The great game continues...

I would have looked you in the eye and said it was five miles, easily, but according to Google Maps, it was only one point four. Whatever the distance may have been, the mileage was more or less irrelevant: the walk home from the bus stop was treacherous.

Along the route there were many obstacles a middle school kid could encounter, many factors that could make the trek tumultuous.

1. Oppressive heat (afternoons in Hawai'i? Might hit 82 degrees)
2. Rogue elementary students, swinging bookbags and/or throwing rocks
3. High school kids driving by (and being dicks)
4. Weird old people that wanted to say hello for an hour.
5. Shortcuts that not only weren't shorter, but were littered with a generous amount of kiawe thorns (Google it, I dare you) just waiting to tear your shi(r)t up
6. And, if you wanted to take an actual shortcut across the golf course, an overzealous Marshall, waiting to bust us

But to be quite frank with you, none of this along the way stuff ever really bothered me. In fact, it was the calm before the storm. Because when I got close to home, like almost there, I-can-see-our-roof level of closeness? That's when all hell broke loose. The final stretch.

That's when the shit really hit the fan.

OPTION 4: See another movie.

Mile 22 isn't about an annoying kid trudging home from school, but instead tells the tale of a covert group of hardasses attempting to get an informant from point A to point B. Brimming with an overzealousness that borders on f--king hysterical and cobbled together with the grace of flaming sledgehammer, Peter Berg's latest collaboration with Mark Wahlberg is a tactical strike gone horribly wrong. And as we search through the rubble for survivors, there's one overwhelming positive: only a few people were foolish enough to be in the theater when the (box-office) bomb went off.

I may be enjoying the smell of my own farts too much, sure, but good God Mile 22 is a chaotic mess. And not in a good way. The story is simple enough (dude knows some stuff, people want to kill dude, America must protect dude during twenty-two mile trip to airport), and the actors are all game (f--king John Malkovich is in this!), but the wheels fall off almost immediately. Good thing I stayed around till the end, because, and this is likely because I'm a moron, but...that shit was a banger.

Apparently, you bring your small gun on casual Friday.

Surprise ending aside, the real problem is getting there. Berg has cranked the intensity to eleven gajillion, resulting in a blistering pace and relentlessly suffocating sense of urgency - which should have been provided me with the most epic of boners. But it's in all aspects of the film. Not my boner, silly goose, the intensity. No one talks, no one thinks, no one really even breathes. It's just go Go GO! for the ninety-plus minutes Mile 22 lasts. I know, and hour and a half of straight chaos sounds rad, but uh, not so much

Turns out, you need people to be human people sometimes, even if just for a minute. Obviously, the job and life of the government's most elite ass-kickers ain't littered with baskets full of kittens and cups of sweet tea on your grandmammy's porch swing. But guys, we're going to need to dial it back from T-1000-esque angry machine at least once, or all this serious shit is going to end up super silly, you know? Frankly, it got to the point where I was legitimately shocked that people kept using their words instead of having all communication determined by roundhouse kicks to the face and/or groin.

Speaking of something that's going to leave a mark, here are the Yays and Boos for Mile 22. We are officially one movie away from wrapping up Summer 2018 (and yes, I realize it's Fall) and we couldn't be happier. All we gotta do is post on the muppet jizz movie, and we're gold. Wait, what?

I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. I'm a big, bright, shining star.

Yaaaaaaaaaay!

• The initial breaching of that house was cool as shit. We're given, like, thirty seconds to catch our breath and get our bearings and then all Hell breaks loose. I had no idea what was going on, sure, but I liked it.
• I'm not sure why Iko Uwais isn't in every movie ever made, as this motherf--ker knows how to make an impression. And if you haven't, please go watch The Raid [review]. NOW, dammit Move, move, mooove!
• But don't move too fast, or you'll miss a fairly badass (and momentarily brutal) fight scene in a hospital. I don't exactly remember the Hippocratic Oath, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to snap people's arms and legs. Or dent their f--king skulls. (true story)
• So, uh, Lauren Cohen is kind of hot, right? I mean, as hot as someone can be who seemingly wants to end your miserable rat-f--k of a life every time you consider looking in the vicinity of where she may or may not be currently standing. 
• As I mentioned, John Malovich is in this, which is a Yay. His hairpiece? More of a Boo. But his bobblehead collection? Yep. Back to the Yays.
• You see a broken window, and you think, there's no way that lady is going to slice that guy's neck open on all that jagged glass. Never in a million y---- Wow. That. Just. Happened.
• I know we're supposed to be in love with all these dickholes shooting guns and rockets at each other, and I was...sort of. But what really caught my eye? The IT department. Dude, these behind-the-scenes agents pull off some pretty cool shit. 
• One of the miles...uh, I guess...basically is a boss level where our crew has to fight these crazy-ass ladies up and down the street. Usually, you can figure out a boss after a couple of moves, but these chicks are so f--king wild and so f--king fast, I never saw their glowing vulnerable underside, you know?
• Let's go get her. Aww, Iwo. Such a gentleman.
• And finally, that ending. Wowzers, yeah? Maybe I was deep into my PTSD from all the yelling and the gunfire, but man, I didn't see that shit coming. If the movie were just a little better (er, a lot better), I'd be clamoring for a sequel. Instead? I'll just fast-forward to the end when I watch this one again. Watch it again, you say? But I thought it was basically shitty. Uh, yeah. It was. But being that I saw three shitty movies during some promotion at Regal, well, I'm getting all three free. Yep. FREE SHIT. Right in my eyes. (oh, if you knew the other two, you'd f--king hate me...even more)

When the Mile 22 reviews came in.

Boooooooooo!

• Even it was fake, there's nothing quite as soul-sucking as arguing about directions with your spouse. 
• Wait, wait, wait. They really take walk-ins at the Embassy? Are you shitting me? I get my haircut next to a Little f--king Caesars and that shithole makes me wait a half an hour. But the US Embassy? Come on in, fellas. What can we do ya for?
• Is that divorce app really a thing? I should probably install it now, if I keep ditching my family to see shit like Mile 22. (it's this weird app that ends a phone call if one party is too...aggressive?)
• There was more than one occasion where I was convinced I didn't know what anyone was saying. I shit you not. I didn't know words.
• But between you and me? I'm okay not understanding the talking. But when I can't comprehend the fighting? Inacceptable.
• Oooh, Ronda Rousey's face takes quite the beating in this one. Quite the beating. I mean she kind of always look like she killed and ate Julia Stiles, sure, but here? It's even more frightening than how fast she could kill me.
• Hey, you know that badass motherf--ker named Iwo Kuwais? That dude that can kill a hundred guys with his bare hands? We should totally keep him handcuffed for half the movie. No one will ever see it coming!
• Alice stabs a dude in the neck. And he's not all that concerned.
• Uhhh....that little girl, like, even the actress, well...I think she might have seen too much. Yeah. Might want to keep an eye on her, you know? Or do what everyone else does with mentally unstable children and put them in Mr. Brown's homeroom. *shudder*
• And finally, as much as I didn't enjoy this movie, it's almost impressive at how impossibly high-strung every single person is at all times. I was legitimately uncomfortable during this one, as if I was the one that had done something wrong (clearly, I did). And for the most part, my constant heart palpitations? For them I blame Mark Wahlberg's character...in The Departed. Yeah. Remember how much fun it was seeing him being a relentless ball-buster for two hours? Well, so did someone else. Hey, Mark. Can you dust off Staff Sgt. Dignam for us...but not make him so laid back this time?

While the last few miles were the toughest for Silva and his crew, nothing can compare with the final few blocks of young m.brown's daily walk home. See, the house diagonally across from ours, the one to the left, had this impossible nasty old lady always glaring out at us from her elevated front yard. And for whatever reason, she thought watering her plants needed to be done just as I (and a few other miscreants) made my way home each day.

But she wasn't alone. 

No. Always at her side, was this majestic Doberman Pinscher, who was probably named Sweetie or LuLu or F--king Face Eater. Anyway, as I got close, the beast would slowly stand and begin this deep, guttural growl that would somehow make the front of my pants instantly damp. And on more than one occasion, she would kind of give him the nod, like, go ahead, Sweetie, and then make with her hands like, Oh, look. My dog got away. Again.

And that f--ker would launch at me like he was shot out of a rocket. It got to the point where I would cut through the no man's land behind our house, just so I could escape what felt like certain death.

I'm telling you, this actually happened. I swear. On more than one occasion. Just, uh, don't look...
it up on Google.

Or at me in the eye when I tell you this.