Basically, the only reason I'm reviewing these things (and at this time) is because I can't do anything else. Over 30 VT kids were murdered in cold blood by a psychotic asshole on Monday, and this is all I can do: make sure Cho Seung-Hui is remembered for the emo, pussy, retard that he actually was. I don't want people to think this evil dick was "cool" in the least. He was not. He thought he was a bad ass, but he was just an assmaster instead. Here is a buttload of proof...
Cho Seung-Hui was an evil asshole who loved the cock. There are no two ways about it. You don't go killing 32 innocent people on a college campus like that without having a little voice inside your head saying, "Um, hey, dickweed, I don't think shooting these kids is really a nice thing to do." Cho chose to ignore that voice, like all fuckheads who came before him did and do. Hitler and Stalin at least accepted that they were evil (at least I say they did). And at least Cho was too stupid to attain the power that Uncle Joe and Aunt Adolf achieved before his dickery was brought to fruition. Cho Seung-Hui was an evil, stupid, dickless man. Who loved the cock.
What pisses me off about Cho even more than what he did is how he pictured himself. In the photos and videos that he sent to NBC in between his killing sprees on April 16, 2007, he seemed to think he was somewhat cool. He aims guns at the camera, holds a knife up to his throat, and even poses with a hammer in an attempt to imitate the kick-ass anti-hero in the movie Old Boy in some of the shots. Cho was not cool though. He couldn't even get the address to NBC right on the envelope. He never smiled, never spoke (even when directly spoken to), and even wrote his name as "?" on roll calls in class.... Wow, that right there... What an utter emo failure. But beyond all that, he was a lousy student and a godawful playwright. And it's two of his really shitty plays that I am here to review for you today, mostly so that you never have to read them yourself.
Let's start with Cho's RICHARD McBEEF. Not that this one's any better or worse than Cho's other play, Mr. Brownstone, but it was just the first one that I read.
Richard McBeef is all about an annoying pissant 14 year-old named John who hates his stepfather, the titular Richard. That's it. That's the plot. The whole thing is 10 pages long (counting title and cast pages) and was obviously thrown together in the ten minutes before the writing class [that it was due in] was to begin. The language, grammar and character lines are so fucking terrible that I actually laughed out loud (something I simply hate typing unless absolutely true) after getting through the first few sentences. Let me make this perfectly clear, neither of these plays are comedies -- they are both meant to be taken seriously -- but the stilted lines and the insane jumps in logic and stupidity within are just... well, batshit loco.
Example: John comes down to the kitchen for breakfast. Richard is already there and says, "Hey, John." The following is what pisses and oozes out of John's (sharp as a barb) mouth when Richard tries to have a normal conversation with him: "What's up, Dick!" "You ain't my dad and you know it, you Dick." "Man-to-man up your ass, bud!" And then the grand confrontational vocal vomit when Richard puts his hand on John's lap to try and calm him down: "What are you, a Catholic priest! I will not be molested by an aging balding overweight pedophilic stepdad named Dick! Get your hands off me you sicko! Damn you, you Catholic priest. Just stop it, Michael Jackson. Let me guess, you have a pet named Dick in Neverland ranch and you want me to go with you to pet him, right?" (All the incorrect punctuation, capitalizations [or lack thereof] and raunchy content were just as Cho had written them.)
Wow, so witty he put Shakespeare to shame... Cho named the main character Richard just so his plucky, faggy, protagonist could angrily call him "Dick." The great bard is rolling over in his grave after shitting his coffin in disgust this very moment.
Things go downhill from there though as Sue, John's mom comes into the picture. We find out that John's biological dad died in a boating accident a month before and Sue remarried Richard in the time since then. Oh, and even though John has no proof (read ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY no proof), and just because he tells his mom that Richard tried to touch his genitals and killed her first husband himself, she goes off the handle, cursing and smashing dishes on her new hubby's head. Bwa ha ha! And Sue's lines! Just horrendously dreadful. Here's a few of her best: "You fat piece of pork! John! Go to your room and lock it!" "Are you a bisexual psycho rapist murderer! Please stop following me. Don't kill me!"
In the end, John pushes Richard's buttons one two many times and Dick kills him. The kicker of this whole thing though is that Cho is not putting himself in John's place, but Richard's. Richard is the poor burger flipper (John tries to make fun of him for not having any money), Richard is the one whom everybody mocks, and Richard is the one accused of stalking the woman and who ultimately kills the kid who mocked him. Cho is the Dick. Don't forget that Cho was (for some reason that he must have pulled out of his ass) convinced that not only did "rich kids" deserve to die, but that Virginia Tech was made up of nothing BUT rich kids. His own loony jumps in reasoning and rationality rival those of his characters in his (really crappy) plays. Seriously, how the fuck was he NOT in a straightjacket long before he bought his guns? And in case you missed it, Cho is deathly afraid of being outed as a member of NAMBLA. Dick simply touches John, and for the rest of the play he's referred to as a pedophilic, bisexual, Catholic priest, or Michael Jackson. I... I don't know what else to say here. Just, scary as all fuck.
Anyway, on to Mr. BROWNSTONE.... Uuuugh, if Richard McBeef was written in 10 minutes before class, Mr. Brownstone must have been written as Cho was walking up to the professor's desk to turn the project in. There's even less of a plot in this one than in Richard McBeef, and the characters are even stupider and written even more like robots. Oh, my fucking head... It hurts to just think about it.
The whole of the *ahem* play of Mr. Brownstone takes place in a casino. 3 seventeen year-olds creatively named Joe, John and Jane have snuck into the gambling establishment and start talking bad about their teacher Mr. Brownstone. The kids mock him (well, not really, but I'm sure that Cho Seung thought that what he was writing was the next best thing to MTV's Yo Momma! contest of street insults) and talk about how Brownstone likes to rape his students whom he makes stay for detention, and it turns out that (gasp!) Mr. Brownstone is there the whole time and hears everything that they say! Oh noes! And then he fucks them again by the very end by stealing the jackpot that one of them won on a slot machine.... Not only does (shit, I keep doing that. I guess I should use DID, since that fucker is DEAD) Cho not know how people talk naturally ("Yeah. Finally a cool place to hang out where we won't be constantly bushwached," and "There is like no safe place for us to hang out. We can't hang out in front of the grocery store, we can't hang out at the park, we can't hang out in the street. The only place where we are safe from that him is behind the shitty dumpster," are two of the more pivotal lines in this thing, and trust me, they actually sound less retarded OUT of context), but I'm beginning to wonder if this is seriously how he thought the world actually worked.
I'm going to turn amateur psychoanalyst here (emphasis on the analyzing of PSYCHOS). By Cho's accounts of what constitutes "reality" in his plays, the world is full of only two kinds of people: those who hate, and the pedophiles who are unfairly hated, and who in turn must revenge themselves or KILL those who hate them. I truly do hope that there is a Hell simply so that repulsive assholes like Cho Sueng-Hui get anally raped by a giant napalmed dildo for all eternity.
I gots nothin' to say.
I, uh... Holy shit. I'm sorry, but I am not touching this with a ten-foot pole.