Snakes! on a muthafuckin' Plane! was everything I hoped and dreamed it would be. But it's something you've got to see now, in a theater full of raucous like-minded movie-goers who are willing to yell "Die by snake!" and other gems at appropriate intervals. It just wouldn't be the same when you're in a half-empty theater for a matinee, you know? It's definitely a call-and-response sort of flick. Every b-movie cliche you can think of, plus Snake Cam! Much awesomeness.

I, of course, spent much of the movie with my feet lifted off the floor and my hands over my eyes, because I'm a huge wimp. Even when the effects were cheesy, I was cringing, because, dude, there were snakes with the biting and the fangs and the poison and gah! I did not flail unduly -- something Dawn and Dean are grateful for, as they feared I would pummel them in fear -- and I only screamed out loud three or four times.

So even though it was good, campy fun, and a great thing to scream lines along with, I still have the urge to invest in a couple of mongooses (mongeese?) just to be safe. Little yappy dogs and cats can't protect you when there are snakes on a plane -- you need mongooses, and Thai kickboxers, and Samuel L. Muthafuckin' Jackson, who is now officially my movie boyfriend and the best person ever in the history of the world.