And summer means movies. Lots of movies. Lots of really big, loud, obnoxious... people, complaining about movies. Yes, if there's a movie opening on Friday then there's somebody bitching about it on Monday. Unless of course you read the reviews, in which case someone is bitching first thing on Friday morning. And all because these cinematic simpletons can't decipher a kids movie from an adult-oriented gorefest.
That's right, it'll be your own damn fault and no one else's if most of the flicks you flee to aren't up to snuff. You're not that important; no studio has planned their entire slate of money-makers around your tedious tastes. These big-ass blockbusters are directed at specific age groups and audiences, and that can't possibly please the royal we even half the time. So get wise and make smarter decisions (like milk duds over ju ju bees, for starters). Take a deep popcorn- scented breath and consider your true self. Are you a 15 year-old boy? No? Then what are you doing attending an Adam Sandler/Mike Meyers double-header? Does your significant other posses the same genitalia as you? Didn't think so. So why did you drag them to that Jerry Bruckheimer blow-em up or that Sandra Bullock weeper?
If you enjoy a fart joke that runs for and hour and half straight, then by all means, check out Eddie Murphy playing seventeen different characters in one fat suit. If not, don't go. Or go, and do us all the favor of keeping your apple-pie hole shut afterwards. The Dodger game is on, and I'm trying to take a nap in front of my industrial warehouse- sized fan.