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The name of this movie is Gunmaster (which, incidentally, is also my new profession according to the six thousand business cards I just ordered). And in addition to an entire city exploding in the background (presumably by virtue of guns and the mastery thereof,) Gunmaster also promises us the re-animated corpse of '80s era Vince McMahon in a starring role -- a feat of booking that would require not just murder, but also necromancy and time travel. So you keep blowing your budget on CGI, Hollywood, but until you're willing to invest all that special effects money exclusively into the Black Arts and Flux Capacitors, you will always lose to Gunmaster.

Anmol Moti

Anmol Moti asks one of the greatest philosophical questions of our time: When you strip us of all our modern conveniences, our petty differences, our fleeting ideologies, and you really break our lives down into their core elements, aren't we all the same? Aren't we all just... trapped by the limbs of a giant retarded octopus? We wrestle with our brothers, forgetting that we are all trapped by the limbs of a giant retarded octopus. We smile wryly up at our stabbing knives through our impossibly thin moustaches -- as though the blade has just told a particularly distasteful joke -- and all the while we are trapped by the limbs of a giant retarded octopus. We indulge in complex perversions, like blindfolding our titties (because there is no way that was ever a bikini top to start with) just to try and forget for one brief moment that we are still, every one of us, trapped by the limbs of a giant retarded octopus...called