As I'm sure most of you are by now well aware, I live an insignificant, immature, inane life filled with insignificant, immature, inane people with whom I do insignificant, immature, inane things.* Like, for example, pondering details about films like Paul Blart: Mall Cop with Kenny Blogginz—like how the name "Paul Blart" can sound fat and what kind of mall spends $5,000 on a Segway for its security guard—until we become endlessly obsessed with watching the film to answer all our questions.

Which we figured would be an excellent way to spend the 4th of July—because if watching Paul Blart: Mall Cop starring the King of Queens himself, Kevin James, isn't a patriotic endeavor, then I just don't know what is.

KBlogz, his big brother and my best friend Todd, Iain, and I gathered 'round to watch the comedic masterpiece. [Spoiler Alert: It sucks!] We each excitedly caressed its Netflix jacket with anticipation:

Okay, maybe Todd wasn't all that excited. But the rest of us were!

"Family-friendly laffer."

The film began, and the four of us were able to share some family-friendly laffs over things like being fat, how being a fat dude means no one loves you except your fat mom and your fat daughter, the shiftiness of brown-skinned immigrants, naked lady fats, stalking the girl you have a crush on, fatty-boom-balatties who are totes fat lulz, the inherent high-larity of Indian accents, more stalking, more fats, eating disorders, and oh!—DID I MENTION KEVIN JAMES IS FAT?!

KBlogz was rooting for our loveable hero!

Todd was in pain.

Iain tried to make friends with Blart.

Todd wanted a kiss.

Blart looked more interested in making out with KBlogz.

When the zany romp was over, and Paul Blart had saved the day from the dumbest mall thieves-cum-terrorists (?) of all time and gotten the girl as his richly-deserved reward, I asked the gentlemen for their reviews.

Iain gave it two thumbs up!


Todd was dead.

As for me, I would just like to echo Metacritic user Gary M: "I smell another Paul Blart flick coming. It's made 100 mil. Good stuff."

Good stuff indeed! I know what we'll be doing next 4th of July! USA! USA! USA!


* This is not totally true, but because I spend my days lifting a teaspoon against oceans of violence and bigotry, I inexplicably like to pretend I live the life of some sort of hillbilly Gatsby as a weird kind of self-protection mechanism, so just indulge me.

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