The new Conan is inevitably going to suck donkey balls. There’s no way around it.

The original short stories, written by suicidal masculinist Robert E. Howard, were masterpieces of high pulp. In theory, this new movie would hew much closer to Howard’s vision of the character – a wily, wary, and highly mercenary creation.

The 1982 movie freely abandoned most aspects of the story save a few names and the main character’s physique.

Nonetheless, its crazy right wing subtext; weird, pseudo-Nietzschean mythology (how many men my age first discovered that German grump from the quote opened Conan the Barbarian?); and utter self-seriousness was, in retrospect, the only way to capture the spirit of an outdated (especially in its racial and gender politics).

That an Austrian body builder with compensated for his almost complete verbal unintelligibility and the sort of bad acting normally associated with Keanu Reeves by means of Schwarzenegger’s incredibly improbably charisma.

Instead, we are likely to soon suffer through the bland antics of a beefed up pretty boy starring in a cut rate Kevin Sorbo knock off.

To brilliantly conclude, let ask you this one question:

What is best in life?