Warning: I’m about to unleash a whole shit-storm of Skull-fucking spoilers, so if you ain’t seen the new Indiana Jones movie yet you might want to move along to some other motherfucker’s blog.

I got a long got-damn list, but I’ll simplify that motherfucker down to five of the most severe screenplay offenses.

1. What the fuck was up with Irina Spalko’s one-time-only psychic friends network bullshit at the beginning of the movie? That bitch, played by Cate Blanchett, tried to read Indy’s mind -- or at least she held up one hand to his face and did that “I’m trying really hard to either orgasm or read your thoughts” facial expression that says to me that she was trying to get all Miss Cleo on his ass. Does she ever try it again with anyone else? Hell naw. Maybe she realized how stupid she looked the first got-damn time and decided a sword was more effective.

2. Monkeys? Really, motherfucker? An army of greaser-coiffed primates? Gimme a got-damn break. I swear, I ain’t got no got-damn clue what kinda fucking furry fetish George Lucas has got, but between the monkeys and the Ewoks, I can understand why that motherfucker can’t stay married.

3. FBI agents that appear at the beginning of your motherfucking movie being all hard-assed and suspicious better by damn be at the end of your motherfucking movie being all apologetic and exoneration-minded. What’d the agents do in this movie? Not one got-damn thing except provide some exposition bullshit that didn’t mean one got-damn thing because not one got-damn thing in the movie made any got-damn motherfucking sense. Those agents were just drawing attention to the fact that there ain’t one bit of logic going on anywhere near Indy in his old age. It’s like the motherfucker has a logic vortex around him.

4. If you’re gonna write about Indy going off on some damn quest, make real got-damn sure you make him want to be going off on that quest. The whole point of the other three movies was that Indy wanted--needed--to get his dirty fucking hands on this or that item. In this movie? Those fucking crystal skulls didn’t mean shit. Just because you got yourself a MacGuffin don’t mean you got yourself a motherfucking plot.

And 5. Aliens? Yeah, motherfucker, I get it: in keeping with that genre shit you got going on, it only makes sense that when you put Indy in the 1950s, you gonna get some aliens. That’s just what was going on during the ‘50s: people were scared of aliens and Reds. But those were some pussy-ass aliens who didn’t do shit because they were... what? Seriously. Got-damn. What the fuck was all that bullshit about “the space between space?” More like the space between your got-damn plot-holes.

There’s more, but I ain’t going into it. Gives me a big got-damn headache. And look, I’ve been in some bullshit films but this is Indiana motherfucking Jones--you don’t have to bullshit around with that motherfucker. Ain’t no need to turn in no mediocre fucking script  after twenty got-damn years.

That said, I got an announcement. Quentin called me last week, and we’re doing us a Jules Winnfield movie. I’m playing Jules, of course, and the story’s about how I’m walking the earth like Caine and shit, and I come across a colony of animal-human hybrids, and I got to get them the Sacred Heart of John Travolta in order to set their asses free of the tyranny of some evil fucking men. Look for it in 2010.