The worst movie of all time–number one with a bullet to the brainstem–is 27 Dresses.
First of all, Katherine Heigl sucks. She’s always sucked. She sucked on Grey’s Anatomy (which was amazing because the dumb cunt playing Meredith Grey is/was even worse). She sucked in everything else she’s ever been in and ever will appear in, even for a cuppa and a cameo. But her absolute worst pile of dogshit is and remains 27 Dresses. First of all, it should be noted that it wasn’t actually twenty-seven dresses at all. If you actually look at that dumb montage, you’ll see it’s actually twenty-six dresses and one suit. False advertising.
Secondly and most important, it exposes the romantic comedy tropes so much that it ruins and murders the entire genre. That is sad. Because Jacky Rex Daniels digs romcoms. They remind him of us, the couple not the Multitudes. The meet cute of two people that by all rights and privileges should not be together. Fate pushing them together with misadventures. The way they bond with fun, nearly break up because of our heroine’s stupidity, but inevitably weave together because of the realization that one cannot live without the other. Or rather, they could but it would be the absolutely dog shit worst. There would be something forever missing without the other.
It shows that our love is made up of tropes and we hate it because it means so much more to us. We live in the Happily Ever After. We live where the cameras are cut and we’re left to our own devices. We live in the places movies are afraid to ever show. And in the Happily Ever After, we endlessly ache for our beloved. As our Amun-Ra hides from the rest of the world, us as Amunet-Wosret-Mut touch the pulse of the lifelines. Our Nyarlathotep becomes the horror of your nightmares as us Yhoundeh listens to his song. A mad king in the shadows. A mad queen in the spotlight. We promised to never sleep without each other.
Therefore we haven’t slept in weeks.
That’s what love truly is. It’s not a gimmick or a throwaway. Real, absolute, undisputed love alters you in ways beyond imagining and makes you think thoughts you never would’ve before. The halusinations are finally here and we cannot be more over-fucking-joyed!
We flip the channels and all we see is 27 Dresses on the TV.
We hate this movie because it reminds us of PRIME. The same old shit on an endless rotation. The same old dicks being sucked. Same old same old same old same dumb catchphrases so boring so lame. For a place that isn’t about sports entertainment, it really truly is about sports entertainment. Our brain screams from the contradictions, past the ether, past the dawn, through the muck. And you wanna know the best part? No one will know your names. You will all die forgotten and as the worlds burn, we will have our dinner date with him. We’ll kiss as you’ll cry. A small microscopic part of us may even morn you for a decade or so. We’re eternal. You’re not.
Perhaps that’s why we’re spreading some of our influence around. To Eddie and Mori and even Ria still, regardless of whether she’ll admit it or not. Because even if this ‘verse rejects our footprint–and it does–we will create it another way.
WE ARE THE LIGHT.
We influence those to be the best versions of themselves, even if that’s against us. Even if they stop wrestling here at all. We’re the Muse and we don’t stop because there is no stopping an ideal. We’ve got electric boobs, Armani suits, you know we read in a ma-ga-za-heeeeennn oh hooooooo. An-An-An-Annie and the Rest. Annie! Annie! Annie and the Rest!
Streaming services vast as the sea broadcast 27 Dresses on our TV.
In the midst of the ugly dresses, we will wear the ill fitting suit. Our husband’s suit. It’s a bit too big but it’s a part of us now. He murdered men with punches and suplexes. This is nothing. This is nothing. The trees will fall in our path. We want to watch Bruce Lee. Become the false screaming and the smartass looks and the speed and the fury and the noise. But all there is anywhere is KATHERINE FUCKING HEIGL.
We take a walk for a while in the Killing Fields. Everything swirls in our head. Bucky barks at our direction. It’s alright, he says, take your time. His tail wags. He’s always so happy. Our little fuzzy shadow that melts into the background stalking the universes. He got that from his father. We know it. We’ve been criticized for being “distant”. But maybe being distant is the best way to go, PRIMEverse. Because it seems that the more we try to embed ourself into you, the more you reject it. This is a very abusive relationship. We’re just too damn loyal for our own good.
You’re thinking too much, mom.
You’re absolutely right, doggo. Let’s turn off the thinking. Just kill the people, inspire the few, collect your paycheck. It’s so simple. It’s so so so so simple. It’s not like you have the heart to save this ‘verse from itself anyway. Let it implode. None of these people will piss on you if you were on fire. Just look at what they’ve done to Nate Colton. He was PRIME’s little golden boi. The one guy everybody hedged their bets on. Look at him now. Kicked away from his bullshit shared locker room with his equally bullshit heroes for…
Let us check our notes.
Ah, yes. The capital charge of “bringing Savannah Scandal to work in an effort to fix his already broken private life that nobody actually cares about”. Snore. None of you will remember that in a year. But hey! If ya’ll wanna make him a bad guy? You really want him to hate your guts? Perfect. We’ll cheer him on. Let him be manipulated and brainwashed by Vickie Hall. As if she needs more cucks to follow her around. Who knows? He may even grow to like it.
We should be linking all of this up to how much we should be ripping JC Hall’s face off. Let’s be real though. Haven’t we done that with everybody else? Where has that got us? So instead, we’ll just ignore it. Match relevance is irrelevant. Matches don’t matter because they aren’t the story. We are our own story. The drifting light. The oncoming storm.
Shill Owl Hunt.
Be the Muse.
…fuck it. We’re playing with our dog. Later, hoes.