Woo hoo! I'm popular! 100 views in a single day!

I somehow have 100 views, and it’s not even my lunch break!  Look at that beautiful, towering bar on the right, dwarfing my other days stats!  People love me and my entirely inappropriate posts about breasts and pubic hair!

After a quick victory dance to Disco Duck (which was conveniently playing on the radio at the time), I sat down to assess why I was suddenly a moderately successful blogger.

Hold on, only 10 views today?

Ok, so there must be some glitch in the stats.  That says I only have 10 views, but the graph shows that I have 100.  The graph must be correct, right?

Oh, wait.  It’s April 1st.  April Fools Day.  And I am the fool.

Did anyone else fall for this?

EDIT:  I now have nearly 250 hits today!  Although, it says April fools in bold when you hover over the bar.  Damn fake stats.

And the hits keep coming!

“Ivan, thanks for coming back.  Wow, your feet are bleeding profusely.  Should I get you some bandages, or take you to the hospital?”

“No thanks.  I’ve got a condition, I forget what it’s called, but it’s where your feet start to bleed after you run across broken glass barefooted.  It’s nothing really.  My doctor says it’s quite common.”  He then propped his dripping feet up on my coffee table, and began gingerly peeling the layers of newspaper off.  I watched in shock as he rolled the soaking paper into fist sized balls, and stuffed them into his pants pockets.  It was excruciating to observe, but at least he was making an effort to not get any blood on my couch.

“Great.  Are you ready to continue the interview?  I’ve got a few more questions I’d like to ask,”  I gestured to my notepad, on the table, now underneath a growing bloody-newspaper-ball pyramid.  ”Or if that phone call rattled you too much, we can meet again later.  You do look a little unsettled.”  His appearance could be due to the loss of blood, and possibly the alcohol he no doubt imbibed while outside.

You can tell when he's drunk, as he gestures wildly when speaking.

“I’m fine.  That skank-waffle keeps calling me, and it makes me really upset.  I had to go for an anger-walk.  But let’s get this thing done, I need to get home and brush my teeth before my dentist appointment.”  With that, he snatched the microphone off the table, belched into it loudly, and shouted, “LET’S DO IT.”

dongtacular:  Ugh, that was a vile burp.  Were you drinking outside?

Ivan Reitman:  Nooooo…

A terrible liar always grins madly whenever he's not telling the truth.

DT:  Come on, you’re obviously drunk.  What have you been drinking?  It smells horrendous, like furniture varnish.

IR:  Scotchka! The drink of professional filmmakers!

DT:  Where did you get the scotchka?

IR:  From my mule.  The saddlebags on my mule.

DT:  You have a mule?

IR:  Well, I didn’t walk here, ya douche-wagon.

DT:  Are you still drunk from 2 nights ago?

IR:  No, of course not.  I’m just drunk again.  Although, I haven’t slept since then, and I’ve been drinking constantly the whole time.  I take it back, I am still drunk.

DT:  Whatever.  Let’s get back on topic, I’ll just slide my notepad out from under this wad of bloody papers, and, ok.  How was your experience with Natalie Portman filming No Strings Attached?  Is she as needy as the tabloids say?

IR:  Natalie was phenomenal.  And damn sexy.   The only thing that was difficult was that she changes her hairstyle more often than I drink.  Multiple times a day.  But she is always still hot.  She gets hotter as the day goes on and I am further sloshed.

Many looks, always stunning.

DT:  I can’t argue with you there.  I’ve got a bit of a thing for her too.  Now, did you have any other involvement with this film, other than directing?

IR:  Yup, I produced it too.  And, I came up with the idea for the No Strings Attached poster!  I said, ‘Put Natalie naked on it.  That’ll sell tickets.’  They told me we couldn’t, so I said, ‘Make it look like she was just naked, you know, have naked parts hanging out.’

That sucks! "Koocher" is more naked than she is!

DT:  After seeing Black Swan twice, I feel like her performance in that film could be tainted by you putting her in this movie in theatres at the same time. What did you think of Natalie in Black Swan?

IR:  I haven’t seen Black Swan.  I only watch shitty movies, remember? But I did hear that she was doing some lesbian shit in that flick.  I should check it out.

Unfortunately, Scarlett Johansson is not in Black Swan.

DT:  Alright, it looks like the sun is up.  I guess that means you have to go, according to your “Twilight Interview Rule.”  One last question, are you drunk all the time?

IR:  I’m not drunk all the time, just most of the time.  Like whenever I have to go to a photoshoot, or a press docket.  Basically, whenever people are taking pictures of me, I’m drunk.  I’ve got that goofy, toothy grin on my face.  I don’t normally look like that, but the only pictures you ever see of me I look drunk, because I am.  COOL!  If we’re done now, let me turn off your recorder for you.

Ivan smoothly tapped the recorder with his bloody heel.  ”I should probably go, but this was a lot of fun.  Thanks for promoting my film.  Can I have this?”  He swiped the bottle of schnapps as he stood up and slid towards the door, as if his crimson-scabbed feet were roller-skates.  I can’t fathom how he was still bleeding.  There was a man-sized puddle of blood in my living room.  My carpet would need to be shampooed again.  Or burned.

I got up to see him off, but he had sprinted away, leaving footprints of scabbed skin and a waft of alcohol in his wake.  There is no better way to start a day than watching a drunken, giggling man ride off into the sunrise, as the sound of a galloping mule wakes your neighbours.

Now arranged tastefully on the coffee table:

The table before I hid everything. I have no idea where most of this came from.

• my notepad (with prepared questions)
• 2 pens
• 2 pencils
• an eraser
• a pencil sharpener
• a bottle of Wite-Out brand liquid paper
• a bottle of peach schnapps (the only liquor I had, as I haven’t drank at home since my blog became so popular)
• 2 glass tumblers (clean)
• 4 coasters (if I have any pet-peeves, it’s savages who don’t use coasters)
• My reel-to-reel tape recorder, with microphone (never failed me before!)
• A bag of cotton candy (I heard the Ivan loves the stuff)
• A copy of Leif the Viking-Adulterer, the screenplay that I wrote (just in case Ivan is looking for a new movie to make.)

As I was admiring my beautifully arranged items, the front door suddenly burst open with a crash of wind and blinding light.  The edges of my notepad started furiously whipping, creating an unsettling sound.  Despite this fanfare, Ivan slid inside, closed the door gently, gave me a quick “Hey, sup,”  and removed his shoes before darting for the couch and shoving a fistful of cotton candy into his mouth.

“I see you’ve prepared my favorite food.  I like people who do research beforehand.  Thanks for accommodating my schedule.  I’m a very busy man, so I do most of my interviews at 4:15 AM.”  When Ivan said the interview would be in 2 days, he meant it.  Down to the minute.

“Good to see you.  Thanks for taking off your shoes, I just had the carpet shampooed.  Not to be rude, but did you forget to wear socks?”

“Nuh, I never wear ‘em.  They strangle the ankles.  You should take yours off.”

“Thanks for the tip, but my feet get cold.  Should we begin the interview now?”

“You betcha!  But remember, it’s a Q & A style interview, and you have to record absolutely everything I say.”

“I did remember you saying that, and I’ve got this tape recorder so that I don’t miss anything.” I pointed towards the microphone sitting directly in front of him.

Be careful! It's an antique!

“HOLY SHIT!  That’s totally WIZARD-WEASEL!  I haven’t seen one of those since the 70s!  Lemme give this a try…”

He then serenaded me with a rousing rendition on The Offspring’s Pretty Fly For a White Guy, complete with air-guitar while jumping on the couch.

“Thanks for that Ivan, but I haven’t switched the recorder on yet.  If we can begin the interview, you know, on the record, then I’ll turn it on.”

“Oh, we’re out of cotton candy.  So lets do it!  Ready, set, go!”

dongtacular:  Ivan, your most recent film, No Strings Attached, was released about a month ago.  Tell me what it’s about.

Ivan Reitman:  It’s the true life story of me banging Natalie Portman!

DT:  I highly doubt that.

IR:  What? Why?  I only did this movie because it was based on a true story.  We only changed the names, places, people, events, added some more sex, more drama, and more jokes.  But other than that, it’s all true.

DT:  Ok, I haven’t seen the movie, but I just can’t see you doing that with Natalie Portman.  I mean, you’re kinda old, ugly, and haven’t made a blockbuster movie since the 80s.  She’s young, intelligent, talented, and smoking hot.

Sexy, but has that classic beauty as well.

IR:  Fucking eh, man.  She’s a scorcher.  Alright, so, I didn’t jam her clam, but she did gaff my best boy, if you know what I mean.

DT:  I don’t think so, Ivan.  Plus, haven’t you been happily married for a real long time?

IR:  Would you believe she boom-mic’d my balls?

DT:  Next question.  What was your impression of Ashton Kutcher?  Did he rise above his Dude Where’s My Car typecasting?

IR:  I don’t give a FUCK about ‘Ashley Koocher’, or whatever he calls himself.  This movie was about Natalie Portman being a hot-piece-of-ass, which she totally is.  Speaking of that, why was this movie so popular with the ladies?  Do they like ogling over Natalie’s ass too?  They should… oh… oh no… crap.  Piss-sticks.  Uh, hold on.  I gotta take this.  Keep recording though, every damn word I speak is sacred.

Ivan's ringtone is Intergalactic by the Beastie Boys. I'm impressed with his taste in music.

IR:  No.  No. NOOOO!  Anne, I told you to stop calling me.  After you puked in my shoes on the set of Six Days Seven Nights, I just can’t forgive you.  I wore those shoes for years after that without knowing!  Well yeah, I still have them, those are the best shoes I own.  They’re over by the door, but I can’t get them.  I’m doing an interview.  YUH-HUH, ’cause some of us still make movies to prolong our fame, instead of BECOMING A LESBIAN FOR A WHILE.

After that, Ivan slapped his phone closed, and spin-kicked it directly out my window.  His expression slowly evolved from his trademark drunk-glare to his typical goofy grin, and he bolted barefoot out the door.  I knew he would be back.

Ivan doesn't mind looking foolish.

Check back next week for the thrilling conclusion to this most titillating interview!

He was of average height, but held a little extra weight on his frame, as though he had spent the last 60 years drinking scotch and performing manual labor.  His wispy black-greying hair twitched as he walked, and his arms stayed taut at his sides, giving him a bizarre, pendulum like gait.  He rumbled over beside me, and rested his forearm on my shoulder, leaning into me with all his weight, so that I nearly fell over.

Noticing this, he abruptly threw his other arm around me, and pulled my body into a bear-hug.  We now stood face-to-face, in an awfully awkward embrace.  His belly was crushing my chest, his smoky, alcohol laced breath nearly suffocating me.  I know he was staring into my eyes, but mine were clenched shut due to the pain.  After what seemed like an eternity, he released me from his grasp.  I let out a gasping sigh of relief, and slumped slightly as my rib cage radiated with pain.

“I’m Ivan Reitman… are you drunk or something?”

A bit of a paunch, but a jolly smile as well.

“I should ask you the same question.  You nearly strangled me with your gut!”

Ivan began slowly pacing towards me, which was entirely unnecessary, since we were only 3 feet apart, and I could still smell his sweat.

“You write on that shitty website, right?”

I immediately jumped into crisis-control mode.  I began apologizing for nearly every post I had ever made, except for the one about sandwiches, as I couldn’t imagine how he could be offended by that.

Because sandwiches are hilarious!

“Oh, no, no, no.  When I said shitty, I meant that I like it.  Shitty is a good thing in Hollywood.  Have you seen the movies I direct?  SHITTY!”

“Well, I really liked Stripes and Ghostbusters…”  I hesitated and looked to the stars as I tried to think of another movie he had made.  ”OH, you made that superhero one, with the Kill Bill girl, and the lesser talented Wilson brother!“

“Luke Wilson.” He corrected.  ”Was that the movie where I finger-blasted his ass?”

Luke gives Ivan the finger.

“I don’t remember that being in the movie…”

“Maybe I’m thinking of a different movie.  It was Fathers’ Day! Did you see that one?”

“Yeah, it was, umm… shitty.”

“Damn straight.  Now, let’s get down to business.  I didn’t only come over here to crush your ribs and spread my scent.  I want you to interview me, as promotion for my new film, No Strings Attached. You interested?”

I was entirely shocked that he would ask me, but I somehow stuttered my way to accepting.  We agreed to meet at my house in two days, and I would publish the exclusive interview within two days.

There was one more condition, I had to post the interview unedited.  He insisted that I do not paraphrase him, or cut any questions or answers, as “my words are like the gospel, man.  You have to record every word.  Future generations are gonna worship this stuff.”  Ivan somehow had gotten more drunk since I had started talking to him.  Could his body have somehow reabsorbed his booze sweat?

It's in the eyes, that penetrating, drunk-glare.

With that, he was gone.  I have no idea how a man as drunk as he could have disappeared so quickly (it probably had something to do with how drunk I was), but I knew we would meet again, hopefully with less booze-stench.

Check back this week for Part 2, which will include the entire, unedited interview with one of the most mythical film directors of our generation!

Then this is not the post for you.

Unicorns have a special place on the internet. Geeks have been including them in their usernames and inserting them into bizarre fan fiction since Al Gore invented the damn thing (I’m not trying to insult the geeks, as I am one myself, as you’ll see later if you keep reading).  There has always been a fascination with these noble beasts, and speculation to whether they ever existed, have become extinct, or are just so reclusive and elusive that no one has been able to prove their truth.

Only Neil Patrick Harris has the answers.

I hate to derail you, but this post wasn’t meant to be a discussion of equine mammals and their legendary variations.  Unfortunately, whenever I hear unicorn, I think of this:

Qu'est-ce que c'est?

enchanted unicorn was the username of a member on one of my favourite websites, GBFans.com, and the above image was his avatar.  Yes, I’m a Ghostbusters geek.  Sometimes I have a hard time admitting it, but I truly am.  At least I’m not a Trekkie, right?

Maybe enchanted unicorn was?

This guy was hilarious.  He loved to mess around and get under people’s skin, but as long as you don’t consider the internet to be serious business, you wouldn’t have been offended.  He made me laugh on a daily basis, and actually made some contributions to the community through his inventive prop replicas and fan-art.  I would say he was great amateur artist, as I would have paid for some of his work.

He looked the part, at least.

But alas, all good things must come to an end.  enchanted unicorn was banned from the website for excessive trolling.  What I thought was funny, others did not.  Isn’t that always what happens?

Yes, I do think this is funny. (Image via Rabbi-Tom.deviantart.com)

He will be missed on GBFans.  Although I am sure he is out there somewhere, trolling to the delight of an internet community who appreciates him for what he truly is; a whimsical being, with untold skills and talents only seen in your most extravagant dreams.  Troll on, enchanted unicorn.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  This post was partly inspired by the Zebragus, another incredible creature featured on one of my favourite blogs, Me Vs. The Normal People.  Give it a read, and you’ll see many beautiful images of this regal animal.  Also, I have to apologize for another post about a man.  I’ll do my best to write my next one about women!

Is he a mad man? (Image via GifSoup.com)

This man, Wendell, was not a rude or bizarre person.  If presented with a sandwich, or if sandwiches were the only food available, he would eat.  But he would pull the sandwich apart, disassembling it entirely, before he would consume the ingredients separately, one at a time.  He just had something against eating a sandwich in its entirety, the way most of us enjoy a sandwich.

The whole is less edible than the sum of the parts? (Image via Getty Images)

Is it the layering of the sandwiches?  Could he not stand for things that were stacked, even if done neatly?   Would he eat lasagna?  Is it the combination of the flavours?  Did he eat all foods completely separate, as to not mix their tastes?  Could he eat pizza?  Was it the bread products that made the sandwich unpalatable to him?  Could he eat a KFC Double-Down, as it was a sandwich that replaced bread with chicken breasts?  Does the bread hide the ingredients from view, and he is afraid of eating something he cannot see, as if an enemy of his would have sabotaged the sandwich with an undesirable ingredient?

I wouldn't eat that sandwich. (Image via thechive.com)

I do not have the answers to these questions, I would have to contact Wendell directly.  I just found it odd that a person could not enjoy one of the most versatile foods in existence.  There are essentially endless combinations of sandwiches!  As a reasonably average man, I eat sandwiches (or common variations of sandwiches, as listed in the first paragraph) several times a week.  Sandwiches are my basic lunch food, and have been since I was in elementary school.  I still brown-bag most of my lunches when I go to work at the dog food factory.  I am a sandwich lover, and always will be.

Image via fuckyeahlizlemon.tumblr.com

I must reiterate myself in regards to Wendell.  I have said he was not rude or bizarre, that he was odd, but mainly, I find him interesting.  He is going to University to become a High School physics teacher, drives a mustard-yellow Volvo sedan that was built before Disco music existed (and has the confidence to do so!), created Facebook pages for his cats, went to Argentina to appear as a contestant on the television series Wipeout, and he is dating my cousin (the sister of the guy I wrote about previously).

I guess all I’m trying to say is that I like Wendell, I like sandwiches, and I don’t really understand how you could not enjoy sandwiches.  Do you know anyone who doesn’t like sandwiches?

I'm also saying that I can't make a post without a sexual joke. (Image via explosm.net)

Whoops.

Quick post here, just another semi-amusing meme, with a comic created by me!

More info on the Challenge Accepted meme can be found on the KnowYourMeme page.

Sigh...

It’s not that I’m really falling in love with them.  Love is not a word that I use all that often.  I find that it’s a dangerous word to say, as once you express your love for someone, things get serious.  If you love someone (or at least say that you do), they feel compelled to love you back, or tell you that they do not love you, never will, never could, and the relationship is destroyed.  Even if you were good friends before, it is incredibly difficult to carry on a friendship when the love has been mentioned.  Once you put it out there, you can’t take it back.

I know that there are different types of love.  The love I have for my family, for example.  I love my Mother, Father, Sisters and Brothers, and I always will.  But this is different from loving a lover, and from loving a friend.  I love my friends, I really do, but I would never say it to them, as they are guys, and would likely never talk to me again.

Although, "I Love You, Man" did have a some good lessons.

Basically, all I’m saying is that love is not I word that I throw around like a football.  I only use it sparingly, when I’m sure that I truly, honestly love that person.

But like is a great word.  I like many things.  I am deeply, madly in like with several people, and innumerable ideas, objects, and things in general.  Not a day goes by that I don’t like something.  Facebook is great for this.  I like Facebook, because it lets you like things for no reason at all, even if they are entirely inappropriate.  I like shit all god-damn day on Facebook.

But I don't like Olivia.

Alright, now I can tell you what I really like, and why I thought I was falling in love constantly (although we have now established that I was not falling in love, just falling in like).

I'm a sucker for a great smile.

Women.  Women who smile, are confident, are intelligent, who walk with an air of sophistication, but don’t take themselves too seriously (please understand that I joke about everything).  But can I infer a goofy personality from just looking at a person?

I like silly photos.

I like attractive women, but I have found that lookers are dime-a-dozen, and a good personality is more difficult to find.  Honestly, whenever I go anywhere, I notice attractive women and wonder if they are dating anyone.  There is always something that initially attracts me to them.

This example has several characteristics that I find attractive.

Stunningly beautiful pictures aside (sometimes I find that when women are too attractive, I become extremely nervous, sick-to-my-stomach even.  Am I the only one who feels this way?),  I do find that I can see a certain aspect of a person that makes me want to learn more about them.  A stray wisp of hair, a slightly errant eyebrow, or a tiny scar on her lip will make me more interested in a woman.  Those little things that add character to a face, and hopefully instilled character into their personality.  These character aspects can also assist you in taking a different view of the person in question.

Upside down is a different view, an entirely new perspective, really.

I guess all I’m really trying to say is that I like women, I like looking at them, like learning about them, like getting to know them, but I’m not entirely ready to love them just yet.  But possibly if the right one came along, my ‘like’ philosophy could be changed.

What do you think?  Do you Like, (seriously, click the ‘Like’ button on this post for me), Love, or Hate my concepts of Like and Love?

It's bad, and only gets worse.

Kissing someone is usually a magical moment; your heart beats madly within your chest with anticipation, you near the recipient and can feel their warm breath on your chin, your lips quiver as you begin to mash your face into the other person.  But what about when you are not interested in this person, at least in a loving, possibly sexual way?

I had an experience recently where I had to kiss someone.  There was no way around it.  A young girl, in fact (I generally don’t like referring to broads as girls, but this one was young).  You could describe it as sucking face, although that would be harsh on her young ears.

Not sucking nose! But click this picture for a really funny video.

On a whim, I auditioned for the local community theatre‘s upcoming musical.  Also on a whim, they gave me a part.  I mean, I like music, and I like singing along to music (especially when I’m drunk), but I didn’t think I would ever land a part in a stage musical, where I would have to sing, dance, and act on a stage in front of hundreds of people.  Plus I had to kiss a girl.

At first, I didn’t know who would get the part of the woman who would soon know what my tongue tasted like, and I imagined she would be straight out of one of my numerous fantasies, and that she and I would kiss on stage, then fall madly in love with one another and get married and live happily ever after.  My dreams were about to be squandered.

Her name was Hanna.  She was a pencil-thin, delicate blonde (like a combination of Mia Wasikowska and Amanda Seyfried, if I have to be specific), 18-years-old, fresh out of High School.  Now, I know, you’re saying “That’s not young!  She’s legal in nearly every country in the world!”  But I don’t roll like that.  If I wanted to seduce 18-year-old girls, I would hang out by the High School like my Dad does.  Plus, Hanna had a boyfriend, who used to be a linebacker on the High School football team (Frightening!).

I'm not interested in kissing athletes either.

At first, I was broken.  Destroyed, even.  I thought this would balloon into a ”Kiss-gate” and it would ruin the entire musical experience for me.  I imagined that through all the rehearsals, everyone would be looking at me, judging me based on the fact that I was soon to be kissing this innocent, church-going nubile, and assuming that I would be corrupting her with my perverted ways, leading her astray into the depths of sin, forever tainting her with my evil mind, and permanently scarring her and her boyfriend with unforgettable images of the horrendous sex-acts I would be performing on her with my mouth.

But it was nothing like that.  Everyone was extremely supportive, as they understood how awkward it was to kiss someone on stage for the first time.  Hanna and I had a private conversation with the director, and she told us to take our time with the kiss, get to know each other, as it is only when you are comfortable with a person that you can kiss them naturally.

Could you ever be comfortable kissing Mariah Carey?

It turns out that Hanna took a number of drama classes in school, and was applying to theatre programs at universities.  She had never done a stage-kiss before either, but she was very mature (since I was entirely immature) about the whole process.

Over the next month we talked on a regular basis, went for coffee, discussed our characters, and their relationship.  I was getting to know Hanna for who she really was, a truly honest, caring, sweetheart (Sappy, I know, but she is!).  Then we had to talk about our kiss.  The play was due to go on stage in 2 weeks, and we needed to actually lock lips, to practice before the actual performance.  I had to tell her about the weird, non-sexual reflex that my body has from time to time.

Yes, the Fear-Boner.  You are so scared, your body reacts by inflaming certain organs, like how a cat’s hair sticks up when it feels threatened.  And I can’t control it!  Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t, no matter the perceived level of threat.  This was the absolute last thing I wanted to happen when I was kissing an 18-year-old on stage in front of 400 people.

Unfortunately, this technique does not prevent the Fear-Boner.

Hanna was surprisingly accepting of my confession.  At first she denied that it could happen, but after I described several incidents, she simply stated “Why would you be afraid of me in the first place?”

I realized that I wasn’t afraid of a 98-pound blonde, so I smacked a kiss directly on her lips, right then and there, while waiting in line at Starbucks.  She was a little shocked, but she didn’t slap me.  Success!

After that, I was so confident, nothing could phase me.  The production went off perfectly, I sang, danced, acted, and kissed like you wouldn’t believe (As it turns out, when performing a stage-kiss, you don’t use tongue. So get your mind out of the gutter!).  I couldn’t have done it without the support and assurance I received from Hanna.

Overall, it was a fantastic experience.  Hanna and I have kept in touch, and I wish her nothing but the best in finding a University.  I couldn’t have picked a better person to lock-lips with; and her boyfriend has yet to kill me!

Image via Wikipedia (originally xkcd.com)

The first step I took was to think of something funny.  If you are as awesomely hilarious as I am, you will have no problem.  I did have a problem though, because I find that when you are forced to be funny, all you can think of is dick and boob jokes.  I did think of a conversation I had with my friend Stark, so I decided I’d steal his idea and run with it.

Stark had just watched his favourite film, Die Hard, and was spouting off quotes expecting that I would quote along with him.  Unfortunately, I haven’t seen that movie in couple years (I have it on VHS tape, but my VCR is acting up lately, and it’s hard to find a VCR repairman anymore) so I couldn’t remember any memorable lines, except one:

I thought it might be funny if John McClane wasn’t able to quote himself, as perhaps he was getting too old to be an action star, let alone remember what he had said in his previous films (Ok, maybe I’m ragging on Bruce Willis and not McClane, but you get my point).  So he just spits out whatever common gibberish he could think of, followed by an insult, often vulgar.

That's close to your famous quote...

I give you Misquoting McClane!

McClane loves Disney movies.

And 80s cartoons.

I also mentioned previously that you can insert other established memes into your meme to jump-start its popularity.  A couple of examples:

As a man, I love Foul Batchelor Frog.

Bubb Rubb knows all.

I made too many of these things, so I’ll just leave the rest of them here.

So spread it around so all your friends can share the lulz, and so that I can become infamous for a piss-poor attempt at being funny.  Also subscribe and comment, so we can argue about why I’m not funny.

It's a very bad word, I know.