The movie America loves.
And I hate.
Oh hell. How do I count the ways?
To mimic a fat, useless cunt that butchers English and gets excited over the ding of a toaster oven, let’s plow through some personal backstory that is as relevant to the actual review as a pimple on an ass is to the quality of the turd that lies inches away in the bowl below it.
Captain America was not a comic I collected. I didn’t even remotely follow it. But thanks to some fuckin’ fanboys I have learned that the Captain was the mac daddy of all Marvel characters. This dude was the godfather. The hombre with the wallet that reads “Bad Ass Motherfucker.” So when I heard the announcement of the movie, I was neutral. But then Joe Johnston came onboard and being a huge fan of Jumanji, The Rocke-who, October Sky and Jurassic Park 3, I thought he was the right guy to helm the project. And then I heard that Chris Evans had signed on to the iconic role and a part of me stood up and saluted. This shit was becoming… interesting.