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I drew the unenviable task of reviewing the first Smurfs movie. I peed blue for three weeks. If I belch hard enough I can still taste it.

Send slashers films, Jennifer Aniston romcoms, or Zach Galifianakis slob-fests: anything but blue balls. Besides, is this the way anyone wants to remember Jonathan Winters?

I love Lickona's kids and hereby extend an offer to personally home school them with Shemp and Groucho the morning it screens. Don't do it to them Matthew! Seriously, does anyone really give a shit whether or not The Reader covers The Smurfs #2? "It stinks." There's my review. Happy?

Geez, one look at the film's exploitation and I'm reaching for my insulin and a syringe. Better a mop handle and a jar of Crisco for an evening's entertainment than this.


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