Sorry, ladies. I'm totally married. Have been for...uh, almost eight years. I think.
But prior to putting a ring on it (a phrase I f--king hate hearing anyone say, by the way), my wife and I have been/lived together since late 2000. Yeah, she got a look at me and thought (for a long time), I guess he'll do.
My point, is that I haven't been available this century. I hardly knew the rules back in the f--king nineties, so when it comes to relationships today, I pretty much only have two things locked down: f--k and all.
Hell, in my day, we used to talk on the phone for hours (noooo...you hang up), rent VHS tapes at Blockbuster, and maybe make-out for little while, before things got x-rated, you know? You kids? Shit. Conversations might consist of a few emoji-filled texts (is there an emoji for raging boner?), maybe twenty minutes of finding something to 'watch' something on Netflix, and then it's straight into ass-to-mouth filled three-ways.
Uh, I mean, I guess. It's not like I've thought about thisendlessly before.
How to Be Single probably isn't an accurate (or reality-based) look at single life in the Big City, but as far as movies go, it's pretty f--king textbook.
Cute Girl moves to a climate controlled New York City, basically never f--king works a minute of her life, and somehow manages to incessantly frequent cool rooftop parties and trendy bars, all in hopes of meeting Mr. or Mrs. Right (not that marriage is in the table, for f--k's sake). Lots of handsome men will cross her path, her quirky friend will have all the answers, and at the end of an hour and forty minutes, she'll learn who she truly is. And zero f--ks will be given.
Friends, this one isn't all bad, honestly, mainly because the good folks who cut previews these days don't leave anything to chance. I knew it would be stupid, I knew it would be shitty, but I also knew it would be something my wife would probably enjoy. Oh, and I also knew she would fall asleep, leaving me to finish it all by myself.
Christian Grey's boner garage (Dakota Johnson), breaking free of her sexy shackles, dumps her nine-foot tall boyfriend at the end of college, and makes the head-out-of-the-cab move to NYC. Immediately, she lands a job at a law firm, solely for the purpose of meeting Fat Amy, who apparently does nothing but f--k any man she meets. Fat Amy dispenses knowledge of life in the big city like a less attractive Pat Morita, encouraging Daniel-son to not only trim her bonzai, but to wax on and wax off every eligible bachelor in the Big Apple. Yes, friends. F--k first, ask questions later.
Which begs the question, why couldn't I have been born fifteen years later?
Or handsomer.
Sorry, let me get that lone tear streaming down my cheek. Anyway, if you're looking for an easily digestible, slightly raunchy, modern romantic comedy, you could probably do worse than How to Be Single. It jiggles about with the pace and depth of an Old Navy commercial, which is fitting because the whole thing feels like being in a trendy store at your local mall. The music is non-stop and catchy, everyone looks just south of being a model, and even if I'm not buying any of this shit, I'm still somehow enjoying myself.
Speaking of places no one ever goes any more, let's window shop with the Yays and Boos, shall we? Well, if we can get them out of the food court, first; And no thank you, Chinese Lady, I don't want your f--king sample. Can't you see I already hit up Taco Bell?
But prior to putting a ring on it (a phrase I f--king hate hearing anyone say, by the way), my wife and I have been/lived together since late 2000. Yeah, she got a look at me and thought (for a long time), I guess he'll do.
My point, is that I haven't been available this century. I hardly knew the rules back in the f--king nineties, so when it comes to relationships today, I pretty much only have two things locked down: f--k and all.
Hell, in my day, we used to talk on the phone for hours (noooo...you hang up), rent VHS tapes at Blockbuster, and maybe make-out for little while, before things got x-rated, you know? You kids? Shit. Conversations might consist of a few emoji-filled texts (is there an emoji for raging boner?), maybe twenty minutes of finding something to 'watch' something on Netflix, and then it's straight into ass-to-mouth filled three-ways.
Uh, I mean, I guess. It's not like I've thought about this
 |
| I've always been irritated when the names don't match the position. And yes, I'm an asshole. |
Cute Girl moves to a climate controlled New York City, basically never f--king works a minute of her life, and somehow manages to incessantly frequent cool rooftop parties and trendy bars, all in hopes of meeting Mr. or Mrs. Right (not that marriage is in the table, for f--k's sake). Lots of handsome men will cross her path, her quirky friend will have all the answers, and at the end of an hour and forty minutes, she'll learn who she truly is. And zero f--ks will be given.
Friends, this one isn't all bad, honestly, mainly because the good folks who cut previews these days don't leave anything to chance. I knew it would be stupid, I knew it would be shitty, but I also knew it would be something my wife would probably enjoy. Oh, and I also knew she would fall asleep, leaving me to finish it all by myself.
Christian Grey's boner garage (Dakota Johnson), breaking free of her sexy shackles, dumps her nine-foot tall boyfriend at the end of college, and makes the head-out-of-the-cab move to NYC. Immediately, she lands a job at a law firm, solely for the purpose of meeting Fat Amy, who apparently does nothing but f--k any man she meets. Fat Amy dispenses knowledge of life in the big city like a less attractive Pat Morita, encouraging Daniel-son to not only trim her bonzai, but to wax on and wax off every eligible bachelor in the Big Apple. Yes, friends. F--k first, ask questions later.
Which begs the question, why couldn't I have been born fifteen years later?
Or handsomer.
Sorry, let me get that lone tear streaming down my cheek. Anyway, if you're looking for an easily digestible, slightly raunchy, modern romantic comedy, you could probably do worse than How to Be Single. It jiggles about with the pace and depth of an Old Navy commercial, which is fitting because the whole thing feels like being in a trendy store at your local mall. The music is non-stop and catchy, everyone looks just south of being a model, and even if I'm not buying any of this shit, I'm still somehow enjoying myself.
Speaking of places no one ever goes any more, let's window shop with the Yays and Boos, shall we? Well, if we can get them out of the food court, first; And no thank you, Chinese Lady, I don't want your f--king sample. Can't you see I already hit up Taco Bell?
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| I don't know who I love more. |
Yaaaaaaaaaaaay!
- Look, every time I go into my recent calls, my favorites are a neck-and-neck showdown bewteen my wife and my...mom, so, uh, I can totally get behind a dude with both Married Beth and Regular Beth in his contacts.
- Man, Girl Next Door was pretty frickin' hot. Even if his massive boner was likely unrelated.
- One chick, the lovely (though in this film, highly annoying) Alison Brie, is desperately searching for WiFi. One address she comes across? It Hurts When IP. F--k you, that's funny.
- The longest scene in this movie? Three minutes. How long we'll have to wait to our next catchy montage? Two minutes. Songs in aforementioned montages that are f--king awesome? Most of them.
- No one will ever unseat that little baby from Grosse Pointe Blank as most adorable infant ever, but this little kid staring at Leslie Mann totally gets the silver. Though, I mean...how can you not drool like an idiot looking at Mann?
- The Drink Number speech was actually kind of cool, even if my drink number is zero. As in, number of alcoholic beverages consumed...ever.
- So, uh, Brie plays Liz, and apparently, she's a big fan of Saint Patrick's Day. Well, I am at least, after seeing her sweet shamrocks in that festive green bra.
- The texting overlays are pretty cool and well done. No, really.
- Jason Mantzoukas shows up for a minute and drops the f--king hammer in what is possibly the funniest scene in the entire film. His recap of his psychotic ramblings is T-shirt worthy, to say the least. Stay the f--k away, not my best man.
- Johnson's Alice character gets in a cab and tearfully says, Take me home. What happens next...is f--king perfect.
- Fat Amy has some pretty sweet dick-related sayings. In no particular order: Pass Go, collect 200 dicks. The mention of falling in love basically equating to being trapped in dicksand. And of course, something about wearing a dick like a scarf. A solid trio, no?
- And finally, as much as I love the ladies, the real star of this film is Jake Lacy, playing probably the nicest guy on the planet, Ken. Not only does this dude light up the screen whenever he's on it, but he's just so f--king sweet and understanding, the whole film is worth it just for him.
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| Did you guys ever see Basic Instinct? |
BOOOOOOOOOooOOO!
- Would it be a dick move to say that I snickered like an asshole when Fat Amy's character said I don't do breakfast? Yeah. Totally would be.
- Dakota Johnson f--ks on camera, probably about five minutes in. Shit, even Anastasia waited like, I don't know, twenty?
- A guy shuts off his plumbing so his dates have to go home in the morning. And you thought those first two Boos made me the world's biggest asshole...
- Uh, I love Mann and all, but...well...she's kind of an old older sister, right?
- It was kind of weird not seeing Dakota Johnson's boobs every three minutes. I kind of missed having them around, you know?
- Nice f--king apartment, Lady Who Doesn't Really Have A Job. Seriously, her version of slumming it is f--king ridiculous.
- Alison Brie, whilst rather hot, is unfortunately saddled with the worst character ever in Lucy. No way a lady that sexy can't find a dude in New York City. Her meltdown at story time was laughably bad (even though it ultimately worked out by giving us George).
- Speaking of...for as big a place as the Big Apple is, lots of people just so happen to run into each other. I don't bump into people in my own house as often as these f--kers do in a city of eight million.
- Somehow, I have fathered two children. Like, for real. Sex and everything! Anyway, bad movies have consistently warped my expectations around the miracle of life.
- In real-life, a pregnant lady's water can break and she doesn't even realize it. I thought it had to happen like an overturned janitor's bucket.
- And newborns? They're pretty small. Movie infants? Those little f--kers have beards. And jobs.
- A certain character turns out to be super rich. This is f--king stupid and pointless. Kind of like this entire post, I realize.
- Do you remember when Odie made Garfield that back-scratcher thing in A Garfield Christmas? Well, the writers of this film certainly did, and it results in the dumbest f--king scene in recent history. Odie's invention was to help itch a pussy. This one just reveals it.
- And finally, this movie, as silly and pointless as it ends up being, takes a wicked left turn with the introduction of Damon Wayans, Jr.'s character, David. If you can watch this arc without wanting to throw yourself of a New York high-rise, than you Sir, or Madame, are a much better person than I am. I signed up for a bad comedy, not a Lifetime movie of the week (which oddly enough, tend to be f--king hysterical).
I don't blame you twenty-somethings for living it up and f--king your way through whatever perfectly-lit city you live in. I don't. You're young. Movies have told me that's what happens. Hell, what else is there to do other than drink, do drugs and have sex, if you don't have a job or any other discernible responsibilities? You might as well enjoy yourself, right?
'Cause one day, also according to Movies, you're going to get married to some idiot (or douchebag) and pop out a few miserable kids and you're life will be totally over, right? F--k. Who wants that.
Oh, wait. You do. Secretly.
At least that's what Movies said...even in the nineties.