Trillaphon: I like how they took a long, awkward pause at the end there as though waiting for applause.

Trillaphon: Forgetting, perhaps, that this is a fucking movie, not a sitcom, and also that it wasn't fucking funny.

Hydrogen: They could be forgiven for not thinking this is a movie. I mean, look at it.

Trillaphon: Corn Growing: The Movie.

Hydrogen: All the corn looks pretty dead to me, so even that possible thrill is just a distant dream.

Trillaphon: Between those kids and the occasional "music" - which kind of sounds like it was made by palsied circus clowns slapping random Fairlight CMI keys with their penises and piping the sounds out through a broken megaphone into a tin can full of broken glass and moose diarrhea, by the way - I think my head is going to explode a la Scanners if we don't stop soon.

Hydrogen: The greatest challenge for my suspension of disbelief in this movie is why he doesn't just leave his kids in there to die painfully, so he never has to hear their daily shrieking contests ever again.

Trillaphon: Hey, those kids are three-time state yelling champions. The scratch they bring in from awards and endorsement deals they pull down in Hogbelch County alone is worth any level of constant, skull-splitting headaches.

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