There's an old saying that says "what you loved in your youth will be repackaged and resold to you without its soul". Its the cycle of many things, from the exploited Von Dutch brand to the all-female cast plunked into a classic 80's film. Each instance has the very core ripped out and recontextualized, packaged in the latest dichromic paint for all the newcomers to aww and ooh at. While at the same time, taking away anything that the original had, except in some visual elements and other unattributed influences.

I refuse to go to the movies anymore, and while that is my choice, and not necessarily yours, I'll leave that statement stand on its own. I don't mind waiting for the long silver reel of film (or more often now, high-density digital tapes) to be encoded and spewed out into the world as DVD's or Blu-Ray discs and digital streams. To that end, I had been holding off on seeing "The Force Awakens" for some time. I even managed not to see any spoilers, which took some effort on my part. Especially in this age of hyper-social "connectedness" (Read: unrestrained bragging and begging for validation) that infests the net like digital herpes.

Rather than go shot-by-shot, I'll tell you what stuck with me in a bad way. Sure, the familiar yellow-on-black text crawl was nice in addition to some other elements like the Millenium Falcon, but that is where the pleasant tale ends.

For one, I couldn't buy into the female protagonist "Rey". We're supposed to believe that she's some hard-scrubbing scavenger plumbing the depths of downed imperial destroyers with the ease of a seasoned spelunker, even to the point where she seems to be nesting in the hollowed out remains of an AT-AT walker. Her proficiency isn't balanced against, well, anything.

She's the rootin-tootin' tough bitch of the sands, and there's nobody that scares her or even makes her pause. Even the big dude handing out "portions" of reconstituted food didn't phase her. She's just got her perfect teeth in the middle of the badlands (I thought that only happened in B-Movies, actors with perfect tans and teeth during an apocalypse) and she's got all the RIGHT moves, ALL the time.

That was one that got to me with young Anakin in the other films, where he's the PERFECT pod racer and he can just build a fucking robot - toot sweet! Give me a goddamn break. I believe Anakin can ride on a pod racer at 300mph like I can believe Rey can fly the Falcon after looking at the controls for a few seconds. Its idiotic.

So, no big deal, she meets up with the big dumb man of the movie - which you can tell is "Finn" because he has to just stop "holding her hand" in times of danger (like that girl would do anything but comply in the real world, but I digress), miss "I-ain't-having-no-man-look-after-me" does her usual pedantic shit about how she "Don't need nobody" until it becomes clear that he's the only ticket out, then she concedes.

Getting out in the usual action-hero-fashion, except its all about "Super fly Rey" who can maneuver a ship she's never flown before at speeds that would kill mortals. This is where the bitter taste starts to set in. They're not going to let this movie be about anything else but fucking "Rey" being miss badass. I could tell it was coming, but when the tidal wave of stupid finally crested the mountains of rationality, I do admit being taken aback at the sheer pandering of it all.

It continues, in waves.

The goggled carrot-skinned female entrusting luke's lightsaber to Rey, the flashback-just-like-dagobah force nightmare Rey goes through, all of these things adding on the unbelievable (even in that universe) of things that she is to become. I don't know who taught her to fight with a blade, but she should get her money back. What usually was an interesting choreography of movement and color became Rey stabbing forward in awkward thrusts, clearly outmatched by the weight of the movie prop she was holding.

The antagonist wasn't much better, in my opinion. And if you hate spoilers, just don't even pay attention to this -- (I warned you) -- but having that long horse-faced chucklefuck as Han Solo's son, AND having Han go out like a punk ass bitch (much like boba fett into the sarlacc) just didn't make it any easier. They were out to kill all of the old, and shove in the new.

To be honest, I was surprised they didn't just kill off all of the old cast and leave the robots behind with Rey gasping dramatically, because in the end, it would've been a more polite way to cauterize the plot-hole bleeding taking place.

There's good films, and Mr. Abrams has directed a few, but this is certainly not one of them.

In my story the wookie would've torn the bad guy's arms out of his sockets, and Han would've bitchslapped Rey into listening for once.

Do yourself a favor, don't bother. Maybe if it is in the $2.99 bin next to the beef jerky.... maybe.... or you'd be better off getting some condoms and bedding a rey-look-alike instead.

Things used to be simple before you landed here.

You got up, went to work, and at the end of a long day headed home. Sometimes there would be a woman waiting for you, most times it was a semi-organized living space punctuated by takeout containers and hastily signed credit receipts. Near the end of the week, you'd be making plans to get closer to that hot brunette you've had your eye on. Or was she blonde? Who cares, she had a great body and you've been thinking about the many ways you'd express your appreciation once you got past the "Invisible Bitch Forcefield" that seemed to snap up every time you moved in for the kill.

Things were, for a lack of a better phrase, pretty damn good.

Then, inexorably, something happened. The details aren't important, just the force of the emotional blow and the subsequent shattering of everything you ever knew cascading down at your feet like so much swirling snow. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Wait a second, you mean all women do these things? The fog of disbelief running counter to the dark currents already swirling in your mind. Implications and hints coalescing into the all-too-plausible scenario of some eager horndog plowing your girl six ways from Sunday, while you were blissfully unaware.

You step back, looking at the shards that have cut your hands, not quite feeling the blood welling up and dripping slowly on to the ground. She betrayed you. Not only betrayed, but took gleeful joy in destroying your life. Like a child pulling wings off of an insect, you were the latest ruined carcass and you didn't even know it until it was way too late.

This is known as the turning point.

Sitting in front of the computer, punching in terms more like an electronic confessional - "FUCKING BITCHES", "HOW TO FUCKING FUCK SOMEONE OVER", "FUCK THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT" your capslocking-search unearths an oasis of truth. You've stumbled upon the archive of knowledge you wish you'd had. The guide that would've let you know exactly what was going on. Decoding the nonsense-words of women, the true emotional subcarrier context, all of it -- it would have saved you much grief, but you wouldn't be the man you are today without it.

You start reading, and realize - this is it. This is truly how to become my own man.

Welcome to The Red Pill.