Disaster Movie steals inspiration from disaster, comedy and drama movies that came before it. Disaster Movie swept me off my feet by being possibly the most brilliant example of comedic writing, of any medium, in the history of the world.

Will (Matt Lanter) is planning his Sweet Sixteen Party, when his girlfriend, Amy (Vanessa Minnillo), finally gives up on him and leaves. During the party, asteroids and earthquakes shake the building, driving Will and his guests out into the street. His friend Calvin (G. Thang) and his girlfriend Lisa (Kimberly Kardashian), the ultra witty, very pregnant Juney (Crista Flanagan) and he set off to get out of the city and find safety. On their way out, Amy calls Will, begging for his help. Will decides he will set off and save her, meeting all manner of demented, distorted and horrific characters along the way.

From the very beginning of the movie, which is a dream sequence set in 10,0001 BC featuring a Wolf lookalike from American Gladiators (Ike Barinholtz), an Amy Winehouse lookalike (Nicole Parker) and a giant pile of mammoth crap, I was utterly hooked. I am incapable of imagining the comedic genius that went into creating Disaster Movie.

I actually peed my pants seven times during the movie. My panties moistened as breasts and butts were thrown around the screen with reckless disregard. The urine soaked through my undies whenever Juney spoke. My heart (and my pants) were warmed with the joy of laughter when not-Alvin and the Chipmunks come on screen. Carmen Electra is my new hero. Prince Caspian came on screen and I could barely hold myself together. It was an endless stream of unrestrained waste expulsion.

The imaginative ingenuity, the talented wizardry, the elative masterment and comedic brilliance of Disaster Movie…., my stomach just turned, … oh man, it’s not good…ok, ….ok, ….seriously, I can’t keep it up. I can’t even choke down my vomit enough to keep this joke going.

If someone were to ask me if they should see Disaster Movie, I would tell them, “No.” If my child told me they went to see Disaster Movie and liked it, I would drown them in a puddle of my own uterine fluids. If my husband, who wrote “Best Movie Ever” in my notebook meant it, I would divorce him in a manner that would leave him more female than male, more liquid than solid, and quite a bit less human being than he would be vapor. If the president suggested Disaster Movie would be the solution to the world’s problems, I would find the end of the world, or make one if the end does not currently exist, and hurl myself, arms tucked in, head shaved as aerodynamically as possible, toward the sharpest rock I could find.

There is a semblance of plot in Disaster Movie but only in the most general sense of the word. It constantly goes off on tangents; deviations of several minutes aren’t uncommon, lengthy non-related musical sequences (some of which are actually pretty good), dream sequences that add nothing to the movie, lookalike cameos for lookalike cameo sake and monologues as entertaining as dog shit on my carpet.

Disaster Movie would fail to satisfy a retarded, lobotomy victim. Those owning even the tiniest amount of wit, even republicans, will find Disaster Movie dangerous to brain cells, and medical researchers may prove that it is the cause of irritable bowel syndrome.

LaRae Meadows