How many Christmas movies is Tim Allen going to star in before someone becomes distraught enough to invite him out for a drink and bludgeon him in the back of the skull with a $45 dollar bottle of Grey Goose? It's just too, too much. The Santa Clause didn't need a sequel. And now, this new movie, whatever the fuck it's called (I don't know because I slip into a momentary coma during the trailers), probably shouldn't have existed either. And Don't you stop in your tracks and think, "Hey, I've done about 17 Christmas movies already, and here I am, taking on yet ANOTHER script about Christmas? What would be the least gay thing to do?" Of course I'd stop myself, but then again, I'm not Tim Allen. I guess when your career is on a pilgrimage to the voided land of Has-Been, I suppose another Christmas movie will be OK, and as dumb as movie watchers tend to be these days, maybe no one would notice. Maybe people are just being nice in not letting him in on that his little coined growl has never been, and never will be funny... ever. As for me, I'm not that nice. If I had the displeasure of being an aquaintance of his, I'd let him know to promptly stop trying to make jokes, act, sing, or even step foot outside of his home. I'd show him the benefits of being a recluse, and how it'd be for the good of the country. He'd be a hero. But what's better than a hero -- a MARTYR! Ahh... to have a world, Tim Allen-free. One can only dream.
Tim Allen
6:12 p.m.//12.09.04to hell DEATH to the casting agent.
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