Papa Blunt is such a G tho. I show up out of nowhere and he just hands me this massive joint that he’s been rolling for like five days. I look at it for like five straight minutes without moving. I just stare. Oh, I forgot: Morgana’s here too and he’s ALREADY being such a fucking downer. I look into his eyes and I don’t see that wildness that lets him land perfect no-scope LoL binds. The little dude’s so sober, he makes my stats professor look like fuckin’ Bill Nye. The little dude’s so sober, he makes Mormon people look like Kanye groupies. That’s pretty sober. Anyways, Panda and Anna and Noodle are here too and that beautiful blunt isn’t going to puff itself. It’d be pretty d0p3 if it did tho. I take 500 divided by 100 massive hits and I’m outtie. We roll on over to State to pray to Nicolas Cage, and SURPRISE SURPRISE: Morgana ditches the fuck out of us. So do Anna and Papa Blunt, but Scza Scza shows up out of nowhere and we’re GFFs (Greatest Friends Forever) so IDGAF.
Guys. Seriously: Why doesn’t everyone watch this movie every day for a week every year? There are all these deep themes about identity and life and insanity. I can’t take it all at the same time so I start losing it. I don’t even know how to handle the fact that Nicolas Cage AND John Travolta are in this movie. Oh wait, yes I do: There’s no scene of them dancing together so that calms me down a little bit but I’m still pretty hype. Panda jacks my entire Fireball and PTFO (passes the fuck out). He asks me for my arm and I give in cuz we’re GFFs. I snap pics because we’re GFFs. Nicolas Cage is screaming the entire time. Why is this so funny? The movie ends and I think I’ve died but I’m still alive. But is my mind?
— DAILY ARTS WRITER
I’m just a meek old simple soul. All I want is a box of Cheez-Its, a sofa and endless re-runs of “Avatar.” No bullshit. Those are my ambitions. Somehow, I’ve been duped. I’m staring dumb-faced at somebody else’s dumb face. He’s got the look of a coffee shop hipster. He gets me my ticket and the Fireball we took pulls from (so much shame) hits right then. Now, I know I’m good and drunk: I give the pinch-face a tip. “You tipped him?” Panda looks displeased. He’s wearing one of those fuzzy sweaters you throw on kids at Christmastime like a Hallmark movie. I can’t tell if he’s flexing or if the sweater’s two sizes too small.
“I guess so.”
“Fuck that. Not about that life, man,” Panda says. “I’m all about those boats, hoes and clothes.”
(If you look very closely, you’ll see a drunk.)
Me, Chocolate Shayk, Panda and Noodle head inside.
We shout shit at the screen like everybody else and kick back with our feet on the backs of the row ahead of us. Nick Cage is garbed in priest clothes and he’s grabbing butts and dancing, everybody in the theater hooting and hollering, and I look over and Panda — Panda’s sleeping.
He’s wrapped Chocolate Shayk’s arm behind his head and he’s napping like a precious, goddamn child. It makes me wanna give him a binky and buy him a cone of ice-cream when he wakes up.
Shayk leans over pointing a finger at the phone and I take the picture. Panda is displeased. He wakes up and mutters a threat.
“We can get you a glass of warm milk if you want.”
He opens an eye. “Fuck you. Buy me Milk Duds, bitch.”
— SEAN CZARNECKI
I’m pretty bored. Chocolate Shayke and Scza Scza have come out in full force and are fighting over who loves each other more. They’re GFFs (girlfriends forever) so what could you really expect. Panda and Papa Blunt are discussing the pros and cons of their khaki pants while Morgana and I are shivering from the cold. Noodle is carrying the fifth of fireball in the open. On State St. This is going to go terribly wrong. “OK LET’S GET NYPD,” says Chocolate Shayke for the eight time in two minutes. Panda has to stop for some Reese’s Pieces and is handing them out. He soon realizes he won’t have enough to last him the entire movie. Shayke and Noodle have finally gone to get pizza and Scza Scza is making friends with the woman at State Theatre. Soon, it’s just me, Morgana and Papa B. We make the snap decision to bust out. After driving Morgana to his North Campus living, Papa B and I eat some NYPD and run into everyone from Daily Arts and their dog. It was fate, can’t fight that.
— ANNA SADOVSKAYA