Trillaphon: That caretaker guy should really think about investing in either a Bowflex or a shirt. If his chest caved in it would look like he was tacking on mass.
Hydrogen: You know, we're not really being fair in this clip, the actual movie has way more rodeo stock footage per minute. It's about 60% movie-based movie alternative filler.
Trillaphon: Blood Shack is the movie equivalent of the D- essay turned in at the last second by the worst student in class, which consists of 3 pages of the assignment, a half-filled worksheet from Spanish 201, and a Chinese take-out menu stapled together.
Hydrogen: I'll say one thing for him, the Chooper has totally mastered his actor's roar.
Hydrogen: The Chooper is somehow both the worst and the best ninja ever. He doesn't cover his face up, he dresses in all black but then operates mostly in broad daylight, he screams incoherently and uses a sword that probably came from QVC and has "Dragon" in its name, and yet he's able to surprise and kill pretty much everyone.
Trillaphon: And then he finally flew too close to the sun by trying to murder the guy who's been protecting his house and burying his victims for the past 30 years. Oh, the irony.
Hydrogen: I like how it took him being personally murdered by the dude in the black turtleneck who'd been murdering people in broad daylight 5 feet from him for his entire life to figure out that he wasn't an ancient monster of legend.
Trillaphon: Fuck. I'm just going to go back to acting like Peanuts the Pony is the real star of the movie, otherwise my brain is going to go into total meltdown.
Hydrogen: If you did that, then we'd never get to the big mystery reveal of the guy who wasn't even wearing a fucking mask and split his time between murdering people while chirping at them in plain sight and dropping by 16 times a day to make menacing threats about what will happen if they don't sell him the piss-soaked mattress shack for 30 years.
Trillaphon: I can't hear you over the awe-inspiring adventures of Peanut and Sugarplum.
|Music / Sound||-8|
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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