The most important person involved in a making a movie isn't the writer, the director, or even the best boy. (Sorry, best boy, your name is a lie). Nope, it's the editor. You see, it's the editor's job to make sure the plot jumps swiftly from one cool moment to the next, thus preventing your ever-curious brain from pondering all the hilariously dumb stuff that inevitably happens in-between scenes, such as Indiana Jones clipping his toenails or Nick Fury getting a colonoscopy.
And unfortunately for all of Hollywood's editors, our job is the exact opposite of that, so let's get cracking:
In making Kong: Skull Island, the filmmakers had to take a few liberties when it came to gorilla facts such as size, aggression, and love of kidnapping petite blondes. If we assume that everything else stays the same, however, you can indulge yourself in the knowledge that this cinematic icon likes to spend his off time excitedly chowing down his own mega-turds.
Yeah, it turns out that's a thing gorillas do all the goddamn time.
Warner Bros. Pictures
Let's do some math -- poop math. In Skull Island, Kong is 100 feet tall. Given that the maximum average height and weight of a male gorilla is 6.6 feet and 550 pounds, that gives Kong a weight of 8,250 pounds. The biggest gorillas also consume 8,000 calories a day, so scaling that figure gives us a daily caloric intake of 120,000, taken mostly from fruit and plants (notoriously difficult foodstuffs to digest). The end result of all this, and you'll have to pardon the expression, is a shitload of waste ... which he'll then need to gobble up immediately after, in order to get a do-over on any nutrients that he missed the first time. We've probably said it before, but Mother Nature is a freak.
Warner Bros. Pictures
And while we're at it: Who the fuck is cleaning up after the dragons in Game Of Thrones? If they're anything like Komodo dragons -- and they totally are, because a) those are the largest species of lizard in the world, and b) we just said so -- those fire-breathing monsters would consume about 80 percent of their body weight in a single sitting. In terms of backend output, scale that up according to how much those dragons weigh (there's no official figure, but this guy estimated it at 5,700 pounds.) and times the figure by three, and voila! You've found out what the worst job in Westeros is: Chief Poop Scooper to the Mother of Dragons.
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HBO's Westworld is about a western-themed robot land that also touts itself as the best theme park in the universe, and it's not hard to agree. Visitors can explore miles and miles of terrain without encountering a single screaming child, drink as much as they like, and murder strangers with wild abandon. Oh, and screw whomever they like, whenever they like, and in wherever it can fit. We'd compare it to a sex-filled Disneyland, but a) that's normal Disneyland, and b) they don't let you get to third base with the Hall of Presidents.
But, let's think this through. Westworld is a theme park, which means that everything is optimized for the enjoyment of their guests. And we mean everything. If people are paying new car money to have sex with robots, it has to be the best goddamn ride of their lives. And how do they ensure that? By hiring people to try out the prototypes, duh. If you think tasting free cheese samples at the supermarket is the height of free shit, wait until someone offers you the chance to test out how Sexy Farmhand Model #2587 handles. All you have to do is hang onto something, fill out a questionnaire afterwards, and ignore anyone who asks why you're walking like that.
On the down side, there's absolutely zero chance that these things worked the first time. We're imagining something like the "robo-flops" scene from RoboCop 2, but in your butt.
This also begs another question: How do the sexbots get cleaned? It's easy to think that the bots are recalled and internally hosed out every night, but what if the guests and bots go on an extended adventure together? After days in the sun, their internal Splooge Retention Tanks and carbon fiber dicks are going to go bad, and it might break the fourth wall if Anthony Hopkins rocks up every night on a dirt bike, brandishing baby wipes and a douche.
So it's like the gym, where you have to trust your fellow guests to wipe down the equipment afterwards. Remember, people on vacation tend to be entitled dicks at best, so it's inevitable that someone is going to wind up swapping a lot more than wild stories with a fellow guest.
In X-Men 2: Screw You Bryan Singer, We're Never Calling It X2, the main villain and his special forces team assault the X-Mansion and get their shit wrecked by Wolverine.
20th Century Fox
It's a supremely badass moment, but have you ever stopped to think about what happened to all those corpses? Once the bad guys are defeated for good, the X-Men had to come back to their cozy mansion for some celebratory beers and brooding -- only to find it brimming with dead bodies, most of which have been lying there for several days. That is, if we can even call them "bodies" at this point. When we interviewed a crime-scene cleaner, they made sure to point out that people are basically skin condoms filled with grease and liquefied fat. Once you stop breathing, all those fluids start seeping out like a final "fuck you" to the world.
20th Century Fox
Let's be charitable and say the bad guys cared enough about the antique paneling and authentic wooden floorboards to remove their fallen comrades before they could start gunking the place up. That still leaves disturbing amounts of blood and bodily fluids everywhere. And let's face it, a couple of those dudes get clawed in the stomach; they definitely evacuated their guts via both the traditional route and the newly made shortcut in their abdomen.
The cleanup would certainly bankrupt whatever funds the school has. It's not made entirely clear what the standards of the local education board are, but every molecule of dead goon would have to be scrubbed and bulldozed out of the building. Unless, of course, Professor X fancies explaining to all those parents why their children's mutations allow them to defy the laws of nature and yet don't protect them from hepatitis.
20th Century Fox
In the cult classic Gattaca, Jude Law and Uma Thurman are perfect beings created through genetic manipulation. In this world, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much, they bring their parenting licenses to the nearest superhospital and sign up for BYOB (Build Your Own Baby). Your standard uberbaby comes with a staggeringly high IQ, the eyes of a falcon, the teeth of Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, absolutely no cancer risks, and the rest of Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson.
Jesse Grant/Getty Images for Disney
But! Your bundle of joy will also require reproductive organs. Meaning that, yes, you'll be making judgment calls on your future children's T&A scores and man-sausages. Now you must dig deep into your psyche. Are you insecure enough that your kids' magnificent, laboratory-brewed dongs and boobs would upset you? Would you actually request that your son get the "family jewels," flawed as they might be? And more than one marriage absolutely fell apart after one husband asked, "Waitaminute, what's wrong with my penis?!"
And what happens when your kids are old enough to realize everything about them was decided beforehand? Will you admit you're the reason they need back braces or XL underwear? And if you give them ordinary boobs or peens, there's still a "keeping up with the Jones" factor. What if your kid's in the locker room one day and they're the only without a monster dong or kaiju cans? Or the reverse? Either way, prospective parents are forced to take a deeply uncomfortable gamble.
So yeah, there is no good answer here. At worst, you've inflicted severe, irreversible psychological damage to your children, crippling them so thoroughly that leading a productive life in society is impossible. At best, they'll feel like you chose their outfit for school for the rest of their lives.
The Truman Show is set in a far-out alternate reality where humans are capable of watching Jim Carrey for more than two hours at a time. In fact, aside from a small group of protestors, everyone in this world loves the titular 24-hour reality TV show. People get together in bars to watch Truman floss his teeth or take a crap like it's the World Series.
So ... what other versions of The Truman Show are out there? Because there have to be shameless copies; that's just how reality television works. We also know they have to be super fucked up -- they can't be other versions of "dim-witted man lives in innocent fishing village" because, well, viewers could just watch the original for that. You'd, therefore, end up with wall-to-wall versions of whatever dark and twisted fantasy manifested itself in the heads of ABC or FOX or, god forbid, the CW. A version set in the Stone Age featuring animatronic dinosaurs and real tigers? A post-apocalyptic war zone where survival depends on dodging missile-firing drones and catching the most nutritious cockroaches? A real-life version of 30 Rock's "MILF Island"? Sold, sold, and ewwww. But also sold.
And then there's the psychological effect of living in a world where it's possible for a company to broadcast a person's entire life without them ever knowing it. You'd be constantly debating the nature of your reality. Put yourself in the shoes of someone who thinks that they might be living in, like, The Adam Show or The Marina Matinee. If something goes well, you're never sure if it's really you or just the producers entertaining the viewers. If something goes bad, it might be the writers cruelly toying with your emotions for ratings fodder. You'd trudge from one day to the next, fearing that your life and your future are under the control of some reality TV ghoul who cares about nothing more than profits and popularity. Can you imagine living like that?
Olivier Douliery - Pool/Getty Images
You can be forgiven for not knowing the plot of the original Spider-Man film, considering that's the cinematic equivalent of remembering the birth of the universe. Spider-Man sees Spider-Man learn to Spider-Man and understand that great power comes with great responsibility, but not a great sense of anatomy, as the film ends with Norman Osborn (aka the Green Goblin) getting bisected by his own glider.
Spider-Man returns Norman's body to his home out of pity, only to be discovered by Harry Osborn and have vengeance sworn against him. Obviously, Harry doesn't know his dad was the Green Goblin, because Spider-Man delivered the corpse wrapped in nothing but a sheet. Which begs the question: Where did the body armor go? It's not next to Norman's body, so we can assume that Spider-Man removed it at the scene or on a nearby rooftop. He then swung the remaining distance holding the naked body of one of the world's most famous industrialists, his Peen Goblin flapping in the breeze like an erotic windsock.
That's not the only ridiculous moment surrounding this scene. Remember that asshole butler from Spider-Man 3? You know, the one who drops the truth bomb on Harry that his father wasn't murdered by Spider-Man after all, a fact he knows because he cleaned his wounds? We'd have loved to be a fly on the wall when he figured that out.
Imagine: The butler's just washing down his master's corpse before the cops are called, only to discover the massive wound in his dead boss' abdomen. His hands slick with sweat (and other fluids), the butler retreats to the storage closet and removes a spare glider, placing it next to the body. His eyes pass between the two, back and forth, for several minutes before the realization hits. Norman Osborn was killed by his own glider. That giant dumbass.
For more things that surely happened when the cameras weren't rolling, check out 6 Off-Screen Tragedies That Follow Happy Movie Endings and 6 Movie Scenes With Horrifying Off-Screen Consequences.
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