"Buffet table, here I come!"Joe Cool and the Crazy Drunk Indian arrive at the cave with flamethrowers and are able to repel the unrelenting waves and waves of perhaps five or six mosquitoes while they rescue the love interest. I think the mosquitoes have a good guy sensor built in that commands them to attack when they see bad guys and fly around like drunken morons when they're around good guys. The heroes escape, blow up the evil cave, and ride into the sunset. Or sunrise. I can't remember which, but I do remember the sun was definitely doing something. The love interest and Joe Cool act all romantic and the camera pans up to show a whole bunch of land being developed. Fade to black, credits roll, I grab razor blade, the end.
"Skeeter", like so many awful B-grade movies, just doesn't make any sense. How does bulldozing a few acres of land create enough toxic waste to fill hundreds of shiny tanker trailer trucks? Where does the toxic waste come from in the first place? Why does the main character continually weld objects together while not wearing a shirt? How can any human be as ugly as Drake without requiring expensive experimental plastic surgery? How does toxic waste cause mosquitoes to grow to 50 times their normal size and make them want to kill all humans? Why did I spend $1.99 on this movie when I could have used it to buy frozen corn? All these questions are brought up but never answered in "Skeeter". Watch it only if you dare - oops, I meant "watch it only ON a dare.
|Special Effects:||- 7|
|Music / Sound:||- 7|
Each category in the rating system is based out of a possible -10 score (-10 being the worst). The overall score is based out of a possible -50 score (-50 being the worst).
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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