Horrible movie for sale

I listed this auction on Ebay a while back. I'd purchased A Night At The Roxbury on a whim. My reasoning was it was five bucks, it had Will Ferrell in it and someone, not sure who now, told me it was funny. That person should be glad I do not remember them, or I would probably, I don't know, yell at them for a while about how bad that movie is.

Since I couldn't do that, I made an auction.

If you don't like it, screw off. My mom laughed and that's all that matters.
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Hello.

Earlier this evening, I was seeking on my shelf for a movie that I might sit back and enjoy. It has been a week of much stress, and a goodly film that I could perhaps even fall asleep to would suit me well. I considered such examples of cinematic happiness as Casino Royale, 300, Indiana Jones and my usual movie for such an occasion, Ghostbusters.

But then I noticed the purple case still covered in cellophane. Indeed, over one year ago I made purchase of the comedic film "A Night At The Roxbury", as several friends had laughed and told me of its goodness, usually while rocking their heads and singing "What Is Love" by house musician Haddaway. Though this bit of behavior left me confused and alarmed, in a mad fit of bargain bin shopping I acquired it.

So I pull it from the shelf. I gently remove the cellophane wrapping and with equal care detach the security sticker from the top. I eagerly insert the disc into the appropriate player and get all snuggly.

The player will not start. It makes an attempt, then just stops. In fury I repeatedly mash the play button. Aah, there. The film begins, the Haddaway song issuing forth from the speakers and the Paramount logo adorning the screen.

Oh, how sorry I am, my poor DVD player! You wished only for me to not endure such pain.

At the eight minute mark, I'm ready to die. Nothing funny has happened. My life is worse at this point than it was when I started watching. But I remain vigilant and plod on, determined to finish.

After about forty minutes, I eject the disc and register an Ebay account.

Friends, this movie is horrible. It is as if it were excreted from the hind quarters of Cerberus, the three headed hound of hell, when the animal was in a state of grief and hatred, his mate possibly murdered before his eyes just hours before.

Yes, I mean it. If you murder the mate of Hell's guardian animal, he craps out Lorne Michaels movies. It makes sense if you think about it.

Now I guess I should list all the technical stuff.

Perfect condition. The disc is free of scratches, though if you finish the film you will likely claw madly at your own eyes, causing scratches in that area.

Opened. Yes, I opened it. When I did this, a thousand wailing tormented spirits broke free and flew about my room in a mad dance of pain.

I'm not sure what else to say. It is crystal clear DVD, it is in widescreen and it is a terrible, unfunny, painful film to watch.

Below you will find three positive reviews of this ghastly hateful conjuring of a film. Do not believe them, they are lying to you. A Night At The Roxbury is a bad movie for bad people.

King Of Bees, alternate version

This is slightly different version of the story of Liam Neeson becoming the king of the bees. I never really intended to use it in the final draft; I just had to write it for myself.
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I must tell you a story of one of the strange occurrences that befell me in this silly journey called life. One day, in Nigeria (I spent some time there for a cause I am not at the moment able to tell you of,) I came upon a bee's hive. This humble abode of the wonderful winged friends was presently being menaced by that most vicious of jungle felines, the cougar. The devilish beast leaped and swiped, no doubt craving the delightful honey contained within this hanging tiny gold mine. He salivated, a hungry and lecherous animal, a beast who could be satiated only by the freshest and purest sort of bee crap.

Enraged at the idea that such a mighty creature would impose his strength on those so much smaller, I lunged at the cougar. Taking the beast in my hands, I let out a fearsome war cry that echoed through the land, bouncing its way all the way back to the source. A good war cry is vital for my sort of adventures; oftentimes any man would be frightened and unable to continue, but when you hear the land reassure you in my voice, well... it will make you brave. But at this moment, for me, a trembling cougar in my hands, it gave me the strength needed to do what had to be done. With a skillful twist, I snapped the cat's neck and dropped it to the ground. Its head lolled to the side. It had paid for its sins. The inhabitants of the bee's hive buzzed cheerfully. I then noticed, with some apprehension, that one was buzzing about quite near my face. He was not like a normal bee: rather than bright yellow, he was blue striped with black. I noticed tiny stars and moons on his tiny fur. A green light shot from the blue bee and collided with my head.

Beyond all reason, I found myself in the hive! The bees all were looking at me. Most were sitting on the ground, watching me not with apprehension or malice, but with joy. So curious a sight!

It was not long before one approached me and began speaking. What an odd language the bee-folk had! "Bzzzz," the drone said, "Bzzz, Liam Neeson, bzzz, we thank you for the deed you have done here, bzzzz. You, bzzz, have saved our humble civilization. Bzzzzz.

"Bzzzzzzz."

Fascinated, I bowed to the yellow buzzy fellow. "It was all I could do, my friend. I have long admired your kind, and could not let such an injustice pass." I hesitated before adding "Buzzzzzzz."

There was a ripple of laughter through the crowd. Then I noticed something that took my breath away.

It was their Queen.

She was the single most beautiful insect I had ever seen. The drone who had spoken with me previously spoke again. "Bzzz. Liam Neeson, this generation of bee is not as hardy as the last. Bzzzz. It is desired that our future be brighter... and that you are the key to that. Bzzzz. Liam Neeson, please.... Father the next generation of our hive."

And so I had communion with the Queen of Bees. I lived in the hive for many months, worshiped as a god by the simple bee folks (I am not concerned that I will offend them, as bees cannot read).

However, eventually it was time to say goodbye. So I moved on, and nearly forgot the entire thing. After all, I had evils to crush and pictures to shoot. But one day, as I drove to work (work on this particular morning being the task of lending my voice to the mighty Aslan, king of lions) I noticed a strange cloud behind me, following my vehicle. It was in small particles, and shifted constantly. As I continued down the road, the cloud would grow, joined by more sections of cloud, flying out from the trees.

"Away!" I commanded the cloud desperately. Such things are unnatural, and I do not hold with them. And so the cloud left.

Amazed, I tried something else. "Hearken! Hearken and come by me!" I cried out. And the cloud came back, riding alongside my vehicle, causing the fellow in the next lane to slide off the road. His car detonated spectacularly.

I was naturally alarmed at this, but by this time I had noticed at last what the cloud consisted of. I smiled and commanded it to fetch the man from his burning car, and it was done, and the man was saved. I moved onward though; the knowledge that he did not die in the fire is all the gratitude I would ever need.

And besides, what would I do with his thanks? Why would I want it?

I was the King Of Bees.