I Love You, Lindy West

Dear Lindy West,

I didn’t know you existed until today, when Mr. Millicent sent me your Sex and The City 2 review and watched me laugh so hard I had to clutch at my undefined abs to hold them in. I wish I’d known about you sooner. However, all is not lost! The beauty of finding out about you now is that I can scarf down everything you’ve ever written about movies I love and hate until I barf and don’t barf at once. (That’s your line, from your 500 Days of Summer).

Enough about me. Highlights!

Your review of Transformers: ROTF had me ROTFL, as the kids say.  Especially question 4:

Are you so mad at Obama right now? He totally fucks up in this movie. For some reason, when the Decepticons attack, “the president” (OBAMZ!) immediately fires the Autobots and sends them back to their hangar for a quiet sit-down. Because that’s probably what we’d do if we ever were attacked by giant robots from space: send our OWN army of robots from space TO THEIR ROOMS as quickly as possible, so that Josh Duhamel and his army of tiny, squishy human man-soldiers can go head-to-head with those gigantic evil things from space who are MADE OF GUNS. Makes perfect sense, Obama. Dick.

Of The Hangover:

Lucas and Moore wouldn’t know a good joke if it was their loyal old dog/best friend who defended them from a rabid wolf and then, with breaking hearts, they had to shoot it in the head. They’d just go, “Haha, gay,” and then they’d be like, “Dude, write that down!” and then in summer of 2010, America would rush to the Cineplex to watch Old Yeller 2: Rabies? More Like Gay-bies!

Then there’s the epic letter to women embedded in your review of He’s Just Not That Into You:

Dear women,

All the men in the world here. Just wanted to let you know that you’re fucking stupid. You know how you always think that we like you? Stupid! Because we DON’T. Except when we do. But if we do, we are lying! Because we just want to FUCK EVERYONE WHO IS NOT YOU! And you’re hopelessly, disgustingly stupid for thinking we don’t. See this right here? Yeah, it’s a penis. You’ve probably seen one before, but you’ve probably never seen the same one more than once. Because we’re ramblin’ men, darlin’! We gotta ramble on down that dusty trail! Please stop calling us on our ramblin’ cowboy phones. Anyway, you should totally pay to see He’s Just Not That Into You. It’s 129 minutes of irrefutable proof that everyone in the world, divided by gender, behaves exactly the same way in the exact same predictable patterns. Always. (Except when they don’t.) You, women, are predictably stupid. We, men, are predictably having an awesome time being just not that into you. Ever. Enjoy your movie! You can thank us later.

Love (just kidding!),


And this nice little riff opening your review of Mamma Mia, which I didn’t like as much as you, but that’s okay!

My expectations for the ABBA musical Mamma Mia! were low. Very low. My expectations were so low that they dug a hole all the way to China and were walking around upside down asking for a fork (my expectations never learned how to use chopsticks). But oh, how young and wrong I was then! Mamma Mia! is pure entertainment. Sparkling and earnest, hammy beyond all acceptable boundaries of ham, full of slow-motion leaping and young love—it’s the movie equivalent of, well, ABBA.

As are you.



PS: Why didn’t you write about Inglourious Basterds?


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