I spent Sunday afternoon at the movies with 300 people that have apparently spent the majority of their adult lives gorging themselves to morbid obesity at the Golden Corral Buffet. That's not really the point of this story other than on both sides of me, I couldn't tell whether the whale sharks were sleeping and snoring or if it was just their tortured diaphram expending labored and deafening breaths.
Inglorious Basterds was Tarintino at his best since Pulp Fiction. I know that pretentious movie critics have been and will continue to bash this movie, but don't listen to them. Basterds was full of the enthusiastic and comical violence and the fanstically witty and brisk dialougue we all love in his films. Its violence was disgustingly awesome and the character development, weaved into a perfectly timed revealing web of the storyline...wait a minute...if I ever write this shit again, I'll shut this site down, hang myself with my vas deferens, never to write again. I hate it when I forget how to be awesome. I'm going to go cut so I can stop the pain.
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