So I watched this movie Deep Blue Sea the other night, and now I’m pissed off. I’m sick and tired of these motherfucking sharks eating this motherfucking Samuel L. Jackson. It keeps playing in my mind like some terribly rendered CGI: Miami episode. I hate the fucking ocean, where sharks are always sharting everywhere, right when I’m trying to get my tan on, buddy. It’s all grind this, nugs that, grinders and nugs with those chick dorkers. Bible sharks, pizza sharks, where does it end? And where did it start? I know you. Your thinking, I’ll just have a bit of pumpkin spice and a touch of white chocolate because it never hurt no minorities, but that’s the stupidest thing that no one has ever smelled! Today it’s pumpkin spice and everything nice, tomorrow it’s all sodomy, as deep as the dick will go. A wise man once said, hide yer wives, hide yer kids, ’cause they rapin’ errebody out here, and then he GOT RAPED BY SHARKS! They were so well auto-tuned that no one liked their albums, so they had to rape bibles just to get by. What is the world coming to? It reminds me of that damn mother-fucking episode of Harry Potter where they go to that music festival and drink beer with butter in it, which is gross because butter is high in cholesteroids, but they don’t know any better because they’re filthy sorcerers and they’re too busy GETTING RAPED BY SHARKS! I can’t fight this feeling any longer, that we’re all running off the rails on a crazy train that’s full of RAPIST SHARKS! How do I stop myself, you ask? Don’t ask, and I won’t tell. That’s policy, bitch. I want to stop this rant but this rant don’t stop for nobody. I used to review elevators for the Times, man, and look at me now! I own my own fucking computer that’s full of, you guessed it, SHARK PORN! What’s wrong with you, Samuel L. Jackson? I trusted you, and you went and got yourself RAPED BY SHARKS? She hollered that it takes the smartest shark to eat your heart out, and here I am trying to play down this GQ article that accuses me of being the sexiest SHARK ALIVE? Rest in p-p-p-pieces, Sammy.
Wipe that smirk off your face, Samuel L. Jackson
But there’s Roger so much Moore! Here I am swallowing marbles like a modern Marvel comic strip, and an episode of mother-fucking Lost forces itself upon me in my private areas, with that stupid bitch Juliette who never stops smirking about how she starred alongside funnyman Tim Allen in the seminal Santa Clause 2, and now I’m thinking, was she in the third one, too? Who can possibly keep track of all the Santa Clause films? No one, because we’re all GETTING RAPED BY SHARKS! Christmas sharks, jolly sharks, holly sharks, ho-hos and ding-dongs, all the way down straight to Hell, Michigan, doorway to the Apocolypse Now. I got a bitter taste in my mouth from eating all of that shit that I eat every day with my marbles to help them go down easier, but the whaliens keep jumping out of the silver screen for a voyage into my dome. If you just stop smirking for one second, Juliette, I can shove some scripts at you that you would be perfect for: Whaliens: The Motion Picture, Whaliens 2: Sling Ding-Aroo, Whaliens 3: The Search For Spock, Whaliens 4: Celtic Gore, Whaliens 5: No More Jive, and many, many more! What can I say other than go die now? Nothing. Ever. Fin.
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