“Derailed” is one of those movies that you can really enjoy if you’ve had enough beers to dull your senses. It used to take me 15 pints to get there, but I have a girlfriend now so I drink like a bitch.

Pretend for a minute that you’re a devoted father. Your daughter has a terrible illness and there’s some sort of experimental drug coming out but of course your insurance won’t pay for it.

Fucking insurance assholes. Them and lawyers should have a contest in which they pound their nuts with a rubber hammer, but I digress.

You’ve spent the last seven years saving every damn cent you can so that when the drug hits the streets you can save your little girl’s life.

Life must be pretty stressful eh? You probably haven’t had a vacation in years, you’re married (so you’re not getting laid more than once every other weekend), and you have a job that pays well but sucks ass.

What do men do in such situations? They sport enormous erections and run around town trying to hump anything that had the misfortune of slipping on a patch of ice. I’m sure science will back this up as soon as the Canadian government can free up 100 million dollars for the study. In the meantime just keep saying “Buttafucco” to yourself.

One day Clive meets Jennifer Anniston on the train who just happens to be a sexy high powered executive whose equally successful husband ignores her.

Buttafucco.

They stumble into a sleazy hotel room but Clive forgets to lock to door. It’s just when things are about to get interesting (not interesting enough though because there’s no nudity) that a thief breaks into the room, beats Clive up and rapes Jennifer. They decide not to call the police because they’re afraid of what their spouses will say and they go on their way.

Then a few weeks later, Clive gets a phone call from the thief.

Got your beer ready? There’s a huge gap in logic coming up so we need to pretend that we’re the Duke boys driving the General Lee.

The thief wants Clive to give him $20,000 or he’ll tell his wife what he was doing in the hotel room!!

Yeeeeeeehaw (insert banjo music as we jump over the chasm in slow motion).

Um, hello?!!

Firstly, if the thief tells your wife that you were having an affair he doesn’t have much proof to offer except your stolen wallet. Wives are notoriously trusting creatures who always believe their husbands no matter how lame their excuse is.

Go and Google the word “Buttafucco” if you don’t believe me.

Secondly, haven’t you been busting your hump for the last decade to buy your daughter some medicine? I’m thinking that 20 grand ought to be worth a pill or two. The worst thing that’s going to happen is that your wife divorces you. Actually let me rephrase. The worst thing that could happen would be your wife finding out that there’s 20 grand missing from your bank account while your daughter dies.

But who gives a shit about logic? Crack open another beer and just forget the whole damn thing. It’s a good movie if you’re dead from the eyebrows up.

Ok, so is everyone good and drunk? Let’s carry on.

The movie is actually a pretty good thriller.

The thief gets more brazen and Clive starts to fight back. Blackmailers always come back for seconds right? Who even cares that Clive starts breaking laws like they were breadsticks in Oprah’s lunchbox? We’re all hopped up on goof balls at this point.

It doesn’t matter that a simple phone call to the police could end this charade at any point in the movie.

Clive keeps digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole.

Unfortunately in order for you to accept the ending of this movie you have to have a heroin addiction that would freak out Courtney Love.

I can’t tell you any more, but people in the audience started to guffaw.

Guffaw? Who the hell even says that anymore?

That’s how stupid this movie becomes. They forced me to write words that my grandmother would use.

People aren’t supposed to laugh at the shocking conclusion. That’s like giggling during the money shot in a porno. It’s just wrong people.

Well, at least you’re drunk right?

Buttafucco.