Torture Me Please, Mr. Neeson

This evening I came across the film Taken entirely by accident whilst channel surfing.  Normally I’d rather amputate my own arm with a chainsaw than watch an action movie, but when I saw Liam Neeson on the screen, I decided to give it a shot.   I am of the opinion that Mr. Neeson is one of the sexiest men walking around on God’s green earth. 
            HOTTEST MOVIE EVER!!!!  Why haven’t I seen this movie before…?!  It came out in 2008, for God’s sake!  I could have been jerking off to it for three years by now!  

           Yes, Taken is exploitive predictable trash.  So what.  I thought Neeson was hot in Kinsey (bizarre, I know, but that’s how I roll):  

            “If you think I’m irresistible as a tweedy 1940s Midwestern college professor, wait until you see me punch someone in the face!  By the way, Miss Margo is a very eager student.” 

          In Taken, Mr. Neeson is even older and gets to intimidate, torture, and kill dozens of other good-looking well-dressed men!  The violence is absolutely relentless!  Every ten seconds, he was kicking someone’s ass!  This film had it all.  Sex slavery (trafficking is grotesque, of course, but the way it’s portrayed in the movie is so preposterous that I could enjoy it guilt-free)!  Gorgeous French locations!  Home invasion!  Knife fights and hand-to-hand combat!  Liam Neeson!  A scene where the bad guys have Neeson tied up and suspended from a pipe on the ceiling!  Oh my God!  And Neeson is kicking all this ass in order to rescue his daughter, which excites my….ah…Freudian issues. 

            I was reheating a slice of pizza in the oven while I was watching the movie.  Burned the hell out of it—set off the smoke detector and scared the shit out of my birds. 
            Then I got online and read Roger Ebert’s review.  An excerpt:
 “Taken” reopens a question I’ve had. A lot of movies involve secret clubs or covens of rich white men who meet for the purposes of despoiling innocent women in despicable perversity. The men are usually dressed in elegant formalwear, smoke cigars and have champagne poured for them by discreet servants. Do such clubs actually exist?
            Excellent question, Mr. Ebert!  And if they do, where can I sign up?  Especially if I could be rescued by Mr. Neeson.  Or despoiled by Mr. Neeson.  Or beaten up by Mr. Neeson.  I wonder how much it would cost to hire Mr. Neeson to beat me up.  If he could be paid to do it in a film, I bet he could be paid to do it for real.  It would probably be really expensive, though.  Maybe I could send him an email and inquire.  
        “I am looking for this young lady, Miss Margo, so that I can beat her with a coathanger.  And then take her out for ice cream.”  

                   “I would rather be invading Miss Margo’s apartment at dinnertime!” 

            “I am even sexier than Dr. Drew Pinsky and this firearm is clearly a phallic symbol.” 

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