Review: Wanted

A little boy. He is
no one. “I wish I could fuck Angelina
Jolie,” he thinks. He googles. His google is broken. He searches for “Wesley Gibson.” Nothing comes up. I search for “Wesley Gibson,” and I get a
myspace page where the person has a profile picture of a wet scrawny dog I’d
like to kick over a roof. I want to call
up this little boy and tell him his google is broken. Fix your google and maybe Angelina Jolie will
fuck you.

This
little boy bought an Ikea fuck counter. Not the kind that tracks the number of times you have sex. No, it is the place where his little
girlfriend Annabel has sex with his best friend. It is a kitchen counter they have sex
on. I once had a cat name Annabel. It was afraid of the dog downstairs and it
pooped in my room. Pop goes the carpet.

The
little boy rents a movie, Mr. and Mrs.
Smith. He wants to see Brad Pitt
make toast. He wants to see Angelina
Jolie’s toaster. He hopes Brad likes
toast. Jennifer Aniston tells him when
he leaves the house, “Don’t you fucking dare try and make toast. If I smell toast on you then I’m going to
make toast with Vince Vaughn, and that Mayer boy, and Ben Affleck, and Ben
Stiller, and…”

The
little boy brings the movie home. “Please let me see her toaster,” he thinks. When he gets home he sees the movie is rated
PG-13. He is disappointed. He doesn’t watch the movie and instead checks
to see if his google is fixed. It
isn’t. He wonders if his father who
disappeared when he was seven days old has somehow turned on the safe search.

He gets
hungry. He goes across the street to the
store. He can’t decide on whether or not
to get yogurt. This scene gets cut from
the movie. I made it up. Yogurt contemplation isn’t anything people
want to see. He gets pills instead. The movie audience likes pills. “Eat them all,” we say. Become an addict so we can feel better about
ourselves.

This is
the grocery store that Angelina Jolie shops at. She left her African babies in the car. We never find out if they die. We
don’t find out if she looks at the magazines with her on the cover. The little boy looks at them. He sees one that says Angelina left her
African babies in the car while she shopped. “She would never do that,” he thinks.

Angelina
walks up behind him, “You’re the greatest assassin in the world besides your
father, but he’s dead so I guess you’re the best. I knew him, you know. Before he died. Did I mention that he died last week? Oh, I don’t think I did. I should probably let you know. Also, there’s another assassin whose just as
good as you and he wants to kill you. He’s right over there looking at the canned vegetables.”

Angelina
shoots an old man holding a can of corn. It falls to the ground. The
little boy shits himself and mumbles, “My google is broken.” She kisses him even though he’s a mess, but
she doesn’t show him her toaster. She
never shows her toaster, not even to Brad.