Mr. Shyamalan, I want to introduce you to my friend, Mr. Vat of Horse Semen. Instead of shaking hands, this friend of mine likes for people to step inside of him. Here, right up this little ladder. There, now just slide in there, lay back, and relax.
Today I saw “The Happening.” The new movie by Mr. Shyamalan. His last film, “Lady in the Water,” used to be the worst movie I’ve ever seen in my life. Now, that spot has been filled by “The Happening.” I can’t believe a movie this horrible ever made it to production. This film was an absolute abomination. It sucked so much yak cock, it would put the most hardened veteran of the Tibetan sex-show circuit to shame. It would make her slit her own wrists in existential despair over the fact that no matter how many Himalayan bull yaks she sucks off to the raucous applause of screaming crowds, sweaty mountain climbers and Sherpas throwing twenty-dollar bills and Euros and gold coins at her, she will never, ever, ever be able to even come close to the record of yak cock sucked by “The Happening.”
You comfortable, M. Night? Good. Isn’t it comfortable inside the big vat of horse semen? There, just relax for a second. Have a cigar. It’s a Montecristo. No, it’s not Cuban. It’s Dominican. Cuban cigars are overrated - the Dominican ones are just as good, and you don’t have to support communism. That’s a good cigar, isn’t it? Here, have a glass of Scotch. Single-malt, aged 19 years - enjoy.
The plot of “The Happening” was easily the most retarded, utterly retarded plot I have ever seen in my entire 22 years of movie watching. The dialog literally sounded like it was written by someone with autism. Seriously, I’m now convinced that M. Night Shyamalan has full-blown autism and has no fucking idea how human beings actually talk to each other in real life.
Alright, Shyamalan, now just wait a second. (I reach down and turn up the heat knob - all the way to 200 degrees.) It’s nice and warm now, right, Mr. Shayamalan? Good, I’m glad you like it. There now, it’s getting a little warmer. What? It’s too hot now? Turn it down? Yeah, sure, I’ll turn it down.
(I reach down and turn the heat knob up to 300 degrees.)
There, that should feel better. It’s still too hot, you say? What? I can’t understand what you’re saying! Stop screaming.
Gluguguggg…glrrghhhh…guuullllg…gurhhrghhh…that’s the sound of M. Night Shayamalan’s lungs filling up with the boiling semen of an Arabian stallion. Actually, from 289 different stallions, because you need to collect a lot of semen to fill a big vat like this one. Gllrhhhghh…guulglgllgglll…his nasal passages and sinuses are completely clogged now. He’s swallowed so much of the boiling horse jissum that his stomach is actually distended, bulging, quite near to rupturing, in fact. His skin is blistered all over, swollen red and white, and his flesh is actually sliding off of his bones. He’s still making a desperate attempt to swim to the top of the boiling cauldron of horse come and reach for the edge, but when he grabs hold of it, the skin peels right off of his hand. He’s flailing about, splashing the grayish-white, fetid semen everywhere, but to no avail. With his insides clogged thoroughly with the jissum, with a pathetic gurgle, Shyamalan gives up his battle to live, and floats face-down, motionless, in the giant vat of horse semen.