I watched as much of "From Justin to Kelly" as I could, but the Ubergirls came downstairs and I had to turn it off before someone called DCFS on me. In the words of Ubergirl Elder, "Mom, you made a bad choice."

Yes, it was as bad as you could imagine. I finally understand the phrase "technicolor yawn."

The first thing that struck me was how long the opening credits were. It was amazing that so many people were willing to accept responsibility.

Secondly, I decided that I would have to suspend any sociological analysis. Yes, the socially-backward male was a "brain" and unable to function when not communicating via a DSL connection. Yes, the "cool guy" (Brandon) disdained any real emotional attachment to women, and when asked by the brain, "Don't you have any feelings at all?" Responded, "If someone stole my car, I'd be devastated." However, the entire movie was one big assault on my sensibilities, so I stopped tracking these abominations five minutes into the movie.

Instead, I evaluated it for what it was meant to be: mindless, titillating entertainment. Even then, it failed miserably. This movie featured the least sexually suggestive cat fight I've ever seen. The most sensual scenes in the movie involved liquids spilled into women's laps, then sopped up with napkins by men. Curiously, there were a number of these occurrences. In fact, the whole movie was a very odd mix of contrived innocence ("Heck... I mean Hell! I say Hell all the time," said the token African-American female to show how brazen she was) and blatant sexploitation (whipped cream bikini contest.)

I do have one nice thing to say about this film: they matched the beach ball colors to the actresses' bikinis.