Yoga Hosers

Going headlong into something blindly isn't always such a great idea. But with Kevin Smith's new film Yoga Hosers, he continues the insanity from his previous entry in this bizarre trilogy. Firmly planting some of the same characters from Tusk, Colleen Collette and Colleen McKenzie re-appear again but as the main protagonists this time around, as well as a bigger, more fleshed out role for Johnny Depp's character as Guy LaPointe. He is, by far, the funniest character in this whole sausage fest (you'll see what I mean later) as his humor is just weird and slap-sticky to the point where I couldn't help myself but just laugh at how off center he had to act. I loved it. I actually found myself talking like him and saying his name over and over to myself because the absurdity of Guy himself just doesn't dissipate once you're done viewing the film. The craziest thing in Yoga Hosers though, has to be the Bratzis. Yes, Nazi German sausages. That look like little Hitlers. I'm not making this shit up, zits and zombies. You can even see little pictures of them in the photo I used above. My favorite part about this whole affair though has to be that when the Colleens step on them or kill them, they burst into large, mushy piles of sauerkraut. Damn, now I just want to grill something. 

A tweeny-girl version of The Beastie Boys? Eh. It's not as bad as you would think.

8-bit bridge music. Enticing.

A bag of milk?! They must be in Canada.

A walrus, not a manatee. I'm starting to think that Kevin Smith tied this scene to Tusk on purpose.

 This whirlwind of a doucher looks like the rejected Hanson brother that didn't make it in their band.

 Yogi Bayer. What a hoot.

Vancouver hockey riot. Swwwweeeeeeeeettttt.

I want a box of Pucky Charms.

No phones for a whole day. Big deal.

Johnny Depp as Guy LaPointe. Genius.

 "Sorry 'boot that."

I thought "weezing the juice" only happened in Encino Man.

I'll never be able to look at German sausage the same way ever again.

Not only does this film make me hungry as a man and as a human being, but it also makes me wonder what the final film in this weird-ass trilogy from director Kevin Smith could possibly contain. I'm not even close to being the biggest fan of his in any regard-I've tried watching some of his older movies numerous times, and I just don't find them at all interesting or funny. But Tusk and Yoga Hosers sure did rope me in. I'm not even going to deny it. If you want to fire up the grill, throw some German sausage on there, toss them into a bun with some sauerkraut, mustard and some PBR... put this film on while you're at it and you'll have a gay old time. Just be mentally prepared to hear a'boot a million times in ten minutes and wait until the credits roll to see Guy LaPointe play some of the 'wurst guitar you've ever seen. Ok, I think I'm done now.