All you gotta do is trust me.

Before fangirling was a thing (at least by name), as a seventeen year-old man...boy?...dickhead, what have you, I couldn't help but to ruin your roommates bathrobe over the then ubiquitous singer-songwriter Jewel. Oh, it didn't hurt that she was absolutely stunning, sure, but up until that point I hadn't yet realized the power one person holding one guitar could have over me. Even with her small hands, I obsessively scoured the world for rarities and B-sides, and even saw her live on more than one occasion (front row once, too - my goodness). I uh, may have even had a poster or two in my dormroom. Or ten.

Eventually, I would move on to a steady diet of pop-punk and alternative, with multi-year stops in rap and rock. And while I would dabble in electronica, Motown and even bluegrass for a minute or two, there's nothing I've ever loved more than a beautiful woman singing an incredible song.

Well, you know, other than a beautiful man doing the same...

Turns out, after finally seeing A Star is Born, Bradley Cooper was meant for me, and I was meant for him. After two stints as Rocket Racoon (in addition to all his other work), I didn't think it was feasible that I could love Mr. Cooper any more, but after pressing play on Maybe It's Time for the 14,000,605th time, well, here we are. And as much as everyone (rightfully) lost their shit over what Lady Gaga did in this film, it's Cooper's performance that knocked me on my ass.

I mean...holy shit, right?

But as much as I love(d?)  what Cooper did as Jackson Maine, I wanted to love everything else just as much, and perhaps surprisingly, I did not. It was a good film, maybe even a great one, but even though I was completely invested in these characters, for whatever reason, A Star Is Born didn't wreck me like I thought it would. Since I was way late to the party, it was just about common knowledge that this f--ker would leave even the most hardened a-hole in emotional shambles, but here's the thing: I wasn't sad when the movie was over. I was f--king pissed. But more on that in a minute...

That's what scientists do.

If there's any person on the planet that knows the feeling of living the same f--king day over and over again, it's a parent. I know you young a-holes out there have your own daily grind, but trust me, until you have kids (that have to be places at seemingly every hour of every day), you have no idea how impossibly repetitive an existence can seem.

So maybe, one weekend, you mix it up, you know? You drop the kids off at your mom's house, and you go see a horror movie on a Sunday afternoon. Maybe you could use a good scare, right?  Just to mix things up.

Uh, about that...

Being that I didn't want to see Happy Death Day 2U alone, and also that I'm not (yet) That Guy that takes way too young kids to horror movies (what's with these dudes?) I needed a wingman. So after badgering her endlessly, my wife not only caught up with the first one [review], but then Mrs. Two Dollar Cinema even provided me with fairly solid recap of the first one. Sweet.

If you don't know, in the first flick, sexy-ass Tree (as in Teresa?) was stuck in a time-loop, where she was dying in hilarious fashion over and over... and over again. Good thing she solved the mystery, and moved on with her, uh, life.

Well, it was, until she wakes up, yet again, in this sequel, somehow back in the infinite f--king death loop again. But she ain't even close to being disappointed about this, no. She's f--king furious.

This time, and stay with me here, instead of reliving the same day again and again, Tree (and her tight-knit squad) is reliving a different version of the same day again and again. If only I could embed the Tom-from-Blink WTF gif right here...

Turns out, Tree's (eventual) boyfriend's...roommate...is a bit of a science nerd and has been developing a, you guessed it, quantum reactor, nearby on campus. And instead of being sucked back into the same day, Tree's been sucked back into the same day...in a parallel universe. 

Go ahead. Hurry up. Pick up those eyes that just rolled right the f--k out of your head. Aw, jeez. At least wipe them off on your shirt first...

I'm more of a Keaton guy myself.

Turns out, everything was awesome.

I don't even know exactly how long it's been since I took the kids to see The LEGO Movie 2: The Second Part, but that damn catchy-ass song from Rent seems about right. Uh, I think. Anyway, while not necessarily five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes, it's been a long time regardless. And honestly, being that I really didn't give a damn about the movie the second I left the theater, it's been exceedingly hard to give a damn about writing the review. But here goes.

And at the end of the first LEGO Movie [review], the father and son had reconciled their brick-based differences, and were now seeing eye-to-eye on how to play with LEGOs (dad was a normal person, who wanted them built once, the right way, then glued forever, while the son, clearly under the direction of Satan, thought it was more fun to just build whatever you want). The catch, and there's always a catch, is that the sister was now allowed to play, and she was bringing her whack-ass Duplos to the table. Got it? Good/who cares.

When the sequel gets going, things in LEGO-land have gone to Hell, and it appears the sister is taking pieces and doing whatever the Hell she wants with them. Some of the gang is kidnapped, and taken to this weird place that kind of resembles a little girl's room. Shocking no one, the haplessly nice Emmet it left to save the day. Wait, the timid guy needs to step up and save the day? What a novel idea? Heck, it's so good, THEY PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE USED IT IN THE FIRST ONE.

The Mt. Rushmore of Movies '19 LINKS

In a shocking turn of events, the Mt. Rushmore of Movies blogathon had a better showing this year, than it did in 2018. Better being open for debate, as the number of participating websites went up, but the quality of what we've all produced ...

...WENT EVEN HIGHER.

Fine, not all of us typed our entries with one hand, but a certain degree of perversion seemed to permeate throughout the majority of the entries. But, hey. That's what handsome men do to girls like us.

Wait, what?

Even though I kind of feel like those poor bastards sweeping up Time's Square at 12:15 in the morning on January 1st, no matter how much (sexy?) fun we've all had, this party is just about over.
But before we fill the dumpsters with confetti and Trojan wrappers one last time, let's sharpen our chisels and erect some scaffolding in honor of cinema's finest ______________.

Click on the banners below to visit the sites!

created by: Steve

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Cinematic Bosoms

Materials: Underwire and Overexposure

When visiting: If your visit longer than four hours, please contact your doctor or physician immediately.

created by: Sonia

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Marvel Abs

Materials: The presence of weights and the absence of shirts

When visiting: Watch your step, as the trail can be rather slippery. We're not sure if that's ladies' drool, or the tears of men, but either way, you should probably sign a waiver just in case.

created by: Getter

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Man-Butts

Materials: Take what mamma gave ya, then you shake it

When visiting: Please refrain from putting your fingers in any of the cracks.

created by: Brittani

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Thorgasms

Materials: Really impressive... hammers.

When visiting: Drink plenty of liquids, as your leg muscles might get a little...shaky. And keep the Zeppelin down to a reasonable volume, thanks.

created by: Margaret

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Zac Efron Movies

Materials: Blue eyes, Red shorts, a love of the gym, a hatred of the library

When visiting: Even if there isn't a cloud in the sky, trust us, bring an extra set of dry clothes.

created by: Katy

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Hot Beards

Materials: Long nights and Impending fights

When visiting: Best to leave your razor at home. And your wife, too.

created by: Dell

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of (Cult) Movies About Running Out of Time

Materials: Ticking clocks and beating hearts

When visiting: Nothing matters, just f--king hurry up, dammit.

created by: Birgit

Monument: The Mt. Rushmore of Legendary Women

Materials: Brains, Longevity and Control

When visiting: Mind your P's and Q's, buster. These ladies ain't playing around, see.

Do you like sex, Mr. Lebowski?

Don't let the Disney inspired logo fool you...

There's only one way to end this.

Five years ago, I wanted to honor my blogging friends, and I did, with the Mt. Rushmore of Clutch Neighbors.

Apparently, that little spark of (non-perverted) creativity was rather taxing, so I took two years off to gather myself and come back with something legitimately important to say.

Of course, it was a monument to boobs, because, as they say, write what you know/obsessively think about when you should be PAYING ATTENTION TO THE ROAD. From there, in 2018, I decided to enshrine the biggest dicks in the history of cinema. But not the kind you're probably thinking about. 

What started with Fisti's monument to wanking it, has blossomed into a blogathon, more or less, mostly about sex. And while I'm more than all for it, for me, in what will likely be the last time I ever create a Mt. Rushmore of anything, I think it's about time I just straight-up bottom out. And while I wish that was code for the Mt. Rushmore of Great Asses, though heavily (/desperately) considered, it isn't. Instead, I'm going to fight all the sexy, with something decidedly unsexy.

May I present to you, dear reader(s?), with the Mt. Rushmore of Horrible Sex Scenes.

(and if you haven't figured it out by now, well, this one ain't exactly for the wee ones)