I married on April Foods Day 2012. Why? Because I love pulling off the perfect practical joke. Also, April Fool’s Day is my favorite holiday and my wife is just as “traditional” as I am. Though she is not continuously devious as I am, she has managed some very good stunts. The best was her tricking me into marrying her on April Fool’s Day.

For our anniversary this year she’s struck again. This time she tricked me into watching The Host. In hindsight her plan was flawless. First, I don’t like to know much about the movies I go see beyond the genre, or writer, or director. In other words, I only want to know if the film is one that I might like seeing. Second, I was completely ignorant about The Host, so she sold me on the film with, “It’s about aliens taking over people’s bodies.”

Cool.

To her credit, she didn’t lie. That is an aspect of the film, and the title bares that out. If I had bothered to at least read the tagline on the poster I would have been warned of the true nature of the film: Choose to Believe. Choose to Fight. Choose to Love.

Oh. Hell. No.

Alas, I didn’t read it. I was blissfully unaware floating in the heady air of love myself. I was on a date with my sweetie, for our anniversary.

Ah.

I was put on alert when the pre-show was a bunch of interviews with Shovel Face (Robert Pattison) of Twilight fame. See, the Alamo Drafthouse has specialized pre-shows for all movies. The pre-shows are generally humorous, but always have something to do with the film being screened. They often have the actors of the film, or the director’s other films, or something along the same theme. Hmmmm. Shovel Face? Wait—

“Yeah. It’s written by Stephanie Meyer. I thought you knew,” she said innocently, doe eyes blink, blink, blinking.

[record scratching as the head is pulled off]

Mother. Fucker.

The lights went down. I was hot. She knows God damned good and well that I don’t look into movies before I go see them. And when I had asked her what The Host was she only offered, “It’s about aliens taking over people’s bodies.” She had me. Touché.

Well played, mon amie.

The Host is masturbatory aid for women who get off on hot three ways with two guys. I’m no prude, and have no problem with two guys on a girl, but this crap is worse than porn. With porn it’s the actors who are getting fucked. 

The whole runtime I’m thinking, “What’s next?” The Meyerverse formula is [genre] + [uninteresting yet amorous young woman] + [two hot guys (or one hot guy and one slightly mongoloid shovel face)] = dumb ass story. First was vampires and werewolves. This time it’s aliens. Next time maybe Luchadores, something for the hispanic viewers? Misery loves company. Why keep it all for the Wonder Bread Chalkies. Maybe time traveling space monkeys? Or why not cut through all the innuendo and bullshit and go straight to two giant cocks and a pussy? To make artsy it could be two roosters and a cat. Get it? Huh? Huh? Get it? It could be shot in black and white and have a lone cello playing the entire score.

Oooo. Dark and moody like a raven’s soul.

I’m not angry, with my wife. I’m not one of those assholes that can dish it out but can’t take it. She got me good, just in time for our April Fool’s anniversary. But, revenge is a dish best served cold, and oh how I’m looking forward to my meal for her.

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