santa clause tells me to kill people

We have got to get this motherfucking air conditioner fixed.

Tonight I saw the film "The Chronicles of Narnia". Having never read the books, I was completely taken aback by this hallucinatory mish-mash of secular myth and Christian symbolism. I admit having done some acid in high school. So there is always the chance that I actually didn't see the movie with friends this evening, and I was having a flashback. But, assuming that I did attend the movie, here is my review.

"The Chronicles of Narnia" is the story of a little girl named Chubby McGiggles, who giggles even when she is crying. She and her three siblings, who all have DSL, find a magical place inside a closet where it is snowing one day and hot the next. At first, I thought it was Louisiana, but then I realized that it was a magical place completely free of ethnicity, a place called Narnia. In this land of wonders, Santa Claus comes by every hundred years and gives weapons to all of the good children who are traveling with talking beavers. Oh, and no one ever wears a t-shirt. No matter how badly you, the viewer, wish that they would. This is a land of healthy, peanut-sized nipples that never appear swollen and pepperoni-sized, but are always perky. It makes you think that there was probably someone hired specifically for the purpose of holding ice on the Centaur nipples before the director yelled "Action!".

"Sound?" "Speed!" "Camera?" "Rolling!" "Centaur Nipples?" "Perked!" "Action!"

This land is populated by talking horses, flying cat-style beaver horses, ogre-style, tree-swinging buffalo man-things, and various other horribly-conceived CGI creatures that serve at the right hand of a wicked rastafarian whose name we only hear one time in the movie. She is angry about something. I can only assume it is worth all of the trouble that it must have been to spend centuries breeding mutants and training apes to swing hatchets. Did I not mention the hatchet-swinging apes? There are hatchet-swinging apes. At the merest flick of her ice-laser saber-stick-weapon, all of these CGI cliches will ride out and wage bloodless, hygienic war on the Christians. I mean, the protagonists.

On top of all of this, you get to see an 8 year-old British kid named Skandar dress up like Bishop Don Magic Juan. What kind of asshole names a child Skandar? Seriously, this kid's name is a bad Scrabble hand.

But back to the bloodless war. If you get hurt by a monkey or a cheetah or whatever, you can just call Chubby McGiggles over to pour Crown Royal on it and it is all better. People and animals alike have a really hard time staying dead in this movie. There is this great big cat named Ansel Adams that dies too, and that's a really important moment for some reason because the cat is some kind of spiritual leader to the caucasian-style horse-men and the bearded, spray-painted midgets. If you guys are starting to see tracers at this point, I understand. I thought I was, too.

I thought this movie was, at the core, a b-movie. But I didn't dislike it in that sense, I quite enjoyed it. It was like this strange orgy of anglophile, heterosexist imagery, but with a bunch of muppets. Two last things:

1.) The oldest sister never does a single goddamned thing in this movie. Fact.

2.) The names of these actors do not smack fame. In fact, they are so ridiculous that they sound like the names of Harry Potter's classmates. Some of them arouse in me the urge to say "No homo." Let's look at the roll-call of losers associated with this magnificent turd:

SKANDAR KEYNES as Edmund Pevensie

ANNA POPPLEWELL as Susan Pevensie ("No homo!")

GEORGIE HENLEY as Chubby McGiggles

Oh, and if you're a registered IMDB user, peep what is going on about this movie on the IMDB discussion boards! The administrators have had to delete over 60 posts about "the child molester vibe"! Bwah ha ha!