That one's for your mother!
That one's for the Pope!
That one's for Bobo the Space Monkey!
That one's because I have ammo left in my gun!
And that one's cause I can!
I regret nothing that I did to Zack Ward on Wednesday, and I regert nothing watching this movie, it's just Postal, so it will inevitably be obscene to the most wild degree, and we all love that.
To sum this movie up, all I can say is buttsauce
I still have no idea what a "milt" is, except for fish semen.
This movie lies in a limbo between genuine horror and pure campy, and I think that's a perfectly fine place for it. Nowhere near the best, but not even close to the worst. Maybe it's because I'm scared of Baboons and misogynist undertones...
This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
These rocks used to talk to me, they answered my questions. The line is broken, my memories are gone. Rocks, trees, animals, they all went silent. Now they're just pictures on rocks. Now I'm empty.
This is the most beautiful, intoxicating, intriguing movie I've ever seen. To blankly stare in amazement, to feel the feelings of everything, to hear the life blood of so many things living and dead. It's visual poetry, lyrics of a musician on film. Holy shit.
