Tuesday, March 17, 2015

     It had to have been conceived at a poker marathon---the most lame movie plot in history. 

     So this guy who looks like a GQ model with four-inch-thick black wavy hair that makes mine stand on end, decides that his competitors are cheating him and stealing his gas. (I wish someone would steal Mr. W’s gas). Anyway, he gets slightly annoyed at this and sets out to discover the culprits. Enter sexy wife in nightgown whose lips  are as swollen as the guy’s ego. Throughout the suspenseful drama, all the couple does is kiss--even when she admits she’s been scamming money from their business since the outset. He gets angry when she confesses this, but the next morning, he is seen shaving (naked from the towel up--oh, my) and they kiss some more. Are you effen kidding me? Is this truly about bad guys doing bad things to other bad guys while these two just suck face?  

     The guy is supposed to represent the straight and narrow--success by truth sans gun permit. He admonishes his enemies by blackmailing them, but he only asks for 1/100th of what he needs. After all, he plays fair. I just wanted him to really punch someone into the dirt, but no. 

    Finally, he chases one bad guy three miles down a railroad track with the train coming. He punches the guy three or four times, and then tells him to go home. What? He then returns home to Puffy-Lips and asks how the kids are doing? You mean the one who found the loaded gun in the front yard behind the shrubs? She was three.

     At the end of the movie, a young innocent, hard-working Mexican kid who worked for GQ returns after fleeing the police and shoots himself in the chin right in front of the New York skyline. How did I like them apples? Not so much.

Who writes this crap?