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by TheVacillator 07/02/2003, 1:32pm PDT |
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In my increasing quest to destroy whatever brain cells i have at any time possessed, i went ahead and spent money on tickets to this movie.
You may ask why, you may even laugh heartily at my decision and then condemn me to the internal damnation of idiotic decisions but nothing you do, nothing you may ever dream off, will heal the scar of this travesty burning its celluloid nightmares into my cornea.
It defies all expectation of bimbotic insanity, all natures of physical absurdity. This is a movie that not only asks us to suspend disbelief, but to kill it mercilessly without a shred of remorse so that it will never ever rise again. Its cloak of satire and parody are nothing but mere shams to cover the director's inability to come up with anything remotely original. A man, i might add, who goes by the nom-de-cinema of
Mc-whatthemuthafuckinghelldoesitsignify-G.
Furthermore, you know that a movie that trades on the sex-appeal of three over-the-hill women will undoubtably fail to even raise the willy of the hardiest and horniest of sailors. Cameron Diaz does her best to look like a man while Lucy Liu succeeds exceedingly at it. And Drew, gods she fucking fat, Barrymore, gods, who actually finds Drew Barrymore appealing anymore? Yet, these 'women' have the audacity to dance to 80s music like MC hammer's long forgotten, "it's hammer time" (yes, my ears are gone as well as my ears. Pretty soon, all sense will fail.) and striptease in a dance that's as arousing as beating it with a concrete block.
I will however say that the one good point in this movie in Crispin Glover and his follicle fascination. Man steal the show whenever he appears, in ANY movie.
Gentleman, i give you the death of cinema, and the death of my ability to function as a proper human being after watching this show.
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