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The Woody Harrelson and poor-man’s-Michael-Cera zom-com of 2009, Zombieland, was released on digital video disc about a month ago. If you enjoy watching guts spray across the screen, and laughing at quippy dialogue — sometimes simultaneously — then this is the movie for you. And at about $16, you won’t be sorry about spending the money for very long.

The opening credits sequence is also extremely cool — and ever since a childhood full of name calling and unfortunate gym class episodes, it’s been my mission to not only hunt down what is truly cool, but understand the inner-workings of cool. After all, you cannot kill the tiger unless you actually think how a tiger would think, if he had a 12-gauge shotgun aimed at another tiger.

Zombies, Woody Harrelson, a kid who’s kind of like Michael Cera, and old school Metallica? Be still my heart.

Truth on a t-shirt

Anyway, the integrated three-dimensional credits technique has become something of a fixture in Hollywood over the past year or so, and while it’s starting to get a bit well-worn, for the most part it’s still pretty visually stimulating. And when you’re as much of an herbalist as I am, visually stimulating counts for something. This is the country that would rather watch Fern Gully in 3D than a movie that makes you think and has boring parts not involving guns or swords, after all. Fuck “art” — I’d rather blow shit up.

Oh, and speaking of herbalists… while, Woody Harrelson has built himself something of a reputation as a pot head over the years, don’t think of me as so stoned and shallow that it’s enough to sell me on any movie he stars in (even though it is.) The man happens to be a superb talent, who can take on complex, emotional roles convincingly, but who also clearly doesn’t take himself too seriously.

Woody Harrelson’s ass

Sorry about that, I felt like playing the “how many visitors can I convince to leave and never come back” game for a second.

What can I say? You know dedleg’s got the hook up for all the exclusive celeb nudez. Seriously though, I’ve been hooked ever since I absorbed all those Cheers reruns in utero. Some expecting mothers play Mozart to their new-found fetuses, my mom let me hang out where everybody knows your name.

Fuck, I need another beer.