Friday, June 16, 2006

Okay. I took my mom to see The Da Vinci Code today. Why? Because she wanted to and it's her birthday next week and she's 71 years old. What she wants, she gets.

I haven't read the book. I hadn't planned on seeing the movie. I really had very little interest.

But, it was a nice little movie. Nice twists and turns in the plot. I still can't see why the head honchos at the Vatican got all hot and bothered about it. I mean, sure, suggesting that Jesus had a kid, the cover up, the lies. All they had to say was it was a work of fiction and be done with it. Protesting too much always makes me raise an eyebrow.

When it was all said and done though, I was supremely pissed off. Really. Don't waste my time getting me involved in a story where the final reveal isn't even biologically possible.

Don't read any further if you don't wanna know yet.

Okay. The "Holy Grail" is Mary Magdelane's sarcophagus. Holding her remains. And it must remain hidden because if the people who want to prove that Jesus and Mary had a baby found it, they could use her remains to DNA match the last known descendant.

Anyone know what it wrong with this picture?

I sat there, sputtering, "But, but, but, but....that would only prove that MARY had a baby. " Could have been any old Joe Schmoe's baby. Having Mary's DNA wouldn't prove diddly shit about who the baby daddy was. Unless there is some Jesus DNA laying around that the author and movie makers didn't think we needed to know about.

I absolutely hate that. HAVE IT BE REMOTELY POSSIBLE. Whatever fantastic tale you tell me in a novel or movie, I'll buy the fantasy, I'll buy it. But don't hand me a shit sandwich at the end of it.

Like that movie with that stupid short man syndrome having mysogynistic cretin Tommy Cruise, when it turned out they'd kept a sort of consciousness going in his DEAD BRAIN. Here's a clue, call a doc, and ask next time. A dead brain is a dead brain. You can't make it dream, think or do anything except be dead.

And momma DNA tells you who is the baby momma. You need daddy DNA to know who daddy is.

For Pete's sake.

5 comments:

Uncle Zoloft said...

Love the review!
Prairie Home Companion may have been a better choice. As for DaVinci ~ I'll wait for the DVD.

"don't hand me shit on a sandwich" I must find a way to incorporate that into my vocabulary.

Keep on bloggin!
Uncle Z

Joan said...

Hahah. That made me laugh. I could hardly finish the book but you are the first person I've heard mention that particular little snag :)

Back when I worked as an Advice Nurse doing phone duty we'd have so many callers asking if we did "Fraternity Testing."

JanetLee said...

Joan - I had a mom ask me once if there was a test we could do on her to tell who the daddy was. But then, I had a mom that was shocked that the baby could move it's arms and legs.

JanetLee said...

Uncle Z - the complete version is "Don't hand me a shit sandwich and tell me it's roast beef" Having three brothers lends itself to learning all sorts of interesting phrases.

Uncle Zoloft said...

LOL.

u r great!