Play Nazis For Me. Not Really!

“Surf Nazis Must Die”: (A college friend suggestion). We all grow up with our own type of cheesy movies we just absolutely love heart and soul for no apparent reason other than it has been inseminated into our DNA. This ain’t even close to being my kind of cheesy goodness. You know, you have that cheesy goodness in that grilled burger at a family gathering, in which, you personally haven’t eaten a burger in like 2 years and it smells ever so goddamn good, knowing that if and when you eat it, it will constipate you for a day and a half, but that thought of eating that burger with that bowl of hot melted cheese (picture it: a hot bowl of melted cheese, which by the way, you just noticed next to the hamburger buns, steaming ever-so delicious godforsaken hot cheese that is gonna be poured onto the burger, as well as the burger will be dipped into the cheese sassy saucy, which will have been blobbed onto your plate slowly seeping into those nice clean crispy fried French fries that will become cheesy fries); and wham-o you bite into that cheesy, extra cheesy grilled burger and fries. That my severed friend is cheesy goodness. This movie was not that at all. This move was that cheesy badness in which you eat a cheesy cheddar burger from Wendy’s, go to fart and out comes the sharted remains of that cheesy cheddar burger and an embarrassing car ride home with seepaged, soiled panties. Please, do NOT take your panties off. I am not even gonna mention the weirdoes that played in this movie like the Shakespearian wanna-be Adolf and fat tubby Mengele squeezed into a surfer suit. Naturally, the movie was over the top and badly cheesy, maybe even rotten cheesy for my nonexistent taste buds (you ever see what I eat?). You know, I didn’t mind the ridiculous characters like the Japanese surfers or the angry redbeard dude with the ultrabright green blotched black shirt, it was the plot being so utterly bizarro, and that is what made me drift into the nether regions of my mind shut off valve. HEARING AID OFF

“Play Misty For Me”: Get a load of this. The movie deals with a disc jockey that plays music on the radio and attends a jazz event. I watched the movie in mute. Ha ha ha. I kill myself. Don’t worry, I did not spend my time lip reading, which is a mad skill I have picked up over the decades. Oh, do not EVER try the “Elephant juice” trick on me, I’m just too skilled. Madly skilled, that is. Here is a movie about a psycho woman, whom is not attractive. Why couldn’t that cowboy pick up a hot sexy psycho woman? Yes, it is better to have psychos be physically attractive, movie speaking, after all, it is bad enough their minds are unattractive. Give me some physical beauty, it will make my eyes feel so fine. So fine. So fine with that red, red wine. So fine. Red Wine. Red, red wine. What the hell am I doing. Onwards; poor cowboy disc jockey blah blah and blah. We got it; we know what is gonna happen. Sadly, the black house maid got a stabbing, but we all know, that mad black woman would have put a hurting to that scrawny ugly white 70s cracker jack. You get my drift. Let me just say this, HEARING AID OFF.