The guy is so self-involved he doesn’t realize his wife is a cheating whore or that his vocation is bullshit. You can only chop so much plywood before someone who actually knows how to fight kicks your ass.

Which happens often.

If not by actual fists then by his own feelings of inadequacy bubbling underneath the jerky exterior. When that vulnerability appears there’s almost someone to root for – so that by the end, you want this awful schlub to succeed at something.

McBride’s character takes some hits and that makes Foot Fist Way work way better than director Jody Hill’s other feature, Observe and Report – where Seth Rogen screams at everyone forever. Hill is becoming the auteur of “delusional asshole” films, apparently.

Thankfully, McBride’s style of asshole-ness hews closer to Ricky Gervais in The Office, making each encounter, argument and standoff as comfortable as corduroy in July. There’s some wince-worthy interaction and although none of it made me bust out belly laughs – I was left smiling or covering half my face in disbelief.

When he tries to seduce the cute blonde, for example, he gets way too familiar too fast. Watching her whip her head around to avoid his insistent kiss is the kind of painful thing that sends palms flying to foreheads. There are about a hundred similar moments throughout the film.

And his final scene with his wife? Phew. So repulsive and satisfying.

The supporting cast doesn’t bog the movie down either (same can’t be said for Observe and Report!). The kids at the dojo, some jerks in a party scene, a Chuck Norris-like action star – everyone does their part to incite McBride’s insecurities.

The movie’s brisk too, clipping by with episodic Clerks-style title cards related to the tenets of Taekwondo, a conceit spun on its head by the abrupt end. Not that abrupt is a bad thing. Foot Fist Way cuts to the chase, stays amusing throughout and leaves before the wife gets home. It’s a peach in that way.

It’s an alright little movie and I give it my recommendation. It’s no instant classic but it is certainly better than other indie comedies like, I dunno, say, Napoleon Dynamite.

Now that was just shit.

HIGHLIGHT: When the dorky Taekwondo student is listening to the guitar jerk make fun of him at the party. Looking at that face full of nerdy rage, you know things are gonna get violent.

***Tim Magus is Julius Bloop’s film reviewer. Visit his website – Grump Factory***

People who work in paperclip factories must hate bending things at home.

To Human eyes, ants look like dumb babies walking on the beach like it were a massive desert. To Flargon eyes, airplanes look like retarded birds flying through the sky like it were a huge air pond. It’s all about perspective – that’s why I smash ants with my smashin’ boots.

The first day of body odor is slightly stinky but mostly manly. The second day of B.O. might ruin a business meeting and after the third day you’re lucky to get a date with Pepe Le Pew.

There comes a time in every man’s life when he becomes his father. Most men gain this through fatherhood. Mine came when I made a band-aid out of toilet paper and scotch tape.

Don’t buy a dozen eggs if you just want a hardboiled egg. Don’t buy a head of lettuce if you just want a salad. Don’t buy eggs and lettuce if you want egg salad because those are not the right ingredients.

Airplanes should supply knockout juice to passengers to make each trip seem like time travel. I don’t need peanuts, a blanket or soda – just a roofy, stewardess. Warp drive – ENGAGE!

Some parents are too overprotective. Like, if you make a snowball out of play-doh and throw it at some dirty child’s pumpkin-head how come their lesbian parents always call the police? Cut the cord, ladies.

You know how you dump coffee on your carpet so you have to capture a stray dog and spill its blood to cover up the stain? But then you have to ditch the carcass so you put stamps over its eyeballs and cram it into the nearest mailbox? Eventually, you go home, shave your head and buy a bus ticket but now what? Now what!?

The LeCorn Family grocery bills are getting out of hand so Andric’s daddy demands his son start bringing money into the household…by any means necessary.

There is plenty of speculation regarding the death of legendary pop icon Michael Jackson. MJ passed away at age 50 of an apparent heart attack but I’m going to set the record straight. This video details the activities of the final hours of the King Of Pop.

This is the story you won’t hear anywhere else. There was no foul play, murder or suicide – it was a typical day for the moonwalker himself. This is the real truth abut the death of Michael Jackson.

In all honesty, MJ was my hero growing up and probably the biggest weirdo of all time. This is a warped tribute that I needed to make.

PLEASE submit this to whatever social links you have. Facebook, Digg, StumbleUpon, Myspace. I’m trying to get as many views as possible. Thanks!

You have to name your hobos.

There are a handful of vagabonds in my neighborhood with characteristics so distinct; they’ve practically named themselves. My hobos are as follows: The Lapper, Eskimo Joe and Hookhand.

The Lapper looks like an axe murderer; long, shaggy hair like Eddie Vedder after two sets at Lollapoolooza, gruff beard and a t-shirt three sizes too big. No belt. This causes problems because The Lapper’s favorite activity is mindlessly walking up and down Hawthorne Blvd.

I live on Hawthorne Blvd. – a popular, commercial street that The Lapper uses as a makeshift Olympic track. Holding up his oversized ripped jeans with both hands, he power walks back and forth with such feverish intensity you almost assume he’s training for a gold medal. Made of booze.

Eskimo Joe is a total mystery. Sometimes he’s in a wheelchair; sometimes he walks. Sometimes he’s friendly; sometimes he’ll threaten to piss on you. What is for certain is that Eskimo Joe rolls with a huge posse.

I’ve seen the Eskimo Joe Entourage run as thick as five deep – stumbling down the side streets of my neighborhood like the drunken version of Reservoir Dogs. The remarkable thing is that the group members are always changing.

Clearly Eskimo Joe has an enigmatic personality that attracts hobos from all around like some kind of alcoholic bug zapper. That, or he sells awesome drugs.

The one consistent member of the posse, the Tom Hagen to Eskimo Joe’s Don Corleone is Hookhand. Yes, Eskimo Joe’s right hand man is actually a left hook woman. She’s like a nomadic Captain Hook except she’s not a pirate, has a sparse mustache and might have a Peter Pan tattoo.

Like Captain Hook, she may be afraid of crocodiles but I’d never know. She can’t seem to form complete sentences and settles, instead, for shouting complete nonsense. One classic exchange occurred when I startled her near the 7Eleven dumpster and we proceeded to yell, “Raarrrr!” at each other until we both had a good, albeit disturbing, laugh.

There are plenty of laughs to go around when you treat your neigborhood hobos like the fun-loving creatures they are. So instead of ignoring them like nameless, human husks, shuffling along like stinky apparitions – nickname them, yell nonsense at them and maybe buy them a belt. They need your attention like tinker bell needs claps.

You have to name your hobos.

Here’s a quick idea about a fake pill that fulfills dreams. Lets make it become millionaires because people are stupid and we’re greedy. I think it will work.