So last night Mr. K and I did something we very rarely do, we went to a movie. We are absolutely notorious for saying we’ll go to a movie and then finding the slightest of reasons to talk ourselves out of going. I don’t know why this is, I really don’t, it’s just the way it happens. I think the last movie we saw at the theater was “The 40 Year Old Virgin”, yeah.
Anyway, even though the mister did suggest at one point that we head back home, we stayed the course and went to the movie. Mr. K had suggested we see “Transporter 3” and I am not one to turn down H-O-T-T ass Jason Statham so I was good with the flick and looking forward to the show. Amazingly we were also on time and didn’t have to rush into a darkened theater looking for seats while the soles of our shoes adhered to the soda-and-candy glue of the floor. We got something to drink and some candy and moseyed on up to some choice seats.
I watched the movie trivia questions scroll by for a few minutes as the other patrons found their seats, and then the lights dimmed and the trailers started to roll. Trailers are bad enough to sit through when they take up 20mins and are previews of shit you have already seen promo’d elsewhere, or when the trailer is so long you feel like you don’t need to pay to see the actual movie ‘cuz you’ve pretty much just picked up all three arcs of the script. And inevitably once the trailers finally stop I am left struggling to remember which movie I actually paid to see. Oh, except it wasn’t trailers that lit up the screen. It was goddamn commercials.
WTF?! A Mastercard commercial, a car commercial and a fuckin’ Wal-Mart commercial that turned into a Wal-Mart + Coke commercial. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! “I just paid $18 to sit through motherfucking commercials!?!”, I hissed in the dark. The grunts being echoed around me told me several of my movie going patrons were also cheesed off at this neverending barrage of consumerism. AND THEY WEREN’T EVEN NEW COMMERCIALS, Y’ALL. The fuckshit Mastercard commercial was one that has been on teevee for at least two Christmas’, car commercials are all the same to me regardless and the Wal-Mart commercial was just too hard to swallow given all the talking head chatter in the last couple of days. Grrrrrr. Double Grrrrrr. Is it so hard to go out for a few hours and not be force hypnotized into buying shit??
I was dangerously close to Shitty Mood as the movie started. All I can say is, Thank Dolly for Jason Statham. In fact, dude’s effortless brooding, dangerous, please-show-me-all-the-ways-you-could-hurt-me-sexyness saved the night. For real, yo. That compact package of Brit Sizzle kicking heads, limbs, and holes through chests, the impossible sailing acrobatics, the lethal hand movements, the punny lines, the way Transporter always manages to do a striptease WHILE he’s fighting the bad guys – YESSSSSSSSSSS. I swear this movie was written for the ladies because there are just enough lingering shots of nothing but Hott Baldie’s yooge, pulsating, devastating hard muscles. (Ahem). There’s even a seductive make-out scene that spawns all number of dirty thoughts if one were to let one’s self get carried away. (A make-out scene, not a sex scene). His slinky Ukrainian co-star is smokin’ hot her damn self, too. Mmm-mmm.
Actually, fuck this post – let’s talk about Jason Statham hottness instead.
I have no reason for this pic other than to lick my screen. What? Ain’t no shame in my game.