By movie critic Scooter Van Neuter
Sunday I went to a screening of Steven Spielberg's Jurassic World at my local IMAX. Having been a big fan of the first two or three installments of this franchise, I had very high hopes for this film.
The movie got off on the wrong foot when my girlfriend Sissy and I were forced to stand in line despite the fact I had called ahead informing them that I was a major critic requiring VIP accommodations. In addition, I found the lobby restroom sadly lacking in both cleanliness and amenities. Judging by the of lake of urine I was standing in, the last guy who used the urinal had Parkinson's and a bladder the size of Kim Kardashian's ass. The fact the paper towel dispenser was inoperable and the hand dryer button was covered with what appeared to be boogers elevated the whole bathroom experience to that of a concentration camp.
I decided to grab some popcorn and left Sissy to secure our place in line. I left her my 9MM pistol, having little faith in her .380 to effectively neutralize the Mexican drug cartel members and their fat girlfriends behind us. The line for the concession stand was a nightmare - populated by a collection of Wal-Mart shoppers, deviates, and the entire cast of The Biggest Loser. The employees behind the counter answered the question of what happens to the kids who don't qualify for the Special Olympics. Surly, unkempt, and extremely low-functioning, these genetic mutants dispensed Dots and artificially flavored popcorn at the speed of snot, with a simmering hostility that kept me from asking for my change, especially being unarmed.
I finally got back to the line only to find Sissy had somehow moved back about 100 spots. Apparently, shortly after I left she was robbed, sexually assaulted, and deposited at the back of the line. The good news was that we were still able to get good seats and on the way in we found her bra and phone case - yeah!
We ate the popcorn (which tasted like Styrofoam marinated in sweat) and watched the previews of coming crap while our eardrums were jack-hammered by what must be the largest speakers on earth. By the time the movie started, I had the popcorn farts and a blinding headache thanks to half the screen being a blur, courtesy of the ticket-taker leaving a greasy fingerprint (I'm guessing Vagisil) on my 3D glasses when she handed them to me. The fact the seats didn't recline rounded out the whole experience, which was just slightly more enjoyable than having hyenas ripping at your nutsack.
In summary, I give Jurassic World only 2 rubber dog toys - Sorry Spielberg, you've lost your touch.
Click, retard
