So pontificating on how Weathereds earnest morass of block-headed rage, grunge-lite mega-riffs and singer Scott Stapp's machismo yarl' amounts to little more than Pearl Jam circa '91 for dummies is like shooting fish in a barrel.

Some technical knowledge of cameras and lighting is needed to create a motion picture.

May they have murreins raigne to keep the gentlemen at home unbound in easie freeze!

These are […] written in the breezy, breathlessly pulpy style of so much standard megaplex fare: thrillers, fantasies, horror novels or romantic comedy chicklit.