Usually, you would find movie reviews on this page, but there will be reviews no more.  Now, before you get all pissy, let me explain.

After my first submission appeared on this website, I received a call from a few friends gushing over my brilliant insight and invited me out for a celebratory drink.   I freshened up and blazed down the stairwell of my apartment building.  But, as I crossed the plain of the door frame, everything went black.

When I woke up, I found myself bound to a chair with electrical tape inside an abandoned warehouse with broken windows and stagnate pools of water and bird shit.

"He's awake, Roger."  The voice was lispy and effeminate.

"Excellent.  Let's set this punk straight."  As the second voice grew closer, the ground trembled.

When they stepped into one the shafts of light coming through the broken window panes I could see it was none other than..."Roger Ebert and Rex Reed!"

"That's right," Rex seethed "and we've caught wind of you're nickel and dime reviews.  The syndicate has sent us here for a little face time."

"You see," Roger continued, "You might not know this, but your reviews are a threat to us and many other respected reviewers.  Your attention deficit format and absence of big words are tops with the teen sect.  By the way, what's with not providing a synopsis?"

"Well," I said, "I figure that many folks basically know what the movies are about, but, if they don't and they want to know more, they're logged on the internet anyway so they can just do a search.  Actually, I think it's better to know less than more before seeing any particular movin' picture."

Rex bounced a Junior Mint off my head.  "That the kind of stuff we're talkin' about!".

"What my colleague means to say is that it's your common sense and lack of pretension that is undermining the cerebral grip we, the critic community, have on the American sheep, er, public."

"Well, I can't write any other way, and I don't plan to stop.  Ever. Never.  My next batch of reviews are even more insightful and wait 'til you get a load of my movie theories."  My battle cry, echoing throughout the warehouse, was replaced with screams of pain when Rex whipped a Twizler across my knee.

"Oh, we are well aware of the next batch of reviews and of your very insightful movie theories"  Roger spit through a mouthful of popcorn. "Unfortunately, for you, they will never see the light of day."  He held a floppy disc to my face.  In my handwriting, it said, "MY NEXT BATCH OF KICK-ASS MOVIE REVIEWS AND INSIGHTFUL MOVIE THEORIES".

"NO!!!!!  You Bastards!"  I tried to break through the tape so that I could give them what for, but Rex flipped over my chair with his big clown shoes.

Roger laughed as he reset me and the chair upright and wiped the butter flavored oil on his hands onto my shirt.  "Look, we want to leave here friends.  Amigos.  OK?"

"I'll think about it."

"Tough guy," Rex muttered through the pretend smoke of his candy cigarette.

"I read your theories."  Roger paused hoping I would care what he had to say.  "I find a lot of truth in your Expectation/Payoff Ratio, but I have to say that your Bad Poster,Great Movie/Great Poster,Bad Movie Theory is seriously flawed.  What about 'Out Of Sight' or 'The Thing'?"  He allowed another pause.  "Huh, Smart Guy?"

"So, you have my disc.  So what?  They're still up here."  Since my hands were still bound and unable to point to my head for dramatic effect, I continued, "In my head.  I'll just write them again."

"We thought you'd say something like that," Roger said, "so we have a proposition for you."  He reached into his honorary AMC manager jacket pocket and pulled out a box of Milk Duds.  "You don't write any more reviews or tell anyone of your theories and we won't kill your dog."

"I don't have a dog, you jerk."

"This may be true."  Roger confidently popped a Milk Dud into his mouth. "But whose to say you won't have one in 5, 10, maybe even 20 years from now.  And when you do, we'll be there to take him out."

I had no smart-ass comment.  No sophisticated retort.  I just thought of poor Scooter.

Rex put his face up to mine and stuck a candy corn up to my eye.  "And I just want you to know that I'll be the one to take the bitch out."

"Are we understood, Mr. Braithwaite?"  Roger asked.

"Yes," I sobbed.

"Good."  Roger then made a series on smacking sounds and began to pick his teeth with his pinky.  "Milk Duds are a tricky candy.  You dare not bite into them.  They'll wreck your dental work."

Roger looked at me while Rex slowly circled behind me.  Then, like a flash of lightening, Rex had me in a choke hold and was holding my mouth open as Roger poured an entire box of Milk Duds into my mouth.  He, then, forced my jaw shut and reintroduced the back of my head to Mr. Blackjack.

It's a terrible thing to live in fear.  Nowadays, I break out in a cold sweat whenever I walk by a pet store, and I don't go to the park anymore for fear of a Three's Company-style misunderstanding.

So, until I decide whether I'm going to get a dog or not, there will be no movie reviews or theories penned by me.  Hopefully, you can sympathize with my dilemma and not hold it against me.  Thanks.