She's a pop star, and beside her abysmal taste in men (the funny but physically repulsive and unhinged lunatic Russel Brand) I don't know a damn thing about her. But what is there to know besides the fact that she loooks mahvelous, dahling-absolute mahvelous!!!
...and if she came at me with a knife, I'd give her whatever she wanted!!!
Carancho Release date May 6, 2010. Running time 1 hour 47 minutes. Spanish w/English subtitles.
Argentinian film noir about an unscrupulous ambulance chaser, played by Ricardo Darín, involved in an organized scheme to bilk car accident victims out of their insurance money. Buenos Aires has one of the highest vehicular mortality rates in the world, and there are is a mafia within the judicial system set up to take advantage of the carnage. Darín is a lawyer who's had his license revoked for some unknown malfeasance, but is waiting for the time when the ban is lifted so he can go on working in the light of day. While he's not out chasing victims, he's duping the desperate into faking accidents in lieu of a cash payout. During one of his set-ups he meets the beguiling Luján, who is paying her dues the hard way as a doctor in a two-man ambulance crew riding along the gritty streets of the city. Things begin to go awry when he falls in love with her.
The problem with our protagonist is two-fold. He owes the people he works for money. He never seems capable of repaying the debt in full because while they are double-crossing their clients, he is double-crossing them right back by taking the client's money and not divvying it up properly with his superiors. For this he occasionally gets his ass kicked by the collector's henchmen. He also makes the mistake of telling his boss that he's going to quit soon. Not the right move telling your sleazy, slovenly boss you are considering leaving and thus becoming his biggest and most competent competitor for accident cases.
This film is far from perfect. The ending is unsatisfactory and the female protagonist, initially a strong figure in all this madness, is reduced to a blubbering mass of stereotypical female weakness. This turn was a bad move on the part of the director, especially since she had already exhibited serious problems as a closet addict. But Latin cinema needs films like this to grow and progress. There is a lot of untapped creativity in Latin America, and this film is as entertaining as anything that's being produced by their better financed North American counterparts, who despite tons of money have shown themselves to be stuck in a quagmire of mediocrity that is unparalleled in the history of cinema.
Not to be confused with a previous "Babe of the Week" who goes by a similar name, this beautiful baby came into the modeling world the hard way-by being born beautiful, and we all know how much hard work goes into such an endeavor. First, one must pick one's parents pre-conception-not as easy as it sounds. Then, one must find famous celebrities to screw for the sake of publicity, even harder to do with the plethora of hoochies out there biding for the attention of assholes like Kanye West, who was so smitten with our blond goddess he spilled bottle after bottle of Patrón tequila all over himself just to get her attention.
I know picking a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model may seem intellectually lazy, given that all one has to do is choose whoever gets the cover of the yearly edition, but of all the models featured in this year's edition, Kate is by far the cutest. She definitely loooks mahvelous, dahling-absolutely mahvelous!!! And I'm sure many cats out there who have thumbed through the magazine feel the same way.
The NBA is exhibiting a renaissance at the point guard position. Whereas even solid, serviceable big men are a rare breed (I'm talking about cats 6'10" and taller) and the ones we do have are in dire need of basic low post skills like scoring and shot-blocking, the point guard spot hasn't been this flush full of talent since the early-to-mid 1980's. Chicago Bulls center Joachim Noah of Chicago wouldn't even get off the bench back in the day , but I guess Granville Waiters isn't walking through that door anytime soon, so he is a starter with a nice contract extension on a championship-level squad that boasts only one true standout star, and that is point guard Derrick Rose.
But he has to do EVERYTHING, which is the main reason he's sat out the last four games with back problems. He has to score, run the offense and, last but of tantamount importance, he is the go-to guy in the fourth quarter. You can only ask so much from a guy playing the most important position out on the floor. The one consolation is that his team is good enough to be mentioned amongst the NBA elite, which is more than I can say for a bunch of other as-talented ballers who must spend the best years of their careers on floundering teams.
As much crap as people from within the Boston Celtics organization have talked about Rajon Rondo over the years, they'd be nowhere without him. Watching them play this year, it's obvious they are a year too late with their "Big Three" experiment. They managed to get one title out of it, and if it wasn't for injuries and stupid trades like shipping off Tony Allen and Kendrick Perkins to replace them with Shaquille and Jermaine O'Neal they would have had at least two, maybe even three. They also depleted their bench of young, high-energy players like Glen "Big Baby" Davis and Nate Robinson for absolutely no reason. Those four would have made a difference this year, but instead they have retreads like Brandon Bass, Keyon Dooling, Marquis Daniels, Michael Pietrus and Chris Wilcox. Rondo is in trouble, because he's signed to a long-term contract and the team will become appreciably worse next year when guaranteed tow of their Big Three are gone next season, leaving a visibly aging Paul Pierce to lead them right to the draft lottery.
Deron Williams-has anyone seen him this year? Or last? Of course not, because he plays in New Jersey, when even when they had a squad that boasted one of the most exciting offenses run by floor general and serial wife beater Jason Kidd they still couldn't give tickets away. New principal Mikhail Prokhorov came in with typical Russian Oligarch bombast, posting billboards close to Madison Square Garden announcing The Nets were there to challenge the Knicks for the hearts and minds of NYC basketball fans. The buzz was they had the cash from Prohkorov AND the street cred with minority owner Jay-Z AND cap space going forward. Well, that didn't quite work out as well as they had hoped, and Williams is left having to throw under-the-basket alley oops to the Frankenstinian Brooke Lopez, who answers the question "what would Stephen Hawking play like if he were seven feet tall". Lopez is so uncoordinated he makes Joachim Noah, one of the most uncoordinated dorks in the NBA besides Lopez's twin brother Robin, look like Akeem Olajuwon. Somewhere, Chris Washburn, William Bedford and Roy Tarpley, leaders of the illustrious NBA All-Crackhead Draft Class of 1986, are kicking themselves in the ass for wasting their collective talent and leaving the league to these embalmed corpses.
Nobody wants to play in New Jersey, so they can't entice any quality free agents, even with the promise of a gleaming new stadium right in the heart of Brooklyn. And the Bling factor brought on board by the illustrious J-Hova never materialized. I never understood why this aspect was so overplayed in the media. Jay-Z has enough juice to get courtside seats (not hard to do with those promotional giveaways The Nets advertise on television) and hang out with the players, and that's it. And who the fuck would want to hang out with those losers? For the Nets to re-sign Williams to a long-term deal, they will HAVE to either make a trade for Dwight Howard, who has stated The Nets are a destination he's consider, or just wait until the off-season to get him with the assurance that Williams will be there.
Realistically, New York City isn't for everyone, and professional athletes have it rough under the bright lights and intense media scrutiny. Take a look at the crap A-Rod has to deal with. The ones that are here face challenges that an off-court nightlife and mega-deal endorsements can't make up for. Just ask Carmelo Anthony and Amar'e Stoudemire, who came in with incredible hype, are getting paid big money and are enjoying the fruits of living in the Big Apple, yet have been eclipsed in the span of 6 games by an Asian overachiever from Harvard who was a pack of duck sauce away from getting cut before his contract was guaranteed earlier this year. Now he's the toast of the town and there is talk of actually trading one of the two previously mentioned superstars. But it goes to show you how, even with such a formidable front line, a basketball team cannot win without a quality point guard. I won't get into Jeremy Lin because he deserves his own post, which will be coming soon. I want to see how he plays against Dallas when Carmelo Anthony is scheduled to be back in the lineup.
Yes, but will she and the Garden fans love him long time?
*BREAKING NEWS-The New York Knicks have just signed former Denver Nuggets shooting guard J.R. Smith for the pro-rated mid-level exception. Yes, he is a head case, but Smith is one of the most athletic players they've had in years (Gerald Wilkens? I don't think so). If coach Mike D'Antoni can handle his attitude and get him to buy in, they have the makings of a very good team. Let's see how they play when everyone, including Baron Davis, gets healthy. Davis could be another weapon in the arsenal or could phone it in like he's known to do. He is due for a special performance because as reported on ESPN, Davis hasn't had a significant basketball moment in about four years.
Just look at the turnaround of the perpetually moribund Los Angeles Clippers. They sucked always and in every way possible, but now with Chris Paul they have been rechristened "Lob City", with hopes of challenging the top teams in the Western Conference, whose list does not include the Lakers. The glaring need for a point guard should have been addressed last year, but since they decided to give away one of their top trade assets in Lamar Odom for absolutely nothing, they will have to blow up their remaining front line to land a quality player. Trading for Dwight Howard will bring them no closer to a title because their bench has been napalmed into irrelevance with (just like the Celtics) bad trades and letting good role players walk. So instead of having three players they could trade for Howard AND a desperately needed point guard, now they have to for the immediate future, settling for one or the other.
The other glaring problem is they have maybe two more years after this one of Kobe Bryant at the top of his game before Father Time says enough is enough and puts paid to his little bullshit fadeaway jumpshot. And as we have seen from pro athletes, they have a tendency to lose it immediately when that day finally comes, and once that occurs it is final. So The Lakers have no time to rebuild what is an old, untalented and demoralized squad. Keep shooting 45 times game, Kobe. They have a front line demoralized by constant trade rumors, two aging, unathletic point guards who cannot their big men the ball because Kobe's always shooting it, and a bench reminiscent of Skid Row. Gasol and Bynam haven't responded to Bryant this year because they know he's a nutbox who only gives a fuck about getting his and his alone. And don't get me started on Ron Artest. His game is so putrid he has seagulls constantly encircling him the second he gets out of his car because they mistake his aura for that of a municipal trash dump.
Eric Gordon, the New Orleans Hornets guard who was part of the Chris Paul trade, isn't interested in playing there after this year. He declined to sign a long-term deal and wants out. So does Milwaukee's Brandon Jennings, who has told the press he's going to consider his options at the end of the year. Even though both players are undersized, shoot-first two-guards playing the point, they are extremely athletic and talented enough to make a difference on better teams. John Wall is another hyper-talented player whose stats have fallen off this year because he's playing in Washington, whose toxicity hovers over the nation's capital like the nuclear reactor in Chernobyl. He's still under contract, but he's going to run towards the door faster than a free cheese handout in the 'hood. And there will be a stampede for teams vying for his services. There are some interesting scenarios that will play out between now and the free agent signing period beginning July 1st. One thing is for sure-good players are tired of playing on bad teams, and I don't blame them.
Oh, boy. One of our resident neanderthal Guidos from the reality show "Jersey Shore" had to go home for five minutes to soothe his aching psyche. Let's all take this time to reflect on the repercussions of living a lifestyle devoid of maturity, sense of time and space, and responsibilities-all while marinating in alcohol, deafening house music, and douchy-white trash Jersey girls dripping with venereal diseases who just love to take their panties off for the cameras.For most morons out there, this is living life at the top. But it proved too much even for Vinny, he of the stable, loving home and the only character that has extended family still breathing in Italy.
The vapid, drunken stupidity that has become Vinnny's life is woefully apparent by his abysmal style and fashion faux-pas. First of all, he lives three steps away from the beach in a house full of gorilla juice-heads yet has the muscle tone and skin color of a bloated corpse recently fished out of a shallow pond. His haircut screams "I'M AN IDIOT!!! PLEASE KICK ME UP MY ASS!!!" and makes him look like one of the primates from the film "Gorillas in the Mist". Ronnie, who seems to be on his meds and is all the more boring for it, attempts to deconstruct this monstrosity by describing the new 'do as "a mixture between a mullet, a Mohawk, and a faux hawk". Add all three up and you get a haircut that's 100% ASSHOLE. From the back, he looks like a hastily manicured vagina.
He decides to leave, and the most telling moment comes when the gang decide to to go out to the club instead of hanging out and consoling their fellow Guido-in-crisis. They leave it up to Pauly, who still remains the most authentically likable of these Type-A assholes to talk Vinny to his senses. Pauly, limited as he is by a severe lack of emotional depth, admits the situation at hand is beyond him and Vincenzo bids him arriva-fucking-derci. As he is welcomed back into the psychotically ass-backwards mental ward that is the Jersey Shore house, he reveals a sporting new and grisly tattoo, because nothing says emotional stability more than ruining your pallid, sickly white skin with disgusting green ink and bad art work-
This tattoo is supposed to mean something. What it means is that the cure for anxiety should not involve returning to a house where you are cocooned by an asphyxiating, overbearing Italian mother who lets you do whatever the fuck you want and takes care of you like you're a three-year old. Chicken cutlets, anyone? Sure, she'll plop down fourteen of them on your plate at one time-and you better save room for dessert!!!
His fashion sense, never on par with the three other dickwads on the show on a good day, has taken a turn for the worse. Two-hundred dollar, tight-ass, purple cotton-poly blend jeans, worn in the ubiquitous tapered slim fit style that hug all the way to the ankle, makes a guy look like he's wearing clown shoes. But that doesn't seem to bother Vinny, whose oversized cranium makes up for any discrepancies that may throw his physique out of proportion.
Vinny, AKA "The Purple Haze"...
So now he's decided, because the publicity, fame and money he's garnered from being a useless greaseball wop on permanent vacation trolloping for whores all over Seaside, New Jersey isn't enough of an ego boost, to become the poster boy for anxiety on one of those websites that supposedly provides support for such issues, but only exists as a platform for loser celebrities to gain even more face time. "Hey, Vinny suffers from anxiety-it must be cool to wear tight purple pants again!!!" Newsflash for those truly suffering from anxiety and need help-it wasn't and will never be cool for a grown-ass man to walk around in public dressed like Alexander the Grape.
Vinny, you don't need help. You need a frontal lobotomy. From behind.
This jive-ass turkey is a sex symbol. Go figure...
Look at these photos. This nappy-headed goombah gets gratuitously laid wherever he goes, despite his overall terrible look and unfortunate choice of wardrobe and hairstyle. This is what TV does for reality stars-it turns relatively harmless assholes with nothing going for them and turns them into celebrities that hot women want to screw. In this Bizarro World, talent and hard work are an actual hindrance. This is where hot Jersey sluts want to fuck guys like this just to get on TV. And what a sad sight it must be for the parents of these young women who seem to wear their promiscuity as a badge of honor. It certainly is disturbing thought how little it takes for beautiful, young women to happily morph into pathetic slutbags who get banged by these Jersey Shore losers only to be shown the door as soon as the condom slips off.
Here is Vinny in happier times, hanging out with his anorexic, disgustingly shameless Eastern Whoropean girlfriend in Miami-
This is the sorry tale of a young Mexican beauty, played by the beautiful and talented Stephanie Sigman, who goes off to take part in a beauty pageant and gets caught up in a whirlwind of madness that defies logic but puts the narco-wars into the type of perspective that makes absolute and total sense. Props must be given yet again to co-executive producers Diego Luna and Gael Garcia Bernal for taking part in yet another great Mexican production. These successful young men should be lauded for their efforts in putting such tremendous efforts into the issues that plague not only Mexico but many Latin American countries, and they do so without the banal sentimentality that one would expect if we were dealing with lesser talents.
The film begins with Laura Guerrero telling her younger brother he'll have to find someone else to take him to school. She takes off with a friend to participate in a beauty pageant, and that's when the madness begins. Later that evening her friend is partying with some men who she feels will pave the way for their success in the pageant. Soon after, there is a massacre in the nightclub and that's where Laura is found hiding by a narco boss. He tells her everything will be fine as long as she keeps her mouth shut, and that may have been the end of it if not for a fatal mistake Laura commits the very next day.
The next day she goes to a policeman requesting information on the victims of the previous nights' massacre for the purpose of finding her friend, whose fate is unknown. The corrupt officer assures her her statement will be taken by the authorities, but does exactly the opposite and places her in the hands of the gangsters responsible for the killings. The leader turns out to be the same cat who told her to keep her mouth shut. The bad guy, played by Noe Hernandez, another Mexican actor who has absolutely no biographical information on the internet, plays one of the most ruthless and diabolically savage villains this side of Don Logan from the British film "Sexy Beast".
He takes her on a dizzying descent into the brutal and senseless chaos of life in the narco-wars, with one scene overtaking another like a runaway train of utter and complete madness. The unbridled corruption is left open for all to see like a gaping wound, just as the real-life killings and acts of violence that have taken so many lives in Mexico for the sake of North Americans who just love to get high.
This film is based on a true story of former beauty queen Laura Zúñiga, who unlike the Laura of this film was in real life the girlfriend of a Mexican drug lord and was busted in a car full of guns and cash while holding the prestigious crown of Nuestra Belleza México of 2008. Though there were rumors that her contest was fixed by her powerful narco-boyfriend, the pageant directors stripped her of her crown after her arrest and awarded the prize to the runner-up. Here she is posing for the cameras after her arrest on December 8, 2008.
I was an unabashed fan of this show during their groundbreaking first season. Finally a television series featuring my worst nightmare-the walking dead rising and coming after the living with a vengeance. It started off great, even though I admit an overriding preference to the faster moving zombies introduced into the genre in the 2004 remake of "Dawn of the Dead". Season 1 was fast-paced, action-packed and the storyline hummed along beautifully, with the ever-evolving plot line heightening the sense of claustrophobia, dread and hysteria that only a zombie apocalypse can bring. I expected more of the same going forward, and was promised as much, but the show has clearly changed for many reasons, and none of it has been for the better.
Season 2 was absolute garbage, and some of these characters are turning into the same, tired, old clichés Hollywood LOVES to chuck onto the small screen in no small part due to a serious lack of imagination. Season 2 of The walking Dead has put cinematic and directorial hackery once again at the forefront of television. I'm referring first and foremost to the main character Rick Grimes, the "Dudley Do-Right" of the crew, who plays "Mr. Integrity" to an obnoxious and nauseating fault. His incessant speechifying about always doing the right thing, regardless of the fact that no one named him leader, is absolutely grating. He'll do anything for anyone and always has the best intentions of the whole crew at heart. His dedication to his overbearing, eyes-a-bulging wife and snot-nosed punk of a kid would be admirable if it wasn't so fucking annoying.
Then you have his shrill harpy of a wife, whose constant stomping towards and immediately away from anyone before they'd said their piece (because she must have the last word in any conversation) made me want to substitute some of those poor chickens that were fed to Old McDonald's walkers in the enclosed barn for the opportunity to throw her dumb ass in head-first just to listen to her shrieking voice for the last time as she gets maniacally disemboweled by the undead while calling out for help that would never arrive.
Then we have another totally dickish, one-dimensional pillar of integrity, Hershel the veterinarian, a prototypical white-trash Evangelical Christian whose "My Way or the Highway" ethos is in direct contrast to the very ethics he spends so much time studying. He spends half his time reminding Rick that he and his people have to go while secretly keeping a barnful of the undead because of his sympathy for their plight. He's keeping them around because these former family members and neighbors may one day may be "cured". This philosophically twisted fuckhead doesn't show half as much sympathy for the living human beings that stumbled into his midst, even though he did save Rick's kid after accidentally getting shot, and must constantly be cajoled by his hoochie younger daughter to cut Rick and his insufferable crew some fucking slack. She is another distant and emotionally crippled twat who loves fucking her Asian paramour Glenn but shows as much tenderness and warmth towards him as a prostitute to a client who runs out of money.
Another problematic plot contrivance is how this veterinarian/yeoman farmer is living in relative tranquility with no security measures. There are guns on the premises, but he'd rather not see them, and makes Rick's crew of lost souls give up their weapons if they were going to stay on "his property", a tired, overly-used phrase that makes this stupid old fucker that much easier to dislike. This unrealistic scenario breaks Rule #1 in the Zombie Survival Hand Guide-you board up the fucking house or wherever you can hide and barricade yourself so zombies can't just sashay in and tear shit up. The scenery around the house, always warm, sunny, and peaceful, with trees in full bloom and a healthy green lawn as far as the eye can see, reminds me of a tampon commercial. Not the sort of image you want your audience to conger up when the attempt is to keep them at the edge of their seats in sheer terror.
The writers and directors decided to substitute the authentic fright at their disposal with the contrivance of face-on-face interactions that have swelled the irritation factor by a square root of a thousand. Sweaty, annoyed and perpetually constipated, the actors faces express a level of anxiety that is in direct conflict with the lack of actual dread. Not one zombie has elected to cut across the beautifully manicured lawn to see just what the commotion in that house is all about, so the danger is substituted by...more unbearable face time. Dale, a character who I thought would continue to evolve as the resident sage of the group, has caught a creepy fascination with the hot blonde who spitefully throws his concerns back in his face like a petulant child and decides to start fucking around with Shane, the resident bad-ass and the guy you'd least want your daughter to date. Except these familial plot outlines are exactly what helped turn Season 2 into such a crashing bore. You can't have characters trying to reproduce whatever relationships they had in their previous lives because of the manner in which fate has cast them together. These relationships don't work anymore, and the more airtime they get the less face time for the creatures responsible for the dread in the first place.
All the characters do is sweat under the oppressive Georgia Summer sun, talk to each other with looks of monumental fright, and hang out on the farm, a place which seems oddly unaffected by the goings on out in Zombieland. It was as if the nightmare had passed them by. They're still rustling up chow, or "supper", if you prefer an even more egregious Redneck reference, they sit around the dinner table passing around the mashed 'taters and biscuits and saying Grace, all while Farmer Brown paternalistically doles out chores like your average inbred cracker matriarch, barking out overused catchphrases like "everyone pulls their weight around here" or some such bullshit in exchange for letting Rick and his merry band of frazzled asswipes stay, because hey, Rick would always want to make sure he and his people did the right thing, by golly, self-righteous cocksucker that he is.
In his maniacal, mentally ill quest to be the leader Ghandi would have envied, Rick totally destroys the very point of the whole series-that when the world ends or at least falls apart to the point where you will never, ever be able to order another movie from Netflix or a pizza from Domino's because they don't exist anymore, the social contracts that one associates with living in an overfed, entitled country like the United States pretty much ends, so new rules need to be implemented.
A catastrophe of this magnitude dictates that the morays of yesteryear are useless. One has to readjust and revert to a very primitive and basic survival mode, which means doing things and making decisions one wouldn't ordinarily subject themselves to. Shane knows this, and even though he's become a reviled figure for, among other things, acting like a cowboy asshole and shooting that poor fat slob that went with him to the hospital to get supplies for Rick's injured son, thereby easing his own escape, he at least gets it and behaves accordingly.
The constant battle between good and evil that gets exaggerated in times of severe stress was the focal point of the second season, making it difficult to watch, much less enjoy. This is magnified by the fact that we were promised a lot more excitement and turmoil during the cast interviews and initial reviews of the episodes in question. The seemingly endless, pointless search for one of the character's daughters, who is finally found when she exits the barn after having morphed into one of the undead says it all-the search took too long, it was drawn out way past the point of interest and in the end Rick, who carries the guilt of having been the one to abandon her in the woods in a misguided attempt to keep her safe, shoots her with a Colt .45 Magnum and she just plops to the ground. Rick could have done us all a favor and shot her equally disturbing mother, who if she isn't crying hysterically is somewhere sweating like a pig on a Saturday. The butch-style haircut doesn't help endear us to her feminine side, either.
Anyone who knows anything about guns knows that a little girl getting shot in the head with a high-caliber gun at close range would have been blown off the ground feet-first like a rag doll. She instead meekly falls in a pathetic heap, giving the scene a cheap sense of a bad moment filmed badly that no budget constraints can excuse. And let's not forget how the one brother on the program, "T-Dog", has basically been written out of the script for no apparent reason. His appearances are as few and far between as Isaac on "The Love Boat", and are always just as meaningless to the overall plot. It's not like they couldn't cut out, oh, say half an hour of the other character's haranguing to let homeboy get some on-camera love. Instead he's left to pull look-out duty on top of the camper with the burnt-out old man Dale, watching out for zombies the audience knows will never arrive.
So on we go now this coming Sunday to Season 3, and again the cast and crew members promise excitement to no end. I'll be watching, but if we are subjected to the same long, drawn-out dialogues where the characters bloviate to no end in excruciating face-to-face detail, I will be forced to turn the station. The problem with such an excellent premise as a zombie apocalypse is one keeps watching past the point of interest in hopes the program gets better. I won't be drawn into this charade this time around. The fact that the majority of the episodes in Season 2 were filmed in basically one spot on this idiot's farm tells me there is a combination of budget constraints and lack of ingenuity by the writers and directors adversely affecting the quality of the overall production. Let's hope this gets better. There have been recent series that have suffered from creative malaise, like "Boardwalk Empire" and the recent episodes of the reality show "Jersey Shore", which is dying a horrible death from the staleness of the characters and the inherent boredom that usually accompanies living such a useless, vapid life on camera for the world to see.
C'mon, guys-a zombie apocalypse is a great premise for an ongoing TV series. Step up to the plate and give us something worth watching besides the crap you laid on us in Season 2. The firings of their staff writers after Season 1 for non-union independent writers paid by the script is no doubt a ploy to save money, as I've mentioned in a previous blog entry. This cash crunch was obvious with the use of Hershel's farm for a full six episodes. The lack of zombie action to save even more money exposed this series for the pathetic bore its' become. Get it together, AMC-you guys have a ratings winner here-why are you being so damn cheap?