M'aF'n Snakes! On a M'aF'n Plane!
Motherfuckin' Snakes on a Motherfuckin' Plane! Damn!
Wednesday night after we got back from a delicious feast at Godfather's, Gilby played for us a message left on his phone. A personalized voice mail from Samuel L. Jackson imploring him to go see Snakes on a Plane. Brilliant.
We immediately jumped online and found the website it had been sent from -- the official movie site, as it turns out -- and spent the next half-hour sending personalized messages out to everyone we thought would dig it. Dick sent one to his brother. I sent one to my brother (telling him to stop picking the lint out of his navel), and another to Continental (to stop showing off his prison tattoos). When I got home I sent out several more to other people that I knew would appreciate it. Some people just wouldn't get it. To me, a personalized (if computer generated) voice mail from The Man would be DOMINANT. Not everyone shares my opinion, and I respect that. Nice of me, isn't it? You bet.
You got to hand it to them, really. This is very likely the worst movie ever made, and yet with the kind of brilliant marketing they're masterfully orchestrating, it will be a blockbuster. Only in America.
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