I stand outside the theater, perusing my options.

Old School: Will Ferrel, Vince Vaughan, Luke Wilson--all funny guys and good actors. The poster shows them arm in arm, Ferrel naked, surrounded by the flotsam of the supporting non-characters and outlined in colors that remind me vaguely of a Dragonball Z cartoon or a clown that has been eaten and then vomited up by a tiger. Pass.

What a Girl Wants: Vague stirrings in the pelvic regions at the image of jailbait Amanda Bynes..but come on. Even I'm not that pathetic. I'll rent it. Pass.

I briefly consider the Vin Diesel blow-em-up flick, for unintended laughs, but I'm not willing to put that much effort into this.

So I settle on...Anger Management. Sandler has the ability to occasionally amuse me and Jack...well, it's fucking Jack Nicholson, for god's sake. I wanted to see the scene proffered in the trailer when he is singing "I Feel Pretty"--even though I know they did that joke in DeNiro's One-Note Comedic Range, or Analyze That, or Watch The Spiraling Toilet-Dive of Harold Ramis's Career, or whatever it's called--I repeat, it's Jack Fucking Nicholson. The man has a way of delivering a line that nobody else can match. And I imagined seeing him singing showtunes would be something that would tickle my funnybone for a second and distract me from...whatever. And it did. That scene. And a few other scenes when Jack is doing something wacky. As for the rest of it...

I knew I was in trouble when I stood up in my seat during the scene where Marisa Tomei was kissing Adam Sandler, waved my dick around and screamed "Why waste those lips on that baboon face when I got somethin' here perfect for 'em!"

I honestly had not intended to do that.

Then, when it appeared as though she was going to accept a wedding proposal from Nicholson, I found myself standing once again, wearing my popcorn bucket on my head, my pants around my ankles, hollering like a drunk redneck lost and naked in the Barrio "He's too old! He's too ooooolllllld! His sac probably looks like a dehydrated prune! Marisa, I LOVE YOU! I GO DOWN! I GO DOWWWWWNNNNN!" (I might have wondered why the usher didn't come to get me, but I think that all the other patrons in the theater were asleep or had committed suicide via slicing their own throats.)

Now, I generally do not behave this way in public. As a matter of fact, I only exhibited this kind of demeanor once before, and that was during a four-hour lecture on the history of Tupperware my mother made me attend in order to learn how to dupe bored and horny housewives out of their husband's hard-earned money. (Except that my wang-swinging wound up much more successful, in that case.)

The movie, by the way, was crap. Aside from a really funny scene where John C. Reilly, playing Sandler's-former-bully-turned-buddhist-monk, beats the hell out of Sandler and then gets it returned to him, as Sandler mocks him by loudly claiming he repeatedly molested Reilly's mentally disturbed little sister. (I reiterate, that was the funny part.) I don't credit Sandler or the writers for this scene. John C. Reilly is just a funny mofo. Everything he says in his marble-mouth Hensonesque voice is hilarious. I didn't see Chicago--and I won't, until I see all the other musicals I missed, when I'm in Hell--but I'm sure he makes it unbearbably funny. But other than this one scene, and a few spare moments when Jack, with his sheer Jackness, was terribly entertaining, this movie sucked like a 12-year-old Russian prostitute. (And at least she can say she was forced into it by the Mob. I doubt the producers are making Sandler suck any dick. He and his writers do that in this movie of their own volition.) I honestly liked Happy Gilmore. I thought Billy Madison was pretty funny. There were scenes in Big Daddy and Little Nicky that amused me. But Sandler and his buddies have ridden this one-trick pony to the bank so many times it's starting to look like Joan Rivers (and that's fucking bad, even for a horse.) Maybe it's time to pass his writers off to Pauly Shore or one of those guys from American Pie, give up on comedic ideas himself, and join the other whores in the Reality TV brothel. Maybe he could do a show with Dana Carvey, Chris Kattan, and Norm McDonald called Funny Go Bye-Bye: Lorne Michaels' Greatest Abortions. I might watch that show, if they fought each other with spears on a cliff above a croc-infested river, or something.

At any rate, this movie succeeded in distracting me from the news, but only by sharply increasing my concern for my own sanity.

Oh, and Marisa...call me.