2 for None

Okay, I am fucking pissed (Fist slams into wall with blood and plaster) Some ass-munch needs their gray matter exposed to the light of day. Who makes people like the dick wads that made the last two movies have had the grotesque misfortune to have to sit through. No sit through is not the proper term. Remember in A Clockwork Orange when malign McDowell is strapped into a movie seat, his eyes forced open with metal wires. That is how I felt. I was vomitsously sick. I needed a colon's after this mambo-fucking-jumbo nonsensical crap fest. I mighty has well have had my mouth stacked to the ass end of a Mr. Ed all night long. This was horrible, not in the 'oh that was a bad movie' way, but in the "give me the shotgun now!" sort of way.

There is no way I am rating either of these two non-films. They suck so bad that there is no number, or fraction there of, existent in the universes that could rate these bucked up drums of shit.

9th Gate - Johnny deaf

Book slug, who goes after rare books is hired by a total Fuji head to determine if his devil book is the real deal. Okay so far. So what happens? NOTHING! Nothing happens. The story is totally intelligible and useless. There was no bucking script for this hunk of dung. I hate this movie and want to excoriate it's memory from my brain.

Eye of the Beholder - Ewon McGregor

You know what you behold? NOTHING! I beheld the movie trailers before the movie and that was it. This movie stunk even worse than the 9th Grunt. I wanted to gouge the eye of the beholder out of my head. To behold this trash is to behold fly larva living in shit, to behold a pussy wart , to behold the total vacuum outside the universe. It is the total perspective votes in reverse. This was a bad film. I hope that none of you had the near total misfotune of having to sit through either of these abominations, these mental route canals.

Short of drinking a gallon of saline I don't know how I can purge myself from the effects of these squalid events. I feel impure, filthy, mired in some kind of artistic hell, I was shown the seventh seal of Morton picture Amageadan. Yuck!

I kept waiting for the steady hand of teanibopper action-flickism to take over but I couldn't even be allowed that. Not even a cliche' ending with lots of CGI. Only the cold, moldering, oblivion of non-movie. It was as if both movies ended at the end of their opening credits and there was nothing left but the gaseous emissions of the set carpenters and chatterers.
To know that, as Alec guineas lay dying in England, I was sitting and wasting these travesties of sublime mediocrity, is to die a little myself.