Along came a spider…and I swatted its ugly ass with the December issue of Juggs. Let’s get one thing straight. I admire Morgan Freeman. Even though from some angles he looks like a Maori tribesman on a three day bender, he’s still a competent actor who brings legitimacy to even the crappiest movie. He’s the very reason Kiss the Girls and Along Came a Spider even made big theater release. Don’t believe me? Watch the credits. Supporting actors in this movie were people like Ben Dover, Harry N. Utsack, and Fonda Peters. Without Morg, this flick is direct-to-cable smegma. Let’s see what Little Miss Muffett found so revolting.
Borrowing liberally from the Bone Collector, Eye of the Beholder, Seven, Die Hard VII: the Reckoning, and Throw Momma from the Train, Along Came a Spider deals with the latest Hollywood fad/fantasy: the serial killer who is not motivated solely by the thought of some righteous post-mortem lovemaking, but rather by the need to become a media celebrity. So instead of hiding in the Oval Office and making tender mouth-love to George W’s stinkhammer while he’s on the phone with Yasser Arafat, our would-be serial killer decides to kidnap the daughter of a senator. Do I even need to tell you of the surprise twist at the end where the serial killer is killed serially? It’s the old ” I love you, I love you more, I love you to infinity, I love you to infinity plus one” plot device. When you get into storyline trouble, reverse the plot direction until your typewriter needs a neckbrace, the hero of the story turns out to be the bad guy, and he kills himself while trying to stop himself from committing a murder. That way, every John Q. Dumbass in the theater will be so confused, they’ll figure that, if they couldn’t ingest it, it must be authentic.
Now I’ve got arachnid guts all over the FFF offering of Tawana the lactating crack addict. TIME FOR A CHICKEN BISCUIT!