The only thing that could possibly make this film better is fire, directly applied to every copy in existence, and the execution of George Lucas, whose status as an alzheimer's patient is made blatantly apparent by this fourth installment in a series that, once upon a time, made me happy. It was bad enough when he ruined Star Wars, not once, not twice, but three fucking times, and every time the public lapped it up with the abandon of a cum-addicted whore working overtime. Fuck you, Lucasarts. Fuck you, George Lucas. Most of all, fuck you, Harrison Ford, for allowing your second greatest character to be completely destroyed in the eyes of everyone unfortunate enough to be suckered into paying eight bucks to watch this sub-par genre piece. If I hadn't theater jumped after the flick, I'd probably be on my way to kick your ass.
In other news, there's a new Mummy flick comin' out. I'm warning each and every one of you, if I find out that they replaced Rachel Weisz for any reason other than she's too busy reading my rants and fantasizing about the more integral portions of my anatomy, I'm going. To kill. Everyone.
Except Rachel Weisz.
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