♫ This is the Captain, brace that ass for impact.
Don't doubt, motherfucker, ain't in the abstract.
Bird strikin' tiddies, with bitches that is stacked.
Black box, listen close, make your balls retract. ♫

♫ Ain't no crash, perfect forced water landing.
Back the fuck off, 'fore I piss where you standing.
I'm fucking filthy, just got the right branding.
Ride on my mustache, that pussy commanding. ♫

♫ Can't sully this Sully, King of the Controls.
Going ballistic, laying pipe 'round the poles,
She start chanting, while I'm filling her holes:
He did it, one hundred and fifty-five souls. ♫

A dull Canadian town overreacts to a gloopy werewolf redecorating peoples' yards with festive entrails.

I mean, she only killed dogs, a bitchy teen, and a guidance counselor: it's not like anything of value was lost.

Who Fucked Roger Rabbit?

These motherfuckers literally had a meeting where they decided that it was more fiscally expedient to release a movie that edited around the death of a man and two children instead of dropping a single segment of an anthology film.

There isn't a work of art in the history of humanity that is worth more than a human life, let alone a cynical corporate product.

Fuck this and fuck them.