movies really are like real life...in europe

As some of you are aware, Eurovision, the premiere song contest of all the universe...or at least of all of Europe...and Russia...and Eurasia...took place this weekend. This sh*t is foreign to the max. And of course by "foreign," I mean "extremely awesome." It's like the Lord of Sh*tty music opened up the heavens and let his sh*tty music-infused bile cover an entire continent plus some. Then, after the heavenly sh*tty music storm, the special brand of sh*tty music seeds that only flourish in Europe and its immediate surroundings sprouted and became ripe with bad synthesizers, broken English and non-ironic This Is Spinal Tap-esque showmanship. It is all very, very epic -- Stonehenge epic. And to give you an idea of just how non-sarcastically I just used the word "epic," please take a look-see at a few selections from this year's contest.

Among 2008's finest entrants, which hailed from sea to shining barren tundra, was a Latvian group called Pirate's of the Sea. Please enjoy their appropriately named ditty, "Wolves of the Sea," which not only made it to the final round, but placed 11th overall out of 25 finalists.



Even more ridiculous (and yes, it is possible) was Azerbaijan's entry, a duo called "Elner & Samir," who sang screeched and grunted respectively a little song called "Day After Day." They placed 8th. I'm not kidding.



But most epic of all the entrants, of course, was Mr. Dima Bilan, the contestant from southern Russia who took home this year's top prize for his English-language masterpiece, "Believe."



Did you tear up? Were you crying like a baby? I was. I love that Dima Bilan, regardless of how heavily and ridiculously accented his English is. Not only is he objectively one of the hottest men in Russia, but that bitch cajoled the "White Comet" himself, Olympic gold-medalist Evgeny Plushenko, into flailing around like a graceful little spaz on a slice of ice about the size of my apartment! One word: TIGHT. Wait, no, two words: ULTRA TIGHT.

The bad news, however, is that now we have to wait an entire year to see these types of non-ironic retardulous performances again. Here's to hoping someone gets stuck in a giant pod. Or uses miniature props.



Oh wait, nevermind. Spain took care of the miniature props front. And Lord of Sh*tty Music only knows what the hell happened here, ahem, France. Although on second thought (which I do indeed have from time to time), I actually think I kind of loved that last one: "He'll be coming on in a golf cart!" And I will be damned if that French man did not come on in a golf cart. C'est épique! C'est très, très épique!