Hey, Michael Cera, I fucking hate you. I know you’ve been playing your 14 year old self for the better part of the last decade, but look. The awkward man-boy thing was cute for like a second. I mean, who didn’t love Arrested Development? But I have come to the realization that you actually ARE George Michael Bluth. I had faith until about Juno, Michael Cera. “Maybe this movie will be different. Maybe he has some range.” I mean, Clark and Michael was the jam. But all you do is let me down. Mumbling around in your American Apparel hoodie. If you were a Jonah Hill type bro, playing yourself wouldn’t be an issue because you’d be all cute and amazing. Also, fat people are always funny. But you’re you, unfortunately. An insufferable lil twerp. You are at the top of my murder list (I don’t have a murder list, and the thought of actually hurting someone makes me physically ill. But you’re still NUMBER ONE, motherfucker).
I want you to take a cold, hard look at your oldass self still playing the same annoying kid. I guess you gotta hustle for your paper when you’re the white Steven Urkel. You are aging, bro. You are not Emmanuel Lewis (in bad taste? Fuck it). And Jack Nicholson you certainly ain’t.
But your face is just so punchable. I’ll give you that. All dough-y and potato-y and shit. Like my fist would leave a sweet-ass imprint. And you look like a crier. I don’t think I could beat anyone up, but I bet I could beat you up, Michael Cera, you bitch-ass bitch.
AND YOU’RE CANADIAN. Not even gonna touch that right now.