Here go the Dilly-O: Make ONE decent flick in hollywoodland – just one film that makes enough to cover the executive producer’s budget for squirting transvestite hookers, Quaaludes, and Chivas – and your ass is set like a motherfucker.
“Yo, Rufus, what happens then?”
Planet of the Apes.
I could let fly with a litany of directors and actors who have signed the bloated contract, backed the armored truck up to the studio, then bent over and let the shit fly.
Tim Burton, welcome to Hell.
Of course Timmy isn’t the only one to blame. Someone cast Marky Mark to appear in the Monkey Bunch (yes, I stole that line). Didn’t I warn you fuckers about this guy in my reviews of The Perfect Storm and Three Kings? People, how do I put this so it will have appropriate force…Marky Mark wasn’t even a good RAPPER. He should have stuck with modeling panties.
Let’s not let the blame end there. Hell, naw! Who the hell WROTE this toilet mud? And why didn’t they dig up Liberace or Freddie Mercury’s bones to take the lead role? They’d have to be the only two people I can think of who could accurately portray a character who would risk death to leave a planet where they had managed to attain the status of god. Furthermore, this cock-fob is handed the keys to one of the most fuckable women on the planet, Estella Warren…and he goes for a friggin’ chimp that looks and dresses like Al Sharpton’s sister.
I’ll leave you simians with this: Should YOU become a hollywood bigshot, take Don Simpson as a role model and check out early.