Planet Of The Crapes

Who's ready to have feces flung in their faces? GREAT!!

Being a completist (as in, a complete ass), I am proudly checking off this final installment of the ape films. Because that's it. That's all there is. No more. All done.

What the. (Aw hell. Who's free this Friday?)

Anyway, our latest ape saga--or sagape, as people in the biz know it (no one)--pulls itself up by its reboot straps with the help of our well-endowed pal, Marky Funkybunch. And he's here to look very, very confused among crowds of taupe-hued extras.

 "Who likes the porno? Give you a boner? Anyone...?"

In the deep reaches of space, Marky loses his favorite chimp and proves his heroism by entering a vortex to go after it.

George Burns, everyone!

This vortex does things like make actors don simian fur and hoot in preparation for fecal projection. Stephen Hawking predicted this in A Brief History of Poop.

 "I just love the smooth jazz sounds of David Sanborn..."

"Can't.... breathe.... *errunngh*"

Marky speaks his mind and is immediately jailed--a true fantasy for all of us stuck in this time continuum.

 "They had to cage me because my acting was too INTENSE"

The bad guy wears the breastplate of Imperial Rome and belongs to the Hair Club for Orangutans as he oppresses Marky's excessively-tight funk.

 "Hey, wouldja blow me?"
"No! errrgh. Well, maybe..."

Marky indulges in some inter-simian-swapping, and learns that true love begins with your genitals.

 Britney Spears and Madonna, ladies and gentlemen! (Barf.)

In the end, Marky goes from Chimpan-A to Chimpan-Z and finds that it was Abe Lincoln all along. Sure, this might be the most ridiculous, and incomprehensible, and idiotic, ending in the history of cinema, but... ah... uh, I don't know how to end this sentence.

"The irony is, it's actually Stephen Douglas's fault!"

Okay, that's it. At least for a few weeks. *Groan* *Hoot*