I took one for the team on Friday and took a date to see Enchanted. And while I had no real problem with the movie other than the fact that it was for six year-old girls and not twenty-six year-old guys, the one thing I could NOT stomach was the trailer for P.S I Love You that preceded the movie. I was so traumatized by watching King Leonidas pussify it up and woo Steve Sanders’ ex-girlfriend that I couldn’t even concentrate on the royal pompous awesomeness of The Patrick Dempsey Pompous Coiffure of Awesome Pomposity (tm The Jay), the note-perfect tongue in cheek performance of James Marsden or the coming out party for Amy Adams, a.k.a. the New Queen Of The Awesomely Hot Redhead Actresses Club (it’s her, Kate Walsh, Isla Fisher, Christina Hendricks, Marg Helgenberger, Gillian Anderson from Playing By Heart and the long-distant memory of Mean Girls-era Lindsay Lohan).

Even AWESOM-O couldn’t come up with a shittier idea for a romantic dramedy. Hilary Swank plays a girl (red flag #1) dating kinda dumpy, schmoopy jazz man Gerard Butler (red flag #2 – Butler should only play ripped badasses who have no time for music, only growing beards and killing Persians) – which, by the way, like he’d ever stoop to schtupping her when he could be nailing girls who don’t look like they had Julia Roberts-sized chiclet veneers put in instead of teeth (red flag #3), but when Butler dies she starts receiving beyond-the-grave letters from him that help her to move on with her life (red flag #4). He sets her on a creepy quest to wackily shimmy around singing karaoke, get into fishing hijinks, befriend a cranky Lisa Kudrow and further taint Harry Connick Jr.’s rep by dropping clumsy flirt bombs on him (seriously, tagging Debra Messing wasn’t the low point for him?) (also, red flag’s #5-8). Also, it was written and directed by the guy who brought you Freedom Writers, The Horse Whisperer and The Bridges of Madison County (red flag #infinity). There couldn’t be fewer reasons for men to watch this movie.

Butler could be decked out in full Spartan war gear and kick Swank into a well and I’d still wait for it to come out on video. The movie could be two hours of Swank hitting her neck awkwardly on a stool and getting paralyzed for two hours and I’d probably still skip it until it showed up on TNT. Co-star Gina Gershon could bring back her Bounce character and get down with every hot female extra on set and I STILL would opt to see Alvin and the Chipmunks if given the choice.

What I’m trying to say is I don’t want to see this movie. At all. I’ve seen some pretty shite-y romcom’s in my day (The Wedding Planner comes to mind), and I’ve sat through some weepy love conquers all B.S. in my time (hello, What Dreams May Come), but I’ve never willingly sat through anything this heinous-looking before. And I’m not about to start now.

In fact, here’s a list of all the atrocious things I’d do BEFORE agreeing to see this movie:

• Be the moderator at the “Paul Haggis Fanatics Convention”.

• Sit through Million Dollar Baby every day for a year.

• Run a highly-trafficked Two and a Half Men fansite.

• Stare down the black smoke monster after I’ve just sucker punched a nun and punted a litter of puppies off a bridge like Jack Black in Anchorman.

• Have a kickass superpower and run into Sylar in a dark alley.

• Let Alan Thicke drop a Cleveland Steamer on my chest (his specialty!).

• Walk in on Natalie Portman, Megan Fox, Keri Russell and Rachel McAdams celebrating Emma Watson’s eighteenth birthday by making her a woman, and then getting the nod to enter the game only to find I’m a eunuch.

• Be Horatio Sanz’s official taint cleaner.

• Be a steroid mule for the WWE.

• Bet my life on a coin toss with Anton Chigurth (I’ll even let him call me “Friend-o”).

• Go back in time to when I was nine, watch every Nightmare on Elm Street movie in a row, and then take enough Nyquil to drop a T-Rex in its tracks.

• Have my TiVo changed so that the only thing it will record is reruns of Designing Women and Strong Medicine.

• Stand in for Kyle and suck Cartman’s dry balls.

• Sit next to Reese Witherspoon as she reads every mean thing I’ve ever written about her, than have her turn and give me the devil face from Cruel Intentions until I have a massive stroke like the victims from The Ring.

• Get roofied by Aileen Wurmos, but not the Charlize Theron version.

• Let Brandon Walsh give me a pretentious lecture about being a better man.

• Accidentally knock up Marissa Cooper and get forced by Julie Cooper to make that dipshit psychobag an honest woman.

• Have my face permanently set to Blue Steel.

• Have Steven Spielberg tell me I’m an untalented, worthless writer who will never have the skill to write a movie for him, or even something as low rent as a Baby Geniuses sequel. And mean it.

• Piss off John Lithgow until he swears a blood oath against me (I mean, have you SEEN Ricochet?)

• Be in a horrific car accident where the only chance of survival is a combo-liter transfusion of blood from Tommy Lee and Pete Doherty.

• Attend a Blue Collar Comedy Concert.

• Spend time with Shannon Hamilton in a very uncomfortable place (like the back of a Volkswagon).

• Sit next to Vince Vaughn on an 18-hour flight while he’s hopped up on Speed and in a “talkative mood”.

• Force-feed myself Rachel Green’s Shepherd’s Pie (“It tastes like feet!”)

• Share the same needle with every member of the Celebritard club (and Britney is cooking the drugs).

• Fellashe Kevin Spacey.

• Become a Scientologist.

So yeah, I think I’m gonna go ahead and pass on P.S. I Love You. But call me when Butler gets his balls back from the pawn shop and Hilary Swank goes back to playing ugly people. Until then, you can find me daydreaming about how fantastically NSFW Amy Adams would look in a live-action remake of The Little Mermaid, wondering why James Marsden got such a hard shaft in the X-Men movies when he’s so totally ninja, and attempting to add some awesome pomposity to my humble head of hair.

I mean, really!

Bangarang!