Friday, September 26, 2008

Yo Quiero Peliculas Mejores

Beverly Hill Chihuahua. Chi-Hua-Hua! How does this still happen? People still want to see creepy talking animals? Really? They all sound like Carlos Mencia, only funny. (Ba Dum Chhhh) You know who rocked the world and never said freaking word? Spuds MacKenzie. He was just a dog that liked to crash parties, peddle some Bud Light, and putter around in his submarine. All the girls wanted him. F'n stud dog.

Spuds would have kicked the crap out of every one of these talking chihuahuas and then surfed home, sharing the front of the board with a six-pack of Bud Lite. But no. The makers of this movie were smart. They bided their time and sat on this idea until Spuds was dead. And then they waited another fifteen years just to be certain he wasn't coming back. (The longest recorded dog haunting lasted twelve years in Nepal.) 

It's not that I hope every person who sees this movie gets ball cancer because I do. (I think ovaries can be considered "lady balls" so save your comments.) It's just that I have dogs and if they ever spoke to each other, it would consist of "That's my Milkbone" or "Stop rimming my ass, that's gross." They would certainly not be rapping with a choreographed dance sequence. Everyone involved in this movie should have their faces rubbed into the movie screen while the film is playing being told, "No! No! No! Bad!" (Is anyone else singing Lisa Loeb now?)

This movie's going to earn more than Wall-E, isn't it?

No comments: