| Hot to Trot |
7/7/2003 |
by Tommer
I am writing this review in the fantastical year of 1988! GA GA GA GOO?! That's right! Somehow while I was making a sandwich, I slipped on some grade A plutonium and hit my head on a Scott Bakula action figure, rendering me unconscious. I awoke to find myself on the hard concrete of NYC terra firma. I got up, looked around, and zipped up my pants. I was in Times Square! But it wasn't the loveably cold Disney owned corporate entity it is today. It was the Times Square of yore...full of grime, pestilence, tumbleweeds, flashing neon lights, and street smart crack whores - you know, the kind that could pass on life-long advice to precocious child actors who have run away from home. Then I turned around. The glass reflection was not my own! It was TV's Scott Bakula! GA GA GA GOO?! Of course! Hitting my head on the Scott Bakula action figure must've triggered some sort of (flimsily explained) tear in the space time continuum that caused me to "quantum leap" into the body of the star of "Major League 3: Back to the Minors." I knew that this was a huge responsibility and that I couldn't do anything that could possibly jeopardize Mr. Bakula's career. Why, one simple comical fart could irrevocably change the entire fabric of the universe. And I couldn't go anywhere near the McFlys - that family is seriously fucked!
So, I decided to partake in America's favortie past-time: Bobcat Goldthwait comedies! "Hot to Trot" had just opened, so I hauled my Bakula body over to the movie theater, plopped down 4 Dukakis Rubels (1988 money!), and settled into a seat in the empty theater. Throughout the duration of this talking horse movie, I was enchanted, delighted, enthralled, and enchanted some more. Mr. Goldthwait proved an affable and nimble comedic lead (much like a young Dana Carvey circa "Opportunity Knocks"). And Dabney Coleman was simply sumblime as the ruthless and coniving boss - arguably his best performance since "Drexell's Class." When the lights came up and the tears dried, I knew I had experienced all the magnificent joys of that wonderous year: 1988.
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
That's a part of my unfinished song devoted to 1988 enititled "Hymn to 1988 Scott Bakula." Well, to answer your questions: yes, I finally leaped home to good old 2001; and yes, I picked up a crack whore. She didn't really teach me anything, though. She just gave me some crack.
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