I didn’t want it to come to this, but there’s no way around it now: Me and Michael Cera officially have beef. On some Eminem vs. Whitey Ford a.k.a. Everlast kind of shit.
So, Michael: I will preface this e-bitchslap by admitting that you have appeared in an amazing string of quality movies and shows. And you are a talented and nuanced actor. I admire your ability to listen and react in subtle ways, at once staying true to both the humor and truth of your characters. And few people have been on as long and wild a bender of critically-acclaimed projects. You must feel lightheaded; I mean, the sophisticated ‘Arrested Development,’ the box-office smash ‘Superbad’ and the Oscar darling ‘Juno’?! You got to duck tape your penis to your stomach and pretend to bang Ellen Page (assuming nothing escalated when running lines in your trailer), and I know that there are plenty of women who would have traded Ellen places squatting on top of you. You’re a lucky dude.
But for the love of artistic integrity, please wipe that smug fucking grin off your babyface. As if it wasn’t painful enough when all of my friends first saw ‘Superbad’ and the dozens of texts poured in:
MY “FRIENDS”: oMgZ George, I know this is totally random, but I was just watching Superbad and totes thought of you!!!
GEORGE: ZoMG, that’s crayzeee, you’re the ONLY person to evR make that connexion!!
It all came back when the DVD was released… And when ‘Juno’ came out… And now my trusted friend Chinaka mistakes you for me on the street (scroll down). My only solace is that it was more painful for you than it has been for me. But what do we even have in common, I ask?! The pundits seem evenly split between whether it’s our youthful bone structure, endearingly awkward mannerisms, or our sometimes nerdly subject matter. This last comparison offends me the most. As a writer and a performer, I take pride in the originality of my material. So it was a slap in the face when some folks insinuated to me that my poem, “V for Virgin” might somehow be a rip-off of ‘Superbad.’ Especially because my poem aired on HBO, SIX MONTHS before your movie’s theatrical release.
Here’s the kicker though. My fondness for the lightly carbonated fruit-flavored drink Juice Squeeze is no secret. I mentioned it in the above, nationally televised poem, and I am pretty much the company’s de facto spokesman. I have made homages to the delicious and moderately healthy beverage in multiple pieces (reference at 3:40), in a theater piece as part of the Hip Hop Theater Festival in New York City, have lauded their product in performances in over half the states in America, two in Australia, on stage at the San Francisco Opera House and at the Apollo Theater. I have done this as a labor of love, all for a regional brand with no distribution outside of California and seedy warehouses in the American Southwest.
Naively thinking that the company, a subsidiary of Crystal Geyser would appreciate my loyalty and free PR work, I attempted to formalize a sponsorship agreement. I figured, “fuck Nike, fuck Pepsi,” I’m a salt of the earth kind of guy, and I should be the first artist sponsored by a health drink (I will have beef with 50 soon if he claims that Vitamin Water is healthy). I DIDN’T EVEN ASK FOR MONEY, just a reasonable supply of free Juice Squeeze to keep me happy and hydrated. After months with no reply, here is the company’s official response (see image for a scan of the memo):
“Dear Mr. Watsky
We have received your recent letter proposing a sponsorship agreement. Crystal Geyser receives requests for support from many local groups and non-profit organizations. With regret, we are not looking for any additional partnership arrangements and cannot donate any additional products at this time. Thank you for contacting Crystal Geyser. We wish you success with your endeavors.
Sincerely,
Shawn Fitzpatrick
Crystal Geyser Water Company Brand Manager”
First of all: Shawn, I know it probably sucks to be the brand manager for a beverage company with regional distribution, but do I LOOK like a local, non-profit organization?! I’m international, and I GET THAT PAPER. But that’s a non-sequiter as far as the Michael Cera beef. Well, it would have been, until this ad campaign surfaced.

Shame on you, Michael Cera. I’m calling you out, motherfucker.