This movie was more disappointing than an empty bag of Funyuns. If the first Evil Bong was some killer kush, this sequel was a seedy bag of ditchweed. Sick of the forced stoner references yet? Then you wouldn’t survive the first ten minutes of this cliché-encrusted crapfest.
Just in case you suffer from short-term memory loss, Evil Bong II opens with a three minute and twenty second recap of the first film… which is much longer than is truly necessary to revisit all the complex plot points of the cannabis-packed classic.
In this steaming pile of a sequel, the four main characters from the original are back in inaction. The three stereotypical stoners reprise their groundbreaking roles from the first film. However the role of nerdy Alistair, played by David Weidoff in the original movie, is now being played by Brett Chukerman, but they both have glasses and say science-y shit a lot so whatever.
The premise of the film is that the three potheads are experiencing delayed and extremely exaggerated side effects of weed smoking after their run in with the possessed paraphernalia from movie one. Who would’ve guessed that being murdered inside of an evil bong and magically reincarnated at said bong’s destruction would have adverse effects?
Bachman (Mitch Eakins) develops narcolepsy. Brett (Brian Lloyd) has insatiable munchies and gains about four thousand pounds in two weeks.
And Larnell (John Patrick Jordan), well, I thought his gimmick was chronic paranoia after his wide-eyed opening line to Alistair where he explains his sudden decision to drop out of school: “Colleges and universities… schools of higher learning… total donkey dick, bro!” As it turns out, ten minutes later he fucks a skateboard and his pubertyesque horniness is dubbed simply “lowered inhibitions.”
Please. If smoking large amounts of weed actually resulted in perma-boners, my first marriage would have been much more fulfilling.
Anyway, the boys decide in order to break the curse of the evil (yet broken) bong, they must travel to South America to investigate the bong’s back story. Of course they bring the pieces of the bong with them, because… I don’t know. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that logic doesn’t have much of a role in this film.
So waiting for our heroes in South America there’s a hot scientist chick that helps them, some more hot (but much less helpful) native chicks called the Poontang Tribe, and another bong that apparently broke the heart of the star smoking device of the first film, which I can relate to because I’ve broken plenty of bongs in my day. Usually just the stem pieces, but whatever. It’s tragic, nonetheless.
But even the arrival of Grandpa C (Jacob Witkin), the high-light (see what I did there?) of the first film couldn’t save this sequel from sucking so hard it chokes itself sober. Even his one liners have lost much of their zest. While he refers to the Poontang as “tribal twats” and “bongnappin’ bitches”, about the best insult he could come up with for his grandson Larnell was “turd”. How desperate is that? Pffffft.
So there were a few salvageable buds in this seedy stash of shit… such as Brett hitting his forehead on Lynell’s eternal boner, or the magical pound-shedding weed diet that would make Jared from Subway cream his fat jeans. King Bong himself, while not that intimidating to look at, had a few decent lines. It’s no wonder Eebee (the original Evil Bong, keep up) fell for him. I don’t know how harsh he hits, but he sure talks smooth… with pickup lines such as, “My heart beats fast for you, ‘cause I need a lot of blood to keep this big ass dick up!” <sigh> It’s nice to see that even murderous lifestyle accessories can have a romantic side.
I’m pretty sure watching this movie destroyed more of my brain cells than a few rips from any bong, evil or otherwise, could manage to kill. By the time I finish watching the third in the series, Evil Bong 3-D: The Wrath of Bong, I’ll probably be as brain dead and tongue-in-mouth-challenged as Miley Cyrus drowning in a tank of semen-flavored ice cream, but I’ll do my best to at least mumble some shitty anal-ogies about it for y’all.
Speaking of mumbling, it’s time to reward the Turd Trophy for best line of this fecalicious flick. While I thought Grandpa would be a shoo in once I discovered his role was renewed, I have to give the Poop Prize to King Bong, for perfectly summing up this entire franchise with “Boom Shocka Locka, Bitch!”
Yes. Boom shocka locka, indeed. Bitch.
GRADE: In Grandpa C’s words, “as useless as a disease infested jock strap.”