On Being Generally Mean-Spirited

A while back, I wrote a post about my least favorite movies of 2005. Although, to be fair, I hadn't seen Catwoman or The Forgotten yet.

In that post, I wrote the following line:

"I fucking hate you, Zach Braff. I hope you get cancer."

At the time, I did not give it a second thought. Now, I don't really really hope Zach Braff gets cancer. I mean, I've never met the guy, and cancer's pretty painful. Unless everyone with cancer is just faking it and laying it on a bit thick, you know, for the attention.

Not that I'm suggesting they're really doing this. But still, I think if I had cancer, even if it didn't hurt, I'd probably pretend that it did. I mean, hey, I've got freaking cancer here, if ever there was a time to milk your fellow human beings for sympathy, this is it.

But anyway, I don't really want Zach Braff to come down with a nasty case of leukemia. To me, "I hope you get cancer" is a rhetorical device, colorful language to adequately describe the depth of my disregard for Braff's non-opus Garden State. It's just like if you watched Ghost World and then turned to your friend and said, "I love Scarlett Johansson." You don't really. You don't know Scarlett Johansson (unless you actually do know Scarlett Johansson, in which case, I hate you and I hope you get cancer).

But my point is, you don't even have any concept for what she's like, other than that she's really hot and a great actress. It's a turn of phrase. In that same way, it does me no good if Zach Braff's prostate swells up to the size of a grapefruit. I just hated his movie.

So, Jimmy, the guy who left the comment deeply offended about my Braffian cancer curse, I'm sorry to hurt your feelings, or to imply that having cancer doesn't suck. I know it does, and I'm glad you're feeling better. I'm sorry you didn't like the blog. I'll try to do better next time.