Snakes on a Plane. Snakes on a Joke. Snakes on an Oh My God Shut the Fuck Up. Snakes on a Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Can we please stop talking about Snakes on a Plane now? Seriously? It's here. It's done. It's everything you're looking for. It's snakey and planey and Samuel L. Jacksoney all over the place. And yeah, it's kind of funny.

In case you're, I don't know, Terri Schiavo or something (RIP), here's what Snakes on a Plane is about: A Hawaiian dude witnesses some guys kill another guy with a baseball bat. Samuel L. Jackson is in the FBI. He wants the dude to testify against a hot Asian mobster named Eddie Kim. They have to fly to L.A. for the trial. On a plane. With snaaaaaakes!!!

Eddie Kim wants to make sure those snakes fuck shit up on that plane (it's the only way), so after he's done practicing martial arts, he pumps the plane full of stinky snake pheromones, and the snakes go totally bonkers. Bonkers for genitals! Snakes on a boob. Snakes on a penis. Snakes on a fat lady's crotch. Snakes on a black man's ass. Now, only Samuel L. Jackson—more exasperated than terrified—and his plane full of elite stereotypes (the rapper, the socialite, the guy who's afraid of flying, the brave little kid) can defeat snakes. You know, on a plane.

Snakes on a Plane is not good, per se. It could be a double feature with Mansquito on the Sci-Fi channel. It's boring at times. And it's disingenuous—a big-budget Hollywood movie masquerading as made-for-cable crap, a corporate cult classic. But there's no denying the simple charm of lines like "Get off my dick!" or the pithy "Snakes!" or even Jackson's already-immortal words, "Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!" So are you happy, America? Your movie is here. Now shut the fuck up already.