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After last week’s turf war with “The Dark Knight” review (the closest BYT ever came to a soap opera cat fight) Jason is back with a vengeance and with a duo made in comedy heaven. Or limbo.

Be on the lookout for the sequel: Step Brothers 2: Step Up 2 Tha Streetz.

Why is it that some guys are unable to grow up? Even I, dear readers, often find myself slinking back into the comforting ways of my middle school mentality. Looking at jack rags (see also: The First Time I Saw Porn), playing with my Voltron action figures, throwing rocks at girls, et al. The rocks, of course, are crack rocks designed to get the skanky crackfolk off of my street; but it’s like throwing a ball with Ol’ Stinkpants, my lovable mutt. They keep coming back. Maybe I should readjust my strategy and start using a spray bottle full of ammonia or hit them with a rolled up newspaper. Too bad Cesar Milan only works with dogs. I sure could use a Junkie Whisperer these days. Living in the suburbs of Arlington isn’t exactly what it used to be, you know.

ANYGAY, much like me, the Apatow Comedy Factory seems to be obsessed with being a 12 year old boy. And what actors are more suited to playing people on the emotional level of 12 year old boys than Will Ferell or John C. Reilly? Well, maybe ACTUAL 12 year old boys, but then Step Brothers wouldn’t be nearly as funny.

Step Brothers presents you with all you need to know in the opening credits. Nancy Huff(Mary Steam-Virgin*) and Dr. Robert Doback(Richard Jenkins) meet at a conference, fall for each other and get married. They both, as luck would have it, have 39-year old sons who still live at home and act like adolescent boys. When they move in with each other, the hilarity ensues, i.e. dick jokes.

*I think that’s her name.

And, make no doubt about it; Step Brothers is a funny, if uneven, movie. It reunites Ferrell, Reilly, and director Adam McKay, who were responsible for the significantly LESS funny Talladega Nights. The jokes that work, work really well, the ones that fail, fail, but not for lack of trying. The plot…well who gives an eff about the plot really? This ain’t that Black Knight movie that just came out. It’s nice to see the boys return to form. Gimme some good ball humor and vagina jokes and I’m happier than an incontinent pooch eatin’ a cold can of Manwich.

I recommend you do what I did, drink a bunch of beer and go see this with a gaggle of your dude-friends. Don’t forget about your dog, though. I let my mind slip, and left an open can of Manwich in the house, which Ol’ Stinkpants got into. There’s nothin’ worse than coming home to a living room rug dotted with islands of dog sickpoops. Well, maybe crackfolk sickpoops*.

My reaction: Good (3 out of 5)

*I totally just wrote the phrase “Crackfolk Sickpoops”. I’m trademarking that, bitches.

Next Week: Midnight Meat Train? The Mummy? Swing Vote? I mean, Jeeses die-a-beet-us, is there ACTUALLY a movie called Midnight Meat Train that doesn’t star Ron Jeremy? Til then I’ll be gathering my minions to take over the world. Stay loyal, my pretties.

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