“Dear John,” please go to hell and die there.
Gods, the things I do for this blog.
Just watched a trailer for the new Nicholas Sparks novel that got adapted into a film for some reason, Dear John. I suggest you don’t click the link unless you want your soul to projectile vomit.
Yeah, it looks like a building puking books when your soul does that.
I’m having trouble talking about this film. Tanning Chatum’s chest appears to star in it, which is fine.
I mean, what else is his chest going to do?
Amanda Sefried is still slumming, which is less than fine because, really, she could do so much better. So much better.
Like, she could star as an evil spy on Chuck or something.
Apparently there’s a Snow Patrol song in the trailer, and they could also do better, but I guess you’ve got to take your money where you can get it or something.
Here's a picture of Snow Patrol!
Other impressions:
“Dear John,” “Dear John,” “Dear John,” “Dear John,” “Dear John.” Hey, I wonder what the name of this movie is?!
Tanning Chatum’s chest leaping into the ocean to save a purse. Really? It didn’t even look like a brand-name purse.
Someone just pointed out to me that Tanning Chatum is actually a guy named Channing Tatum, which, also really? Huh. At least I was closer than when I was trying to call him Tatum Canning, I guess. I’m just going to call him Mr. Chesty from now on. That’s easier.
Apparently, Mr. Chesty has a big, bad scary past. Ooooooh.
“I know your dad loves you, even if you don’t.” STOP SLUMMING!
Can someone please take anything that could be used for writing away from Nicholas Sparks so I never have to endure this horror again? PLEASE? There’s a new Nicholas Sparks movie, like, once every two months, and enough is enough. Please make it stop.
You look like a nice guy and all, but who could know you're capable of such horror?
