Allow me to digress from my usual movie reviews and turn your attention to the small screen:
I feel the need to confess now and avoid the rush: if I ever come across that actress from the new Secret deodorant commercials on the street, I'm going to shove her innocent and fresh armpits up her own poopchute and pull them out her nostrils. Others may be tempted to blame the company, or the creators of the commercial, but what pushes me over the homocidal edge is that vapid airhead waste of oxygen's "performance." You gotta be some kind of poster chick for mental limitations to get your single digit I.Q. to come across when you're a brunette. Bitch? Easy for brunettes. Wind whistling through your cranial space from one ear to the next under a dark shade of hair? Your brain stem must be exhausted from just keeping your bodily functions online day in day out.
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