I knew we'd have to have this conversation some time. Hmmm. What's the best way to put this? Okay, sometimes, when a wacky misunderstanding and a rotting turd love each other very much, they do a... a special kind of hugging, and then, nine months later, a Farrelly Brothers movie comes out. Of Hollywood's birth canal. With a chunky afterbirth made of hives and ruptured testicles, and a wet, gray, racist placenta, and an ob-gyn who's all, "I'm Dr. Donkey Boner, MD! Hee-haw!" and then everyone falls down. Is this starting to make sense? That dirty feeling you have inside is totally natural.
Anyway, it's time to bust out the cigars and the swaddling clothes and shit, because Shallow Hal and Stuck on You and There's Something About Mary have a new baby broseph and its name is The Heartbreak Kid. It's about some guy, played by Ben Stiller. Some guy is single, which is both tragic (for he has no one to fondle) and excellent (for, as everyone knows, wives are fucking awful). When a skinny blonde agrees to make out with some guy, he weds her six weeks later. Then, some guy realizes that skinny blonde is the most annoying bitch he's ever met. Then Carlos Mencia happens.
Like most Ben Stiller movies, The Heartbreak Kid is just a series of unpleasant things happening to Ben Stiller. This time around, though, his torture regimen seems totally phoned-in. He gets sprayed in the eyes with perfume and hit in the head with a dinner roll, is emasculated by teenage twins, has his skull cracked by a champagne cork, accidentally cuddles with a Mexican rat, has chili pepper shoved into his brain, gets stung by venomous jellyfish and peed on by an annoying whore, enters a building advertising "Ballet Folklorico" to find a donkey raping a woman (viva Mexico!), is hoodwinked by many of Carlos Mencia's tricks, gets beaten by border guards, gets beaten by drifter, gets beaten by guy in gay turquoise pants. Ta-daaaah!
Call me César Chávez, but I don't really think it's funny when illegal immigrants are run over by jeeps. Also, I am not particularly entertained by a pair of Frisbee-sized novelty nipples cooking in a hot tub with Jerry Stiller, or a fluffy permed pubis opening like a clamshell, or anything to do with Carlos Mencia's penis. But you know what I am really, really, totally 100 percent into? Abortion. Think about it, Hollywood. You have choices.
