No wonder Abe's hiding his face. It's obviously in shame.
The myriad manners in which this poorly served up fare foils a decent recipe are legion. The pleasantly palatable cookbook tale of the novel was not faithfully shepherded to the screen by this sham of a chef, Timur Bekmambetov, whom I'd recommend be run out of town on a rail were it not to invoke the sour taste in the mouth of that wreck of an ending to this fraudulent flop of tomfoolery.
And I was so enticed by the menu on paper. *Sigh* Burp. Ugh.
So many empty calories, so much untrimmed fat, so much ludicrous lard you'd think it would at least serve as some sort of soul food capable of satiating the baser tastes of the schlock savoring stomach. But this supper offers no nourishment save as healthy fodder for cannon, and suffers neither comfort nor soul, only fools to spend their hard earned silver on this tripe.
Sad fool am I.
Please pass the tums.
*Sigh* Burp. Ugh.
No comments:
Post a Comment