Juice Reviews The Hangover

The Hangover. The Lameover. The Boringover. The Two-Hours-Of-My-Life-I’m-Not-Going-To-Get-Back-Over. The Half-Way-Through-I-Wish-It-Was-Over-Over. see what i’m getting at? which is not to say, i didn’t laugh. the fat guy with the beard? total pisser. except the scene’s where he shows his bum. quite unnecessary. and incidentally, when did unattractive male nudity become comedy vogue? i’m supposed to giggle when i see a fat man’s bum? no thank you. but i did have a serious laugh at that photo of him getting his knob popped by a pilipino fifty-something.
the reason i wasn’t completely entertained was none of it was new to me. if i had a dime for every time I woke up, strung out, wondering how the bloody hell i got where i was, i’d have… lots and lots of dimes. ok, maybe not a boxer’s tiger, but i can tell you about a few gentleman’s goats that have been mistreated, by male and female alike. and their missing friend seemed a bit on the retard side. if a grown man can’t get himself off a vegas rooftop, he doesn’t deserve to be in the town to begin with.
in fact, we’ve lost dylan at least a dozen times. poor bastard just keeps finding his way back. i do get the sense of urgency with the wedding and all, but it would have been a lot funnier if the chap had disappeared on his own, simple because marriage is load of bullshit. that’s what happened to the SEXually. we had a guitar player pull a runner several times. we had to go looking for him, all on the count that he didn’t want to be a rock star anymore. the funny shit that went down on those episodes, you have no idea. and i would tell you all about them, save that there’s a few lawsuits pending, and my lawyer, Evil-in Harden (who incidentally, is a way better villain than the tiny angry asian from the film) said, “absolutely NOT! juice, it’s high time you pulled that juvenile head out of your over-sexed ass [not what you think] and got busy with the resurrection of your flailing career!” but all that’s a different matter isn’t it? anyway, the aforementioned story i refer to ends with me wondering, why are all these police officers in my bedroom?
one last thing: learn to handle a hangover, mates.; act like you’ve been there before.