Unfortunately we can't spend all of our time delving into Tarly Me Banana's bottomless ignorance, because then we would have to neglect the other players in this farcical freakshow, and what naked, sweaty barbarian saga would be complete without a wise-cracking Aryan midget and a couple beefy but servile valkyries with 80s perms coiffed up higher than the Gateway Arch?
The king among all of them, in more ways than one, is of course the Dread Lord Whisper-Whiskers, who is called Sarm and lives in the Sarmarama-Ding-Dong Mountains or something like that. DLWW spends most of the movie trying to take his mind off a nasty case of chronic spontaneous tracheotomy-itis by raping and pillaging every village in sight, and throwing a couple of feast-orgies/non-consensual body modding parties in his opulent Kenny Rogers' rotisserie floodlight dung palace:
And so the stage is set for the good guys and bad guys to all walk in circles in a giant desert, doing absolutely nothing, for a good solid hour. Eventually Tarl's In Charge and his band of unwashed rabble stop over in a town with a crappy strip club/bar to ask for directions and start a fight for no reason, where they get hassled by a fat, bearded guy who looks like Caligula after a 26-year binge on nachos and milk stout. Despite this temporary setback, the good guys craftily infiltrate Fortress Evil by looking exactly the same as the bad guys and getting them to carry them there in a fucking litter, and then still manage to get themselves arrested within 3 seconds of their arrival by randomly sucker-punching a guard for no reason.
Wait a minute...so the good guys stop over in a seedy, backwater desert town in order to secure supplies for the trip ahead, then go to the local dive bar where they hire a cocky man who's in trouble with the local criminal underworld to guide them to the evil lair? Well shit, in that case if you want to know how Gor ends, just picture this: Luke and company land on the Death Star, but then instead of stealing uniforms and sneaking around, they just hop out of the Millenium Falcon and pop Grand Moff Tarkin one right on the chin, just to start a fight. And then Darth Vader invites them to hang out in his pleasure chamber and drink frosty chocolate milkshakes, because they seem pretty cool.
So that's Gor. Basically, it's Indiana Jones 2 without any of the cool heart-ripping or monkey brains, Conan the Barbarian without the wizards, snakes, or steel-based riddles. But at least it teaches us a valuable lesson about respecting and tolerating Goreans. See, we always thought that Gorean culture revolved around degrading women, but clearly the real cornerstone of their philosophy is not wearing pants. What's wrong with that?
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Ferguson's long arm of the law laments the latest cutback.
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.
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