Peter Jackson is the bane of my existence

Peter Jackson is a name that should be familiar to a lot of you as the director of the very popular Lord of the Rings film trilogy. He's also recently directed the remake of King Kong and I've read that he bought the rights to The Lovely Bones, a novel written by Alice Sebold. Peter Jackson is also my greatest enemy and has been trying to destroy me since my conception.

You may have your doubts, or think I'm overreacting, but you don't know what I've been through because of Peter Jackson. I assure you, it's completely personal, and he is out to get me.

First of all, Lord of the Rings: the book is boring. There! I said it and meant it! I didn't like it and I won't pretend otherwise. I know it's respected, and I will admit that some of Tolkien's essays are very important and powerful. But his Magnus Opus just doesn't do it for me. Then friggin' Peter Jackson comes along and makes this friggin' movie that all my friends like and make me watch.

At this time I thought it was just coincidence, but then it became clearer. I'm an ex-smoker, but it wasn't easy to quit. The brand I smoked was called Peter Jackson's, which I smoked because they were cheaper. Is it a coincidence that it bore the same name of my rival? Certainly not.

Now the counter argument I get is that Jackson is a common surname and Peter is a very common first name and that if I did a little research I'd find that the two names are in no way connected. Bullocks, I say, bullocks! He's out to get me. He thought he could nail me with the cancer; but I'm too smart for him.

Still not convinced? Well how about this. I worked at a movie theater last year. During my time there I saw the release of King Kong. Once in a while, for popular movies, the theater would show a movie at midnight the day before the release date, allowing those really excited (aka nerds) a chance to brag about seeing a movie a few hours before their friends. The problem is that the theater would need someone to stick around and make sure people aren't rioting or anything, and guess who had to stay until 4 a.m. for this extremely long movie to run all the way through. That's right, me.

I can picture that smug bastard writing the movie, adding extra scenes to make the film extra long, saying to himself between sinister chuckles, “yeah, this'll really piss Mark off.” He knew I worked at a theater, and I had to get up early to work the very next morning. That jerk!

Y'know what else gets to me? The ending: the way Kong — you'll notice I call him Kong, he's not my king — died wasn't even all that cool (oh yeah, if you haven't seen it, Kong dies). What Jackson should've done was instead of have a small group of planes fly in, he should have had the X-Men fly in to take him out. That would've been really sweet. Hell, Cyclops alone could take down Kong. That's right, Cyclops, not Wolverine. Screw Wolverine. “But wait, he has six inch claws,” you might say; but Cyclops can shoot laser beams, “but Wolverine can heal himself from most wounds,” is the next thing I get; good, he'd need to heal himself after getting shot with a friggin' laser.

Anyway, back to Kong: there's actually a really sweet fight between Kong and a bunch of dinosaurs that reminded me of a video game called Primal Rage. In the arcade version you could do fatalities, but on the Super Nintendo you couldn't. I bet that's Peter Jackson's fault. I think it's pretty safe to say that Peter Jackson is a jerk, to the point where I'd challenge him to fisticuffs in a second if given the chance. But I've learned that it isn't that simple; Peter Jackson is far too clever for that, working behind the scenes to destroy me. One of these days, though, he'll reveal himself. And when he does I'll Kong him real good.

Anyway, what I'm getting at is that you should boycott Peter Jackson. If you don't you'll only be adding to his power.

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