Alright, Friday’s cinematic adventure was a bust.  I absolutely despise going to the theater alone.  Almost as much as I hate paying $7 to see something that doesn’t have a guarantee to entertain.  With previews being so deceptive these days, it’s a wonder that they are still luring consumers into the cineplexes.  So I instead opted to watch the movie on, errr, my friends, yeah, computer.  He sometimes downloads the telesync cams, sometimes.  He’s a good friend, you could swear he and I were like brothers.  Twin brothers.

Out of Friday’s options I chose Max Payne.  Now I know I said I was going to tear apart shitty movies, movies that don’t deserve any big screen recognition, but I wasn’t in the mood to watch junk.  Boy, was I surprised.  After watching it 5 times, I’m still not sure what the fuck is going on.  There’s no way my attention span is that defective.

I understood the story line, I knew what was supposed to be happening, but I felt like I was watching a movie directed by Rorschach.  Everything was was jumbled so bad, I couldn’t tell where the reality was supposed to begin and the hallucinations where ending.  God damnit, I’m so confused I can’t even slam this film.  I’ve never been so disappointed in my life.

The action was seriously lackluster, which heavily consisted of gunfights in which nobody could kill their targets.  I don’t know about you, but I’ve been hunting with a bolt action rifle before and have had no fucking problem hitting a moving target.  But these assholes, with their 600 rounds per minute assault rifles can not even graze a single man in an office building.

Ok, let’s stop here for a second, I need to shit.

Alright, I’m back.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, piss-poor aim.  Seriously, even Ray Charles could have hit Max with at least one bullet.  One of the scenes I am referring to is when Max(Wahlberg) and his former supervisor, Jason Colvin(Chris O’Donnell) step out of Jason’s office to find a fucking S.W.A.T. team standing before them, weapons draw, locked, loaded and ready to fire.  At this point(I must add that they wanted to kill these two off for conspiracy reasons), S.W.A.T. fires ONE FUCKING BULLET and manages a clean kill on Jason.  Jason falls, Max runs.  Keep in mind, these assholes ARE IN A FUCKING OFFICE BUILDING!!  Max begins his run, S.W.A.T. begins to fire, yet they can not hit him.  Why did they waste all that time training to join S.W.A.T. if they, in full force, cannot immobilize one damned human?

There were many more scenes of similar nature in which gun fights failed harder than the Tacoma Narrows Bridge.  But that was all that was filled with phale.  Max Payne, played by Mark Wahlberg, reminded me of Charlie Crocker, Dirk Diggler, Bob Lee Swagger, Dignam, Izzy Cole…I think you get the picture.  Seriously, Mark, learn to act a little different than a box of pet rocks.  You’re boring me, seriously.  I’ve had more fun getting my face smashed in with a tire-iron.  You did Max Payne as a favor without pay, right?

And I can’t forget about the ever-popular, big-screen Ukrainian nudist, Olga Kurylenko.  Once again I find myself watching another film in where she strips herself naked, to reveal the body of a 12 year old boy, and attempts to fuck whatever’s in the near vicinity.  I laughed when I witnessed her character Natasha be rejected by Max Payne.  Why?  Because that will make 2 movies in a row where she’s been turned down and pushed away because the main character doesn’t want to do 10-15 for sleeping with a 6th grader.

Warning, the Hitman clip is semi-NSFW, which means if you’re blogging from work, don’t play the video unless you want to see boobies…and by boobies, I mean unless you want to share a gay, pedophile carpenter’s wet dream with him, assuming all said carpenters are male.

Download Link Max Payne Clip

Download Link Hitman Clip - NSFW

Congrats Olga, regardless of how low you can take yourself, throw your body around and tramp it up, you’re about as sexually useful as a bag of hammers.  Unfortunately I know that your slut streak is nowhere near over with, considering the Quantum of Solace premiere is on Wednesday.  It’s almost inevitable that you will be down to a blanket, handbra, skimpy shirt or bikini, I mean, hey, it’s a Bond movie, how many times hasn’t a Bond girl gotten down to next to nothing?  Thankfully, because it’s a James Bond movie, we won’t have to see you fully nude.  This is a huge relief for me, worth at least 3-4quarts of Crown Royal.

Overall, if I were to rate Max Payne on a scale of 1-10, I’d give it a 2.  That extra point was landed for the director’s(John Moore) courtesy and planning of keeping Olga at least nudely covered and not allowing the movie to surpass 2 hours in length.  However, you lose 3 points as a man for not cockslapping the writers for presenting you with a huge pile of shit to work with, not that you did a whole lot to make it any better, fucko.

There’s 4.9billion other women on the planet.  I’ve seen most of them naked.  Some are worth it.

Quote me.  I dare you.

Ok, if you were in London last week and just happened to be in, near, or part of the Global Illumination Initiative at the London Tower, you might have noticed one of two things.

A.) That the $250 plate fee wasn’t worth the grub on it.

B.) Elizabeth Hurley has the most incredible hug magnets ever.

Global Illumination was designed to raise public awareness of breast cancer.  What they do is cast a pink glow over some of the world’s most prominent landmarks, monuments and wonders.  Then of course they party it up like it’s New Years Eve.  Obviously it’s a pretty high-class sort of gathering, but that doesn’t mean it’s not done with good intent.

Naturally people like Elizabeth Hurley like to rub it in the faces of tumored chested women everywhere that she still has a massive set of hug magnets by strapping them in near pornographic positions and flaunting it as if she’s 19.  I think the message Hurley is really trying to send to women is, “Hahaha, I can still squeeze my tits and not feel pain.  Sucks to be the rest of you.”  Seriously, Elizabeth, it’s breast cancer awareness, not a fashion show.  Have some respect for the one-tittied women around the globe, bitch.

Ok, now from the manly perspective.  Damn.  Just seeing the photos of her strapped down like a 4wheeler on a trailer makes me wonder if I gained weight or my pants just shrank.  Obviously through all my research and snooping, I could not find any epic win to go with the pressed sweater hams.  No nip slip, no areola slip, nothing.  Don’t judge me, it’s my fucking duty as a man to point that shit out, I’d be gay if I didn’t.  But I did managed to find one gem amongst the gallery.

The man in the pinstripe is obviously making sure that Elizabeth doesn’t have anything in her teeth.  And the man in the back, with the silver collar, is thinking about his $250 plate of wheat, seaweed and uncooked sea urchin.  There’s no thought in my mind that would suggest that either of those men are thinking about anything but that.  I mean seriously, what else could they be oogling and drooling at?

You know what really grinds my gears?  College age women, women of a youthful sense, always showing their sweater stretchers like their some sort of gift from the Gods, but as soon as a man makes any mention about a woman’s tits he’s automatically labeled as a pervert.

What do you want us to do?  Ignore you?  Because I can, I don’t have a problem with it.  Your tits are oblong and saggy, your nipples remind me of old, unashed cigarettes hanging off pancakes.  When you lift up your arms in motion the aroma of a carnie rolling in cowshit pours out like fucking carbon monoxide, dropping innocent, unknowing bystanders to the ground.

So, to those of you of the lesser sex who get offended at parties easily because someone wants to see your midget earmuffs, why don’t you take a sugar frosted fuck off the end of my dick and think about how nasty you will appear until proven otherwise.