Knocked Up
The horror: The head of Seth Rogen’s love child “crowns” in the delivery room.
Katherine Heigl is a beautiful woman—one of the most beautiful women in the world, actually. She’s a woman we’ve prayed to the Lord above to let us see naked. And our vengeful, hateful God delivered by allowing us to witness a flesh-colored bowling ball bulldoze its way through her vagina. Thanks for the nightmares, Yahweh.
The horror: Gary Busey gets down in drag.
Just imagine: The most terrifying scene in a Steven Seagal film doesn’t even involve Steven Seagal! During the Captain’s birthday party, Commander Krill (Busey) joins the band onstage wearing a house dress, a wig, and a pair of falsies. It wasn’t in the script, but that’s what happens when you ask Gary Busey to work on a Tuesday.
The horror: Oh, just the first 86 minutes of it.
Listen when we tell you this: While the first 86 minutes of this ridiculous, offensive, Justin Timberlake-in-a-Speedo-filled Mike Myers train wreck might feel like torture, you’ve got to stick with it! Those sweet, sweet two minutes of closing credits are like a deep-tissue massage for the soul. Your chakras won’t know what hit them.
The horror: Steve Carell sings “Let My Love Open the Door” while playing acoustic guitar and quietly weeping.
During a family talent show (!), a widowed Steve Carell gets choked up and begins crying while performing an acoustic rendition of the saptastic Pete Townshend tune. A scene so sickeningly sweet and embarrassingly endearing, you can almost see Carell’s penis tearing itself from his body and running for its life.
The horror: Mark Wahlberg teaches science in this M. Night Shyamalan bomb.
“To be a scientist, you must have a respectful awe for the laws of nature.” So goes the wisdom stiffly imparted by Mark Wahlberg to a classroom full of students—poor, godforsaken students. The only lesson we ever needed from professor Marky Mark came courtesy of his 1991 hit “Good Vibrations”: “Drug free, so put the crack up!”
The horror: Sharon Stone uses a buff young stud’s finger as a dildo as she drives a supercar through the streets of London at high speeds, eventually crashing into the Thames as she orgasms.
MILF? More like a Mother We’d Like to Gently Lead Into the House to Wrap-a Full-Length Robe Around. Watching Sharon Stone masturbate was just about as upsetting as…well, watching Sharon Stone masturbate.
The horror: The moment when Dane Cook’s name appears in the opening credits.
You went with your girlfriend thinking that sitting through a harmless chick flick would be worth it for the post-movie sex. But when the opening credits began, a sickening chill went up your spine as reality hit: For the next two hours, a hair-dyed douche in Seven jeans would be skull-fucking you with terribleness.
The horror: A “cute” rat named Remy helps a bungling human chef named Linguini prepare a meal that wins over the harshest food critic in Paris.
The lesson that filmgoers are meant to take away from this film is to judge a person not by his appearance but by his talents and his heart. Anyone can do anything! We’ll try to remember that the next time we find mouse shit in our Chinese food.
The horror: The mother and son chat.
“He’s a good person,” says Mrs. Crumb about her eldest son, Charles, who hasn’t left the house in more than two decades and remains a virgin at 54. ¿“At least he’s not out selling illegal drugs.” Cartoonist Robert Crumb—astonishingly, the “normal” one within this fetid gene pool—giggles and shakes his head. Months later Charles is dead by suicide. God, make this movie stop!
The horror: The mark, right around hour two, when you mistakenly think the thing is over.
Carrie has finally married Mr. Big! Great, now let’s get the fuck out of here. Wait a second, why aren’t the credits rolling? Why aren’t the theater lights coming on? Oh, God, no, it’s not over! There are still 20 minutes left of cock-hungry cougars shopping for Manolo Blahniks! No-o-o-o-o-o!
The horror: Kevin Costner wrestling with a British accent for the entire two hours.
Have you ever wondered what the old English folk legend would be like if Robin Hood spoke with a surfer dude accent and palled around with Christian Slater? Us neither. “I would die for you,” says the Prince of Thieves to Maid Marian. “Thou speaketh like Keanu Reeves,” should have been the reply.
The horror: Hayden Christensen’s rattail twirling round and round as not-quite-yet Darth Vader makes out with Natalie Portman.
Watching this intergalactic goober slobber on the hot-as-an-exploded-star Portman as they roll down a grassy hill in a scene more reminiscent of a Valtrex commercial destroyed any and all blood flow to our Dagobah system. Where’s Chewbacca when you need him?