Snakes! On a Plane!

Snakes On A Plane!

What else do you need to know? How the snakes get on the plane, what the snakes do once they’re on the plane, who puts the snakes on the plane, who is trying to get the snakes off the plane…This is not for you to ponder. There are snakes on the plane. End of fucking story.

I’ve got to see this movie. Samuel L. Jackson kicks snake butt. Hey, do snakes even have butts? I don’t know.
Picture it… you’re flying in coach wedged between a guy who’s coughing like a tuberculosis patient and an over-dressed woman who wants to engage you for the next three hours with her desperately boring life story. There’s a kid kicking your seat back and a baby howling in the row in front of you. The flight attendants are surly and slow. The in-flight meal was a bag of peanuts and some warm, flat soda, which are synergistically chewing a hole in your stomach. And the plane is in a patch of turbulence. You want to use the rest room, if only the aforementioned over-dressed woman will decide what she’s drinking and let the flight attendants move the damn cart out of the way.
Suddenly, Samuel L. Jackson, followed by a seething mass of venomous vipers, stumbles in from first class, waving his arms wildly and shrieking
Snakes On a Plane!
Where do you go? What do you do? FOR GOD’S SAKE, CAN’T SOMEBODY CATCH THEM AND RETURN THEM TO THEIR NATIVE HABITAT?
Yesssssssss, I definitely will see this movie. In the theater, too, I’m not waiting for the DVD.
And I want to add the title to my lexicon. I’m going to drop the f-word, forget “dang”, and throw away a half-dozen other inane, ineffectual expletives.
Snakes On A Plane!

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