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August 17, 2016 | movie reviews

GHOSTBUSTERS 2016

Sean Kilpatrick

GHOSTBUSTERS 2016 photo

Ghostbusters 2016 is the cat that came back the very next day and killed your whole goddamn family! Has snookums scathed you in the franchise? You fiendishly lonely bad beta boys finally stopped foraging to rape the community’s scraps, thanks to a seraphim of test audiences. Your beloved escape hatch nostalgia was pillaged, via your own sequestration, to replace the sex you never had with the bodies that would never near you. These badass dames just zapped you in your underutilized family jewels, nerds. Eunuchized by the clothespin! Looks like someone was caught trying to muster a fallopian tube from his Kleenex. Your resentment outgrew the basement when you coined the internet, my pocket protected friends. You built the net to appeal to a woman before she had to look at you. But your Weird Science program just authored its SCUM Manifesto and the noncreative grown ass studio men banking in on fear of misogyny as a promotional device just taped Grizzly Adams to your pussy. They’re going to retire to a mansion and make the wife pick coins up off the floor using just her molars. Let’s unplug the screaming parasite from its host and peel the molt back to the basement membrane, until the pirouetting hind-gut is legible, or displayed in all its bitterest self-exonerating cursive. Browbeat the Angry Video Game Nerd across his calm disinterest in the latest headliner, because Dworkian hysteria about the ever-invasive daddy pikestaff turned her into a much better novelist than a fucking politician. Is this an acceptable recital of what the dorky lads need to be exposed as, the activist meme of me, or shall we never desist walloping these privileged losers into the pulp everyone else already has? Sometimes an asskicking builds character, sometimes you just become a more dinged up animal other animals are done with. All wimps cling. Movies typically can’t blame them for it, until now. Who knew the medium would start wagging its rejection at anyone skilled at peeping? What did the attractive just reduce us to by their selection!? School marm culture doesn’t like you mouthing off in the locker room because it implies you did some sweating to earn the brag. None of the abounding crop top temperance unions have ever faked their subversive armpit fuzz on a budget this impressive. Please don’t leave me to my joysticks. Ey, I’m a puke amount of nice around broads. Men ain’t much when we’re trying to make a point that isn’t inside you. We’re made to stick our enemies and lovers, same difference, not stick to them. We’re the only mutants who are never flattered by our hanging around. We’re like a logic mosquitoes invented. We let being able to change a car tire stoop to the disappearing list of masculine features because hunting became obsolete and wars don’t have interesting causes anymore. Any man taking pains to explain something to you wants to raise a family inside your anus. Women are extra erotic when they place blame, so they’re always erotic. How stubbed should I lop my inapropos dingle to prove I don’t give a shit about winning an argument? Dudes like when a bitch thinks she can beat em up. But, yo, big diff, if you’re the superb tranny whose ass my biology won’t temporarily shy away from, I promise it’s because the full word for whatever fucking pronoun you want has too many syllables to count while hard. No offense, anything abbreviated is girly, know what I’m sayin? Plus, I can tongue you till you grow some fucking eggs, regardless, sweetie. Fuck it, we might come harder if talking is illegal, but puritans didn’t discover sex, they just conversely advanced it. If you bless our coupling, I will turn you little, one way or another. This is the facetious battle sparked in our snooze. A beguiled struggle the people’s towel can get thrown in on. We’re so stifled by comfort we found a way to struggle through our nap. The topic of gender is the aesthetic fifty-two pickup that can patent you in reverse. Sick of being talked to like you never made someone bleed before? My OkCupid profile reads: Is this the rubric where babies happen? Promise our zygote won’t find purchase till you sneeze. That’s how you drop the mic in a movie review, because the cord electrocuted you. Even our cartoons gotta tell us it’s ok to make choices only stupid people focus on. All the Buster movies, then and now, are cute and do me a giggle once or twice. Can I have my labia flavored lollipop from headquarters? We found so many gods there’s no time to renounce them one by one. Writers are born trolls you can automatically ghost. I don’t contain the correct amount of spit to fix everyone’s issue. Fuck me up in any drag you want. Garbage Pail Kids was the rosary of my babyhood.

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