Personally, I would have retitled this movie "Put a Boot Up Matt's Spoiled, Picky Ass" because that's about how much I felt for poor Matt and his "problem." I'd rather see Matt deal with a real "problem," like getting disemboweled by a pack of wild boars. I bet all these hotties wouldn't want sex with Matt if, say, his intestines were dragging along behind him. That, I could work up a little sympathy for. Hell, some find minor body odor to be a major turn-off; can you imagine having to lug your entrails around in a wheelbarrow and put them in a bucket beside the bed so they don't get in the way while you're pleasing your woman?

The film's convolutions become increasingly moronic as Matt's dullard office buddies create a betting pool that reaches into the tens of thousands of dollars. When will Matt ejaculate? One "buddy" gives him a copy of Penthouse and kicks him into the bathroom. Another tries to put Viagra in his orange juice. Director Michael ("Heathers") Lehmann uses a counter every now and again. "Day 22," it tells us. Will Matt ejaculate today? I cared so much the suspense nearly killed me.

Shockingly enough, Matt meets his perfect woman (Shannyn Sossamon) during this time, and of course she's immediately ready to hop in the sack with him and start grinding like a couple of opossums in heat because -- get this -- they both like the same laundry detergent. Personally, when I go to the Laundromat I wash my clothes with a live puppy, which I suffocate to death while scrubbing my clothes clean with its head. This might explain why I haven't been reeling in the hotties lately. I do believe, however, that Matt has convinced me to switch to Tide.