BULLSHIT CAGEMATCH: A bullet in the head for the Battle Of The Sexes

I've been an "adult" for more than a decade now and I have never seen a wider line drawn in the sand between men and women than I have just recently.  Men and women seem to be at war with one another and at war with themselves, and because of this everything in pop culture caters to only one gender at a time.  Television shows are not designed for the whole family any more.  For guys, you have shows like Spartacus that focuses on gratuitous gore and a heavy dose of T & A, meanwhile for women you have the entire enormous category of reality TV for them to escape into their fantasies that they enjoy so much.  In the end, we end up battling each other for no reason.

Men

We are guys.  We like sex, sports, drinking and "hangin' out with the boys".  Men are a meat and potatoes genre, carefree and perpetually clinging to our youth.  Men have in the last few years found a new contempt for women after constantly losing every single war for the last 20 years with the fairer sex.  In every movie, TV show or commercial that had ANYTHING whatsoever to do with he battle of the sexes, women would be the victor bar none, whether it be some silly made-up sport from an 1980's movie, a boxing match, trivia contest, whatever, the women had to win.  As men we grew sick of it and decided to stop kissing ass, so the so-called Men's Movement was born, sort of a half-assed take-back-the-night thing where suddenly we preferred beer over chicks and we started creating things in pop culture that put us on the pedestal.  The truth is, we don't need it.  In the real world, if we were to square off against women in say a sport or some sort of physical contest, we would whomp their asses like we were getting paid for it.  That's not sexism, but honesty.  Men are overwhelmingly stronger and more athletic than women, period.  That's the way we are made, and that's why nobody watches the WNBA.

Men don't like what they're told to like as much as women.  That's why you don't see us listening to pop music or those stupid-ass shows on MTV nearly as often.  Men like creating their own reality so they can keep ahead of the competition- namely every other man they know.  Who can have the best car.  Who can get the most awesome barbecue.  Who can bench press the most weight.  Who can bang the hottest chicks.  Who can bang the most UGLY ones.  We loooooooove trying to out-do each other and that often results in violent disaster, whether they be drunken nighttime roman candle fights or do-it-yourself projects.  We do STUPID acts of randomness all the time, like shoving an upright piano off the roof of an apartment building or freaking out when we can't get it up at our buddy's bachelor party and killing the hooker.

One things guys need to stop doing is feel threatened by feminists because they don't know enough about feminism and think that they are all beastly man-haters that want to herd all of us into Antarctica.  That is such bullshit.  Feminists are not all like cunt extraordinaire Greer Goodman (who thinks- states-  that heterosexual intercourse is rape).  Feminists- real feminists- want simple equality.  A truce.  A stalemate.  That's what I want too.  Will it happen?  Of course!  And we'll all be dead 400 years.

But what do men want from women?  Well, that I can't answer as a whole, because everybody has that nasty little shtick known as Free Will.  However, if I was forced to pick one, I would say tolerance.  We want women to just plain trust us, and accept us as the lovable cavemen that we are.   We want you to let us have our night out with our friends and not be greeted with 143 district attourney-style questions the moment we come home about every single thing we did.  We don't want you to "accidentally bump into us" when we're out with our friends.  We want you to stop with the stupid fucking "emergency rescue" calls from your friend in the middle of the first date, because its insulting and we're not idiots.  Why are you answering a cell phone during dinner anyways, how rude IS that, anyway?  Let us be what we are.  We don't want to watch Grey's Anatomy with you because it sucks and we know it.  We don't want to dress up our dogs when we take them for walks because that degrades the animal and not to mention makes the owner look like a lost retard and utter nutjob.  We don't want to become vegetarians because the body requires red meat and that's hard-wired into our DNA.  Give us tolerance, and we promise not to drag you to a football game in -10 degree weather with our faces painted so we can scream drunken insults at the millionaire drug addicts.

Women

I'll tread as carefully as I can, since I have not been a woman in years and have lost touch.  Really, women are easily the fairer and much more complex human being.  Women are reasonable, strong-willed and peaceful.  They are also catty and love back-stabbing their own closest friends whenever given the opportunity, because Hell hath no fury.  They have incredible gifts that men don't have like sex appeal and the ability to dance if Caucasian. 

Women are defensive against men.  You can't really blame them.  We're bigger and stronger than them, and will always pose a fear threat on them because of those facts alone.  Women also say they understand men yet don't, usually through stupid articles in the even stupider magazines that they read filled with tripe written by women claiming they are experts on men.  They me yell from this from the cheap seats one time for the few people that read this blog to hear:

NO WOMAN ON THIS EARTH IS AN EXPERT ON MEN.

Did you hear that? And while you lie about your knowledge of men, you need to stop lying to yourself about what you want in a man.  Women say they want sensitive guys.  You know, guys who aren't afraid to cry.  Bullshit.  You don't want a guy that will cry, you want a shoulder to cry on.  Sensitive guys scare the unholy shit out of women and you know it.  Don't believe me?  Guys, if you are just starting to date a girl, rent a sappy chick-flick and have a movie night in.  When the sappy shit comes on the TV, just start sobbing like women would do while watching The Notebook.  How is she gonna react to that?  Here's how: she's going to get a "headache", hustle you out the door and as soon as you're gone, she's booty calling her ex boyfriend.  You know, the ex-boyfriend that cheated on her more times than you've had sex in your entire life.  He's going to come over and fuck.  Her.  Stupid.  Then, they'll light up smokes afterwards and laugh.  You know why?  Because THAT guy doesn't cry while watching The Notebook.  You see, women don't want a sap.  They don't want a monster either, but they want to know they are ARE INDEED WITH A MAN.

So what do women want in a man?  Just like guys, we're all different.  Women want many things from a man, but they all hover around general responsibility.  They want a guy that pays all his bills, doesn't have a temper, has steady employment and is faithful to whom he cares about.  Men can be all those things, but the problem is many women want more than that.  You also get the so-called "princesses" who demand their men do all the work, fawn over them like royalty and do any idiotic chore for them sych as driving across town to kill a spider in their apartment.  Why do they deserve this treament? Because they have tits.  Ladies, if you are one of these women I sincerely hope that you die alone.  You are not royalty.  You are not even special.  You're a status obsessed bitch blinded by their own false sense of self worth, and you need to wake up and get your shit straight or no sensible man on the planet will come within 100 feet of you, and I can't blame them.

Women deserve equality because they've earned it.  Yes, they've been oppressed for generations, however in our modern democracy they are not as  a whole, and the ones who still think they are turn out to be the biggest freaks of all.  Just never be hard on them.  One of them carried YOUR worthless ass for nine months before going through a bout of unimaginable pain, fear and suffering that you will never know to bring you to the world and that has to count for SOMETHING on a resume.

The Winner:

In the end, the women actually DO win this contest.  They are way too many points to argue, but these days it's sex appeal that is the victor and only ONE genre has the ability to say whatever they want and still have sex afterwards if they want to.

I have no funny caption for this

photo.  I just know that it is awesome.

GUY DOESN'T KICK ANYONE'S ASS FOR 24 STRAIGHT HOURS

"It's incredible" say friend Ricky VanVeen.  "Ray-Ray had been fuckin' pussies up for years.  I've really felt like he's turned a corner here".  Van Veen had been remarking about his friend Raymond Channing who managed an extended peaceful period of twenty-four straight hours without starting a fight.

Channing, who has had somewhat of a history with the ancient art of fisticuffs, had been embroiled in the world of unmotivated combat since age three when he broke an empty glass bottle of Canada Dry over his daycare supervisor's face for "making eyes".  Since then, many have fallen prey to his sucker punches, garbage pail blind sidings and unexpected kidney punches. "It's just Ray-Ray." VanVeen proudly boasts "You fuck with him, he kicks your fuckin' ass.  Maybe you should've been standing there, maybe he doesn't like your shirt or the way you laugh.  You don't get offended, you learn from your mistake of crossing Ray-Ray and make the necessary changes in life."

Channing had been pushing towards the goal for some time now.  Last Saturday he made the attempt and while at Robinson Hall in the 19th hour of his fast he was grazed shoulder-to-shoulder on the dancefloor by a man dancing with his fiancee, splashing Channing's drink slightly.  The man suffered a ruptured eye socket and internal bleeding, and Channing had sex with the man's fiancee on top of his unconscious body in full view of the dance floor patrons.  "We were so close" Channing says with a very restrained shame in his voice.  "You don't bump into me.  You just don't fucking bump into me, EVER, because I have no choice but to end you."

Of course, all good things come to and end and at 25 hours and 42 minutes, a bartender made the capital flaw of not giving Channing the rest of the Redbull can after ordering one of his beloved Yagerbombs at Club Slide on Wednesday.  Channing immediately hopped the bar, broke a loaded pint glass over the nose of the bartender and anally raped him with the detachable soda tap.  "It's a slow process.  You can't just tell me to sit there and NOT take that shit.  It HAD to be done."

Channing says we would like to continue his warm ways, saying that in just a few weeks he will be "switching to beer" and start back on the medication he has been refusing for the past seventeen years.  I think we can all say we'll be rooting for him.

SO BAD IT'S AWESOME: The Greatest Music Video Ever Made

His name is Chris Dane Owens, and he will rock you.

This was brought to me by Frank from The Idiot Board in a thread a where everybody basically tried to one-up each other with the corniest, most god-awful shit we could find on the Internet.  I declared this video the winner, a neo-retro tune called Shine On Me sung hyperdramatically by the most homosexual-looking human being alive.  I honestly felt his effect one me, I've never seen eyes so blue since Hank Fonda in Once Upon a Time in the West.  However, the video is just.....FUCK.  Unreal.  Like every shitty Harlequin Romance Novel coming together in an insane Voltron of awesomeness.  Just take a cue from the guy in the Maxell ad and hang onto something:

In a time of light...when

guyliner ruled the earth

So, if you didn't follow, let's see what we have here in our tale:

- Pedophile-esque hero in Zorro 'stache arrives on horseback

- Falls in love at first sight with woman that looks like used-up porn star

- They do some gay shit

- He fights some out-of-control fireworks

- Emo chicks with swords swoop in

- We meet bad dude in mask who grabs sword blades with his hand

- The goth chicks are now hockey angels

- Awkward make-out session.  No boner, guaranteed

- Shitloads of Dragons for some reason

- Improvised amateur swordplay

- Creepy CDO Close-up

- We meet the side-kicks (who are also gay)

- We wish you a sappy sleigh ride

- Swing a sword, blow up a colonial-era oil rig (apparently, they existed).  Badass.

- Whoop...whoop!  They're goths again.  Go cut your arms and feel sorry for yourself, bitch.

- They shoot wind storms, trash his ship he leaps into the middle of the  ocean in full armour and is washed to shore.  Have you shot in your drawers yet?

- Glow-in-the-dark chesticles!!!!

- He...gets completely engulfed in a fiery explosion....I guess.

- The dragons attack a town from 100 years in the future

- In seven seconds: Running wolves, flying skull-insect thingys, Bad guy taking heroine to be date-raped, "Look at them snappers!", exploding forest, ice-cave Matrix fight.  This is better than coffee with Jesus.

- Sidekick battles the lesbians from Armour of God with dagger from V for Vendetta. 

- Now the hero's a pirate, with pirate sidekicks.

- The heroine is crowned princess of The Kingdom of Studio 54.

- Long, awkward make-out session (again) under fireworks as angels blow cocaine on them.

Now, the whole time this mess is happening we also get inter-cuts of Dane Owens singing VERY lovingly into the camera, looking like a well-dressed viking's prison bitch. 

All of the world's problems could be solved if every single music video was like this.  It gives sight to the blind and feeds the hungry.  Has "over the top" finally been pinnacled?  Only time will tell, I will be on the hunt and post others.

THE ANTI-VALENTINE RANT

Once again, that day is back where men are guilt-forced into shelling out coin in hopes of climaxing the evening with a pity blowjob.

Valentine's Day is here again, the day women expect to get treated like royalty with sugary, tooth-rotting candies purchased via drugstore on the way home form work and flowers bought from the only grocery store open at the last minute.  Time to go to the movies and make sure you pull that hat down tight so you don't run into anybody you know while purchasing two tickets for Sin & Sentimentality (starring Julia Roberts, directed by of course Gary Marshall).

One of the greatest thing about this so-called special day is that the guys trying to impress their lady friends are actually viciously competing with each other without even knowing:  Who WILL get the best flowers?  Who WILL get the most expensive piece of jewellery?  Who WILL get to go to the best restaurant with the best table?  Only the best person of all, that's who.

Now guys, one thing:  Stop fucking sending flowers to work if your wife works in a place with hundreds of other females.  Sure, your wife is happy, every other woman in the place is fuming.  You see, delivery guys don't go directly to whomever the flowers are for, they carry it though every room of the building like it's the goddamn Stanley Cup just for their own sick amusement, ensuring at least a few guys will be reasoning through a solid, locked bathroom door for a few hours tonight.

Ladies, how necessary is this day to you?  Sure, you EXPECT you get the royal treatment, which of course puts your man in a position to let you down.  Isn't it more special when he SURPRISES you with flowers or a gift?  Isn't that more romantic and thoughtful than making him run an obstacle course of kiss-ass within the hours of when work ends and bedtime?

Maybe we could focus less on this day, and more focus on getting hammered next month instead.  At least BOTH of you will have fun.

CROWN, AM I A DOUCHEBAG? (a.k.a The Death of Cool)

Much like the retards you see the first couple of weeks on American Idol, people generally don't know how they fit into society's dynamic until someone else wakes them up.  That goes double for douchebags, the sneering metrosexuals that pop up in the background of every bar photo to make some stupid face to show how cool they are.  Of course, there's a reason why they earn their name.  They're morons, pretty boys, alcohol lightweights that only pick fights in groups and will choke you out with their Axe without even spilling their Long Island iced tea.  God love them, they are out there ready to ruin your entire night with a snarl in your face and a roofie in your drink.  Ladies.

So you ask, "How would I know if I am, in fact, a douchebag?", well here are some telltale signs:

Manscaping gone too far:
I'm all for keeping up with appearances, but let me ask you this as a man: Do you have two eyebrows?  Good.  We're DONE here.  Spas are for women, and douchebags.  Just walk past any day spa and you'll see one: he's the one with his eyes locked on the back wall of the spa, deathly afraid somebody may walk by and see their heterosexual male friend getting a manicure and his eyebrows sculpted.

The Popped Collar:
This is the one I personally hate the most.  Who on the face of this earth believe that doing this 1980's prep-boy ripoff fashion move is ACTUALLY COOL?  Well, douchebags.  Blinded by their own idiocy, this trend just won't die.  If John Mayer likes popping his collar, how could anybody possibly think it's cool?

Sunglasses Indoors:
Oh, I get it.  You don't want your fans to recognize you.  Either that, or you're so fucking cool that people aren't worth your eye contact.  Either way it's night and your in a dark, crowded bar and you look like one thing only: a complete asshole.

The Chinstrap Beard:
It's like a noose that's hanging you for being such a nincompoop.  This thing is a reminder why Amish dudes get no chicks: you look fucking STUPID, you're girlfriend is ashamed to go out in public with you and it's doing NOTHING to hide that weak, fat chin of yours.

MMA Swag Without MMA Experience:
Maybe you shouldn't be telling me between bites of your Hoagie that Michida has been looking a little soft lately.  Oh, that's right.  You know EVERYTHING about this gruelling, demanding sport because you're wearing that badass Affliction t-shirt and every second saturday you drive down to the reserve to watch Natives beat the shit out of each other.  Unless you have strapped on the gloves or have training in the field, you seriously know NOTHING and you should keep it that way.  And when you wear that Tap Out! gear in public you look like a massive handjob.

Constantly Taking your Shirt Off-
Gee, you took 15 minutes of of your precious schedule to do sit-ups everyday.  Abs are not fucking hard with some dedication, and to guys that look for every excuse to take their shirt off they're just advertising how shallow and socially retarded there are.

Douche Tats-
I love tattoos when they're thought out and well done.  I also love tattoos because I feel they should have a sacred meaning to their owner, not some fucking generic tribal lines cris-crossing your arms for the failed sake of making you look badass.  Chinese lettering?  What is your damage?  It's behind your shoulder and translates to "Beef with Noodles".  You're about as spiritual as my right nut.  But I wouldn't know, YOU'RE the one with the Ying-Yang engraved on you.

The Toaster Tan-
Nothing wrong with darkening your pigment, nobody wants to have Nicole Kidman's ungodly complexion, but turning your skin the colour of either a traffic pylon or beef jerky is unnatural, unhealthy, and HILARIOUSLY RIDICULOUS LOOKING.  You hear that?  That's the sound of every human being snickering under their breath behind you.  Maybe Melanoma will wake your ass up, George Hamilton.

Stupid-looking Neckware
I bet when Jesus was dying on the cross the first thing that came to his mind was honouring this moment in zirconium-encrusted imitation silver.  I bet guys who got their ass shot off defending their country are impressed with your Che dog tag.  I bet that's a real shark's tooth you killed an actual shark for.  I bet you will also masturbate while crying after you get home alone tonight.  Enjoy those Maroon 5 albums on your own, cool dude.

Pocket-sized Body Spray
There is no smell that makes women fall in love with you at first sight.  Jewellery HAS no smell.  In the mean time, you and 500 other Johnny Cheesedicks constantly mixing your man scents together in the same place is playing havoc on my lungs.  Christ, I have to keep smoking cigarettes just to get some fresh air!

General Douche Behavior:
Waving gangs signs to shitty rappers like Lil Wayne or T-Pain. jumping in the background of and ruining every photo, throwing hard shoulders into guys just so they'll start shit while your friends are near, etc.  All tell-tale signs of Douche.  As Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart once said: "I'll no further attempt to define Douchebags, But I know them when I see them."

And so do I:

No women were asked to pose in this picture,

and no women volunteered.

BOUNCERS: What stands between you and fun.

I worked as a bouncer off and on over a period of three years when I first worked in the bar scene, a whole variety of different places with a whole different variety of staff members.  The first thing I noticed is 1) A lot of these guys REALLY love being paid $9/hr to watch other people have a good time 2) A lot of these guys are real assholes.  Sure, there were good ones in the bunch, but there are certain breeds to these "Security Professionals" that fit their uniquely visible (and tacky) blueprint:

The Player
Spends two hours getting ready for his shift.  Every hair, perfect.  The right amount of Axe is applied in the right quantity to the right places.  The Armani V-neck is on.  This guy believes women are drawn to the guys that protect them, unaware that women are drawn who the suckers that will let them jump the line in the club before the leave with someone else.

Tuffy-Tuff Tuff
Being a bouncer means you have to get physical, and nobody loves it more than this ex-high school bully with a one million pound chip on his shoulder.  He DARES you to say that to him again.  Fucking DARES you.  Usually this species is shorter than most men, hence the smoldering Napoleon complex that he wears on his sleeve like a badge.

The "Officer"
He wears tact pants, jack boots, Kevlar gloves and a buzz cut.  He calls unruly customers "perps", is 35 pounds overweight and has failed the police entrance exam four times.  This job allows him to take out his failures and frustrations on vulnerable and intoxicated people, holding up lines to double check I.D's and constantly interrupting actual cops trying to do their jobs.

He's Out of his League
Sure, he's tall or he's big, but then a fight breaks out and he gets his ass handed to him fast than you can say "Ninja Loot!".  This guy shouldn't be a bouncer, and he's kidding himself pretending he's phony tough.  Back to WoW, slim!

Professional Night Club  Security Specialist Personnel
He loooooooooooooves being a bouncer.  His eyes are LOCKED on the customers.  All business.  He knows Morse code with his flashlight.  He uses his unnecessary head-set like a Saturn 5 engineer.  Breaking the dress code?  Take it outside, Welfare Willy.  He "can smell a fight brewing 2 minutes in advance".  He watches Roadhouse every night before work to get jacked up.  Oh, "Just went to your car", huh?  Back of the line, loser.  He REALLY wants somebody to end his sad and pathetic life.

Seriously, this documentary exists.  As if there is a "Science" to this profession:

Laws of the bouncer: Never turn your back,

never leave a man behind, never fall in love.

BULLSHIT CAGEMATCH: Mormons vs. Scientology

Here we have the very pinnacle of American-invented idiocy: The Church of Scientology and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, both cult-like religions that many idiots join more every year in order to have their money extracted from them by the most horrible people imaginable.

Let's start with seniority: The Mormons.  The CJCLDS was founded by con artist and "treasure hunter" Joseph Smith, who claims while in the wilderness of New York he ran into Jesus who was apparently in a waterskiing contest at the Finger Lakes that summer.  Brought to him were the Golden Plates Of Mormon, which could only be read by a magic "Seer Stone" that only Smith has ever seen.  So, only HE knows the rules, because only HE read it.  And EVERYBODY fell for it.  Through his brief encounter with Jesus Of The Northeast and an Angel, Smith learned this incredible laundry list of horseshit:

- Black people can only enter Heaven as a slave.  The FUCK.

- You can have unlimited child brides without question, which Smith and Bringham Young (most ironically named man in human history) has PLENTY of.  A.k.a they were child molesters.

- Being black was considered a curse from God.

- God was a man who lived on a distant Utopia planet called Kelob.  God physically fucked Mary and impregnated her with Jesus.  Bow-chicka-wow-wow!!!

- All other forms of Christianity are hereby "An Abomination".

- Native Americans originated as a lost tribe of Israel.

- Mixed marriages are a death sentence.  Not fans of jungle fever over here.

- Magically designed Fruit-Of-The Looms that you wear protect you from knives, bullets, fire and harm.  Not making that up.

-Donate 10% of your wages back to the church.  HOW many people live in Utah?

- You are supposed to have at least 13 kids to reach Celestial Heaven.  Fuck.  That.  Noise.

Of course, whenever society begins to frown upon one of the monstrously retarded regulations, God fortunately calls up on the hot line and lets Mormonism go with the flow!  Imagine a religion cool enough that it bends to the law when threatened with imprisonment!  When it comes to religion, these guys have the Goofy Champs for a long time.  However, lets meet our dangerously insane friends over at the latest trend to rip at the entrails of our sanity: The Church Of Scientology, founded by science fiction author L. Ron Hubbard.  Science Fiction as in "Stuff that isn't real" which pretty much describes this monstrous con which he pulled out of his ass and it became a hit amongst people that have a copy of Variety perpetually tucked into their back pocket.

Scientology basically goes like this: 75 Million years ago, the evil intergalactic lord Xenu (sounds like a made-up villain from Calvin & Hobbes) banished the evil Thetans to earth in recycled Boeing airliners.  They stacked them all around volcanoes, destroyed them all with hydrogen bombs, and now the spirits of these Thetans posses us, and must rid ourselves of the by "Auditing" yourself with an E-Meter:

...they only cost approx. $14,000.  Yeah.  This glorified Speak N' Spell costs as much as a fucking CAR.  ARE YOU LISTENING, CALIFORNIA?  Get you head out of your gullible asses and stop funnelling your money into some crook's already well-lined pockets.  Did I mention this church has no qualms with suing people that disband or talk about their so-called "secrets"

The Winner:

Nobody.  Everybody's a loser here, because it seems that everybody directly involved with these off-the-wall organizations can come to terms with the fact that they're a complete fucking moron.

Ryan Milliron Ppost Deleted

Deleted as per subject's request

ROAD HOUSE: Where were YOU when the polar bear fell on Tinker?

It has mullets.  Ripped-out tracheas. Jeff Healey.  Right boots.  Wade.  Fucking.  Garrett.  What more can a man ask for in a film than the 1989 masterpiece Road House directed by Rowdy Herrington (great name)?  Well, you get Philosophy major/world's most badass 140 lb. bouncer Patrick Swayze doing Tai Chi in sweatpants so tight he looks like he's trying to seduce children.  You see, the Double Deuce is a bar on the climb and they need the best cooler in the business.  Dalton pops a white cassette into his Benz and a legend is born.  Swayze was hot off keeping Baby out of the corner and could do any movie he pleased, so he chose THIS brain-dead yahoo fare that now ranks as one the great awesomes of the modern era.

So, Dalton meets Doc after making her swoon with his "Pain don't hurt" line.  Bitches come for the pain don't hurt.  He demonstrates that pain don't hurt to her later by for some reason banging her against a very jagged and scary looking rock fireplace.  At least she'll know how the treat those gashes all over her back.  Brad Wesley is all like "Bish, you bangin my old lady?  How about I sick Terry Funk and a tall retard that calls people "dickless" on yo ass?"  And Dalton's all like "Nuh-uh, son.  I'm gonna go all Wade Garret up in yo motherfuckin craw".  Now the two greatest bouncers in America working in the same bar like a Voltron of enlightenment. 

Brad Wesley bows to no one.  Because he has dogs.  Dogs with teeth.  A dog named Jimmy.  Jimmy used to fuck guys like you in prison.  With his perfect dry-look Camaro Crash Helmet feathercut and a thundering homosexual twinkle in his eye that would make Pat Robertson turn over to the dark side, he's one ass-kicking, pool cue twirling, denim-rocking sonomabitch.  Then Dalton kicks a gun out of his hand and kills him.  Lot of guns get kicked out of hands in this film, it seems.  The foot is quicker than the trigger finger, I guess.

After blowing up his Mercedez for no reason other than a decoy (couldn't he have just snuck into the mansion anyway?), Dalton in his best Karate-outfit clubbing shirt dispatches the bad dudes before nearly getting his ass handed to him by and old man that throws African spears with more grim accuracy than Leonidas on a calm day.  Good triumphs, and Tinker that lovable little 400 pound mutt not only survives the dead polar bear-attack but helps the good guys cover up all the senselessly gruesome murders they just committed!

How can anybody NOT like this shit?  Mindless skull-bashing, 1980's-style T & A and some of the greatest one liners in the history of the universe.  Half of this film's budget was spent on AquaNet hairspray alone.  If you're a man and can't enjoy this film you simply have no soul.