You, Me and Dupree And dumbshits do it with novelty aprons.

There is no good news to report. And I say this with a heavy heart, because generally speaking, I can find something good to say about any movie—no matter how profoundly it may stink. But You, Me and Dupree is such a fetid morass of mediocrity that it's beaten even me—Mr. "There's a Rainbow Around Every Corner."

Wait... You know what? Goddammit, I'm not gonna let this film beat me. I'm going to push my optimism to its limit to locate one iota of worthiness in this reeking sieve. Why? Because in my heart, I refuse to believe a studio would put out something this bad without including at least one sliver of entertainment. Hold on... I GOT IT. Kate Hudson prances around in her underwear—TWICE. Whew. I thought for sure I'd completely wasted my time.

Unfortunately, the rest of Dupree doesn't fare as well. Matt Dillon and Kate are happy newlyweds with everything going for them—until bumbling, unemployed pal Owen Wilson drops in to sleep on their couch, set their house on fire, and masturbate to Matt's hidden porn collection. And when Kate's jerky father (an unfunny Michael Douglas) adds pressure to Matt and Kate's relationship? Owen saves the day by teaching them how to love again. THE... FUCKING... END. Boy, I bet you didn't see that coming.

In fact, not a single funny thing happened during this film—unless you count the guy with a clubfoot who tripped and spilled a tub of popcorn on my head. Everyone around me agreed this was much funnier than anything in the movie. However, since Mr. Clubfoot and I won't be attending any future screenings of You, Me and Dupree—you might want to save your money.