So, kudos to Director Justin Lin and writer Chris Morgan for saying "Fuck you" to the Special Olympics and creating their own challenges in life.

The Fast and The Furious 3: Tokyo Drift is as stupid and senseless as a 3 a.m. drunk puking in some stranger's convertible. Believe me, I know. I meet plenty of them when I drive the Falcon to the Tavern. Anyone with a third-grade or better education would have to suppress logic like Candy Bottoms can suppress her gag reflex to write, direct or act in such low-level, idiotic crap. You know you're at the center of a shitstorm when the villain, who is standing three inches away, says to the hero, "You and I, we aren't so different." That a retarded person such as Chris Morgan was able to learn to use a a computer and scriptwriting software is a monumental accomplishment, though. It is beside the point that it all makes not one lick of sense. Retards made a movie!

Lucas Black, an actor who made me think the original Fast and the Furious's Paul Walker is nearly Marlon Brando, plays the lead, a tragic child trapped in a 30-year-old's body. The movie says he's in high school, but some horrible aging disease has caused him to look old enough to get a discount on his meals at Wendy's.

From watching the Lifetime Movie Network, I know these sorts of diseases send their victims to an early grave, and Lucas' character clearly knows it. He acts out in violent and unhealthy ways. In particular, he has an unhealthy obsession with racing cars, despite the fact he shows no particular skill at it, and nearly kills some classmates in a boneheaded lap around a housing development. That's on top of the two previous arrests and threats of jail time for similar, ill-conceived races.

He is ordered by the local police, while his hoochie mother humps an officer with her eyes, to leave town or get locked up. Well, obviously, here's a hero to root for. His moral compass points absolutely nowhere. When he sees a nerd getting beat up by thugs, he does nothing. When a girl he barely knows offers herself as the prize in a race, he says "Let's do it." It's hard not to want this guy to be a success in life or, at the very least, to keep racing until he learns how not to kill people doing it.

Off to Japan Black goes, to live with his estranged Army father in a tiny apartment, and attend a Japanese-language-only school. I guess the campus on the military base for the children of soldiers won't take the ones with aging diseases. No matter, Black learns fluent Japanese in a few days. Not by attending school; he mostly ditches that to help small-time thugs collect debts and run illegal merchandise. God damn, such a nice boy. We need more movies where the hero shows no intelligence, aptitude, moral bearing, or personality... made by retards.

In no time, and for no good reason, Black finds himself in the "drift" culture. Drifting is a racing maneuver where the driver oversteers and uses torque to slide through turns. It eats up a lot of tires. In drifting, the baddie's smirky girlfriend (Nathalie Kelly) takes an interest in Black that is directly proportional to how good he is at drifting. Well, fuck, what else is there to like about him? The mutual attraction between the two bland fuckwits creates tension that can only be resolved by lots and lots of racing. Sometimes they do it in garages and sometimes on streets where, for our delight, innocent bystanders get killed, and others nearly do.

The story devolves into some horseshit about the man Black considers his mentor being a thug and also stealing from the Yakuza. The bad guy is also a thug but doesn't steal from the Yakuza. The only way for Black to defend the "honor" of his thieving, conniving mentor is drifting. The only way to save himself from certain death at the hands of the Yakuza is, well, drifting. The only way to win the heart of Kelly is, you guessed it, drifting. The only thing to do on a first date is drifting. The way to make small talk with her is to ask her why she isn't out... drifting. The time you'll want to walk out of this movie is when they're--wait for it-- drifting. There is lots and lots of drifting. More drifting than there is anal in Candy Bottoms' Fargo Gangbang 3000. So much drifting that I went from thinking it was sort of cool to knowing I wanted to punch the next asshole I saw in a chopped Honda Civic. If there were no drifting , the movie would be 20 minutes long. As it is, I figure Morgan's script is 20 pages of chunks of brutally expository and trite dialogue punctuated by: