“Don’t panic. I’ll just take my shirt off, and everything will be fine.”

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?!

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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. recommended