Knock one back every time:
- The serial reluctant shirt wearer that is Matthew McConaughey, plays lead pied piper to the chest baring parade by draping his greased-like-a-BP-oil-slick torso gratuitously onto the screen like some five dime hooker.
- You hear fluffy sugary bubblegum pop that has the combined musical merit of the drone of household appliances.
- There's a makeover scene involving the hollywood equivalent of a buck toothed billy being pampered, plucked, pruned and preened to high sweet chick flick heaven.
- Meg Ryan, Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, Jennifer Lopez, Hugh Grant or Richard Gere stumble onto the screen.
- There's a montage scene involving an intense jamming session set to songs that can best descrived as the love child of elevator music, screeching vibrattos and lyrics penned by a cheap trick optimist.
- You witness aggressive capitalism propoganda with brands names up to the wazoo.
- The lead female works as a paper-pusher for an all-gloss-and-high-cost magazine and spends most of her time grazing on a fluffy pink pen.
- There's a schmutzy fairytale wedding with a bitch-fide stampede for the bouquet.
- A hyperhomosexual man gives out advice and acts like a campy hand-flailing yoda.

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