the fields or taming wild, man-eating horses. They will be forced to wear lifeless, unimaginative clothing and will only be allowed to listen to the music that I tell them that they are allowed to listen to (mostly Louis Armstrong and the Eels). Any sign that any of the kids show of an increase in ego or an inclination towards rebellion or fun will be met with a whip.

The kids will be allowed to come back to their homes once a year. However, they will only be allowed to see their parents on the condition that the parents dispense a public flogging (or stoning) to their kids prior to their meeting. If the parents do not wish to dispense the public flogging, the public flogging will be dispensed anyway. A pay TV channel will be created especially for broadcast of the floggings and Richie Benaud and Keith Stackpole will share commentary duties. The broadcast will also be fitted with a laugh track and state of the art instant replay capabilities.

I can't think of any reason why this isn't happening already. This is the best idea i've come up with in weeks.

The Eels are the best band ever

The Eels are the best band ever. I've only ever met one other person who likes them - and he was an american on holiday here. He understood my obsession - it was quite beautiful.

So why isn't every single person in the world listening to the Eels 24/7? I really can't work it out. You idiots should really get yourself a musical education. You probably all think you've got advanced taste in music because you listened to a Radiohead album once.

Get fucked.

The Sad Hour - Further Scientific Proof that Entropy Does Exist

The Sad Hour
30th of January (and every final Sunday of each month)
3pm - Late @ Ric's in Fortitude Valley

Alright, here's the thing. I hate fun. Every time I go out, everybody has more fun than me. It doesn't matter if they're ugly, depressed, single, in a shitty relationship, in a good relationship, gay, heterosexual or bi-sexual. It doesn't matter. No matter who I go out with, no matter where we go and no matter what's happening at the place we go to; everyone has more fun than me. EVERYONE.

All the attractive people I go out with are dancing with attractive people of the opposite sex. All the unattractive people I go out with are so free-spirited and carefree that they're perfectly happy to dance away regardless of whether anybody is dancing with them. I hate dancing. And there I am, sitting uncomfortably in between, not liking the shitty music played in clubs enough to actually enjoy myself on the dancefloor and not being attractive enough to draw amusing amounts of attractive women to occupy my attention. An average night out for me would involve pretending to enjoy myself on the dance floor for about 35% of the night and spending the other 65% of the night sitting by myself pointing out in my mind all the women in the club who are far too attractive for me (which is basically every woman).

I don't get it. I'm 19 years old. I'm more or less in the prime of my life. I enjoy drinking. These clubs are designed for people like me. So why do I find them so fucking loathsome? Why does god fart in my face by prohibiting me from taking any pleasure in the most basic and popular leisure activity for people in my age group and situation? WHY!?

Well, just last week I think I found out why - and I proved that a well known scientific phenomona extends to social situations as well. That phenomenon I speak of is entropy.

Entropy. n. The tendency for all matter and energy in the universe to evolve toward a state of inert uniformity.

Basic translation: everything evens out in the end. You can call it karma if you like. Call it whatever the fuck you want. The point is - the universe just hit a newfound state of inert uniformity with my discovery of the Sad Hour at Ric's.

The Sad Hour, my little children, is a night hosted by the great Ben Corbett (of Gentle Ben and his Senstive Side) and his brother, Geoff Corbett. The basic idea of the night is that from 3pm until late, the DJ (supervised by the Corbetts) spin depressing songs to the audience - all of whom spend the night wallowing in self pity as they down their drinkings in relative silence whilst abstaining from the smutty and desperate pelvic girations normally brought on by club music. That's right, people: no fucking dancing.

And so the universe evens itself out. Little Yuri gets to spend the night enjoying himself whilst listening to great music (sad songs are grouse) and being charming around women whilst all the dancing scum look on at me and say 'why the fuck is he having such a good time?' The tables truly have turned.

God bless you, Gentle Ben

A Cause for a Mandate and a Mandate for a Cause

It’s quite simple really. If you’ve got a horse, just fucking ride it. I don’t care, I’ve got cheese back at the flat I can sit at home and get fat watching re-runs of Gilligan’s Island while my arse gets plastered on the radio because its so hot that they got stuck together and now I cant separate them. I’ll call it an ‘arse radio!’ Goddamn that’s funny I can’t wait to tell the boys at the T.A.B. about this one. That’s fucking funny. Imagine the looks on their faces when I tell them that there is a radio attached to my arse! Once again I will be a hero! ‘Forget the Dog VS Cat incident, this man is a hero of his generation! HOORAHHHHHHHHH!’ That’s what they will say, my boy. No more ‘Hey Dog VS Cat boy, come over here and make a dog fight a cat just like you did 6 weeks ago you FUCKING IDIOT!’. No, there will be no more of that. I have a mandate for a cause! A cause for a fucking mandate, mate! Right, I’m off the toilet.

Let's Get Rid of all the Penises

I hate my penis. It's unbelievably annoying. Every other part of my body behaves more or less as it should and when appropriate except for my penis. And it's so high maintenance. Every few days I have to spend time alone with it and do things to it - otherwise it starts having a whinge and it starts agitating me. It needs constant attention. If the penis were a child - its mother would have suffocated it with a pillow before it reached 2 months. No other part of my body bothers me like that. My left arm never does that. My chin never does that. What gives the penis the right to demand so much attention? Who gave it the right?

Also, the penis is always forcing me to persue women. Stupid women who don't deserve to be persued. And I have to change my entire personality and sell my soul in order to get these women and then I have spend all my hard-earned money satisfying their vanity. In fact, even after I go to all the effort of completely eridicating my own individuality and start dressing and acting like a bloody idiot in an attempt to satisfy the penis - I still end up failing. So basically I just end up as penis-whipped loser who gets rid of everything he has ever stood for in order to try and fail to satisfy this badly-behaved, dangly thing which gets hidden under two layers of clothing all the time. I don't deserve this crap.

Why do we do it? Why does the most poorly behaved, disgusting and annoying part of the body get all the attention and power? If Australia's heirarchy of power were the same as the body's, we'd have a Jack Russell Terrier as Prime Minister. I'm not joking.

My solution is to use genetic engineering to destroy all penises. You know it's a good idea. And get rid of all the women. They're no use. All they do is complain and make me feel bad about myself. Now, if you'll excuse me, i'm going to go find a pair of scissors.

I'm A Fat, Stupid, Impotent Man with no Skills With Women

I was watching Letterman at 1 in the morning recently, which at the time I felt was very highbrow and postmodern of me, because Letterman is cool. As I chuckled at his top ten list and got highly amused by his off-beat interaction with Biff Hendersen and Paul Schafer, my ego was in tip top shape and seemingly nothing could knock me off my new-found pedestal of merriment and self-love. That is, of course, until the first ad break.

The ad break started off with an add for RSVP, an online dating service. I got slightly uncomfortable as I briefly mulled over the idea that anyone could stoop that low, but other than that I got out relatively unscathed.

Then as if the advertising world was saying to me in the most condescending voice possible 'you just don't get it, do you?' another online dating service ad comes on. As if any two of these ads in a row wasn't enough to make me worry what target demographic channel 9 seemed so sure I was in - this ad insulted my intelligence by showcasing screenshots of their website which seemed to suggest to me that all the singles on their website were of a model standard of attractiveness and were all extremely keen to meet me. Then, over a still shot of an unrealistically hot woman in lingerie smiling at the camera, the voice-over woman says 'there are people here looking for 'fun, love, relationships or more' . What does the more mean? Marriage? Then why did the voice-over woman say it in such a sexually suggestive voice? I left this ad frightened and confused.

Then the advertising world struck and even lower blow with a tactfully placed weight-loss advertisement. I got the message in the first 10 seconds of the ad and spent the last 20 staring at my disgustingly bloated gut. Funny, I never noticed it until the ad came on.

I left for the kitchen where I intended to remove my own head with a meat cleaver and fry it in garlic - thinking it would probably make me feel better. As I perused the fridge for some garlic - a rare moment of optimism occured; Maybe it's just a co-incedence. These ads get shown during other shows sometimes - maybe it's just bad luck. I abandonded my search for the garlic, poured a cup of milk and returned to the television where channel 9 landed one of the most effective sucker punches in the history of the universe...

'You're an Impotent Loser' a woman then exclaimed on the television, looking me straight in the eye. Well, that's not exactly what she said - but she may as well have. 'Now that's really wild!' was the actual catchprase that she said as she finished her monologue for Wyld: for Men , a popular aphrodisiac. Despite quite clearly accusing me of being impotent, I guess at least this ad reassures me that I at least have enough skills with women to get to the position where impotence might actually be an issue. Thank you, Wyld.

I'd like to thank channel 9 for finally opening my eyes to the fact that i'm a fat, stupid, impotent man with no skills with women. I used to think that watching David Letterman was a perfectly healthy and manly thing to do - but obviously I was wrong.

Solving the World's Problems: Inflation

You know, people often say to me: "Hey, Yuri - you're so intelligent and have such a superior understanding of how the world works; why don't you begin a crusade to solve all of the world's problems?"

Finally I have answered the call.

The first problem i'd like to address is that of inflation. Nobody likes inflation. It's annoying. As far as I can see all inflation does is cause the extinction of small change such as the 1 and 2 cent coin (watch out 5 cent coin - you're next) and embitter old people to the point where they spend their twilight years doing nothing but yammering away about how wonderful it was when you could buy 10 gummi bears for 5 cents and how today's corner store owners have 'lost their way'.

What people probably don't realise is that while they were whinging about the effect of inflation on the price of confectionary - the answer to the entire problem was right under their noses : -

.

That's right, children. Wizz Fizz. The original sherbet.

All we have to do to cure inflation is to get rid of the dollars and cents and adopt Wizz Fizz as our new currency. Then all we have to do is eat 4% of the gross total of wizz fizz in the nation each year and we'll suddenly be presented with a flawless society unmarred by fluctuating prices and drunken old men mumbling incoherently about gummi bears. Think about it.