Let's take a break from the big screen in your living room and imagine a little film of your own: A meeting. Directors, producers, writers, possibly some interested actors, all seated around a table. A burly man-in-charge glares fiercely at his underlings as they all scribble furiously, shuffle papers, and try not to meet his eyes. "A plot," he suddenly shouts. "We need a plot! Something original! Clever! Innovative! You!" he cries, pointing at a suddenly pale lackey. "Give me a plot!" The lackey shakes, his pen dropping from his suddenly lax fingers, and after a long, painful pause, whispers, "How about...She's All That? But with the roles...switched?" There is no other explanation for this movie.
Only an overeducated, money-obsessed, scared-out-his-wits idiot could have thought of this. Ms. Popular beautifies a Mr. Loser, for her own gain, thus catapulting him into popularity? No other possible explanation.
It is only out of pity for the poor lackey that I do ask you to RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! AVOID AT ALL COST! Should a desperate man in a rumpled suit offer YOU money to watch this movie, TURN HIM DOWN! Then again, screw pity. Follow my advice, for your own good.
Only an overeducated, money-obsessed, scared-out-his-wits idiot could have thought of this. Ms. Popular beautifies a Mr. Loser, for her own gain, thus catapulting him into popularity? No other possible explanation.
It is only out of pity for the poor lackey that I do ask you to RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! AVOID AT ALL COST! Should a desperate man in a rumpled suit offer YOU money to watch this movie, TURN HIM DOWN! Then again, screw pity. Follow my advice, for your own good.