I am going to have go with the souless rape of the favorite childhood experiences side of the equation here.
Let me be more specific. Drop trousers, bend over, reach around, grab your buttocks; do not use a cross over grab; right to right left to left. Start pulling. When you have pulled back sufficiently so that you are wearing your own buttocks like fleshy earmuffs and your appendix is waving in the open like the world's most disreputable windsock, you must cry out 'Okay Robert Zemeckis, let me have it!'
And he shall.
Unprotected.
At speeds approching that of coked up hummingbirds.
Without lube.
Or a reacharound.
Like Jim Carey and Mike Meyers skullfucking every single happy memory of Doctor Seuss from your head with their banal interpretations, the big Robert Z (not Z for Zorro, no escape to Antonio Banderas fantasies for you) the unique sensibilities of Yellow Submarine will be transformed into a flash and dash vomit inducing spectacle; the souless CGI eyes of the protagonists mirroring your own at witnessing the spectacle; that special part of you withering and dying.
And the fucking thing will be in 3D. Which will be ironic as the unlubricated glove of this experience will not actually be directed at your eyes. (Oh glove... Lovely glove...ick.)
In the hands of a Terry Gilliam, the material could be brought forward. In the hands of Rober Zemeckis, I hold out zero hope.
Let me be more specific. Drop trousers, bend over, reach around, grab your buttocks; do not use a cross over grab; right to right left to left. Start pulling. When you have pulled back sufficiently so that you are wearing your own buttocks like fleshy earmuffs and your appendix is waving in the open like the world's most disreputable windsock, you must cry out 'Okay Robert Zemeckis, let me have it!'
And he shall.
Unprotected.
At speeds approching that of coked up hummingbirds.
Without lube.
Or a reacharound.
Like Jim Carey and Mike Meyers skullfucking every single happy memory of Doctor Seuss from your head with their banal interpretations, the big Robert Z (not Z for Zorro, no escape to Antonio Banderas fantasies for you) the unique sensibilities of Yellow Submarine will be transformed into a flash and dash vomit inducing spectacle; the souless CGI eyes of the protagonists mirroring your own at witnessing the spectacle; that special part of you withering and dying.
And the fucking thing will be in 3D. Which will be ironic as the unlubricated glove of this experience will not actually be directed at your eyes. (Oh glove... Lovely glove...ick.)
In the hands of a Terry Gilliam, the material could be brought forward. In the hands of Rober Zemeckis, I hold out zero hope.