Road House

Could there possibly be a more ridiculous mainstream movie ever written, produced, and released than Road House? It is the creme de la creme of suck. God, I love this film! Why? Probably because I conceived Road House when I was in 6th grade. Barroom brawls, monster trucks, naked women with drawls: a pre-pubescent boy’s fantasy come to life. Road House would’ve been better left in my 11 year old head however, because translated into a real life movie for adults, WOW! does it suck.

For all you bourgeoisie bluebloods out there who haven’t seen it, the story to Road House goes like this: Patrick Swayze plays a professional bouncer. Yes, I said a professional bouncer. Not the fat slob ex-college football player variety bouncer who loves to hit your drunk ass with his big flashlight, but the svelte martial arts practioner bouncer who can kick anybody’s ass in any bar anywhere. Swayze’s mission is to clean up the local roughneck dive in the latest town he wanders in to. He has to whip the slovenly team of bouncers into an elite unit. As you’d expect, there is an evil businessman in town who wants to end Swayze’s career, so he sends his gang of thugs to start lots of well-choreagraphed fights in the bar.

Perhaps the most incredible thing about Road House (aside from the line “I used to fuck guys like you in prison”) is the women who hang out at the bar. Anyone who’s ever been to a redneck bar quickly realizes two things: 1) all the men have to check a chromasome at the door and 2) all the female patrons are foul-mouthed skank. So why does every woman drinking at the Road House look like she just stepped out of the Sears catalog underwear section?

I won’t try to rationalize it. Just see this movie (it’s on cable just about every weekend) and appreciate that you’re viewing suck history.

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