I can always count on my significant other to drag me to a movie that has Renee Zellweger in it. So maybe “finally” is the wrong word. Obviously, this movie sucked 4 cocks out of 5. We can shovel some blame onto Sports Illustrated’s Fuckface Emeritus Rick Reilly, who co-wrote the film, along with some other guy I don’t know enough about to consider a viable candidate for ridicule.

While we were at the $2 theater, there was this college-aged girl that walked into the movie with two of her friends. And this bitch waddled down the aisle with her fucking friends and, in a theater with maybe 15 people in it, sat DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF another couple, a ridiculous violation of movie etiquette.

Fucking cunt. If that fucking tub of shit had sat in front of me, I would have stabbed her in the face with my keys. How fucking clueless do you have to be? Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever been so repulsed so quickly by a single person in my entire life.

But I’m getting off track…

Yeah, so it doesn’t take a goofy-assed mustache or a missing chin to know that the movie’s fucked when they’ve stolen the opening credits from Cheers and the first half hour is almost word-for-word ripped off from Slap Shot.

“Oh no! The team’s gonna fold! Fuckin’ machine took my quarter!”

And then Renee Cockshrinker shows up. There’s a whore in the newsroom! You expect me to believe that a newspaper would hire a woman as a reporter in the 1920s? Did they drag her into a speakeasy after hours and gang-bang her? That might explain why she’s squinting all the time. You know, because the old news guys would be standing over her face and…Forget it. I’ll draw you a picture later. But seriously, even Lucy Liu is offended by the narrowness of Renee’s eye sockets.

But anyway…

So they get the guy from The Office to save the team. I really can’t watch The Office because annoying people aren’t funny to me, whether they’re inside my TV or two cubicles away. They could have followed me around for the first two years of my first job out of college and had a better show. And it would have had sex in it! Well, not during season one.

All of a sudden, the George Clooney character suddenly gets all jealous over the new guy even though that kid is keeping him from working in a goddamn mine. Did you know they filmed part of this movie here in South Carolina? No, I didn’t really care, either, but I had to hear about it for six gaddamn months, so now you do, too.

And if you thought this post was aimless and off point, it has nothing on the last half hour of this movie. They basically pull another character out of Renee Cumcatcher’s ass and fix all the issues in the movie, leaving the actual game at the end of the movie about as anti-climatic as a hand job from a 14-year-old girl with rheumatoid arthritis. I could have done better on my own.

Oh, and Clooney directed this turd on skates, so fuck him too.

You probably saw Drew’s eloquent remarks on Deadspin yesterday regarding Rick Reilly’s uninspired commentary about the sports blogosphere, followed by Drew’s subsequent deconstruction of the viewpoint of that “privileged journalist.” Despite being a bit light on homoerotica, Drew’s piece was, as usual, very good.

Too good, really.

Too often we bloggers look at the criticisms of the mainstream press as opportunities, as chances to prove that we are somehow deserving of our audiences, of being in the conversation. Often, this results in an overextension of prose and an overuse of reason. I SHALL SMITE YOU WITH COHERENT, THOUGHTFUL ARGUMENTS! And so we’re left with a well-bundled acknowledgment of their bitching and moaning that those types don’t really deserve.

Drew may as well have been reading poetry to a pig yesterday. Reilly is a third-tier fuckhead that’s not worthy of a rational counter-argument. You know what he’s worthy of? Getting handcuffed to a bike rack and shit on. Literally speaking, he deserves a response in kind. And so, I present a little something I’d like to call Rick Reilly Gargles Cocksnot.

Enjoy:

Rick Reilly thinks the Concorde is ruining the legacy of trans-Atlantic travel.

Rick Reilly thought Monty Python and the Holy Grail was “just okay.”

Rick Reilly speaks fluent Spanish, but finds it beneath him.

Despite having great access for the Masters, the excutive council at Augusta National insist on denying him entrance to any of the washrooms on the grounds, leaving him only a shallow latrine near the second fairway.

The council has also forbidden women from using this latrine. Mr. Reilly thinks this is bogus, but enjoys the amenities of the club too much to raise any sort of fuss.

Rick Reilly fucked Christine Penner. And loved it.

Rick Reilly is still unsure how those nets are keeping the moles out of Africa.

Rick Reilly thinks that, despite Tiger Woods’ Thai heritage, Phil Mickelson is tangier.

Rick Reilly’s nose is 0.017 inches (0.04318 cm) longer than his penis, so we’ve heard.

Rick Reilly wasn’t going to test Sammy Sosa’s pee for steroids. He was just parched.

Rick Reilly owns two three-year-old chocolate Labrador Retrievers named “Blackie” and “Is Killing College Athletics.”

Rick Reilly once caddied for Michelle Wie without uttering “Me love you long time,” but later commented privately to friends about how well she added up her scorecard.

Rick Reilly credits his “humerous” style to former president Ulysses S. Grant.

Rick Reilly keeps 2 ounces of cocaine in his ass at all times, just in case Lawrence Taylor drops by.

And it’s not even in a bag. Gross!