Yay for creepy ****ing religious *******s standing outside of the ticket rip line at the local theater asking me if I'm there to see the Passion.
No. I'm there to ram a railroad spike into the base of your skull. Unfortunately I'm all out of railroad spikes.
When I'm out on a date with my girlfriend, the last thing I want to see is something like The Passion. The second to last thing is a group of holy rollers who are dressed for Sunday church recommending it to me with their smug ****ing smiles.
If a 2 hour execution scene was my idea of romantic, I would have moved to Iraq as soon as I was old enough to cheer on Saddam and give Oday high fives.