I Saw Tarzan and I This Is What I-- Holy Fucking Abs

So last week and I went and saw Tarzan, and despite the fact that I couldn't remember where I parked my car, I was surprisingly sober the whole time!

Let's get this straight, I'm not entirely convinced vampire Eric took on this role for any reason other than he didn't feel like having to work for upwards of a year afterwards. And who can blame him? If my upper body and infinity abs made people want to throw bags of money at me, I'd be accepting roles in Battleship 2 through 13. How the fuck they got Christoph Waltz and Samuel L. Jackson is beyond me. Wait, I forgot about Snakes On A Plane; I take that last part back.

Anyway, so Vampire Eric is sad and broody because he traded jungle life for Downton Abbey life, and now a bunch of jerks were making him feel bad for becoming the sad, moody Jon Snow of lords. Samuel L. Jackson in a wig tells Eric that Trump is trying to build a wall in the jungle or something, so Eric decides to go back, and also begrudgingly takes his wife. They all get to the jungle and Tarzan erotically nuzzles some lions (GET SOME!!!), they find an airbnb in the village Mrs. Tarzan grew up in, and then sing some camp songs.

Okay here's where things get fuzzy. I admit, my attention lapsed a little bit. I realise this was not even an hour in. Something about Christoph Waltz showing up and trying to kidnap Vampire Eric, but then they steal his wife instead, and then Eric and Samuel L Jackson go all Mantracker through the jungle to find her. HERE'S WHERE I STARTED PAYING ATTENTION AGAIN- Vampy Eric comes across the gorillas he used to live with, but now he has to fight them because of a somewhat loose plot point, and ALL CLOTHES ABOVE THE WAIST COME OFF!!! I asked my friend Jill to grab my smelling salts because it was likely I might pass out. The best part? Eric doesn't even bother to put his shirt back on FOR THE REST OF THE MOVIE. Money. Well. Spent.

Hooooooo, I don't even really know what else happened besides a bunch of wildebeests stampeding through what looked like quite a lovely, albeit likely enslaved, little seaside city. Vampire Eric's ridiculous fucking upper body pretty much left me comatose. I mean honestly, how long did they have to post-pone production because every female (and possibly male) on set kept spontaneously becoming pregnant just by the sun hitting Eric's abs the right way? And listen, I don't want to sound completely superficial, but there is definitely some kind of black magic swirling around those kind of obliques and deltoids. Take a look at any of the most recent train wrecks in my life, and they all involve impossible you're-going-to-regret-this abs, or muscle-ey this-is-a-huge-mistake biceps, or a fantastic he-might-actually-be-homeless ass. All these goddamn HOTT BODDS are just sorcerers just trying to distract us from the PATRIARCHY! Or possibly just some gaping plot wholes.

So Vampire Eric defeats Christoph Waltz by FLEXING off the prayer beads he was trying to strangle him with, Samuel L. Jackson is still in his wig, and they all live happily ever after in the jungle. Eric still can't find his shirt. HAPPY FUCKING ENDING, INDEED!