Dog Reviews, Part II: Tale of the Dog: Basic Instinct 2

Wow. Is it tomorrow already? I must have overslept.

So, since the first edition of "Dog Reviews" was so popular (and, by popular, I mean completed and posted on the blog), I foolishly decided to attempt a second version. "Dog Reviews", of course, for those new to the blog or those who just stopped by for naked pictures of Jennifer Connelly, is my attempt at interspecies film criticism, or bestireviewality, by forcing my ADHD suffering Jack Russell to watch a film and scientifically noting with a sharpie on the palm of my hand his reactions (this is the way that scientists always note things, of course). The last time, of course, was a disaster, leading to all kinds of body functions and boardline cruelity. Being a rational and intelligent human, of course, I decided to try again.

Last time, I attempted to force the dog to sit through multiple reviews, which led to serious resentment on his part and a post so long and rambling that NO ONE wanted to read the thing, not even my mom (ESPECIALLY not my mom). This time, I figured I'd just try one film, and, in an attempt to gain his interest, I chose "Basic Instinct 2: Basicker Instinct", or something like that. Why this sequel to the muff-flashing, gay-baiting, ice-picking, soft-focus classic? First, my dog has always been a fan of Sharon Stone's breasts, even the old, dry-roasted Sharon Stone (who, I must agree, actually looks really good for a 1000 year old soul eating mummy). Deux, as they say in France, dog's are all about instincts, some good (like attacking the mailman trying to violate the sanctity of my home), some bad (like humping my face while I sleep...with my mouth open!), and some basic (eating, drinking, breathing). C, "Basic Instinct 2" is subtitled "Risk Addiction", and I just now diagnosed my dog with a risk addiction. What else could explain the desire to eat Christmas tree bulbs, or to jump out of 2nd story windows, or to crawl under the couch when even my wife is too afraid to clean under there, or to eat the chicken nugget one of the kids dropped in the back of the van in 2002. Gotta be risk addiction. So this film would appear to be the perfect flick to watch with my dog.

Wrong.

I had forced the dog to sit by my in front of the TV and was in the process of getting the DVD out of the slightly sticky case when I began to smell something incredibly bad, incredibly ass-like. Believing this scent not to be of human origin, I shot an accusatory glance at my dog, who verified my assumption by making his eyes real big and flattening his ears against his head in a manner to indicate his disatisfaction with his life at that point. "You stink," I said. In his shame, he didn't answer, only looked away. I began again to prepare for our fully scientific dog review session.

And, yet again, I am hit with the overwhelming smell of ass.

Now, there are several areas of a dog capable of stink. First would be the mouth. My dog's teeth are brushed once a year and, considering the vet only charges me $6 for this (compared to the $90 twice a year the dentist would ask if I ever went there), I question the quality of this cleaning. Not only that, but my dog is not particularly picky about what he puts in his mouth. Dirt, plants, shoes, mail, chairs, poop, dead squirrels, live squirrels, coins, leaves, grass, the side of the fence, my wife's toes, and dog food- it's all the same to him. So the mouth is a definite possibility. Of course, there are also his feet. Dogs have the mysterious power, not yet explained despite several government grants to do so, to make their feet smell like Fritos corn chips, and not a good kind of Fritos corn chips, either. There are his ears- he seems to enjoy scratching his ears with his Frito smelling feet, then smelling and licking his feet when he's done. Considering that he also enjoys smelling and licking dead birds and dirty underwear, I can't figure he's getting perfume out of there.

I immediately picked him up to attempt to locate the source of the ass-smell eminating from him and rapidly filling the room, desperate to stop the foul gas before losing conciousness. I attempted to smell his mouth, only to have him lick my nostrils and attempt to lick my lips, driving me back. I grabbed a foot and smelled that- Fritos (and not the good kind- the store brand that's been sitting on the shelf too long), but not ass. I thought about smelling his ears, but it seemed both repulsive and slightly illegal. So, if it wasn't his mouth, his feet, or his ears, what could it be? What part of my dog was I forgetting that could be filling the room with a horrible, ass-like smell and-

Oh.

Outside he went, where he promptly ran around the yard barking at all four corners to make sure it was secure enough to poop in. I gave him a few minutes then attempted to call him back in to complete "Dog Reviews, Part II", but he simply stared at me like I was nuts then began to run around the yard barking again. Dejected, I returned to my still slightly rank smelling room, but I couldn't bring myself at this point to watch Sharon's stones flopping around in a hot tub, no matter how well preserved. Then I realized the 10 minutes attempting to obtain a new "Dog Review" was not a waste. It was a true scientific experiment!

Hypothesis

Based on the principles of Pavlov's classical conditioning, behaviors can be reduced by producing a negative stimulus at the time of the behavior.

Procedures
The behavior to be observed will be the universal male desire to look at breasts. This will be accomplished via the use of a DVD player and a rented copy of "Basic Instinct 2: Electric HooHoos". The negative stimulus, introduced at a variable interval time-frame, will be canine flatulence, produced naturally by a sheepish looking Jack Russell terrier.

Observation

After several doses of large and powerful quantities of the canine flatulence, combined with the added negative stimulus of Frito-feet, the subject initially attempts to locate the source of the invisible mystery odor. Dejected and slightly ill-feeling, the subject removes the offensive Jack Russell to an outdoor location, where the odor can be dissapated and the cause, uh, well, eliminated. Subject, now in a state of disorientation, returns to the room, initially attempts to begin the film and satisfy the visual-breast desire (as first identified by Dr. H. Hefner et. al., 1953, Mammary Glands and Effects on Periodical Sales in the United States), however finds he cannot continue. Subject now reports smelling dog bowels, even when no dog is present, when exposed images of Sharon Stone.

Conclusion

The phenomenom identified in classical conditioning seems at work here: the Subject initally wanted to see breasts, even to the point of exposing himself to a possibly brain-damagingly bad film, and even if belonging to an evil countess who must bathe in the blood of virgins just to maintain a career. However, after several doses of dog flatulence, the Subject loses all desire to look at breasts and instead returns the film unwatched and eats a sandwich. The effect, however, seems to be short-lasting and tied to the behavior present at the time of the aversive stimulus introduction- Subject was later observed Googling "naked Jennifer Connelly" on the home personal computer only 3 hours after the commencement of the experiment. Additional study is warrented.

In conclusion, it appears canine flatulence is, of all the foul smells that a canine has the potential to excrete from their body, one that is very effective for the short-term modification of behavior. It also appears that "Basic Instinct 2: The Vaginer Strikes Back" sucks.

Here is a non-scratch and sniff picture of my dog looking cute with a piece of wrapping paper hanging out of his mouth in an attempt to remove the lingering odor of the previous blog post

Ruining the Curve

It has come to my deficited attention that "certain members" of the vast blogosphere are "ruining" things for "others", so much so that "they" and "their" "actions" must be surrounded by "quotation marks". These virtual virtuosos feel that they must show us all up by posting to their blogs, and posting frequently (and, by frequently, of course, I mean more often than since November 22, which has been proven by scientists to be the optimal last time to have posted on a blog). Well, listen here, two-post wonders, there are some of us with true courage out here, some of us who refuse to be trapped by the wicked World Wide Web you weave. In fact, there are some of us who have the courage to not only not post on our blogs, but NEVER post on our blogs! There are some of us who have the guts that, when we do post, once every two months, two weeks, and two days, we don't even post anything of substance, anything that even relates to the already tenuous theme of our blog! Some of us are true innovators by allowing our blogs to wither like a raisin in the sun, or possibly explode! Some of us with the cajones, as the French say (at least in the parts of France that border Mexico), to simply toss a bunch of words together and try and pass THAT ranting mess off as a true blog post that ANYONE (even the post-er's own mother)(especially the post-er's own mother) would not want to read, and would definitely skip over if they accidentally happened upon it. These are the true mavericks! So if you think you can ruin it for us all by posting both frequently and often to your own sorry excuse for a blog, you are wrong! The rest of us out there have to take the time to try and look at every piece of porn available until we hit the end of the Internets.The rest of us out there have to spend a few hours shaking their keyboard, trying to get the spilled coffee to drain out of it. The rest of us are too busy contemplating the hotness of Jennifer Connolly on the beach while we check out grainy vidcaps from that filmatic classic, "The Hot Spot". The rest of us out there have to watch some of the over 276 hours of "Martha Stewart" on the DVR (and by 'the rest of us', of course, I don't mean me. Not that there is anything wrong with recording 276 hours of 'Martha Stewart'. I mean, you're the one that has a problem with it. Not me. I didn't say anything. Not that I did it. Or, I mean, not that I would do it. Maybe a few hours, but not that many. And, so what if I did? I didn't, but so what if I did? So, whatever, there's nothing wrong with doing that, and you can take the accusations of your closed mind to some talk radio blog, fool.)

The rest of us are truly committed, truly dedicated to NOT ever post ANYTHING for months at a time, and NOT ONLY WILL NO ONE NOTICE, BUT NO ONE WILL EVEN CARE!!!! THE INTERNETS WILL ALL CONTINUE WITH OUR BLOG JUST SITTING, GATHERING CYBERDUST UNDERNEATH THE OLD PETS.COM AND PEAPOD PAGES AND NO ONE IN THE WORLD WILL MISS IT IN ANY WAY!!!! It is these lazy bloggers that are the true heroes, over-achievers. I'd like to call these people the Weakest Generation, primarily because they not only have not saved the world, but they are actually too lazy to even lift their fingers and type a movie review of a film they haven't seen. These are the true visionaries. And I'd like to count myself among them, by proudly not posting on my blog.

Well, until now, with this post.

Uh, guess I blew that one.

Oh well, tune in tomorrow when I tackle a truly interesting and universal topic and reflect on why my dog smells like ass.

Struggles for Economic Equality- Bolivia, A Sleeping Giant

It seems appropriate, following a holiday in America based primarily on consumption, especially in light of the focus on the use of fowl as the meat source on the American table, which, in giving life, can feed only a limited number of people (the average turkey provides enough meat for six to twenty Americans, while a cow could easily feed 40 people or more, or, possibly, in many developing countries, an entire village), to continue our discussion of South American economies. Today, we turn to a pivotal country for the American economy- Bolivia.

Bolivia currently struggles with an often single commodity based economic model, making it susceptible to advances from some of its Socialist neighbors. During its history, Bolivia's economy has focused on products such as tin, silver, and cocoa, with rare periods of economic diversification and an often inconsistent supply of labor. The primary focus of Bolivia's economy is agricultural, including sectors focusing on forestry or fishing. With a 2005 GDP of approximately 25 billion, recent economic development of Bolivia has been stymied both by increased government privatization and general economic downturn, especially in the dollar. Yet the potential for great leaps in economic equity for the people of Bolivia can be found in the large reserves of oil available. Currently primarily trading with its South American neighbors (Bolivia's biggest trade export partner are Brazil and Argentina, with the U.S. accounting for only approximately 13.8% of the total trade in 2005), the vast potential for trade and increased purchasing power will come from increased access to the hydrocarbon reserves. Without this increase in income, though, many Western companies avoid Bolivia, and continue to limit development, and lead to rampant and devastating inflation. Even in the areas of tourism, which add vast and desperately needed income to other areas of South America, Bolivia falls behind, with 2000 numbers at just over 300,000 visitors per year, a number that represents a decline-

What? Movie blog? I'm not posting to my OWN blog? I'm posting to a movie blog? I'm signed into the wrong blog? Ah, no, not again! I thought this was MY blog, "Economies of Latin and South America"!

Shit. Sorry. Uh, well, uh, "Cannonball Run"- great flick. Go see it. Or rent it or whatever. And lets all hope that Lindsay Lohan gets control of her life.

Sorry. Bye.

Reviews of the Ignorant: T12MLTMTIHNSNPOSOEIWGMOEOWRC

Sadly, many films have been released since I last set foot in the hallowed virtual halls of the Frog Blog. Now, I was going to start off with a long and thrilling story of where I have been since my last post (and believe you me, it involves plenty of pirate action, two elephants, a cursed crystal skull, Victoria Secret models, home made pickles, and the true and pure immortal love of a boy for Jennifer Connelly)(Okay, I made all that up; it actually involved a pit and putting the lotion on my skin or else I got the hose again), but I figured this is a film review blog, specifically reviewing films I have never seen, and this type of side note would only drive away my fan. Who is my mom. Who has been driven away anyhow by my total and utter disrespect for writing new posts. As the French would say, "Que merde".

So, anyhow, since many films have been released since my last post, and since it doesn't look like the Writer's Guild strike is going to help stop this any time soon, I figured I'd save my excuses as to where I've been for a different blog, one that exists solely to provide a forum for where I've been. This, however, is a film review blog, and I am now going to try and catch up on a few of the films that have been shat out on us by Hollywood in the last few months. These will not, of course, be my usual incredibly witty and amazingly insightful reviews all my faithful readers (meaning my mom) have come to know and love. These are just gonna be hastily and poorly written filler in order to slap a post up for the first time in months. Wait. Who said that. What I meant to say was, these will be quick and easily consumed review-bites built for convenience in order for the community of the Internets to know what I haven't been seeing the past few months and what they may want to avoid. That are poorly written.

So, to do no further ado, I bring you, in order of stench, the Top 12 Movies of the Last Two Months That I Have Not Seen and Never Plan On Seeing Or Else I Would Gouge My Own Eyes Out With a Rusty Crowbar, or, as it is known in the Industry, "T12MLTMTIHNSNPOSOEIWGMOEOWRC":

(Please note- in an effort to remain culturally sensitive, as well as attract new readers to the Frog Blog, I have considerately written the numbers of this list in Spanish for all of our housekeeper and landscaping friends from South of the Border, and also from Mexico)

T12MLTMTIHNSNPOSOEIWGMOEOWRC

Numero 12-o:

The Game Plan

I've got a game plan for this piece of junk, and it's not to see it. There's Rock Cold Dwayne Johnson, former king of the scorpions (not, of course to be confused with the king of the frogs), playing football with little girls. In the preview, the little girl must slip him some horse tranquilizers or shoot him with Novocaine or something, 'cause there's a sequence where he's slurring his words, flapping his lips around, and smiling for no reason. The little girl also wears a really big football helmet, which I assume is supposed to be cute, but most likely is to prevent her from hurting herself when she realized the film her agent got her into. And if you've seen this film, you most likely also wore a football helmet to the theater to keep from hurting yourself, while your arms were strapped behind you and you were tied to a board and volunteers from a church fed you soup. This thing was apparently some kind of money making hit, which I attribute to one of two factors: 1) The End of Days or 2) Moms hoping to catch a peek of the outline of Johnson's johnson in his tight football pants. But it doesn't take a genius to see the filmatic equivalent of getting poked in the eye with a johnson, and this garbage would be it. Not that I know what it feels like to get poked in the eye with a johnson. Never happened. Really. Just maybe on accident, like when I fell on my knees in front of a naked man. And that could happen to anyone. Otherwise, there's no proof. Other than pictures.

My Rating: Tie Score, 0 Stars to 0 Stars

Numero Eleven-o:

Love in the Time of Cholera

Okay, I admit it. I have no idea what this film is, what it's about, who it stars, or anything else about it. I would just never see it based on the name. Yuck. I'm sure it's great, and it's based on a classic book, and it's amazing and blah blah blah. But I'm willing to bet it has subtitles, and, if I wanted to read, I would have learned how. In fact, if God intended us to read, He wouldn't have made "The Ten Commandments" into a movie. So I'm not buying any of that. Plus, it has FREAKING CHOLERA in the title! Way to attract a wide audience, title-writing guy- I can't wait for the sequels- "Romance Around the Ringworm" or "Betrothed with the Bubonic Plague" or "Sex with Scabies, Shingles and Scarlet Fever". No, thank you very much. I will be treating this movie as I would anything with cholera- by staying the hell away. And burning everything it touches, even my favorite stuffed rabbit. (This review would be even more meaningful if I actually knew what cholera was- isn't it what sailors get when they don't eat enough oranges? Or is that Epstein Barr's? Excuse me! I'm not a doctor, but I play one on TV.)

My Rating: A Fate Worse Than Death

Numero Ten-o:

Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium

Speaking of titles, here's one you can just hear some Hollywood executive brainstorming session coming up with after an hour and a half lunch, then ordering a script written to the title. "Great title! Now get me a movie with it!" Only it's not a great title; it makes me feel slightly damp and dirty just to say it. And, speaking of damp and dirty, the always beautiful Natalie Portman is in this flick, looking like a 14 year old boy. Suddenly, I'm horribly confused- I mean, come on, it's the beautiful Padme Amidala herself! Who was beautiful even in clown make-up in "The Phantom Menace". Who proved bald is beautiful in "V for Vendetta". Who destroyed many a server by having a body double show her butt in "Goya's Ghosts". And now, here she is, looking like a 14 year old boy! What if I went to this film, saw her, and started to be attracted? What sort of monster would that make me? I could just see the guy from "Dateline" jumping out from behind the screen saying, "Aha! We know you didn't buy a ticket for this mess, wearing nothing but whipped cream, just to see Dustin Hoffman do a Rip Taylor impression!" No, that's a chance I just can't take. And, if that isn't reason enough to avoid this film like the cholera, let me repeat: Dustin Hoffman does a Rip Taylor impression. 'Nuff said.

My Rating: None-der Stardorium (but Much Boredium)

Numero Nine-o:

Across the Universe

Do the math: The Beatles- The Beatles + the chick that choreographed "The Lion King" + a bunch of people you've never heard of dancing around = Suck. There. It's a mathematical fact. So you know it's true. I'd rather get hit with Maxwell's Silver Hammer than come within 10 feet of this beast. I mean, help, it's a long and winding road from my life to a day in the life of a paperback writer, but because in the end here there and everywhere every body's got something to hide except for me and my monkey, this bird has flown. All together now, LET IT BE! Leave the poor Beatles where they should be, in my Dad's record collection and Nike commercials. Don't drag them out every couple of months to be "reinterpreted", no matter how much Yoko and Paul want the Beatles for Sale. I mean, they were bigger than Jesus, you'd think they'd command a little respect. I'd rather see "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" as Barry Gibb's date than watch this mess. It'd take Dr. Robert's whole medicine cabinet for me to get through it. Next time, create a film around the back catalog of Wings. Goo-goo-ka-joob.

My Rating: The Word is 0 Stars

Numero Eight-o:

Elizabeth: The Golden Age

Okay, who asked for this? Seriously. Who asked for it? Who did it? 'Cause you owe us all an apology. First of all, I can't expect ANYONE except maybe Geoffrey Rush's accountant asked for this. Second of all, there are some movies that just should not have a sequel. It's like watching "A Passage to India II: Electric Boogaloo". Or "Remains of the Day 2- The Next Morning". And I saw some Cate Blanchett interviews where she tried to pass this off as an action movie. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she's got this confused with the next "Indiana Jones" film. However, as a public service, I'm going to expose the true facts about this thing. It is not an action movie; it is historical fiction, like the books your grandma buys from the library discard shelf for 25 cents that have Fabio dragging some woman around by the bodice. Again, just to clarify. "Lethal Weapon"- Action Movie. "The French Connection"- Action Movie. "Die Hard"- Action Movie. "Elizabeth: The Golden Age"- Grandma at the library complaining that they only used to charge 10 cents for the discarded paperbacks. The other thing that needs to be widely known is that, unlike film critics, we, the people, are not suckered into believing that, just because a film has people talking in English accents, it is a great film. Exhibit A: Mr. Bean. Although I'd rather watch Mr. Bean get his head caught in a subway door a thousand, billion times than watch a second and a half of "Elizabeth: The Golden Age". I'd rather get my OWN head caught in a subway door than watch "Elizabeth: The Golden Age". At least then, if I had to get a headache, I might also get a free subway ride out of it.

My Rating: Ye Olde Royale 0 Stars

Numero Seven-o:

I Want Someone to Eat Cheese With

This is a real movie. No kidding. No idea what it is about, but it is a real movie somewhere that someone managed to raise the cash to film while genocide was taking place in Darfur. I hope, at least, that the crew got decent craft services out of it. I'm sorry, now, though, that I even bothered to type it here. We must never speak of this again.

My Rating: I SAID WE MUST NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN!

Numero Six-o:

Fred Claus

Remember when Vince Vaughn was good? I mean, yeah, there was that "Jurassic Park 2" disaster, but we all gotta get paid. You couldn't blame the guy for that. But lately, man... I always have kinda a crush on Jennifer Anniston; she has the correct "Jennifer" surname, and she's cute and all (although not Jennifer Connelly league, now, let's not be ridiculous), but she sure seems a little on the weird side, and she somehow must have done something to poor Vince to damage his brain. Vince, look, wake up! You're turning into Tim Allen here! If someone reads this somewhere, although it is seriously in doubt that anyone will read it anywhere, but, if you do, please consider an intervention for poor Vince Vaughn before he finds himself starring in a CW sitcom with Shelley Long. Vince- I love you, man (but strictly in a heterosexual, platonic way, not in a johnson-in-the-eye way, even though that can accidentally happen to anyone, especially if the ball gag you have in your mouth makes it hard to breathe). Come back to the light.

Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, "Fred Claus". Sucks. I'd rather get a lump of coal. At least I can maybe figure how to run my car on that. Merry Christmas.

My Rating: H0 h0 h0 stars

Numero Hawaii Five-o:

Alvin and the Chipmunks

How in the name of a merciful and just Creator was this abomination greenlit? Now, I hear you, "Matt, you said you were reviewing films you haven't seen in the last two months, not films you haven't seen in the next month that's no fair you need to stick to what you said especially since you abandoned us for so long you stupid dickweed." And you'd have a valid point. Except for the fact that THIS IS MY BLOG SO I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT ON IT. Get your own blog, nutcase. Quit worrying about me so much and clean up your own backyard.

Anyhow, one day, I was sitting around thinking to myself, and I said, "Self, you know what would be great? A CG film based on a limited animation series that pretty much sucked anyhow taken from a novelty record that is so annoying it could make your ears bleed. And you know what would really make it great? If it had, as a lead, the once so hilarious and profane Jason Lee further whored himself into pointlessness." The only way I'd watch this pile of rodent droppings is if the print was mixed up during delivery with the titular Jennifer Connelly crime classic, "The Hot Spot" and the theater was showing that instead. No amount of vaccination could get me to the theater to watch spooky, dough-like anamorphic chipmunks. I think they cause cholera anyway. The fact that this movie is being released seriously distresses my soul with little, squeaky claws and ear-piercing voices.

My Rating: Three squeaky, grating, CG 0 Stars, plus an extra 0 Stars for Jason Lee driving a Saville over all my great Kevin Smith memories

Numero Four-o:

The Jane Austin Book Club

There are two clues to the amount of coma inducing, penis amputating power this movie contains and, in alphabetical order, here they are: "Book Club" and "Jane Austin". (Shiver). Okay, let me repeat that, for dramatic impact, this time in reverse alphabetical order: "Jane Austin" and "Book Club". (Shiver. Shiver). I feel sick.

What is this movie about? Well, I'm assuming it's about a bunch of nasal woman sitting around whining about Jane Austin books. If there could be a worse title that didn't contain "cholera", I don't know what it is. At least the word "cholera" promises painful death. This thing promises Jane Austin and Book Clubs, which makes me wish for painful death. If someone ripped my eyeballs from their sockets, carried them into the theater where this was playing, set them on the seat directed towards the screen, I expect that my eyeballs would rapidly evolve, growing legs and little feet (and, maybe eye-teeth) and run, tears falling from them, from the theater, where they would head to the nearest optometrist and beg for Visine to stop the burning. And that can really happen. I know because, in addition to being a blogger, I am also a scientist. Or I play one on TV.

And Jimmy Smits is still alive? Who knew? I thought he fell down an elevator shaft on "LA Law" or something. Poor guy. I hope he took this job to impress a chick.

My Rating: 0 Penises

Numero trio:

Saw IV

So a regular '4' ain't good enough for ya, eh, "Saw"? Or maybe, based on the number of needles and medical treatments used in this series, it's "Saw IV", as in intravenous. Whatever, the only sound I hear is the sound of sucking from the empty IV bag. The little puppet head "Saw" dude died, right, so how'd he come back? I mean, sure, if I told the studios that they'd make $81 million dollars by reanimating the corpse of Abraham Lincoln, they'd have his body laid out on that lab table under the lightening storm faster than you can say "Emancipation Proclamation". But "Saw"? Please. The first movie was in the crapper, literally. The second movie I can't even remember, so I'm just going to assume that it either sucked or my popcorn was coated in hallucinogenic butter again. The third movie I can't even remember because I never "saw" it. And the forth movie? Well, they should invent a projector with little razor blades so that the film will thread through it one way and load in, but, when played, the film would run through the razors the other way and the razors would clamp down, shredding every print. And then the projector blew up. And it was filled with money, like a big, money-filled pinata. And then they had to show "The Hot Spot" because I got so much money I bought the theater. And then I could sit and watch Jennifer Connelly all day.

Wait, what was I talking about? Oh, "Saw IV". Sucks.

My Rating: OV Stars

Numero duo:

Good Luck Chuck

Ahhh, Jessica Alba. I'd watch breakfast cereal commercials if they all starred Jessica Alba (although, to be fair, I'd also watch breakfast cereal commercials if they all starred an unhinged cartoon rabbit or a leprechaun with a serious sugar high). I'd watch "American Idol" if it starred Jessica Alba. I might even watch "The Jane Austin Book Club" if it starred Jessica Alba, but only if she was wearing a bikini. Heck, I watched "Into the Blue" because it starred Jessica Alba. Twice. There you go. I'm not proud. So why would I list "Good Luck Chuck" as the duo worst movie of the last two months? What satanic, unearthly, hideous power could drive me from Jessica Alba, and seriously call in doubt her ability to function in a civil society? What sort of demonic, foul man-beast could drive the attraction out of the Alba?

Dane Cook.

Dane Cook spelled backwards is "Kooc Sucks", or it would be if you spelled "Dane" like "Skcus", which, incidentally, is how I spell it. Dane Cook is about as funny as cholera, and ask any sailor who hasn't eaten his oranges how funny cholera is. I guarantee that, if "Good Luck Chuck" is supposed to be a comedy, it's not funny, and, if it's supposed to be a drama, it's also not funny, and, if it's a horror movie, it's also not funny. I will refund anyone's money that they have spent on this blog if you can prove there is, was, can be, or ever has been anything funny about Dane Cook. And yet, this guy gets to star in a film with Jessica Alba. Sanctuary! Sanctuary!

Stick Dane Cook in "Elizabeth III: Road Raleigh" and let him sing Beatles songs where no one would ever have to look at him. That way, he can never hurt an innocent career like that of Jessica Alba ever again.

My Rating: Negative a million stars for Dane Cook's ruthless defiling of Jessica Alba's career.

And the Numero Uno, big cheese crapitoriest movie since the last time I posted on this website has to be:

Bratz

Picture, if you will, a movie based around a Hasbro toy. Populate it with cute, vaguely underage actors in tight, trendy clothes. Put it into theaters during the summer when the preteen market has plenty of time and access to their mother's forgotten purse. Now this can go one of two ways. One- you could then add in killer robots, car chases, explosions, military battles, and jokes about masturbation. Do that, and you will have one of the greatest feats of cinematic art ever to not contain Jennifer Connelly, worthy of every major award to be thrown at it, and the undisputed box office champion of my household, "Transformers". On the other hand, two- you could call it "Bratz" and make it so stupid that the best idea it has in it is the firing of Paula Abdul. Not even teenage girls could be tricked into buying tickets for this used tampon, and they bought IN*SYNC albums and body glitter, so I don't see them as the most discerning audience. Plus, have you ever seen the Bratz dolls? Those things are creepier than clowns behind a DMV counter. They have big, swollen heads, too much makeup, and blank, painted eyes, like little, ethnic Nancy Reagans. Why would this make a good film? Of course, some would argue that little robots with arms more likely to break off than bend into the bumper of a car would also make a lousy film. For those people, all I can say is "Explosions, hot chicks, cars, fast cars, planes, robot battles, more explosions, and entire cities exploding". I've got an idea: every time Osama bin Ladin tries to broadcast one of his nonsensical rants about the benefits of Grecian formula, the U.S. should jam the signal and replace it with a broadcast of "Bratz". The sound you will hear is the sound of a thousand voices screaming in unison in the direction of Mecca. As for me, I'd rather watch "My Little Pony- The Movie". Especially if the ponies transformed into fast cars.

My Rating: 0 Starz

There. A new post. See you in two months.