Point Blank

Point Blank is utterly forgettable, straight-to-video smegma. It’s a blatant, faceless, terribly-acted Die Hard rip-off (a gaggle of terrorists take over a mall and are picked off one at a time by ex-Texas ranger Mickey Rourke.) Don’t see it.

There is one important thing about Point Blank, however: Mickey Rourke’s head.

You know how boxers sometimes get “cauliflower ear” from getting punched in the ears repeatedly? Well, Mickey Rourke has cauliflower face. I swear to God, his head looks like it’s been beaten severely with a sock with a yam in it. His frontal lobe is oily and swollen like an Italian porn star’s Johnson, and his brow juts out at least an inch over his weasly eye sockets. Paste a couple of furry patches on his cheeks and forehead and you’ve got a damn fine Cromagnon-man replica. Even better, add the patches of hair, turn on a movie camera and ask Mickey to act, and you’ve got a stiff, waxy-looking Cromagnon-man replica suitable for museum display.

I think I heard somewhere that Rourke does box as a hobby. How else could his head have become so knobby and melon-like? Would I tell him to his face how butt-ugly he’s become? Hell no! Because on top of de-evolving into a lookalike of one of my ancient ancestors, that motherfucker has gotten huge! He’s got more steroids pumping through his caveman veins than the entire Canadian track team. He’s got to. How else does a forty year old man suddenly acquire a physique like that?

Take this one to the bank: if Mickey Rourke doesn’t show up soon in the world of professional wrestling, then I promise that Octavia Driftwood will kick his ass.

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