“I guess you can call Angels and Demons a step up from 2006’s unspeakably turgid adaptation of The Da Vinci Code, if only because it’s a good deal more frantic and unhinged than that burnished, lethargic yak-fest. This batshit boondoggle begins with a time bomb full of anti-matter (yes, kids, “anti-matter”) stashed somewhere in Vatican City, and only gets more preposterous. Late-game developments in this picture provoked peals of laughter the likes of which I’ve seldom heard at comedies. I daresay it’s Ron Howard’s funniest film since Splash! But not on purpose.”
— Sean Burns on Angels and Demons.

Who Likes Literature, Twilight and Golden Showers?

"Tell me you want it," demanded Sherlock Holmes, almost angrily. He stood at the foot of the bed, his cruel eyes gazing at the helpless form tied spread-eagled to the motel bed.

"I want it," sobbed Twilight’s sparkling vampire Edward Cullen. He was face down, the ropes were cutting into his wrists and ankles, his face was red with embarrassment and shame, and there was a bucket of chicken stuck in his ass. But his every pore screamed with pleasure, and a hungry need for the pleasure yet to come, even when it was so very wrong.

Sherlock Holmes started to stroke his erect “little chiquita banana", but there was no need — hungry with desire, it stood tall like a Klingon bat’leth. Almost instantly, the two of them became one. Even as pleasure screamed like a barreling freight train through every pore, the shame poured forth and filled both their nostrils. Thrusting in frenzy, Sherlock Holmes yelled, “Say it!"

"No!" whimpered Edward Cullen.

"Say it! You know you want to, you grizzled, incontinent squid!"

"I have a third lactating nipple!" The words filled the air and mixed with the sweat, rutting heat and shame, and an orgasm that would not be denied. Finally, they stopped, both covered in WD-40. Edward Cullen was weeping quietly. All Sherlock Holmes could do was awkwardly pat his shoulder.

Suddenly, a voice cried from the motel bathroom. “Hey!" yelled Strawberry Shortcake. “You guys going to pee on me or what?

[ToplessRobot]

My Review of Next Day Air.

As if Killa Season tried to have a plot and was made with halfway decent actors.

But claiming this was a situation comedy would be like saying Point Blank was about staying true to your morals.

And Mos Def disappears after his second scene. WTF. Same for Donald Faison, but he waits until his fourth scene.

Mike Epps, however, has his break-out role as “Man, that shit is whack" guy. Which he’s also played in a few other films, as well as in the buddy comedy with Ice Cube.

The only awesome thing about the film was the guy with his date behind me who explained in great detail about the bombs used during The Hurt Locker trailer, since he served in Iraq. Also, he knew about cell phone drug talk. That was awesome. And this was in Beverly Hills.

My Review of Star Trek.

The film started off fine with a close-up of computer graphics. But was quickly ruined when the man who hadn’t showered for a few days sat down next to me. I was familiar with the smell due to a friend whom had previously spent a few nights with me in college, who had also chosen to live the life of a crust punk.

Crust punks, if you weren’t aware, smell like sweat and general avoidance. Their smell, some say, are a means to keep The Man off their back.

Suffice to say, every time he crossed his legs, a new self-defense smell came into play. By the end, when Spock began to discuss being human, I was mildly gagging.

Also, “Red Matter" was totally lifted from Galaxy Quest.