Look, no one cares about you now.

Ah, the things we do for the people we care about.

Some people will skulk around a deserted wasteland for days, where the only happy face they'll come across is pasted on their own narrow ass.

Others will get knocked up, gear up, and formed an armed militia of mothers-to-be. Cause, you know, there's nothing expecting mothers love more than brandishing assault rifles.

And others still, in order to maintain the existence of their own family, will do nothing but take and destroy life. Maybe it's the hunting of an animal to eat, or the murder of a fat man bartering gas for ass, you know, those old cliches. And maybe, if you're in a real pinch, maybe you'll cut the arm and leg off of a young woman...and cook that shit for dinner. I mean, the kids gotta eat...

But me? Well, I ain't really about killing anything...except time. So, if they ask me, (eventually) I'll watch a terrible movie for someone that means a lot to me. Well..

...used to mean a lot to me...

Fine, I still have nothing but love for Margaret over at the [at times] wondrously perverted cinematic corner, but after guilting/violently coercing me into The Bad Batch, the exact amount may be in question. I mean, sweet Jesus, this one makes Butter [review] look like Citizen Kane [review], for f--k's sake.

Apparently, a lot of people really dig/dug A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night (no disrespect, but I fell asleep every time I gave it a try). The film's director, Ana Lily Amirpour parlayed that success into her next feature, 2016's The Bad Batch. Obviously I can't say whether this one is a step back or a step forward, but if this is progress...holy f--k. 

Set in a seemingly not-too-distant future, the film opens with some chick named Arlen getting branded as bad, and then unceremoniously dumped into a dry and dusty wasteland somewhere near Texas. Almost immediately, she's knocked out and wakes up to find that some gnarly bitch is cutting her arm and leg off. You know, because she's hungry. 

Hey, Blogger Guy, why don't they just kill her and eat her other arm and leg, too (and ass, frankly)? Uh, because if you keep her alive, she'll grow new limbs like a f--king gecko, you dim-witted asshole. Stop trying to use logic, facts, reason, or any other nerdy f--king tidbit of that thing you call reality. Reality doesn't always look cool, bruh. The Bad Batch, does. Oh, um, also...if they killed her and ate her? We'd have no one to watch limp around the desert FOR TWO F--KING HOURS.

Even Jim Carrey can't believe he's in this movie.

Look, judging this flick on anything other than how f--king rad it looks (and sounds) is utterly f--king fruitless, as any intense examination of The Bad Batch is going to end up with you feeling like an asshole, or sounding like a douche. If it were on seventeen monitors scattered all over the background of an underground rave where the sprinkler system covers the crowd in human blood, you'd probably think it was the best f--king movie in the history of time. But as the only plasma in my house is my one television, I found the whole thing an unnecessary indulgence in sexy people doing stupid shit. 

Speaking of, here are the Yays and Boos. Fine, they aren't exactly sexy, but an unnecessary indulgence sums them up to a f--king tee.

The moment when you realize your boyfriend needs a bigger bra than you do.

Yaaaaaaaaaay!

• I support any movie that features Ace of Base on the soundtrack. And if you want to know why, well, you're gonna have to ask Phong.
• Speaking of, no no...not Phong, but the soundtrack - it's awesome.
• There's a point where somebody is rolling through the desert on some gnarly ass skateboard, and all I could think was skate or DIE! And then I started to imagine that I was getting chased by bees and then I blacked out.
• Boobs! Yes! And no, I don't even care if they're in a magazine. In a movie. Desperate times, my friends, call for desperate measures. I mean, Hell, the ladies get hours of Momoa's massive rack...fair's fair, dammit.
• Jim Carrey shows up and it's so f--king bizarre, I have to give it a standing ovation. Same goes for Keanu Reeves, but he only gets a golf clap. And I'm like, half-crouching when I do it.
• If you happen to find Jason Momoa sexy, and I don't necessarily blame you, this might be one of your favorite movies of all-time. He never wears a shirt. He ominously drives around the desert on a f--king moped. All good things, all good things. But the real yay? His f--king voice is hysterical. He sounds like David Ortiz, assuming he just got a pony for his birthday.
• Gotta admit, I like the shorts.
• Okay, that was easily the best giant neon-lined stereo/DJ booth on wheels ever. Definitely top 5, anyway.
• Oh yeah! The ol' gun in the hollowed-out prosthetic leg trick! Such a classic move.
• And finally, even though I rolled my eyes so hard I probably can't drive at night anymore, you might have to watch this entire film just to hear the longest shit analogy in the history of modern time. Okay, maybe this blog is the longest shit analogy ever, but this blog is brought to you by some half-witted a-hole. The speech in this film? The one about shit in the sewer? The one that never seems to end? It's delivered by John f--king Wick. 

If I had a van, I'm pretty sure I'd airbrush this on the side of it.

Boooooo...

...ooooooooo!

• Pretty much from the jump, it's all-too apparent...this motherf--ker ain't in any kind of hurry.
• And the minutes-to-words ratio is staggeringly low. Not that I wanted to hear what any of these bitches had to say...
• Outside of the times when the Marshall would chase us off the course, I've never been so scared of the ominous arrival of a golf cart.
• Arlen shits herself as an escape plan. Cool. The Boo? I tried this during the movie...but it didn't work. The Bad Batch just kept playing.
• Giovanni Ribisi is almost always a Yay. Not today, my friend. No one wants to watch you watch dogs f--k. And no, no one wants to play with your goddamn puzzle.
• Okay, who decided we should have a shirtless Momoa paint a f--king portrait? Was there no waterfall he could wash his hair in? 
• WHO IS THIS LITTLE GIRL?!!! (and why do I hate her so much?) Her only line made me want to die, preferably from choking on spaghetti.
• I've got fairly dark(ish) skin and eyes (and hair), and I still burn like a motherf--ker at times. This blond chick, limping around the f--king desert? Her skin is flawless.
• We ain't good. We're bad. (the only thing worse than this line is how poorly it's delivered)
• I thought that chick was Anya Taylor-Joy for a second. Do you know what that's like, thinking Anya Taylor-Joy is in something, then realizing she isn't? Have you ever thought the wrong day was Christmas?
• [flies buzzing]
• Apparently, in the future, the world is the biggest garage sale ever. Unless you're from New England. Then it's the biggest Tag sale... (f--king dorks).
• Crow meat cures bullet holes? Since when?
• Wait, so that's how this shit-show is going to end? Are you f--king kidding me?
• And finally, have you ever looked at how many minutes are left in a movie, and secretly hoped that for some reason, it was going to have thirty five minutes of credits? Even though four people appear on screen, and they probably used the same square mild of desert, I had my fingers crossed that The Bad Batch was gonna have credits that rivaled The Return of the King. Alas, Mr. Frodo, no such luck. 

Ask anybody who 'knows' me, I'm a terrible member of the blogging community. I hardly post any more on my own site. I rarely visit any one else's. Just a real f--king bastard, right? You should probably brand me unfit for society and cast me off to a depleted wasteland of degenerates and psychos. 

Or, you know, just recommend me some more shitty movies.