Look, I don’t hate Shia La Bœuf per se.

He’s either a terrible person playing himself, or a great actor playing the most irksome person who ever lived. I don’t hate him anymore than I hate screaming children, who I don’t hate at all. Who would? They’re screaming.

Like the parents of screaming children, with whom I do have some small issue, I can say that I blame the producers, especially the can-we-finally-admit-that-he’s-overrated Mr. Steven Spielberg, who rather hysterically cast him as the tough in the last, and virtually unwatchable, Indiana Jones installment. I have no doubt he will have his Mortal Thoughts moment, and then I will worship him, and have to retract all of the above. I make a pledge to you, the Reader: given that the internet is written in stone, I promise never to delete the fact that I was wr-