Archive for the ‘romance’ Category

Today I’m reviewing a movie off my Netflix list:

He’s Just Not That Into You


Let me get this out front and say that the ONLY fucking reason that it was on my Netflix list is because my wife wanted it there.

Sometimes I let her win.

Regardless, let’s get to it.

See that movie poster up there for the movie?

It could easily be replaced with this one:


What a giant piece of dogshit.

Listen, you know a chick flick is shit when the woman who wanted to watch it in the first place says this at the closing credits:

Wife: “Well. That was a giant waste of two hours.”

Two hours?

Try two hours, nine minutes.

Killing myself would take less time, and I’d probably laugh more doing it.

The two bright spots:

1) Scarlett Johansson is in it AND getting her boobs groped while wearing a bra!

2) See #1.

There were more fucking people in one of the most convoluted ‘he said’/’she said’ plots than Jon and Kate discussing who they were going to have an affair with next.


Mmmm.

Kate.

Sure, it would be like screwing an open window after her 8 kids…but whatever.

Regardless, this crapfest makes it on my ‘Moog’s Awful Movie List.’

My Score:

1 Mooge Splat (out of a possible four)


The single splat is simply to acknowledge Scarlett’s sweet, sweet boobies.

So, I guess there WERE two reasons to like the movie.

Her left one, and her right one.

Moog out.

***********************
Want to be a reviewer? Send me a review!!

Want a movie reviewed? Let me know!

Email me here, or via the link on the right of the page and we’ll see what we can do.

***********************
Haven’t had enough?

Come swing by and see me at my other blog, Mental Poo.

***********************

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Dear Abigail Breslin,

I don’t know how to quit you.

Love,

Moog.

*****************

Today at Moog’s Movie Reviews I’m reviewing a movie off my Netflix List:

Definitely, Maybe


Something is wrong with me.

Why? WHY?!?

Because this is, like, the third f*cking movie I’ve watched in the past year with Abigail Breslin.

I’m starting to feel like I’m stalking her.

First, I saw Little Miss Sunshine (not reviewed here yet…you either love or hate this movie…I LOVE this movie)…

…then “Nim’s Island“…

…and now “Definitely, Maybe.”

I’m expecting some sort of restraining order to arrive shortly.


The other female players?

1)
The hot nympho chick from “The 40 Year Old Virgin” (Elizabeth Banks)
2) The hot nympho chick from “Wedding Crashers” (Isla Fisher)
3) Rachel Weisz (not sure if she’s played a hot nympho chick in anything…but if she has, PLEASE let me know about it)

The guys in the movie?

1) Kevin Kline (a small bit part…but every scene he’s in is AWESOME)
2) That asshole who is engaged to Scarlett Johansson

Curse you, Ryan Reynolds!! CURSE YOU TO HELL!!!

Ahem.

Sorry.


The plot involves Ryan Reynolds (asshole) telling his daughter (Abigail Breslin) a story about his mother.

The twist here is that, in the story, there are three woman intertwined in his life.

His daughter has to guess which of these three women he’s talking about are actually her mother.

Weird premise…but once you get what he’s doing, it works.

I found it very funny at parts, although it could have worked better with TWO women instead of three…

…as the telling of three stories starts to drag the movie a bit too long for my liking.

Overall, I liked it enough to NOT give it under two splats.

My score:

2-1/2 Mooge Splats (out of a possible four)


Stay tuned when I review, “Kit Kitteredge: An American Girl”

…starring Abigail Breslin.

Jesus H. Christ.

I need help.

Moog out.

***********************
Want to be a reviewer? Send me a review!!

Want a movie reviewed? Let me know!

Email me here, or via the link on the right of the page and we’ll see what we can do.

***********************
Haven’t had enough?

Come swing by and see me at my other blog, Mental Poo.

***********************


It’s time once again for Moog’s Movie Reviews!!

Where I’d give a movie “Thumbs Up”

…but I’d have to get them out of my ass first.

And no one wants that.

Today I’m reviewing:

Sex and the City: The Movie

Yeah. Right.

Listen folks….

…the only way I’d go see that f*cking movie is if one of the following things happened:

1) I spontaneously grew a uterus

2)
I started f*cking men for fun

3)
My wife made me go

4)
Sarah Jessica Parker winds up somehow dismembered in it by an evil John Malkovich


The only chance of any of the above happening was #3…

…but, luckily for me, my wife is one of three women in the 48 contiguous states that make up America who HASN’T watched that show.

However, I DID go to see “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” (review coming up).

Unfortunately, we saw “Sarah Marshall” on the very same weekend that “Sex and the City” opened.


I say “unfortunately,” because I happened to be heading back into the theater with a bag of popcorn when one of the “Sex” movies suddenly let out.

*rumble*

Me: “…what the…?”

*RUMBLE RUMBLE*

Me: “Oh. My. GOD!!!!

It was like a giant wave of vaginas suddenly poured out into the lobby of the theater.


Hundreds…NO…NO…THOUSANDS of estrogen-laden HBO-addicted MILF’s came funneling out of the movie…

…and the wave…

…five feet tall and a mile deep…

…was headed straight towards me.

Me (to the usher): “Tell my wife and kids that I love them!”

Usher: “..duhhhh…”

(I mean, come on…he takes tickets for a f*cking living)


And then…I saw him…

One sad, lost, lone man…

…in the middle of it all.

As the wave rushed past…our eyes met for the briefest of moments:

“Help me,” he mouthed to me, silently.

But I was alone and armed only with a six dollar bag of popcorn…

(seriously…six f*cking dollars for popcorn?!?!?)

….and could do nothing else except watch him get washed away amidst the chattering hoard.


I caught a quick glimpse, though, and realized…

…he was holding his girlfriend’s hand.

Stupid bastard.

He fell victim to #3.

Had he actually been f*cking men for fun (see #2, above), he might have been able to get away with going to a dance club or something instead of looking at Sarah Jessica Parker for two hours.

Ugh.

Seriously…they should employ that method with the prisoners at Guantanamo.

Soldier (holding up picture of SJP): “YOU LIKE THAT ACHMED?!? I’LL MAKE YOU F*CK THAT SH*T IF YOU DON’T TALK!!”

Terrorist: NOOO!! I’ll talk…I’ll talk!! We’re all hiding out in the basement of the Taco Bell in Afghanistan…on the corner of Osama and Fifth!! PLEASE…DON’T MAKE ME BANG THE DONKEY FACE!!.”

Nice.


Anyway…you want a review of this f*cking movie, go somewhere else.

I’ll be trying to wipe all this estrogen off of me from the tsunami I experienced.

Moog out.

***********************

Haven’t had enough?

Come swing by and see me at my other blog, Mental Poo.
***********************


It’s time once again for Moog’s Movie Reviews!!

Where I’d give a movie “Thumbs Up”

…but I’d have to get them out of my ass first.

And no one wants that.

Today I’m reviewing:

Sex and the City: The Movie

Yeah. Right.

Listen folks….

…the only way I’d go see that f*cking movie is if one of the following things happened:

1) I spontaneously grew a uterus

2)
I started f*cking men for fun

3)
My wife made me go

4)
Sarah Jessica Parker winds up somehow dismembered in it by an evil John Malkovich


The only chance of any of the above happening was #3…

…but, luckily for me, my wife is one of three women in the 48 contiguous states that make up America who HASN’T watched that show.

However, I DID go to see “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” (review coming up).

Unfortunately, we saw “Sarah Marshall” on the very same weekend that “Sex and the City” opened.


I say “unfortunately,” because I happened to be heading back into the theater with a bag of popcorn when one of the “Sex” movies suddenly let out.

*rumble*

Me: “…what the…?”

*RUMBLE RUMBLE*

Me: “Oh. My. GOD!!!!

It was like a giant wave of vaginas suddenly poured out into the lobby of the theater.


Hundreds…NO…NO…THOUSANDS of estrogen-laden HBO-addicted MILF’s came funneling out of the movie…

…and the wave…

…five feet tall and a mile deep…

…was headed straight towards me.

Me (to the usher): “Tell my wife and kids that I love them!”

Usher: “..duhhhh…”

(I mean, come on…he takes tickets for a f*cking living)


And then…I saw him…

One sad, lost, lone man…

…in the middle of it all.

As the wave rushed past…our eyes met for the briefest of moments:

“Help me,” he mouthed to me, silently.

But I was alone and armed only with a six dollar bag of popcorn…

(seriously…six f*cking dollars for popcorn?!?!?)

….and could do nothing else except watch him get washed away amidst the chattering hoard.


I caught a quick glimpse, though, and realized…

…he was holding his girlfriend’s hand.

Stupid bastard.

He fell victim to #3.

Had he actually been f*cking men for fun (see #2, above), he might have been able to get away with going to a dance club or something instead of looking at Sarah Jessica Parker for two hours.

Ugh.

Seriously…they should employ that method with the prisoners at Guantanamo.

Soldier (holding up picture of SJP): “YOU LIKE THAT ACHMED?!? I’LL MAKE YOU F*CK THAT SH*T IF YOU DON’T TALK!!”

Terrorist: NOOO!! I’ll talk…I’ll talk!! We’re all hiding out in the basement of the Taco Bell in Afghanistan…on the corner of Osama and Fifth!! PLEASE…DON’T MAKE ME BANG THE DONKEY FACE!!.”

Nice.


Anyway…you want a review of this f*cking movie, go somewhere else.

I’ll be trying to wipe all this estrogen off of me from the tsunami I experienced.

Moog out.

***********************

Haven’t had enough?

Come swing by and see me at my other blog, Mental Poo.
***********************