I have met my match.
Over the last few millennia I’ve managed to eke out a meager living by commenting wittily on the passing entertainment scene. Thanks to my ability to ingest the latest in artistic theses and spit out needlessly bitchy remarks, I’ve secured my place as one of the city’s cultural tastemakers. I don’t mean to brag but, really, I didn’t think there wasn’t anything I couldn’t critique.
Then I saw Godzilla.
And I literally didn’t know what to say.