Scott and Sarah Review "Roadhouse" (The greatest movie ever made)

God's vision of man.

Forward: Now let me just start this off by saying Sarah has never seen Roadhouse, the cinematic masterpiece that stars the sexiest man alive, voted by People magazine back in the 80's (he's still the sexiest man, and always will be, dead or alive in my book. That's right. He's got Jesus Christ giving him fucking pedicures up there in heaven as Michael Landon shines his shoes. Or cowboy boots), and co-starring Sam Elliotts mustache. She doesn't understand the amount of sex appeal that lies within this DVD. Not only sex appeal, but unrelenting action sequences, and yes...tenderness. Because if Swayze knows anything, it's how to treat a lady. He treats them with respect, without being a fucking pussy about it. A mans man, a ladies man, an everyman. That is Patrick Swayze. But let me stop rambling about everything you already know. If you haven't seen this movie, you're a fucking moron, and this review will per-Swayze you to do otherwise. I already know that Sarah's vagina will be flowing like the Mighty Mississippi when she see's a topless Swayze. So this is our review. It's 1:30 A.M., and it's last call....for action!


Sarah: Scott has been telling me that I need to see Roadhouse since we've started dating, so tonight is the night where I learn the justification for him having a t-shirt that says "I'm Crazy For Swayze". I would also like to reference the Vegas trip that we took, where my lovely girlfriend Stephanie teased her hair to high heaven and was referred to as "Roadhouse" for the duration of the night. I'm very excited to have these apparent holes in my knowledge of culture filled with some sweet, shirtless sensual Swayze.

Scott: Sarah thinks the haircuts are amazing, five minutes in. Anyway, Swayze plays a bouncer named Dalton. He's like the Michael Jordan of bouncers, and he's got a reputation. People come from around the country to the bar he works at to try and fight him. The creepy guy from "Whats Eating Gilbert Grape" is the bar owner of a bar called "The Double Deuce", and he needs the best bouncer money can buy to clean up his bar. Swayze, being the humble guy he is suggests Sam Elliotts mustache, but Gilbert Grape says his 'stache is too old. Swayze accepts the job. It's his way or the fucking highway, as he's sewing up a knife wound he refers to as "a scratch". Swayze doesn't fly. He drives. He lets that goddamn lions mane make love to the wind. He gives his old beater some old drunk guy, and hops in his fucking Benz, and makes his way to the Double Deuce to take care of business. The way only Swayze can do it.

Sarah: Denim shirts and Trans Ams abound in the Double Deuce parking lot. God, I really fucking miss smoking in bars. It's the main reason I like Hamtramck. I don't think I can get nipple to nipple with anyone there, though. I would have to imagine the Double Deuce smells like Aquanet and menthol cigarettes. The conversation must be wonderful as well, seeing as all of these people are educated enough to be aware of club bouncers by name.

Scott: I think in the 80's there was some kind of social network for bouncers, because everyone has heard of Dalton. THE DALTON!!!!

Sarah: Its like a stack of dominoes falling, except the dominoes are all a bunch of shirt-sleeveless mulleted vessels of pure testosterone.

Scott: I like how Dalton works. It's like...Gilbert Grape is paying him a kings ransom to clean up his shit hole of a bar, but the first night he comes, he doesn't do shit. He stands there and watches a bunch of hicks brawl. That's the Swayze way though. He keeps his cool, and observes, then he lets the niggaz know whats up. Some bouncer with meatball hair was talking about Dalton's balls. I think he's gay. But like I said. Dalton was loafing on the job, but he did dodge the fuck out of a stray beer bottle. Fucking AWESOME!!!!

Sarah: Thus far, I understand Scott's deep admiration of Swayze's character. I can see some aspects of Scott's personality molded after Dalton. His quiet demeanor, bubbling with pure manly wrath just below the surface. I often will glance at Scott and see a look on his face that tells you, Yeah, horses like me.

SWWWWAAAAAA-NIEGH-ZZZZZZEEEE

Scott: Horses beg Swayze to ride them. Horses fucking LOVE Swayze...er Dalton. Can you blame them? I can't! Hahahaha he just made a joke about meatball hair guys hair saying "There's always barber college" upon him asking "what will I do", after Dalton fired him. See!?!?! Swayze is funny as fuck too. You walk his highway or you can fuck off. Sarah's comparison of me to Dalton is spot on. I agree completely, but I'm to modest to tell people about it. But she said it. Trust her. I'm the closest thing to Swayze....er Dalton, but I'm still light years from reaching his greatness.

Sarah: Daltons speech was inspiring. Bouncing seems like such a lovely and polite career. Until Dalton breaks somebody's face!! At least the dude's Tommy Bahama shirt wont be ruined by all the bloodstains. I enjoy Dalton's methods of doing business. Fire everyone.

Scott: Again, Sarah is spot on. If you can't get down with what Dalton's spitting, get ta steppin'. I said it before, I'll say it again, and I'll probably say it again later: It's Daltons way or the motherfucking highway. So get fucking used to it. Dalton won't eat breakfast sandwiches for breakfast because they're unhealthy, and he needs to stay in peak physical condition to make horses yearn for his legs to be wrapped around their bodies, but that doesn't mean he won't smoke a half a pack of Marlboro's for breakfast. Now the real villain in this movie is finally introduced as he throws a party at his crib across the pond from where Dalton is staying. He was the dad in "Buffalo 66". He was also the guy who drew the ghost penis on the pad of paper in "The Big Lebowski". I don't know his name, nor do I care to learn his characters name. So we will call him Peen Sketcher. He was driving his red Ford Mustang all silly like, and Dalton saw. His face screamed "disapproval". Peen Sketcher won't follow Dalton's rules. He'll pay dearly. Oh will he pay!


Sarah: The last time I drove a car like that, I got to spend the night in jail. Dalton is gracefully stretching his limbs along a river or a pond or some nature shit, his muscles glistening in the sun, listening to Enya. I can't help to see the way his gray sweatpants cling to his butt. Excuse me, I need to change my panties now.

Scott: That Tai Chi scene, oh my gawd! I changed my boxers 3 times from all the semen spillage in my pants. I know how Sarah is feeling. Anyway, the bartender who was fired who was stealing from the till is related to Peen Sketch. Peen Sketch kinda runs shit in this po dunk town. But Dalton refused to let that motherfucker get his job back. So a big brawl ensued (of course) which sent Dalton to the hospital, where he meets an extremely sexy Doctor. Her name remarkably is "Dr. Quinn". WOWZA!!!!

Not nearly as fuckable.

Sarah: For Christmas, I am asking Scott for a chestpiece that says "Pain Don't Hurt". Dalton just spits out line after smooth line, like a mulleted fortune cookie. He once again proves that philosophy degrees get you nowhere. He proves to the pretty lady doctor that bouncers have smarts too, and invites her to the Double Douche for a cup of coffee. I could imagine that when you are a doctor, you are waiting for a bouncer with a heart of gold and balls of steel to invite you for a weak cup of Folgers at the most dangerous bar in town.

Biggest question of my life, though? How the fuck do I get that goddamn MONSTER TRUCK?!

DO YOU WANT THIS MOTHERFUCKER CRUISING ON TOP OF YOUR HONDA CIVIC?!?!

Scott: Oh god. A wet t-shirt contest. Fuck that. It's just taking time away from Swayze. But at this part, Sam Elliott's moustache is introduced, and the movie begins to take an epic turn for the AWESOMER!!!!!! And let me reiterate: FUCKING BIGFOOT WAS IN THIS MOVIE!!!!! I just wish Grave Digger showed up so there could be a badass monster truck showdown in between bar brawls. But hey, one movie can only handle so much awesome. And Roadhouse pushes it to the goddamn limit!!!!! You can take that to the bank!!!!!

Sarah: Everyone knows that the quickest way to a woman's ladyparts is to show off your manliness by fighting the shit out of other mans. A girl wearing a picnic table and a distinctly California tan takes Dalton to a quaint diner for coffee. God, I cannot handle everyone's BANGS in this movie! Everyone has bangs and they're all some layered combination of Aquanet, L.A. Looks gel and a teasing comb.

Scott: Okay, so let me state a few things totally unrelated to the plot. 1.) Dalton likes laying on the hood of his car. Why wouldn't he? It's like laying on the hood of America. 2.) Swayze is a fantastic actor. This is how I know: He was a non smoker, yet when he smokes in this movie, IT'S SO CONVINCING!!!! HE INHALES N SHIT!!! 3.) I believe that this movie can make you smarter. Seriously. I feel that my IQ has jumped several points within 45 minutes. Peen Sketch guy hates his bitches music. That shit aint got no soul. But he likes V8. Swayze once killed a man just to watch him die.

Bitch, where the fuck you put my Pepsi?

Sarah: Why would you make the blind guy sing a song about keeping your eyes on the road and your hands behind the wheel? Thats just rude. So the Double Dutch is classin' it up, as you can tell by the lack of chickenwire, the abiding of the fire marshal's capacity of the bar, and the calm demeanor of the patrons. Dude's here a week and he's already the marshal. What a wonderful man.
He meets up with his lady friend, who is now wearing a lace tablecloth, and they return to his humble spacious shack loft. He turns on the boner jams, and before we know it, he is uncomfortably and unpleasurably slapping her spine against a rock wall. What a romantic, this guy. Sex isn't sex unless you wake up with scabs up and down your vertebrae.

Scott: DALTON GETS FUCKING RESULTS!!!!!!!!!!!! He's been in town for a week, and already The Double Deuce has neon lights, the bar and wait staff are wearing Double Deuce shirts, the fucking chicken wire fence around the stage is gone where the blind blues-man rocks, he met a chick who looks like Mr. Perfect (if you don't know who that is, Google image him), he pleasured Mr. Perfect with his belt buckle right in the vaginer. So I suppose his peen was in her poop hole. Fucking Peen Sketch guy was watching their carnal activities and totally disapproved, because he's gaga over Mr. Perfect. The shit is about to hit the fan. Not only that, but Sam Elliott's mustache came down the The Double Deuce to see what all the fuss was about (*and he pronounced it "the double douche). Within 2 minutes of his arrival, him and Dalton were kicking the shit out of motherfuckers. THAT'S JUST HOW THEY DO!!!!!!

Sweet Jesus look at the hair in this picture.

Sarah: Sam Elliot's hair is glorious. All of his hair. The hair on his head, on his face, and especially around his weiner. Scott might be all about Swayze, but I'm putting my crush on this silver fox. He can dance and everything! Dalton is getting the big brother treatment from the Stache, and he damn near elicits a single tear from Dalton's tender tear ducts.

Scott: You know what this movie needs? Another bar brawl. Holy shit, my wish was granted.


Sarah: I'm trying to watch Roadhouse, but Scott's primal sexual attractiveness is making it really hard to concentrate. I wanna be the meat on a Scott Swayze Kebob.

Sarah (again): Monster truck vs. other people's personal property. Who wins? The guy that looks like he spoons Gerber baby mush into his maw while cruising Casual Encounters m4m after his werman goes to bed.
 

HOLY SHIT EXPLOSIONS!

Completely unrelated explosion.

Scott: This movie didn't really need an explosion, but guess what? It delivered and gave us one anyway! Now that's film making. This movie knows what people want and it gives it to them. Swayze's ballerina karate kicks. Fighting in sand with denim dan (that's Peen Sketch's right hand man, by the way), A FUCKING THROAT TEAR!!!! THAT'S RIGHT, DALTON TORE OUT DENIM DANS THROAT AFTER DENIM DAN TALKED ABOUT FUCKING GUYS LIKE DALTON IN PRISON!!!! Dalton doesn't take kindly to queer talk. Not that he has anything against gays, because he's Dalton, and he's perfect in every way; but he doesn't want to be mistaken for a peen gobbler either.

Sarah: Mary Ellen's school of dance did not teach me how to de-larynx motherfuckers. Oooh, Scott's telling me I'm gonna cry now. Let me go apply more mascara.

Scott: Peen Sketch doesn't fuck around. He's all flipping coins n shit over who he's going to kill. Will it be Sam Elliotts mustache, or Mr. Perfect? Well shit. This movie can only handle so much toughness, so you guessed it...Sam Elliott's Stache done got itself shaved. Fucking Gillette. I'm never gonna wanna shave again, the guilty feeling I got no rhythm. Wait, I'm losing track of what's going on. Too much awesome has got me thinking about Wham! That's not gay. That's normal. Wham is manly as fuck, and I don't care what you say!!! Now let the waterworks begin.....

Sarah: Things this movie has made me want to purchase: Sky blue Mercedes (hold the fiery explosion) and white fringed cowboy boots. Things this movie has made me want to learn to do: learn to hold down a gas pedal with a Bowie knife. Things this movie has taught me: withhold tears when discovering your bestie with a knife in his sternum.

Scott: Dalton has killed everyone except some fat guy who's scared of taxidermied animals, and Peen Sketch. Peen Sketch is giving his "well the movie is almost over, and I'm about to die" speech. He's so smug. I love it. He thinks he's going to be slurping some more Gerbers shortly, but little does he know that Ted Nugent isn't around to take out Dalton (and if he were, I think even the Nuge would refuse to hunt such a beautiful creature). Peen Sketch is putting up a good fight with his scary "I'll fucking kill you real good" yes. But shit.....did you learn anything? HE'S FIGHTING SWAYZE...ER DALTON!!!! Dalton always wins. It's all he knows. Dalton is synonymous with success.

Sarah: And so the townspeople congregate to participate in some good old small town revenge murderin'. They seem to have decorated this set with the contents of Gander Mountain. Everyone gets a bullet into the dude, Gilbert Grape guy delivers the final shot into Peen Sketch, and he falls through his tasteful glass coffee table. Tons of people die from glass coffee tables, did you know that?
Oh shit. Thats the end of the movie? A polar bear fell on me? Alright.

Heaven's a highway drag raced by Patrick Swayze.

Scotts conclusion: I said it earlier, I said I'd say it again (which I did), and I said I'd say it later: It's Swayze's way or the highway. I don't care if that highway is littered with bad philosophical quotes, stabbed car tires, explosions, gratuitous nudity, premarital relations, bar brawls, spilled beers, beards of locals, empty gerber jars, drawings of penises, care free driving in ford mustangs, one man monster truck showdowns, silver foxes, blind bluesmen, chicken wire, belt buckle fucking, sweat, or strawberry preserves used as blood; you'd better do what Swayze suggets, or there will be a throat tear waiting for you at the end of the sexy, sweaty tunnel. You can take that to the bank, deposit that shit, and collect interest.


Sarah's (maybe conclusion, depending on what I wrote): My life just changed.

Scott and Sarah Review "Cocktail", Starring L. Ron Hubbard...errr Tom Cruise

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Twilight: Breaking Dawn

This is the first review we ever did. Credit to our sweet darling Natasha for the idea. Or blame her for this shit, who cares? 

Whenever I wake up like this, its because I've tried to kill my beau in my sleep.

Preface: First off, let me say that Sarah and I are good friends to a particular adorable goth girl, who refuses to be called an adorable goth girl. She requested that I (Scott) go watch Twatlight: Breaking Ass, as a birthday present, and to write a review. So as you know, I'm an asshole. But I can also be the nicest person you've ever known. In this case, I'm the nicest person she's ever known, being an asshole with my super nice asshole girlfriend. This is our review of Twatlight: Breaking Ass (Otherwise known as Twilight: Breaking Dawn).

Before the movie, I began drinking a 40 ounce bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon, to lube me up for what lies ahead. I share it with Sarah, because I'm a nice fucking guy. I shave n shit, cuz I wanna look dapper when we go out on the town. Which we did.

So.....our pre-drinking leads to some missed previews of movies (my favorite part of movies, cuz I wanna get the jump on nerds). So we arrive late. Whatever. We miss most of the previews and catch the last one. It was some fucking Snow White movie something or other that I didn't catch the title of, because I was too busy making out, drinking whiskey, and eating popcorn. But like, the chick from Twatlight was in it. You know..."Fartface". Yeah. So I already assume the movie is going to suck many of cocks, so I drown myself in Seagrams 7 Whiskey.

 

Cashier Experience (Sarah's point of view): So, Scott is a drunken liar, and trust me, I know a lot about lying, and drinking. In fact, I'm pretty drunk right now. He is so full of shit about when we started drinking. He tried to leave me at a gas station to go eat motherfucking carne asada in motherfucking Mexicantown. ANYWAY.

Norton antivirus is also full of shit. He doesn't watch porn on the internet. I found it all in his closet. His taste? Questionable. Apparently he likes redheads. To each their own...at least those porn gals don't have souls, right? Cool. What is Sunshine Highway? Is it the sexy version of Crossroads?

So, we went to acquire tickets. I have a very sweet client, who tips me in movies passes, so I may have the ability to see some wonderful new releases in the comfortable chairs of the Emagine Royal Oak theater. I think I've been there once sober. I'm sure it was nice, maybe I went on a date with a nice boy. I don't like to go on sober dates with nice boys, so we'll block that out of memory.

So we drunkenly get some movie tickets to see what is bound to be a wholesome movie (this is written by a Mormon, after all.) and after an awkward encounter with giggly bathroom girls, we get a seat in the very back row of the theater. This is good, since we will be interrupting at least one persons wonderful Tuesday night (Tuesday night? You fucking asshole.) viewing time.

So I guess there's some fucking Snow White moving coming out, Fart Face's fucking inexpressive face seems to be starring in it, being apathetic about the state of probably some country. War scenes. Maybe some dwarves die. What a slut, right? I hate this girl, I want to give her a really good excuse to go to the goddamn dentist.

Okay, so I guess I'm supposed to be writing about the movie? Fartface (seriously?) is totally in love and smiling about her pubescent fiance. She's doing things that all 18 year olds that are actually 25 year old are thinking about, which is dreaming about the really expensive wedding their inexplicably wealthy parents are paying for. Then someone's wheelchair-bound dad is getting reaaaaaaally mad about his son turning into a wolf.

 

QUALITY PORN!!!

Intermission: Hi, I'm the Ultimate Warrior. I'm painted on fucking velvet. I watch shit go down. Scott pounded the 40 hard, and hey...the only porn her jerks off to is "Me So Asian". The redhead movie he got was a gift from Tom Nowak for Scotts son Thurston, which he never got to see because Scott is a shitty/good parent. Make your own decision.

The other film that bitch ho spoke of has a squirter in it. And bitches who squirt is a beautiful thing. Anyway, my muscles hurt from flexing, so I'm going to let Scott get back to the story, not hearsay on his fantasic porn collection.

Scott: So I entered the theater with anticipation for a good vampire movie that I could laugh at. The rumors are true! I did in fact watch the first Twilight film, out of drunken curiosity. Here I am now, 10 films later watching another. Well here we go, motherfucker: It starts off with two people in the theater. One black dude, one white chick. Hand in hand. Obviously band nerds.

  Fucking 5 minutes within the movie, fucking Scrambled Eggs Abs guy (the wolf dude) shows up, with no shirt on, with his crippled dad Tanto following him in a wheelchair. How did that fucking Indian get crippled anyway? Was he high on peyote and tumble down the grand canyon? Fucking moron!

So like, Sarah added some notes to our observations, and I can't read them because it looks like a drunk retard who's been making crystal meth has been scribbling dicks all over a sketchbook wrote them. So we'll skip her "free spirit rant".

Fucking Fart Face girl (the main character girl) had a dream about a wedding and shit. It was raining rose petals. Is that romantic, or an innuendo of the impending busting of the hymen? Well let me answer that for you, since that's apparently my fucking job.

We open the whiskey and start pounding it hard. Like....REAL HARD. BECAUSE THIS MOVIE IS SHIT. This fucking movie is reminding me of a shitty episode of 16 & Preggers on MTV! So like, Fart Face is dreaming of marrying Harry Connick JR, and like he's all sparkly and vampirific n shit. But like, in her dream, she sees that he likes drinking blood cuz his groomsmen are these gay vampire guys looking all evil, if being evil is being a pussy who looks like they like Creed. So like, she turns around n shit, and there's all these pussy looking corpses, as Harry has a dribblet of blood dribbling from his cocksucking mouth, as he grins all coy.

Fuck that dude. Even Lestat would kick his ass, and we all know Lestat was a fucking pussy. So like, I guess Harry went away in another movie to drink peoples blood and sell out his vegan cult. I don't know, because I didn't see the other movies, because I like good shit like Halloween 3. So like, he went away to drink blood. But he did it all gay, cuz he was drinking dudes blood. Cuz he's secretly gay. And those dudes were murderers.

So basically he's a secretly gay vampire who wants to be Dexter, but he can't because he's a pussy and he glitters like a fucking bitch. But so far, these fuck asses are way less whiny and emo than the first movie (the only one i watched, under drunken circumstances). Rose petals don't rain down like, uhm........rain. So fuck your dream, Fartface. There weren't even any minorities at her dream wedding, unless you count vampires as a minority. Racist as fuck, if you ask me.

Photoshop is a beautiful thing. Thanks, Adobe.

Also, she apparently was getting married at the ripe old age of 18. Is it just me, or does this scream of down south pedophilia?

Sarah says she thinks the movie sucks, but it's beautiful so far. To me that's like saying "I love this movie". So far, Sarah is like....way into it. Did Coldplay write the score?

 Sarah: I think Scott has half a boner watching all of this marriage bullshit, and stuff. They're repeating vows to each other. Harry's eyes are all vampire-like, kind of like if he bought those cool contacts from the gas station that totally wont destroy your corneas with Chinese lead.

Christ, who wants to go to City Club right now? Lord knows I haven't felt the pleasurable sting that comes from a Magic the Gathering champion savagely ripping some electrical tape from my chaste nipples lately.

Someone offers Scrambled Egg Ab's father figure some sweet delicious firewater. Two guesses as to whether or not he accepts. Answer: Squanto ends up on one wheel in a shallow, watery, alcohol cushioned grave.

Does Harry's inexplicably Swedish family accept Fartface? Do they get a 9.13 basebreak? Is the passive aggression so thick that you could cut it with the shotgun I'd rather shoot myself in the temple with? Delicately rehearsed speeches seem to think so. Fartface's dad's moustache says...

Scott: Fartfaces' dad's mustache says "Shit, I'm fucking drunk as shit. I can't believe my fucking Fartface daughter is about to marry some goddamn peckerless eunuch of a goddamn vampire. What would Ted and Russ say down at the Ol' Brown Jug Tavern?" Granted, he didn't actually say that, but I could read it in his freedom-loving eyes.

Since there were now African Americans in this movie, I'd like to assume that the vampires were the equivalent to black folk. You could tell the dad wasn't pleased, and if you know white folk, most white fathers don't want their little fucking porcelain angels ravaged by amazing, huge black cocks, but rather little white fluffy doves, that hardly leave a blood stain on the white cotton sheets bought from Sears on the clearance rack. So we'll assume that the vampires are black boys. Because............WELL WELL WELL. I didn't think Fartface would be losing her hymen yet. But ol' Tyrone (Harry Connick Jr. vampire boy) done destroyed the bed in a fit of carnal lust. Of course, you didn't' get to see any tits, let alone penetration (bullshit...I wanna see dick in ASS).

So like, Fartface wakes up, with her twat ravaged to shit. Then she starts complaining about the sex, I guess. I don't know. By then we were like...really fucking drunk. But we were making fun of her about her whining about how his cock didnt rock her twat like the Scorpions would,. LIKE A FUCKING HURRICANE!!!!! So like, this bitch is all whining and smelling vampire farts (at least that's what her face was expressing), and fucking Harry Connick Jr. was all "I thought I treated your sexybits proper. I bruised you n shit." She's all "Naw naw. Hell naw. I like my shit tender. Like scrambled eggs (abs)". The look of concern washes over Harry Connick, as he knows that he would have to battle infidelity for ALL OF ETERNITY. Take a step back. Imagine if Jesus rocked your woman's vagular parts. You know he's got dick magic. How would you feel? Yeah! Like a bag of shitty dick!!! You know!!!

 I'm totally skipping shit. During the reception there was like fucking As I Lay Dying playing. Total Rachel Lane dance party, and Scrambled Eggs Abs totally crashed that party. WITH HIS SHIRT ON. That's like...before that trainwreck of a honeymoon, of course. Harry Connick shoulda brought some toys to please fucking whats her name...fucking Fartface.

THEN THERE WAS A CRY FIGHT ABOUT WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO CRY!!! LISTEN TO ALKALINE TRIO MUCH?!

Sarah: So Harry surprised Fartface with his beautiful Spanish accent to the beautiful Mexican taxi driver, as he told the taxi driver to pull over into a beautiful Mexican slum. They end up in a Sandals resort.

This is why I was never interested in going on spring break in Cancun, MTV style. Jessie Camp would have somehow found me, and I'd be less a kidney. You fucking know that he left plenty a helpless female in a bathtub full of ice, badly stitched up from a black market organ sale, only for the sake of his relentless Oxycontin habit. Poor Jessie. After his grandma died of rectal cancer, the morphine patches dried up, as did the pussy of screaming girls in Times Square. 

The beautiful honeymoon suite of the resort is panned out in front of us. A full moon, the ocean lapping at the white sands of wherever the fuck. Fartface is so perplexed! What the fuck does a Mormon wear to destroy her Georgia O'Keeffe to a blood-hungry haircut model? A distastefully stowed black lace negligee? Sure, he doesn't know whether to lick nipples or bite them off her tits. And nearly bite them off he does! I think. This shit is for 13 year old's, better not let them know how wonderful penetration can really be.

Holy shit, Fartface totally lost her hymens elasticity to some really unfortunate fucking. Like, really? Broken headboards? Whats romantic about that? This is not the introduction to sex that anyone needs. They destroyed a perfectly good canopy bed!

Scott: So it's obvious that Sarah was trailing off in drunken, popcorn buttered delight. I however, was still in tune. I was watching and paying semi-close attention to the character development, while pounding the Seagrams 7 hard as fuck. Anyway, I don't remember the characters names. That's why they're called "Fartface", "Harry Connick Jr", and fucking "Scrambled Eggs Abs". Fuck them. They suck. Just as bad (but worse considering there's a wolfboy now), than the first movie.

But yeah. Check this shit out. Sarah was all "hey bro, I need a smoke, can I have a smoke?" I was all "Sure, but your like....gonna miss some classic cinema." she was all "Fuck broheim, I need a smoke n shit. I caint done control myselves". So I says....I says to Mabel, or Sarah, "Okay, heres a smoke, smoke it real good. I'll take notes n shit" So like....Sarah went out to have a smoke. I pretended to be responsible, but in reality, I was just pounding the whiskey really fucking hard. Totally ignoring shit on the big screen.

She calls me from her telly and I answer. She's all like...mute. I can't hear her like a dick can't fuck Mars. So I hang up and I'm all like "I'm gonna watch the fuck out of this fucking movie." But I love her all crazy like, so I call her back to make sure she's not getting raped by some Scrambled Egg Ab'd fucking vampire mutant thing. She answers all like "Hey, I'm locked out of the theater. Let's go home." I'm all like..."Shit. This movie fucking rules." in my head, but I say to her "Okay, this movie fucking sucks cocks anyway."

So like, instead of getting up right away like a boyfriend who cares, I sit back and take a few more pulls off the whiskey. I think to myself "I'm gonna watch the rest of this fucking movie." but then like...fucking wolves are talking to each other. not in human or Wolf-Man form, but in like...really gay Disney wolf form. So I said "Fuck this shit." and I left the theater with a half of a boner in my trousers, and some whiskey in a cup.

Yeah, that movie sucked a heavy amount of dicks. But the moral of this goddamn review is...IF A MOVIE SUCKS, FUCK IT. GET DRUNK.

 

Happy goddamn birthday, asshole.

WE LOVE YOU...AND BY WATCHING PART OF THAT MOVIE...THAT'S FUCKING OBVIOUS!