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Love and Other Drugs and a Review of Myself as An Audience Member by Dr. Mary T Burgers
Dec 9th, 2010 by maryburgers

Love and Other Drugs

starring Anne Hathaway’s boobs and Jake Gyllenhaal

directed by Edward Zwick

I’m pretty sure this movie was about a really hot but emotionally distant pair of tits that is afraid to commit because of their fear that no one will love them because of their terminal penchant for displaying themselves. Anne Hathaway’s mouth makes a cameo as the thing that screams “WHYYYYYYYYYYY” suddenly and overdramatically when she drunkedly drops a bottle of vodka. It’s supposed to be a moment that shows that the character the boobs are attached to is facing a terrifying loss of neurological control in her battle with early onset Parkinson’s, but people drinking almost an entire bottle of vodka are pretty likely to accidentally drop the bottle anyway, with or without Parkinson’s.

Jake Gyllenhaal is Jamie Randall, a happy-go-lucky playboy who loses his job selling high-tech stereo equipment and becomes a pharmaceutical rep. He is the black sheep of his family, even though his little brother happens to be a terrifying science experiment, the result of a DNA melding of Jonah Hill and Jack Black. He has a smart, uptight sister that he argues with at the dinner table and who is never seen again as she is just there to show the viewing audience that Jamie is so much different from everyone and lacks a moral compass, because only uptight bitches have those.

While Jamie desperately tries to shelf his samples in the office of an influential doctor, Hank Azaria as Dr. Why-the-Fuck-Are-You-In-This-I-Expected-Better-From-You,-Hank-Azaria, he ends up throwing out (why?) the samples in a dumpster every day, and as he does this we see a homeless man stealing them and becoming cleaner and eventually telling Jamie Randall that he has a job interview. We never see the homeless guy again, probably because Zoloft has made him into a human being. So thanks for throwing away the one potentially interesting (though immediately predictable) plot point this movie could have had, this movie.

Then Jamie meets Maggie Murdoch, the pair of boobs that are Anne Hathaway’s. She gets mad that he sees her boobs and she is frustrated and so world-weary because she has Parkinson’s and no one can help her and even though she somehow manages to pay for a loft in Chicago on the wages of a waitress working approximately one day a week, she is utterly cynical and unhappy. Also why the fuck would you be a waitress or barista if your hands were shaking all the time? Either way, her boss (one of two people of color in the film, neither of whom have any dialogue) is very forgiving because he lets her wallow at home for days on end, or make surprise trips to Canada, or bang Jamie Randall in a bathroom.

I shouldn’t explain how Maggie Murdoch and Jamie Randall got together because you already know, in your heart: she is mad that he did a thing, he wants to see the boobs more and is intrigued at her unavailability, she screams at him, he asks her out for coffee, banging ensues. And then they fall in love because they eat organic cereal together and the sex is no longer feral, because people in love only ~make love~. Then there are about a dozen montages of them playing in leaves or something. Then a conflict occurs, which is that Maggie doesn’t want to be Jamie’s girlfriend because then she’d lose the one facet of personality the movie attributes to her: her lack of availability. Then they break up and get back together.

The movie takes place in the 90s, to showcase the pharmaceutical boom that happened as a result of increased use of anti-depressants and the introduction of Viagra. The only way that you know it’s the 90s is that women are wearing florals and denim vests and people do the Macarena. I guess that’s the only way the 90s were different, though. It wasn’t a completely different time period in terms of the economy or the political climate or anything like that. NOPE NOT AT ALL.

Rating: 1 out of 6 burgers, for WHYYYYYYYYYYY, and for every time I was accurately able to predict a plot point before it happened

Because I was doing that. Out loud. Which leads me to my next review.

Myself as an Audience Member

starring me

I talked the whole time. The entire time. My friend and I went to the 10:15 PM showing on a Wednesday night. We sat in the front and the only other people there were sitting in the very back. And from the very first moment we did not shut our mouths.

Most of it was accurate predictions:

“SHE IS GONNA REBUFF HIM”

“SHE IS GONNA TAKE ISSUE WITH THE WORD GIRLFRIEND”

“THAT ASSHOLE IS GONNA BE HER EX-BOYFRIEND”

“HE WILL CHANGE HER WITH HIS ~LOVE~”

“THE HOMELESS GUY IS GONNA GET ALL CLEANED UP BECAUSE OF ANTI-DEPRESSANTS”

Some of them were not-so-accurate predictions:

“SHE IS GONNA DIE”

“SHE IS GONNA DIE IN THE STORE”

“SHE IS GONNA DIE ON THE BUS”

“HE IS GONNA GET A CALL AFTER HE BANGS THOSE GIRLS  AND FIND OUT SHE DIED”

“THE HOMELESS GUY IS REALLY A PRIEST AND WILL MARRY THEM AT THE END”

I was also leaning over and making cynical comments at the same time that Maggie Murdoch, in the film, was leaning over to Jamie Randall and making cynical comments. And I made fun of her for it. I also made fun of her vintage robe while wearing a vintage sweater and vintage boots. I rolled my eyes at her eye-rolling.

“Newsflash: no one says newsflash”, I newsflashed at her newsflashing.

About ten minutes before the movie ended, the group of kids in the back got up to leave, and each in turn gave me a death glare, ostensibly because I ruined the movie for them. I was able to ruin a movie that already had a cut&paste script from every other romantic comedy and in which NOTHING HAPPENS.

So for that I suppose as an audience member, I deserve 0 out of 6 burgers.

Late Night Allnighter Cheeseburger Doritos by Constable Aaron Burgers
Apr 20th, 2010 by maryburgers

Late Night Allnighter Cheeseburger Doritos

by Constable Aaron Burgers, sick author of “Shnoo the Hell Is Going On Hnaa

Choosing snacks is a big deal to me. On the one hand, tadalafil I have an adventurous, seek some would say reckless, mouth-hole and I like to try new things. On the other hand, there is nothing worse than getting home only to learn that your new snack is gross, and you have to eat it all anyway because you don’t want to be a wasteful jerk. I’m personally partial to multi-tasking snacks, such as those wasabi-coated peanuts that are delicious and cure sinus infections, or pork rinds, which are delicious and also a potent anti-hangover agent (trust me). It was this partiality that led me to make a horribly, horribly inaccurate prediction: “Even if these cheeseburger flavored Doritos are gross, at least I can review them for Maryburger’s website.”

This prediction was wildly inaccurate because yes, they are gross, but no, I can’t properly review them for Maryburger’s website. They are so gross that the only way I could accurately describe them is to use such a constant stream of profanity and genital-related metaphors that, should Maryburger, her moms, or any of her mean ole sisters read it, I would never again be invited into the burger household. Even if I could use every obscene and filthy simile in my arsenal, I’m not sure I’d really be able to convey how I feel about these so-called chips.

I guess technically they’re called All Nighter Late Night Cheeseburger Doritos, or some damn thing, which clearly means that the Dorito’s people are in some sort of adjective arms race with the people that make Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper.

This is one of many Dorito “Late Night” flavors, such as Jalapeno Cat Poop and Xtreme Hobo Vomit. None of them are good, partially because they haven’t made the most obvious one (mozzarella stick Doritos.)

These abominations are called “Late Night” to confuse people with an inaccurate understanding of cause and effect: These chips are called “Late Night.” Parties generally occur late at night. Therefore, these chips must be a party. What these poor devils forget is that, yes, there are many parties late at night, however, at many of these parties, someone drinks too much and pees in your closet. And when you’re eating Doritos, your closet is your mouth. Eating cheeseburger Doritos is like having someone pee in your mouth, only worse, because you can’t videotape it and turn it into a meme.

Before I talk about flavor, I guess I should mention some of the things that cheeseburger Doritos do right. For instance… they come in a bag? Which is pretty good, but sort of de rigeur for snacks these days. But the bag sure does hold them in there, I guess. And they have that same general Dorito texture, that sort of deep fried corn paste that cracks open your fillings. So A++ for that.

Anyway. Onto the taste. What would a cheeseburger flavored chip taste like, I hear you ask? Cheese? Burger? I can see why you would think that, you ignoramus. Oh no. Cheeseburger chips taste like pickles. When I say that they taste like pickles, this might seem like a good thing, since pickles are pretty awesome. Except that these are chips, and chips should not taste like pickles. Especially if they’re advertised as tasting like burgers.

Normally, pickles are made by putting cucumbers in brine and letting them cure. I assume that the Doritos people tried putting these pickles on chips and it didn’t work. So instead they took some cucumbers and shoved them inside the gall bladders of leperous walruses, and those worked out fine. Because when I say that these chips taste like pickles, what I mean is that these chips taste like pickles that were brined inside the urinary tract of diseased Arctic fatslugs.

I should also mention that if you are a human being and you eat these, the suffering will not end at the taste. During my ‘research’ for this ‘article’ I ate a bag over the course of four days. That means that, for four days, I didn’t poop correctly. Because of these cheeseburger Doritos, I gained seven pounds in less than a week. I lost those seven pounds in less than two minutes.

Suffice it to say that these things are the worst. Eating Late Night All Nighter Cheeseburger Doritos is like someone urinating in your mouth, and their urine tastes like fresh-from-the-walrus pickles. They get one half of one burgers out of a possible six, and if anyone ever tells you they are good, they are probably a plumber that is trying to drum up business by tricking you into wrecking your toilet.

1/2 out of 6 burgers

Trader Joe’s Cranberry Ginger Green Tea
Apr 15th, 2009 by maryburgers

As a burger doctor, viagra it’s my job and duty to evaluate healthful beverages to accompany our burger meals. My number one comfort in life is not really red meat, despite what this website would have you believe. I have always found deep respite and relaxation in a delicious cup of tea. However, “Lovelytea.com” sounds like a website for old ladies or insufferably twee young ladies, the kind who mistakenly believe that it’s not obnoxious to knit in public. Stop knitting in public, old ladies.

Ha ha just kidding. Please make me some socks. It’s the young ladies who need to stop. They are never making me some socks.

Since I am not busy pretending to knit in public, I found the time to take a break from my usual super-strong Assam to try out some Cranberry Ginger Green Tea.

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BrokenCYDE: “Freaxxx” Music Video by Dr. Mary T Burgers
Mar 6th, 2009 by maryburgers

droppedimage5

I got farther into “Two Girls One Cup” than I did into this music video.

And the music from Two Girls was better.

0/6 Burgers

Disturbia: More Like Distoopia (Because It Is Stupid) by Prince T.J. Burgers (5/1/2007)
Mar 6th, 2009 by maryburgers

Fuck Disturbia
-Anonymous

The above is a scrap of paper I found on a corpse lying next to a dumpster. The body was too horribly disfigured to discern age, advice race, or even gender. To the average person, the letter would have had no particular meaning. But to someone who has witnessed the horrors of Disturbia, tossed restlessly, hopelessly in bed, plagued by the night terrors, and, with a trembling hand, pressed the cold barrel of a shaky gun to his temple, eyes welling with tears, determined to put an end to his suffering, the meaning of the letter was all too clear. I have postponed my suicide long enough to warn others, but I lack the strength to continue living beyond that. After this is written, I will execute myself, and join the others who had given in sooner–the lucky ones–in the afterlife. And yes, the letter was signed “anonymous” for whatever reason. Maybe that was the person’s name, geez.

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