Adapting Evanovich: Even Morons Deserve a Little Better Sometimes

I swear, there's nothing I hate more than being able to talk about this like some sort of knowledgeable expert or something! You see, last week, mom dragged me with her to see something she's been anticipating for years now: the film adaptation of Janet Evanovich's best-selling novel, One for the Money, her immortal tale of awful lady stereotypes poised as some sort of bold feminism. (Can you believe it? This chick knows nothing beyond the world of lingerie, and yet she's trying to be a bounty hunter to make ends meet, like a man! Isn't that adorable-slash-empowering???) Of course, my first exposure to Evanovich's oeuvre came back in August, where I quickly surmised that Janet Evanovich and/or her sweatshop team of ghostwriters are no-talent hacks and you really should not read the things that they do, ever. Yet, it wasn't that difficult to convince me to go. For one thing, movie theatres are the only place around here where you can get one of the most fuckably awesome sodas ever: Mr. Pibb. And also, the film sounded like a bloody trainwreck waiting to happen and, honestly, aren't trainwrecks fun to watch, too?