Netflix Fix, Prelude: I Spit On Your Grave

The Sunday itinerary: 1) completely recover from this shockingly-mild hangover, considering that its the post-game product of four lemondrop shots, four Jager-bombs, four Coronas, and two Long Island Iced Teas (go hard or go home, drunkards); 2) continue reading World War Z, and possibly the next installment of my Hack/Slash: Omnibus (I really have a thing for Cassie Hack, true story....now I get how those nerds can sweat Lara Croft so hardcore); and then, 3) watch this, courtesy of the 'Flix:

****UPDATE: This movie is/was utterly boring, mind-numbingly slow, and incredibly terrible. Thanks Netflix!! (Though, the whole "pissed-off bitch on a boat, fucking shit up" finale does have a certain peculiar hypnosis to it)....and who is this chick on the poster, exactly? Clearly not the girl in the actual movie; movie-girl is rail-thin and Casper-pale. I demand an explanation!



All I've ever seen of this is/was that "donkey punch"/rape scene. Back at a friend's frat house off the Syracuse campus, after I'd hotbox-ed with a couple pals. Stoned was the way of my walk, and the initial plan was to watch that modern-day classic Whiteboys, while baked like ziti. Thwarted was that agenda, though, due to some of the frat-guys bogarting the tube with the film that I'll shortly watch, today. A room full of Buzz Killingtons, that was. Fuckers.