♫ This is the Captain, brace that ass for impact
Don't doubt, motherfucker, ain't in the abstract
Bird strikin' tiddies, with bitches that is stacked
Black box, listen close, make your balls retract ♫

♫ Ain't no crash, perfect forced water landing
Back the fuck off, 'fore I piss where you standing
I'm fucking filthy, just got the right branding
Ride on my mustache, that pussy commanding ♫

♫ Can't sully this Sully, King of the Controls
Going ballistic, laying pipe 'round the poles
She start chanting, while I'm filling her holes:
He did it, one-hundred and fifty-five souls ♫

Girl, you gotta replace everyone in your life pronto.

Burn it to the ground. Strip the bark from your psyche. Empty your accounts. Forego your needs. Abandon the endless shrieking of your dependents.

Walk into the arms of the ocean of regret.

Seek solace anywhere you can.

--

Everyone choose sides
The whole to-do of what to do for money
Everyone choose sides
Poorer or not this year and hell's the difference
End of ropes and lines

- The Wrens, "Everyone Choose Sides"

Films that unironically use Verdi's Deus Irae are usually: incredibly dumb but reliably entertaining, like a puppy or somebody from Utah.

Serious men seriously doing serious things, a sewing circle of limey ruffians shouting various guttural syllables at each other, and a plot as circuitous as a duck's dick.

There's warm blanket comfort in its bargain basement adherence to tropery.

We used to get thirty of these a year. [looks to the sky with mournful nostalgia and farts]

My father is in the early stages of Alzheimer's and I can't wait until he unhinges his jaw and tries to eat my head.

Makes the following sexy choices:

- Tilda in her androgynous form.

- Keanu says a lot of Latin.

- Rachel Weisz is wet for 90% of the runtime.

- Djimon Honsou exists.

- Shia LaBeouf dies.