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22 December 2023
WHERE OUR MADCAP MAN OF THE HOUR GOES POSTAL AND GETS FRANK WITH KNUCKLEHEADS IN HIGH PLACES.
This month Frank wrote to "actor" STEVEN SEAGAL.
Dear Mr. Seagal,
As a child, I spent countless hours of male bonding with my father watching your earlier films. Above the Law, Hard to Kill, Marked for Death, Out for Justice-- all classics of bone-crunching martial arts mayhem. My dad and I would cheer every time you snapped the arm of some dirty, drug-smuggling Jamaican, or beat the teeth from the mouth of a filthy biker with a cue ball in a sock. Then, something strange happened. Movies like the straight-to-video The Patriot hit the shelves. Gone were the days when my favorite action hero would exact cruel revenge on baddies by hewing the crotches from their bodies with samurai swords. In his place was a new, touchy-feely Seagal-- a man who farts around with plot, Buddhism, gut-concealing Nehru jackets, and kicks little or no ass. And so, it is with great sadness and heaviness of heart that I ask you to please retire.
You don't believe me? Look at your latest movie, Half Past Dead. I mean, good Lord, man; a fucking doo-rag? What the hell were you thinking? A doo-rag doesn't give you street cred any more than that gut of yours does. And do you really think a hack rapper like Ja Rule helps you out? Jesus, how many rappers are left for you to leech onto? Who's next? The fucking Fat Boys? Vanilla Ice? Fuck, what about Humpty? He could have his big, plastic nose, and you could wear your fucking doo-rag.
Did you even fight anyone in that movie? I seem to recall, like, one fight scene where you threw a guy into a wall and he died. What the fuck killed him? Total fucking boredom? And we're supposed to believe you hauled your bloated ass 20 feet up a rope into a helicopter? Only if there was a fucking BLT and one strong-ass industrial winch at the top, holmes. Oh, and I particularly liked it when you dove from the helicopter and then freefell, like, 35,000 feet, and caught the judge in midair and saved her. That's one stu-fucking-pendous chopper that can fly into the upper reaches of the stratosphere. You are Half Past Tired. Please stop before the good memories are totally gone.
And somewhere, my father weeps.
Your one-time biggest fan,
Frank Putzerelli
DO YOU KNOW A PERSON OR COMPANY THAT YOU THINK FRANK SHOULD WRITE TO? IF SO, EMAIL HIM AT FRANK@TLCHICKEN.COM
This month Frank wrote to "actor" STEVEN SEAGAL.
Dear Mr. Seagal,
As a child, I spent countless hours of male bonding with my father watching your earlier films. Above the Law, Hard to Kill, Marked for Death, Out for Justice-- all classics of bone-crunching martial arts mayhem. My dad and I would cheer every time you snapped the arm of some dirty, drug-smuggling Jamaican, or beat the teeth from the mouth of a filthy biker with a cue ball in a sock. Then, something strange happened. Movies like the straight-to-video The Patriot hit the shelves. Gone were the days when my favorite action hero would exact cruel revenge on baddies by hewing the crotches from their bodies with samurai swords. In his place was a new, touchy-feely Seagal-- a man who farts around with plot, Buddhism, gut-concealing Nehru jackets, and kicks little or no ass. And so, it is with great sadness and heaviness of heart that I ask you to please retire.
You don't believe me? Look at your latest movie, Half Past Dead. I mean, good Lord, man; a fucking doo-rag? What the hell were you thinking? A doo-rag doesn't give you street cred any more than that gut of yours does. And do you really think a hack rapper like Ja Rule helps you out? Jesus, how many rappers are left for you to leech onto? Who's next? The fucking Fat Boys? Vanilla Ice? Fuck, what about Humpty? He could have his big, plastic nose, and you could wear your fucking doo-rag.
Did you even fight anyone in that movie? I seem to recall, like, one fight scene where you threw a guy into a wall and he died. What the fuck killed him? Total fucking boredom? And we're supposed to believe you hauled your bloated ass 20 feet up a rope into a helicopter? Only if there was a fucking BLT and one strong-ass industrial winch at the top, holmes. Oh, and I particularly liked it when you dove from the helicopter and then freefell, like, 35,000 feet, and caught the judge in midair and saved her. That's one stu-fucking-pendous chopper that can fly into the upper reaches of the stratosphere. You are Half Past Tired. Please stop before the good memories are totally gone.
And somewhere, my father weeps.
Your one-time biggest fan,
Frank Putzerelli
DO YOU KNOW A PERSON OR COMPANY THAT YOU THINK FRANK SHOULD WRITE TO? IF SO, EMAIL HIM AT FRANK@TLCHICKEN.COM
artid
1002
Old Image
5_4_putz.jpg
issue
vol 5 - issue 04 (dec 2002)
section
stories