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As you've probably noticed, I haven't been doing a lot of movie reviews lately. Basically, I feel like I've reached the point where I just don't have anything else to say on the topic of bad movies. It all becomes like a giant, uninspired Mad Lib.

Anyway, this is different. This isn't a movie review. This is a warning.

The Master of Disguise is not a movie for watching, it is a movie for avoiding at all costs.

After reigning for six years, Batman and Robin has finally been dethroned from the top spot on my list of the Bottom Ten Films of All Time. Congratulations, Dana Carvey. That's an honor worth coming out of retirement for, isn't it?

Let me start at the beginning.

My birthday was at the beginning of last month, and my "friend" Gary gave me a DVD sized present. I opened it, not knowing exactly what it would be, but expecting it to be any one of the movies made from the dawn of time up until now that was not The Master of Disguise.

Of course, it was The Master of Disguise, because as I now realize, Gary is a bastard creep who hates me.

I looked at him with the kind of hurt bewilderment that you see in the eyes of a puppy you've kicked for no reason. He said, and I quote, "I knew you wanted some DVD for your birthday, and I couldn't remember which one it was, so I got you this one, because I was pretty sure it wasn't it."

It's rude to kill someone over a gift that they've given you, so I did the next best thing. I told Gary that I wasn't watching the movie unless he was there watching it with me.

Almost two months passed before he came back to my house. This wouldn't have been that unusual, except for the fact that he forgot his keys when he was at my birthday party. On Saturday he finally showed up at my front door, reeking of homelessness and sporting a full on Cast Away beard.

"Fine, fine!" he yelled. "I give up! I'll watch the damn movie. I can't sleep under my car one more night."

So we watched it, and God help us, it drained us of any of the joy or passion for living that we once had. I'm not one to talk myself up, but I guarantee you will laugh more times at this review than you will at The Master of Disguise, as long as you laugh approximately one time.

I can say with absolute certainty and conviction that The Master of Disguise is the worst movie that I've ever seen in my entire life, and I'm willing to put that into my legal testimony if anyone out there is organizing a class action lawsuit against Dana Carvey.

I swear to God, halfway through you're yearning to be watching Batman and Robin. You're thinking, "You know, Nothing But Trouble was actually pretty hilarious, and I really think Vegas Vacation had a pretty tight plot."

This movie should not and can not be watched for entertainment or enjoyment.

It should be used only by professionals for the purpose for which it was obviously created: brutal interrogation.

There was no doubt that this movie was going to be bad, but it shouldn't have been this bad.

I mean, Dana Carvey is pretty funny, and his impersonations are generally funny (Remember the Church Lady? Remember Hanz and/or Franz?), yet somehow this movie manages to take this raw comedy material and churn it and mutilate it until it's about as funny as terminal lymph cancer.

In the movie, Dana Carvey plays a very special boy named Pistachio Disguisey. Get it? He's a nut! Ahaha! Ahaha! Oh, my sides. Please, somebody stop him before he kills again.

So Pistachio is... you know what? Pistachio takes too long to type. I'm just gonna call him "Piss" for short.

So Piss Disguisey is a Master of Disguise... or is he?

You see, Piss comes from a long line of Masters of Disguise, but he doesn't know about his family's history. How could he? All he knows is that he has these incredible urges to dress up like other people. Oh, and his freakin' last name is DISGUISEY.

Through the whole movie Piss speaks in a nearly unintelligible "It's a-me, Mario!" fake Italian accent. The only thing that helps to make up for this ear-gratingly annoyance is the fact that his accent makes it difficult to understand the "jokes" that are dribbling out of his mouth. It's something like watching a savage gang beating through frosted glass instead of straight on.

Ol' Piss' parents (A-mamma and A-poppa!) have been kidnapped by Brent Spiner. Spiner has figured out that the poppa of the Piss is a Master of Disguise, and wants to use his skills to steal all of the world's most rare and valuable items. And he does a lot of laughing and farting, because as everyone knows, nothing but nothing is as funny as a good trouser cough. Especially when they're spaced at evenly predictable intervals that lead to a hilarious "three times equals comedy" conclusion.

I really expected that after the first two times he laughed and farted, that the third time, that hilarious third time, he would be standing in front of a flame of some sort, and the gaseous discharge would blow him up, thus saving the day. That didn't happen, I promise you, only because that lame-ass idea is way too funny to appear in The Master of Disguise.

So Piss begins his training in the Disguisey ways. His grandfather shows him how to become another person by repeating the mantra "Become another person."

Yeah, no shit.

And then there's this mechanical wooden martial arts training dummy that looks something like Clockwork Smurf. The uproarious comedy that's thrust into your face again and again and again is that to demoralize your enemy, while engaged in hand to hand combat, you should repeat the phrase "Who's your daddy?"

The whole rest of the movie is Dana Carvey punching people and braying "Who's your daddy?" in a voice like a cartoon pizza chef. It's like they chose that phrase and the sexual connotations it carries just to stress the fact that they're raping your brain, over and over and over again. As long as they keep you too weak to walk out of the room, you're their bitch until the eighty minutes are up.

On that subject, it's almost unthinkable how much badness The Master of Disguise packed into only eighty minutes. It would take Celine Dion, Carrot Top, and Chevy Chase working in parallel circuits almost three hours to be this bad.

Then Piss has to hire an assistant. Don't ask why, he just does. It's the Disguisey way. It's all laid out neatly in a big stupid, horrible, unfunny running gag that comes in a giant pop-up book.

So as his assistant he hires... you know what? "Assistant" is too hard to type too. I'm going to just call her "Ass." As his Ass, Piss hires some skeletal twentysomething model with a hilariously accident prone seven year old son. Man, is it ever hot when the love interest is an airheaded anorexic who popped out that first kid while still in high school. Mmmm, I gotta get me some of that!

But wait! She can't be the love interest! She's got a tiny butt! As everyone knows, and The Master of Disguise repeatedly points out, the Italian men are attracted to the BIG butts! No really, everyone knows that. There was that Italian rapper who wrote the song about liking big butts and everything. Once they introduce this concept there should be a warning sign: "Danger! Gratuitous Big Butt Comedy, Next 100 Miles."

So Piss and Ass and her hilariously tiny butt go on a laboriously paced madcap adventure that is more completely bereft of comedy than Anne Frank's diar... dammit, I'm doing it again... sorry...

But oh the riotous characters we meet along the way! Like the Turtle Guy!

Okay, I remember when this movie was briefly in theaters, Turtle Guy was jammed down my throat every time I turned on the TV, looked at a billboard, or used a public restroom. I thought, "He's a guy that looks like a turtle. I'll bet the comedy is based around people trying to act natural around a guy who looks freakishly like a turtle."

Man, did I ever aim high on that one. The Turtle Guy spends his whole scene walking around and annoying and scaring people by yelling "turtle" and making this weird rolling-R throat noise. You know, JUST LIKE TURTLES DO!

And then when some guy confronts him about being a turtle tard, he BITES THE GUY'S NOSE OFF! But it doesn't leave a big bloody hole. That could have actually been cool. No it leaves a smooth pink, non-noseular area that the guy looks at in slightly startled surprise. Then the Turtle Guy SPITS THE NOSE BACK OUT and it LANDS HARMLESSLY ON THE GUYS FACE AGAIN! Oh... oh the comedy is too intense... eyes... growing dark...

By this point I was too delirious to complain, and I was using my last vestiges of consciousness to wrap my shoelaces around Gary's neck.

And then just when you think it's over, it's not. They have "hilarious outtakes" through the entire credits, which basically amount to every single minute cut out of the film.

For example, there's a part in the movie where Ass mentions to Piss that Brent Spiner might be attending an antique toy fair. They never go to said toy fair, but you don't care, because you were too busy contemplating suicide to notice that they introduced the idea and never followed up on it. That is, you don't notice until they show the WHOLE CUT TOY FAIR SCENE in the ENDING CREDITS!

Why did you cut it out of the movie if you're just going to put it back in again!? Didn't Dana Carvey have to report to anybody when he was making this? Wasn't there some kind of review process? Did they just shoot the whole thing and then give it sight unseen to the distributor, going "You're going to love this, trust us"?

Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, at the end of the credits they do the whole Ferris Bueller, "Hey, why are you still here? Go home!" shtick, and you groan, and then they add ANOTHER pointless sequence of crap AFTER THAT, and you cry, and then CRAZY FOOTAGE OF A DOG RIDING A SKATEBOARD!

Keep in mind that by this time, the credits are long since over. This isn't wacky background filler, this is just some asshole beating and then raping a dead horse, over and over again.

This movie REFUSES to END. It TAUNTS and MOCKS you.

I'm sure some of you will read this review and think, "Haha! Wow, that sounds pretty bad. I think I'll check it out and see." Goddamnit, aren't you listening to a word I'm saying here?! You're the kind of people who always screw the world up by doing things like opening cursed mummy's tombs or cloning dinosaurs, just to see if you can.

Don't. For Christ's sake, just don't. Not unless you have the phone number for an accredited support group to help you deal with the aftermath.

I promise you, there are snuff films that are both easier to watch, and funnier than The Master of Disguise.

I hate this movie, and as I hope you'll understand, now I also hate Gary.