More boobies than you can shake a stick at before stabbing yourself in the eyes with that stick and then stabbing out the memory part of your brain...

It's been a crappy, shite-strewn, poop-laden, besuckified, terrible two weeks. I'll spare you the sob story(ies), but there were tragedies real and imagined, and I'm praying for the sweet oblivion of Friday night inebriation.

Making the shittiness even shittier was the self-loathing that drove me to watch two of the worst movies I've ever had the bad luck to scratch my eyes across: Click and Showgirls.

Yes, I had never seen Showgirls/meyourtits.

Worst movie ever. Even worse than this, this, this, and, yes, even this. Not even endless, dizzying exposure to hundreds of deliriously funny naked jiggling boobies could mitigate the eggy fart that is the Showgirls script. I can't believe Charlotte's husband Trey was in that. And that he had fake bad-acting sex with that terrible blonde booby life support system. The sex scene in the pool reminded me of a seal hunt video I recently saw on the World Wildlife Federation site. It amazed me that a graphic sex scene could have the effect of actually sucking all the moisture out of my reproductive system. It's so bad that there aren't enough words in all languages combined to describe its badness, so I'm not even going to try.

And then the boobish badness reproduced. Click. There's a reason this movie shares its name with canned abattoir leavings that taste of ass. Chris Walken, I weep for you. You are dead to me. Adam Sandler. Shame! Shaaaaaame! At what point did you say to yourself, "you know what this movie really needs? In addition to a rancidly twee premise, a cloying, sanctimonious plot, the expulsion of Christopher Walken' soul to the lower rings of hell, and that inexplicable 8-minute scene where I colour-adjust my own face with the universal remote? Gratuitous slow-mo bouncing boobies!!! YEAH!!! SOMEBODY CALL THE ACADEMY!!!!"

I have nothing more to say of this.

Except: hurry up and be Friday!