Earlier this year Sarah and I got hammered and watched MAY, some lameass horror movie Sarah picked off of her infamous “horror movie spreadsheet.” It was terrible; the only cool aspect was Anna Faris, who played a hot lesbian. But even this wasn’t enough to elevate the movie to “watchable.”

Afterwords, we decided it would be a good idea to write a review for Amazon.com, so that others would be forewarned as to as to how crappy MAY was, and thus might not rent it. (Honestly, illegally downloading the movie wouldn’t even make the endeavor worthwhile.) Our review lasted about five minutes on Amazon, most likely due to the fact that there was a bunch of swearing and I likened watching the movie to watching a dragon fuck a car.

This morning I found a copy of that review on my lappy, buried for some reason in a sub-subfolder. So for your reading pleasure, I submit the following:

MAY was in two words, boring and terrible. Possibly not in that order. As I write this, I consider this movie to be one of the greatest debacles in Hollywood’s long, glorious history.

No, no. That’s giving the movie too much credit. I’d rather watch a video clip of a dragon having sex with a Honda (splooge and all) than this piece of shit, waste of a perfectly good 99 cent DVD.

Where was I?

Oh yes. MAY’s sole redeeming quality (and I do mean sole) is the half-hearted lesbian tryst. Anna Ferris is a total babe. In fact, if she were our president, she’d be Babraham Lincoln. And probably still a hell of a lot better than George W. Bush.

Seriously. Fuck this movie, and fuck you if you decide to watch it after this oh-so-eloquent review.

Really…fuck you.

Every time I look at this poor, miserable penguin, a smile comes to my face:

I think I am going to name him Nate.

JAB

If you’re feeling particularly brave, click through to watch a short video clip demonstrating “The Dangers of Anal Sex.” (Oh, and if you couldn’t figure it out from the title, the video is certainly NSFW.)

My heart goes out to that poor, poor cracked-out woman and her now misshapen rectum.

You can thank Sarah for showing me this one, folks. She may have clicked on the link at random, but it was only after having shown me a video of a man dressed in an inflatable whale suit attempting to awkwardly hump another inflatable whale. Say what you will about him, but the horny bastard is determined:

Quickly, a few admin notes:

1) Nate is blogging again, this time at Under the Thinly Veiled Guise of Sanity. It’s blogging for the depressed, by the depressed. And it’s pretty damn funny. Check it out.

2) I imported all of my old archives, so now the the engine’s tentacles reach back to October 2002. I’m in the progress of updating some of the categorization, but you can still check any and all of them out.

3) I joined Twitter. Been meaning to for a while now, but just have never gotten around to it until today. There’s not much there, but stay tuned because I suspect it’s all that will get me through the workday for the near future.

That title is not really being fair to the new Bond movie, QUANTUM OF SOLACE; I just wanted to be like every film critic out there and make some sort of derogatory pun off the film’s title.

QUANTUM is actually a perfectly serviceable action movie, plenty full of chases, hand-to-hand fights, and choppy editing. It’s barely recognizable as a Bond film, though. Aside from the character’s name, penchant for banging attractive women he’s known all of five minutes, and wrinkly old, party-pooper M, Daniel Craig’s James Bond could really be any other tortured action hero out there. Like Jason Bourne.

And that’s where this movie ultimately fails. It so desperately wants to Be like the BOURNE movies it forgot what’s supposed to make it a James Bond movie: a sense of fun. Even during CASINO ROYALE, as dark and violent as it was, you never forgot you were watching a 007 movie. This was a new Bond, a younger, more violent and raw chap, but you felt like you were watching a Bond in training. In QUANTUM — the first direct sequel in the Bond pantheon — all of this is thrown out the window. Bond spends most of the film miserable and vengeful, intent on hunting down the organization that killed the only woman he ever loved in the first film.

In the end, he does succeed in bringing in the man responsible, but he’s not any happier for it, and certainly no closer to being the James Bond we’re used to seeing. Hopefully the next film — which I’m sure is already being planned — will change this.