Something that really disturbs me more than I like to admit is when my preconceived notions are blasted apart. I’m not the kind of person who likes to be “pleasantly” surprised. The last film I saw in a theater was the suicide inducing “The Devil Inside.”

Suddenly “Cabin in the Woods” is released to great reviews and huge ticket sales. I simply chalked it up to the fandom of Joss Whedon, who I’m not a fan of. Curiosity got the better of me, and I settled in with a smug, superior smirk on my face, well prepared for the Cleveland Steamer this film was sure to leave on me. It turns out that it was well made, darkly funny, and the only chocolate I had to clean up was a Milk Dud that fell in my shirt pocket.

Okay, it’s merely a fluke and films will continue to be drained of creativity by a soulless, money-driven Hollywood. “The Three Stooges,” was just released. We’re pretty much guaranteed a schlocky, unfunny cash grab designed to exploit nostalgia and also be a simple hipster magnet.

It turns out that instead, we actually got a schlocky cash grab designed to exploit nostalgia and also be a simple hipster magnet. But it’s also way funnier than it has any right to be. I hated the cast, the idea, and especially the very obvious studio meddling, like cramming the cast of Jersey Shore in. But the end result is like those new health drinks that are all the fad these days; you cram in a bunch of greens and fruits and powdered yak’s labia and cactus anus and all sorts of horrible things, but once blended is quite refreshing and only results in a mild case of apocalyptic diarrhea.

With that said, I must reveal my final hate: I hate goodbyes.