On Screen

Dub tee eff, Matthew McConaughey? You get a starring role in a
crappy Hollywood rom-com that’s bound to be box-office GOLD and you
only give us, what, a MINUTE of screen time!? We’re your PECS, brah!
We’re what made you famous! You think it’s that charming-but-clueless
bullshit that keeps the ladies (and some dudes) racing back for more?
Hell no! It’s us! It’s your pecs! The fact that you constantly prance
around shirtless (at your age, no less) is the only reason anyone gives
a shit about you!

And now, when you play a sex-addicted, monogamy-hating playboy who
dumps women in bulk, you have the gall to keep your clothes on?
This is how you repay us?!

Were you trying to be prim and proper for that Skeletor-faced
Jennifer Garner? Do you want this movie to FAIL? You do, don’t you? You
want this movie to fail. Otherwise you would’ve done the whole fucking
thing shirtless, like the cinematic monstrosity you did with that
Hudson spaz that banked over $70 million. What kind of manwhore wears a
three-piece suit 90 percent of the time, anyway? A stupid manwhore, that’s what kind.

We’re never going to forgive you for this, Matthew McConaughey. This
was our time to shine. You flaunt us all over the world—Malibu,
the Caribbean, Australia. You’re constantly showing us off. But now you
get back up on the big screen for the first time in like a year, and
you’re too good for us? Fuck you. We’re sick of being there for
you—it’s always you, you, you. You never do anything for
us. The next time you rip off your shirt, flaunting your tanned
Adonis glory, everyone’s gonna get a face full of flappy, saggy
manboobs. And then you’ll see who’s boss. Douchebag.