Best friends Chuck (Adam Sandler) and Larry (Kevin James) are heterosexual firemen. This means that they play basketball, cook poorly, and make love to (engage in intercourse with) many ladies. Sometimes they rescue people. Here is a direct transcript from my notes: "Bedridden fat man, trapped in burning apartment, rolls down stairs, penis squished in Sandler's face (foreshadowing!). FART. Huge laughs."

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But not all is farty 'n' laffy in Testoster-town. Larry, a widower, wants to transfer his pension from his late wife to his two kids. The State of New York insists that he's missed the deadline. If Larry dies, they'll literally have no choice but to dig up his rotten wife and dump all that cash straight into her coffin. And then bury it again. Forever! Them's the rules.

A zany, fake gay marriage is the only way.

"Domestic partnership," muses Chuck, as a quintet of Asian Hooters girls jiggle nudely around his apartment, "You mean like faggots?" "Just on paper," Larry explains.

What follows is a predictable pantload of misogyny, racist horseshit, and the unbearable ickiness of gay people. There are two types of female in Chuck & Larry: vapid, annoying, sexually malleable sluts; and hideous, threatening, sexually insatiable beasts. Not one (even the doctor who feebly objects to being called "honey," or Jessica Biel, a lawyer by virtue of the fact that she sometimes wears glasses) can resist Chuck's ever-eager groin. The same dichotomy can be applied to the film's gay men: Nick Swardson is a prancing purple butterfly; Ving Rhames is a menacing savage on the down-low. And then there's Larry's prepubescent son, who, upon declaring a love of musical theater, is ridiculed ("Baton-swallowing—I bet he'd be good at that"), presented with porn (hetero), and told, "ENOUGH WITH THE SPLITS! WATCH BASEBALL!"

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Not to be outdone, Rob Schneider dons buckteeth and huge glasses, tapes his eyes all slanty, and pretends to be Asian (Mickey Rooney–style). Ching-chong-ding-dong! Time to exchange "the lings!" I have nothing to add.

In the film's 11th hour, Chuck delivers a brief, low-energy speech about how it's mean to call people faggots (it was all satire, we swear!). Sorry, dudes, but I do not forgive you. It's 2007. Dropping the soap is no longer a viable joke. Two men kissing is not hilarious. Tiptoeing, wild-eyed and terrified, through the men's room at the AIDS fundraiser because you're pretty sure you're gonna get raped, is not and never will be any kind of funny. You are bad people who are bad at jokes. FART!

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