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In Praise Of Street Meat

Maccabee Montandon
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In Praise Of Street Meat

You meet friends for drinks after work on a Tuesday night. You haven’t seen them in a few months. It feels like a party. So you start with whiskey. You know you shouldn’t start with whiskey—or, perhaps, have any whiskey at all that night—but you do, anyway. Then one friend buys a round. More whiskey. Another friend buys you a beer. Tuesday night has just begun.

The next morning, you feel surprisingly good. You check and find that all your limbs are still working. So good, in fact, you decide to go for your usual run in the park. No one would’ve given you shit for skipping it this morning, but you feel pretty good, so you run. It’s not terrible. Early fall in New York City, and the park is beautiful. You see actual leaves fall to the actual ground. Fall. A melancholy in a good way feeling floods your insides. You think about cozy sweaters. And fireplaces. Nico songs. Your children at the pumpkin patch. End-of-year movies. In that order.

You get to work and start working. It’s going fine, but around 10:30 in the morning you can feel your brain fading. You pound glasses of water. Take a couple Advils. That helps for an hour. Then your stomach gets very angry with you. Like, pissed. Why would you do that to me, it grumbles. And what are you going to do to fix this?

You look around the office. A line of faces, shiny from laptop screens. Not one of those other people is currently eating lunch, you notice. Forget those suckers, your stomach snaps. Get up and walk, bub. You wonder why your stomach talks like a gangster in a 1940s Hollywood noir, but you do what it says.

Outside, the clouds in your head are swirling. It’s getting hazy behind your eyes. Food. Where is the food, you wonder. You speed-walk up the block, anxiously scanning the urban horizon. And then you remember: street meat. Street. Meat. It might just work! On the corner, near where you take the subway. Once you have this thought, you are powerless to its sick, savory charms. Chicken over rice, lots of white sauce, a splash of hot sauce. This is from a kitchen cart on wheels, not one of them fancy food trucks.

You have no idea what the white sauce is made of and, at that moment, you don’t care. (Later, you will Google it.) You find the closest park bench and break the styrofoam box opening the top. You eat. Fast. Shoveling the sinewy meat in a manner that brings to mind the way Woody Allen’s character scarfs rice in Play It Again, Sam.

Before you toss the tiny, plastic fork onto the now empty styrofoam, the clouds have started to lift. You realize you are going to make it. The street meat has worked.

You aren’t proud—your kids, after all, have gone vegetarian, as have all the children of Brooklyn, and you told them it was a good idea, that you were proud of them. You know all about the health, environmental, and ethical benefits of not eating meat. You love The Smiths.

But this had to happen. You had to do this. There are other hangover cures, of course, but on this day they were not for you. You had to let the street meat save you. And it did. And it was good. And there was light.

Anthony Bourdain Wants The Pumpkin Spice Craze To ‘Drown In Its Own Blood’

Amy Hansen
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Anthony Bourdain Wants The Pumpkin Spice Craze To ‘Drown In Its Own Blood’

One day after it was announced he was divorcing his wife of nine years, Anthony Bourdain hopped on reddit to do an AMA (Ask Me Anything). He took this photo as proof it was him behind the keyboard:

Some of the many, many highlights include:

ab-scared
Photo screenshot via IAmAnthonyBourdain on reddit
ab-obama
Photo screenshot via IAmAnthonyBourdain on reddit
ab-foodcities
Photo screenshot via IAmAnthonyBourdain on reddit
ab-comfortfoods
Photo screenshot via IAmAnthonyBourdain on reddit
screen-shot-2016-09-21-at-8-19-37-am
Photo screenshot via IAmAnthonyBourdain on reddit
ab-foodtrends
Photo screenshot via IAmAnthonyBourdain on reddit

Other notes of interest within the nearly 10,000 comments that crammed the string before Bourdain ran out of time and whiskey:

  • He likes cooking shows, specifically Top Chef, but, “On the other hand, they’ve created an entire species of cook, who really doesn’t want to work in a restaurant; they just want to be on TV. And that’s always worrying.”
  • Of all the places in the world he’d like to retire, he’d choose Italy.
  • The best tostada in the world is in Ensenada in Baja in Mexico at a place called La Guerrerense.
  • The three people he’d like to have dinner with: Louise Brooks, Orson Welles, and James Angleton, the former head of capital intelligence for the CIA.
  • He’d love to film a show with Keith Richards.

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Potiquette: Can I Show Up To A Work Party High ?

Penelope Potter
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Potiquette: Can I Show Up To A Work Party High ?

Dear Ms. Pot,

Next weekend, my office is having a pool party. First, I just have to say: office + pool parties = bad combo. (Do I really need to see my manager in his bathing suit? Or—shudder—Bob in accounting?) There will be beer and burgers, I hear. Volleyball. They want us to bond. Should I show up stoned? Would that make it better?

Love,

Colleen in California

—————-

Dear Colleen in California,

I agree. Bikinis and bosses do not belong together, for a variety of reasons. But … as much as I’d like to say, ‘Sure! Show up high! It’s a party!’ I can’t, in good conscious, advise any employee to arrive at work in an altered state. And despite the beers and the burgers and the bare-chested middle-aged men, this is still work—you’ll just be sitting in chlorine instead of cubicles. People that work together, drink together, that’s always been true. But when’s the last time a colleague popped by your desk and asked, “Hey, want to get high after work?” Society isn’t quite there yet. Give it time! That said, I do think—depending who you’re with, and what profession you’re in—you could bring a little with you. (Finance? No. Publishing? Yes. Tech? Well, Apple no. Spotify, yes.) One of my favorite surreptitious offsite moments involved a lake, a canoe, and a (fully dressed) 50-something, joint-carrying colleague. I admit: it made the otherwise awkward work party way more palatable.

Hope that helps, and have fun!

Ms. Pot

Hey, Fresh Toast readers and Potiquette fans! As marijuana continues its march to nationwide legal status, there are bound to be many, ahem, sticky questions and issues that come up. We’ve already looked at burning issues like if it’s okay to get high with your dad? And what happens when your dinner party host is slow to bust out the weed? We’re guessing you have your own questions for Penelope—so let her hear what’s on your mind! Email a question or two on anything marijuana related to: share@thefreshtoast.com and she will likely feature it on the site! Thanks for reading!

17 Sports Mascots That Are Enjoyable to Think About While High

TFT Editors
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17 Sports Mascots That Are Enjoyable to Think About While High

Watching sports while high isn’t for everyone. Some people love it—to them it adds something to the experience, allowing new insights about the level and types of plays. Others find it distracting, and prefer to enjoy their favorite team sober, or maybe with a beer or two. But watching sports teams mascots while high? That’s something everyone can agree is great. Funny looking critters with big heads, wacky dinosaurs, spooky fish—it’s almost like they were created to be enjoyed by stoners and not, you know, children. But what mascots are the best to think of after smoking weed? Glad you asked.

1) Rocky, from the Denver Nuggets: This poor guy once got so (literally) high that he passed out and was lowered to the ground in an unconscious state. Thankfully, he survived, and he continues to delight legally stoned fans at every Nuggets home game to this day.

2) The Raptor, from the Toronto Raptors: Any mascot that swallows cheerleaders whole and repeatedly eats shit while rollerblading, and whose costume is occasionally an inflatable dinosaur suit, is okay with me.

3). WuShock, from Wichita State University: This anthropomorphic shock of wheat that looks like it emerged directly from hell has been terrifying innocent Kansans for generations. Despite its Trumpian hair and evil mouth, this is a good mascot that absolutely does not send me spiraling into a pit of endless anxiety and despair. Great work, Wichita.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BBEcWQ8MTDJ/?taken-by=goshockers

4). Banana Slug, from UC Santa Cruz: It’s hard to think of a mascot better aligned with a stoner’s mentality than a Banana Slug. It’s also hard to think of a less intimidating representation of a sports team. Is UC Santa Cruz any good at athletics? Impossible to say. But they are fantastic at mascots.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BGXHvUxpfl7/?taken-by=ucsc

5). Mr. Met, from the New York Mets: The Mets are, historically speaking, a sad franchise. But their iconic mascot inspires nothing but joy. What’s not to like about a mascot whose head is a giant, grinning baseball?

https://www.instagram.com/p/BG40sdNIWL3/?taken-by=mets

6) Blowfish, from the Lexington County Blowfish: Sea creatures are underrepresented as mascots. Thankfully, the Lexington County Blowfish, an amateur collegiate summer league team based out of South Carolina, employ a bizarre Blowfish as their team rep. Here he is trying to swing a bat, and here he is trying to steal a child. What a fish!

https://www.instagram.com/p/BDOT0glMEcb/?taken-by=goblowfish

https://www.instagram.com/p/3wzigNsEQP/?taken-by=goblowfish

7) Muddy the Mudcat, from the Carolina Mudcats: Muddy the Mudcat may have been born in a silt-filled river, but he feels most at home on the baseball field, popping wheelies on four-wheelers in front adoring crowds. Should you trust a fish than can walk on two legs and do extreme sports? No, definitely not. But for some reason I trust Muddy.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BFJl5LIByzn/?taken-by=carolinamudcats

https://www.instagram.com/p/BFCivqJByxw/?taken-by=carolinamudcats

8) Brutus the Buckeye, from Ohio State University: Anthropomorphic nuts are another rarity in the world of mascots, but that’s not the only reason Brutus is a special mascot. Just take a look at his crooked grin and those gigantic dead eyes—even a Michigan fan couldn’t hate a blank-faced idiot like that .

https://www.instagram.com/p/BEmyknQkQyf/?taken-by=theohiostatefootball

9) Raymond, from the Tampa Bay Rays: What is Raymond? I have no idea. He’s covered in blue fur, with long tufts of grey hair shaggily dangling from his face and ears, with no resemblance to a ray or to an average Tampa resident. Whatever he is, his avuncular alien vibe makes him seem like an alright dude.

10) Grizz, from the Memphis Grizzlies: Of all the bear-related teams in sports, the Memphis Grizzlies have the best mascot. He looks tough and cool and capable of dunking after doing several backflips. Clark the Cub needs to step up his game.

https://www.instagram.com/p/-hF1XnkR0X/?taken-by=grizzofficial

11) Mr. Redlegs, from the Cincinnati Reds: With his oversized Vaudevillian mustache and huge, hypnotic eyes, Mr. Redlegs looks like Mr. Mets’ drunk great-grandfather. What does he have to do with Cincinnati or the Reds? No one we asked seems to know.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BHlM1eCA4Rm/?taken-by=megan_fenno

https://www.instagram.com/p/BIS54XQhdG0/?taken-by=reds

12) Phoenix Suns Gorilla, from the Phoenix Suns: This ape can do it all: He can carry rocks, spin a basketball on his finger, bang a drum, ride a motorcycle, dunk, drunk through a hoop that’s on fire, and carry a birthday cake. No mascot does more, or looks cooler doing it.

https://www.instagram.com/p/-nKKNiOONq/?taken-by=sunsgorilla

13) Ragnar the Viking, from the Minnesota Vikings: Ragnar is the real deal, in that he’s the only of these mascots that’s an actual human. Sure, he dresses like a viking, rides a huge motorcycle across U.S. Bank Stadium’s field, and often waves around an ancient battle ax, but he’s not hiding behind a mask or dressed like an anthropomorphic nut. Sadly, a contract dispute may have ended Ragnar’s reign in Minnesota.

https://www.instagram.com/p/elCX6_nl_K/

14) Otto the Orange, from Syracuse University: Nothing flashy about Otto: He’s merely an orange with arms, legs, and a hat. If simplicity alone won championships, Otto would have dozens of rings.

https://www.instagram.com/p/1i0jFZm3Qk/?taken-by=syracuseu

15) Burnie, from the Miami Heat: Yes, Burnie’s name is a little too on the nose for list dedicated to the best mascots for stoners, but he’s too perfect not to include. He’s not any sort of animal, and he’s definitely not human; instead, he’s a big-bellied fire-themed monster with a green basketball for a nose. For legal reasons, we can’t say he’s high all the time but he’s high all the time.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BIORpx2AGWB/?taken-by=miamiheat&hl=en

16) Sparky the Dragon, from the New York Islanders: Obviously.

https://www.instagram.com/p/6yLRN0kZQD/

17) The Saint Louis University Billiken The Billiken is supposed to be “a mythical good-luck figure who represents things as they ought to be,” according to the SLU website. Instead, it’s a goddamn walking horror show, like something an angry Dr. Seuss would draw if he were ripped on acid. It’s amazing the people in the pictures below aren’t fleeing in terror. Think of this mascot only after smoking the most relaxing weed you’ve got.

https://twitter.com/SLU_Billikens/status/778393065098612736

https://twitter.com/SLU_Billikens/status/778381133809487872

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What Your Food And Drinks Look Like On A $21,000 Flight Upgrade

Amy Hansen
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What Your Food And Drinks Look Like On A $21,000 Flight Upgrade

Casey Neistat got a first-class upgrade from Dubai to New York. A $21,000 upgrade, to be exact. And like anyone with an iPhone who is blessed with good fortune, he recorded his 14-hour flight.

In addition to a shower, turn-down service, pampering incidentals and, most notably, a motorized door that created his own personal hideaway, he was treated to king-like food and beverage service.

“I just order whatever I want whenever I want it,” says Neistat in the video below. “There’s no meal time. You just tell them to cook you something and they cook it, like being at a real restaurant.” Poor guy. There’s also a mechanical beverage cart. “The fact that that’s motorized is just ridiculous. It’s completely unnecessary.” Check out his ridic transportation situation.

(h/t Viral Videos)

 

Vegetarians Petition For Veggie Burger At In-N-Out

Jillian Peterson
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Vegetarians Petition For Veggie Burger At In-N-Out

Nearly 20-thousand (as of press time) non-meat eaters have signed a petition asking In-N-Out to add a veggie burger to its menu.

Eater reports that the petition will be sent to company president Lynsi Snyder once it garners 25,000 signatures.

And like most civilized comment strings, remarks range from:

This is absolutely the most incredibly stupid thing I have heard in a while, and there is a LOT of stupid going around.. In-N-Out, please do not change anything for these morons. If you do not want a burger, do not go to a burger stand. Stupid people are stupid.

to

Small steps like this help preserve the planet. The raising of cows for food is detrimental to the environment, being that cows produce more methane gas than all cars, planes, and trains combined. We need to show more compassion to animals as well. This may seem like a ridiculous petition, but it is a step in the right direction.

While it’s unlikely that In-N-Out will meet the non-meat demands — the chain has built a reputation on a basic menu of burgers, fries and shakes — here’s a list of fast-food hacks for vegetarian and vegans.

 

Pudú: Take A Moment To Learn About The Cutest Darn Deer

Sam Jones
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Pudú: Take A Moment To Learn About The Cutest Darn Deer

Please take a moment out of your day to appreciate the happiest little deer that has ever deer’d on this planet or any other: The pudú. Lettuce leaf for scale.

Photo by Imgur user brioners
Photo by Imgur user brioners

So let’s talk pudú.

Just really, really LOOK at this happy baby pudú. He (Or she! We aren’t sure) is the happiest and he is the babiest. His face is the embodiment of the smiley emoji. The pudú is the world’s smallest deer species, growing to be 13 to 33 inches tall on average. For some perspective, 13 inches is:

  • Two-fifths of Verne Troyer
  • Three-tenths the height of Kenny Baker, who played R2-D2
  • One-fourth of Gary Coleman
  • One-fifth  of Danny DeVito and Napoleon
  • One-tenth of Shaq and André the Giant

More facts about pudús: Since 2009 they’ve been considered a threatened species. They live on the slopes of the Andes Mountain Range; how do their littlest legs do it? They are also known as the “Chilean mountain goat,” so I guess they’re pretty good on their impossibly tiny feet. The northern pudús are found living 2,000 to 4,000 feet above sea level, which seems so high for such a small thing. Please be careful, pudús.

"Photo by Rodrigo Fernández via Wikimedia"
Photo by Rodrigo Fernández via Wikimedia

More about Little Deer Bae: More than 100 southern pudús are kept at ISIS-registered institutions, which is a very unfortunate acronym for International Species Information System that includes zoos in the U.S. and Europe.

They don’t interact socially, other than to mate. Kind of like that one person in your friend-group, but much cuter about it. Not a lot is known about what they do socially, because they’re so damn secretive about it. A single pudú’s territory “is marked with sizable dung piles found on paths and near eating and resting areas,” making them even more amazing and weird, oh my gosh. Check out this scientific description of their mating habits:

Southern pudús have a polygynous mating system. In wild populations, southern pudús form pair bonds in the fall and mate. The male is attracted to a female in estrus and will approach the female in a low, slow crouch. After the male judges the female’s responsiveness by sniffing and licking, they proceed to engage in butting the groin or sides, followed by grooming. For a three-day period, the male mounts the doe repeatedly and intercourse occurs for two to three seconds each time.

I think the kids are calling that “cuffing” nowadays.

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I Took Way More Than A Handful Of Skittles—And Lived To Tell About It

Brendan Bures
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I Took Way More Than A Handful Of Skittles—And Lived To Tell About It

I couldn’t think, I could barely breathe—grim terror coursed through my head, shoulders, knees, and toes. My knees and my freakin’ toes.

This wasn’t some fireside fright cast off once the sun returns. I had known fear before, but not like this. Who thought it was even possible? Something so colorful, so sweet would never be suspected as murderers. But Monday night our world changed forevermore. If I had to blame anyone, it would be Donald Trump, Jr. For it was he who brought this darkness to light.

Skittles. Could. Kill.

How foolish we’d been! How frivolous our pursuits! How childish our assumptions!

I almost commended my enemies. A killer candy? A brilliant ploy. Use our children to lure us into false hope, a false security that we could be safe chomping crunchy, sugary sweets. Then, when we least expect it, the poison would fill our central nervous system, attacking viciously until we lay comatose on the ground. Sarin gas? Anthrax? Who knew it’d all been child’s play?

The buzzing stopped. It was only a sugar rush.

But I decided something: I wasn’t going to live in fear. I was going to find out for myself: Could Skittles kill me and my friends and family and everyone I loved? This was an investigation unlike any I’d ever seen. This was the enterprise, #longform, included-in-newsletters journalism I’d always wanted to do. I didn’t know if I was ready but that’s the way of the world: It sends you its greatest challenges when you’re most worried candy could kill you because some megalomaniac’s son tweeted an inane analogy that makes no goddamn sense when you take a fraction of a fraction of a second to consider what the fuck he means.

I knew that I never had a choice. This was my fate: I must discover if Skittles could actually kill.

My journey began with a trek through the brilliant Texas sun. I knew where my enemy called its lair: the local corner store. Entering the candy aisle, my enemy awaited where it’d always been. Except everything was different now. I knew.

Photo by Brendan Bures
Photo by Brendan Bures

Look at those terrorists. “Murderers, all of you!” I shouted. Other shoppers looked at me crazy when I was the sanest I’d ever been. I’d finally exited the cave, stopped watching the shadows. If labels like “loser,” “wacko,” and “Is this guy fucking mental, bruh?” were the price I had to pay, so be it.

Which to choose? I considered. Five assembled varieties, but so little time. I didn’t know what to do. So like any reasonable man, I bought three.

Photo by Brendan Bures
Photo by Brendan Bures

I rushed home with intentions of reconstructing an exact replica of the truth-y image I’d been show. But there was one glaring problem standing in my way—all my bowls were dirty.

Considering the dire circumstances, and certainly not my laziness to wash dishes, I produced the closest imitation I could.

investigation-skittles-2
Photo by Brendan Bures

Face to face with my enemy I was. My toxic tonic. My beverage of doom. My cocktail of venom because remember we’re still in my fake reality where Skittles might kill us all.

I didn’t know how to proceed. I had my doubts. Was I really prepared to risk my life? And to what purpose was I doing this for? Was it journalism? Was it art? Was this my hero’s journey? Every man must be able to stare deeply into himself and know what meaning his actions hold. So why was I doing this?

I was doing it for #content.

Finally knowing thyself, I dove in headfirst.

investigation-skittles-3
Photo by Brendan Bures

Once inside the belly of the beast, I wasn’t going to cease until I knew the truth. I should’ve stopped at three Skittles. That was the killer number wasn’t it? But what if I chose the wrong three? That’s when I realized: I had to eat all the Skittles to know if this world could ever be safe again.

I’d never eaten this many Skittles previously. I wondered if there wasn’t a better man for the job. “Why did you have to retire, Marshawn Lynch!” I cried to the heavens.

via Giphy
via Giphy

But soon after I entered my own Beast Mode, attaining abilities I never knew I had. I devoured the Original Skittles, I puckered through the Sour Skittles, and I savored the Tropical Skittles one by one because they’re my favorite. I ate and I ate until there was no more.

Then I waited. And I waited. Then: A buzz surged through my veins. Was this the poison enacting its toll? Were these to be my final thoughts? What would I never get the chance to say that always wish I could? “I’VE ALWAYS HATED FIREBALL SHOTS AND SECRETLY BELIEVE EVERYONE ELSE DOES TOO, BUT NO ONE SAYS ANYTHING BECAUSE ROUTINE BEHAVIORS MAINTAIN A STATUS QUO WE ALL DESPERATELY WISH TO BE PART OF!!!!” I raged into the blackness quickly encasing me.

But my end was not nigh. The buzzing stopped. It was only a sugar rush. I had defeated that darkest of demons in broad, sweet-tasting daylight: fear. With this victory, I knew fear would not hold me prisoner.

investigation-skittles-4

The world was safe now. We could all enjoy our Skittles in peace, a knowledge gained that no greater evil could be found beyond our horizons. Right?

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Donut Shop Vandal Caught Sticky-Handed

Sam Jones
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Donut Shop Vandal Caught Sticky-Handed

It’s hard to get away with vandalism when you’re covered in the evidence. It’s even harder when the evidence is a “sticky white food substance.”

“Man covered in marshmallow creme-like stuff arrested for vandalism at Voodoo Donuts” the Register-Guard reports out of Eugene, Oregon, with an award-deserving headline. Twenty-year-old Ean Mandrake Card was already banned from this particular 24-hour Voodoo Donut establishment, but showed up around 6:45 a.m. on a Sunday — a time of day when most of America was either dead asleep, waking up to head to church, or preparing to get real weird with some icing — to exact his sweet revenge. As dawn broke over sleepy Eugene, Card proceeded to rub (what officials say appeared to be) marshmallow creme on the store’s windows and patio furniture, which was probably a total bitch to clean off.

Police found Card covered in creme, about a half-mile away from the shop. He was arrested on charges of third-degree criminal mischief, second-degree criminal trespass and disorderly conduct. His expression in his mugshot is incredulous. As if everyone doesn’t get the urge to rub a donut shop down with marshmallow creme once in a while.

What could spur a man to such action, and what got him banned from there in the first place? He doesn’t seem to be a former employee, as his social media lists a skate park and a firefighters’ association, but there is a nearly year-long gap that’s missing between these gigs. Was this the year he worked at Voodoo that left the bad taste in his mouth and on his hands? According to this location’s Yelp, fresh donuts come off the line at 6 a.m., so it’s possible Card knew this would be the golden hour for distracted employees hard at work for the rush of customers needing their socially acceptable morning cake in circular form.

Or perhaps he just hates the idea of a place that’s cash-only charging $4.50 per donut. Maybe he hates food puns combined with breakfast cereal for donuts named things like”Captain my Captain” or “The Loop.” Who can say but Ean himself, and he’s probably still cleaning the creme out of his hair.

Posted By: Samantha Cole

The Big Lebowski’s Jesus Spotted On NYC Subway

TFT Editors
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The Big Lebowski’s Jesus Spotted On NYC Subway

Last month, news broke that John Turturro is directing and starring in a spin-off of The Big Lebowski based on his cult character, the pederast Jesus “The Jesus” Quintana. The movie began filming last month, but we’ve had scant visual evidence—save for a Susan Sarandon Instagram—of the new Jesus—until now.

Slam editor Abe Schardron spotted Turturro on the 4 train Tuesday morning, the actor’s hair in Jesus-style cornrows.

https://twitter.com/abe_squad/status/778246889892438016

So what about the actual movie? As Birth Movies Death reports, the film is called Going Places, it co-stars Bobby Cannavale, Audrey Tautou and Susan Sarandon, and the Coens are NOT involved in any way. It’s also a remake of the 1974 French comedy Les Valseuses. Here’s the plot, as recapped by Birth Movies Death:

Petty thieves, Turturro’s Jesus and Cannavale’s Petey, compete to give a woman (Tautou) her first orgasm after she’s roped into their hijinks. Sarandon also ends up in their company, playing a criminal who just got out after a long stint in prison.

We have a lot of questions about the new flick. How will the it hold up compared to original? Will the Dude, Walter Sobchak, or any of the other characters from the Lebowski universe make cameos? (Jeff Bridges said in 2010 that he’d be open to a Lebowski sequel). Will we learn more about Jesus’s checkered past? Is Donny alive in this movie? Does he ever shut the fuck up?

A more important question: Did the Coen brothers even sign off on this movie? Indiewire notes Turturro may not have the intellectual-property rights to Jesus. Even so, we doubt Joel or Ethan would be too upset; after all, their working relationship with Turturro goes back to 1990’s Miller Crossing. He also worked with the Academy-Award-winning brothers on 1991’s Hollywood satire, Barton Fink, and 2000’s Depression-era nod to The Odyssey and bluegrass, O Brother, Where Art Thou?

The Big Lebowski is a classic movie you should (re)watch. Will we one day say the same about Going Places? Probably not–after all, how many real cult classics are there?–but we’re excited to see it anyway.

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