I'm a little reluctant to tell you the truth about The Internship, the film that reunites Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson—or, as you have taken to calling it after seeing those abysmal ads, "the Google movie." Not because I'm one of those dudes with a soft spot for Wedding Crashers (I'm not), or because there's a funny Will Ferrell cameo in it (it isn't funny), or because I'm afraid Owen Wilson might try to kill himself again (don't ever leave us, Butterscotch Stallion!). No, I'm afraid to tell you that The Internship flat-out, balls-out BLOWS because Google, who must have ponied up millions for this botch-job, knows every last little thing about me—from my cell phone number, to the names of all my friends and family, to my most shameful search proclivities (the time I image-searched "pornish game hen" was a typo, I swear). by Ned Lannamann