Dear Netflix,
I was informed by your notification service that "Encino Man" would arrive yesterday. It did not. What arrived instead was "Sarah Silverman: Jesus is Magic", which is essentially a 14-minute sleeping pill stretched into 72 minutes by overplayed stand-up material. If you know where Miss Silverman lives, please let me know so I can ram my foot into her cunt.
My evening was ruined, Netflix. Perhaps you don't understand the significance of a film like "Encino Man". In the early 1990s, the foundation for a powerhouse movie was formed when Sean Astin (Lord of the Rings!), Brandon Fraser (The Mummy!), and Pauly Shore (Uh . . . ) teamed up for amusing cinematic hijinks. Fraser was a caveman, Astin was the nerdy high schooler, and Shore was a complete and total douche. The formula worked, and audiences under the age of 14 found it utterly hysterical.
I was 13 years old when I first saw "Encino Man" at my local multiplex. I haven't seen the film since, but I know it's good because Michael DeLuise, the son of the great Dom DeLuise, plays the bully. As we all know, fat people associated with Burt Reynolds are funny, and the kin of fat people associated with Burt Reynolds are perfect for movies with mediocre scripts.
Netflix, I doubt you're even able to understand how difficult my day was because of your failure. I had a 12-pack of Milwaukee's finest hooch, Pabst Blue Ribbon, to help me enjoy this fondly-remembered film from my youth. I was going to get wasted and remember how much "Encino Man" made me want to move to California and dig my own swimming pool in Sean Astin's backyard.*
*A dream I still plan to fulfill.
But "Encino Man" wasn't in my mailbox, and my entire day was ruined. You see, I'm unemployed. I can't look forward to a paycheck because I don't actually deserve a paycheck. I can't look forward to a girlfriend because only ugly girls date homeless people. I can't look forward to a challenging day because my days only consist of searching for free porn on the internet, which is actually really easy to find.
All I had to look forward to was "Encino Man", and you took that away from me. You snatched it from my desperate little hands and farted in my eye when I dared to shed a tear. You, Netflix, are a sadistic company.
Here's how I propose we fix this problem. First, you must deliver "Encino Man" today. I know it's one of the greatest films of all-time, currently holding the #4 spot on the American Film Institute's top 100 movies list**, but your company should be ready for the demand brought by such a flawless film.
**#1 Ernest Goes to Camp, #2 Leonard Part 6, #3 It's Pat, #4 Encino Man, #5 The NeverEnding Story III . . .
Secondly, you're going to make sure you send me a brand new copy of "Encino Man". It's difficult to burn copies of a DVD when the disc is heavily scratched. Don't get me wrong, though. it's not you I want to steal from, and it's not the movie studios I want to steal from. I just want to steal from Pauly Shore.
Finally, you're going to help me dig a swimming pool in Sean Astin's backyard. I'll do the digging, but you need to jump the fence first and make sure he doesn't have dogs. If he does have dogs, you must fight Sean Astin's dogs until they're subdued. By the time Sean Astin comes home from whatever the hell he does all day, he'll be really excited to see his new pool. Then we'll have a big pool party and invite the whole high school, and I'll the hottest girl in school will like me, and Michael DeLuise won't be invited because he's untalented.
That's what I'd like. Get to it, fuckers.
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