Some time during the next few weeks I am going to climb in through your window, or down your chimney, or up through your lavatory pan. My chosen method of ingress to your domicile is as yet undecided; once I've finished going over the blueprints of your house I'll pick whichever one gets me in there as quickly as possible and rest assured I am more than willing to wade through a neck-deep lake of raw sewerage and alligators if it means I get to be alone with you for a few brief moments.

Once I'm in, "Bob", I plan to proceed directly to your bedroom. With one hand I shall immediately punch your slumbering form in the kidneys while the other tears the curtain from the window. At this point you're certain to cry out, or at least yelp in surprise, but that one yelp is all you'll get before I wrap the curtain swiftly around your head. By this point I'm on top of you and my knees are pinning your arms to the mattress. Muffled yells are emanating from the tightening curtain and your head is thrashing around as you try to struggle free, so I swiftly pull the curtain tight around your face and begin smashing your head back against the solid mahogany headboard.

By the third blow your struggles have become feeble. I give you another two, just to be sure, then turn you over and pull down your pants. I heave you into the lordosis position, your naked white ass gleaming in the moonlight, and head out of the room and open the front door.

Standing outside your front door is everyone in the entire world, a sea of people, as far as the eye can see, standing patient in grim regiment. Each and every one of them has a cold, murderous stare and a Saguaro cactus strapped to their crotch. I nod once, in silent assent.

I pass through the front door and out of the house. Behind me, the silent line begins to move and the first ragged scream rises to the cold, indifferent heavens.
 

Merged.

I swear, I will kill him.

Imagine me ripping my shirt off when I say that.

I imagined Nice Pete staring right at me and saying this. It was perfect.

Will it make you feel better to know that the production costs could have fed an African village for the next century?

The tagline is "50% Warrior 50% Lover 100% Chihuahua" huh?  So...I assume 50% of the screentime is going to be devoted to small dogs fucking. 

Heck, the entire cast and stand-ins probably could have done that too. This film is just wasteful all around.

My dog is not liking how this thread is turning out.



Just look how distraught she is.

No, you're thinking of the sequel:

Dissed Rott

Hey, John Cleese was in that movie.  John Fucking Cleese.