The Ruins.
What a joke of a film!
The entire movie was about these four friends getting quarantined by some village people in Mexico, on top of a pyramid...for however long they were on top of a pyramid for.
It's a horror movie, so, there's got to be a killer right? Yeah, totally. And there is.
The killer is weeds. WEEDS!
Weeds that sing, dance, and mock people.
I laughed my ass off the entire time, however, was unable to pick up the weeds from my side yard when I got home as planned, since my landlord requested that I do so in a message earlier this morning.
Something about this joke of a film made me think, "No thank you. I'd rather not have evil singing weeds find their way inside my body. Maybe tomorrow."
So here's what I figured out...
This movie is nothing but a subliminal, longer-than-long commercial, paid for by Round-Up, to convince people that you really shouldn't pick your weeds, but instead, spray them with some creepy poison and call it a day. Because if you don't touch them, they won't grow inside you, squeeze you to death, choke you, kill your friends, or make you cut your legs open with a hunting knife.
So, buy Round-Up folks...that way there won't be a sequel to this horrible, horrible flick that I'm PISSED at Ben Stiller for producing.
End scene.
The entire movie was about these four friends getting quarantined by some village people in Mexico, on top of a pyramid...for however long they were on top of a pyramid for.
It's a horror movie, so, there's got to be a killer right? Yeah, totally. And there is.
The killer is weeds. WEEDS!
Weeds that sing, dance, and mock people.
I laughed my ass off the entire time, however, was unable to pick up the weeds from my side yard when I got home as planned, since my landlord requested that I do so in a message earlier this morning.
Something about this joke of a film made me think, "No thank you. I'd rather not have evil singing weeds find their way inside my body. Maybe tomorrow."
So here's what I figured out...
This movie is nothing but a subliminal, longer-than-long commercial, paid for by Round-Up, to convince people that you really shouldn't pick your weeds, but instead, spray them with some creepy poison and call it a day. Because if you don't touch them, they won't grow inside you, squeeze you to death, choke you, kill your friends, or make you cut your legs open with a hunting knife.
So, buy Round-Up folks...that way there won't be a sequel to this horrible, horrible flick that I'm PISSED at Ben Stiller for producing.
End scene.