the daily schadenfreude, part I

Today is the start of a new feature here at Mad City, where we celebrate some small bit of misfortune that has befallen one of our nemeses. Today's subject: Kevin Smith. I have to confess, I've long had it in for this guy. He's loud and arrogant, but worst of all, he's *untalented*. Somehow the American independent-movie-going public has been bamboozled into believing that he's the next coming of Orson Welles. "Clerks" is, I believe, one of the most overrated movies of all time. Who cares if it was made on a shoestring budget? Half of Lars von Trier's movies have been made for a pittance, and he's at least 10 times better than this schlub.

So anyhow, the big news recently about Kevin Smith is that he's let himself go such much, with his arrogance and ill-deserved fame and fortune, that he can't fit properly in a single airline seat anymore. So Southwest Airlines recently bounced him from a regional flight in California. (He had actually, and appropriately, bought two seats for a flight but tried to get on standby for an earlier flight, and thus got the heave-ho.) He then squawked about Southwest on Twitter ad nauseam, possibly to pre-empt the story coming out on Yahoo or People without his side of the story.

Well here's a news flash for Kevin Smith: sure you're fat, as you've proudly confessed over and over again. But your mouth isn't the only thing that bites: your movies do too! Body habitus is the only thing you share with Orson Welles, homey.

Boo yah! That's schadenfreude.