I love this movie as if it were a love child produced from an ill-fated yet delicious union with Robert Downey Jr. It makes me happy in my comedo bone.
It makes me want to grow a curly moustache and smoke a sea-captain pipe.
It makes me want to dance in long-johns painted with prancing puppies.
No, scratch that. I’d never fucking do that. Actually, I’d take a shotgun to whoever dances in long-johns painted with prancing puppies. Then I’d watch Anchorman, the corpse cooling beside me – a coffee table for my popcorn and soda.
“Boy, that escalated quickly.”
“It jumped up a notch.”