Benicio Del Toro. Try saying it sometime when you’re stoned. Beneeecio Del Toooooooro … more fun than a gaggle of Fraggles!

As lame as this thought is, I assure you, it was the height of wit as I drove the Legion of Shrooms to our local Cineplex to enjoy the new film The Wolfman.

“We’re gonna see Beneeecio Del Tooooro!” giggled Neil from the back seat.

“Who else is in it again?” That was Grant, seated alongside Neil. Most statements from Grant come in the form of a question.

Then again, when in public, people tend to use questions in the form of Grant. “What is he on?” “What the hell is wrong with him?” “Did he just eat that?”

Truly, Grant is an acquired taste.

“Anthony Hopkins,” I responded.

“Who?”

“Anthony Hopkins. The old man from Dracula?” Even in the silence that followed my explanation, I could feel Grant being confused. I hoped we could move on. We did not.

“Dracula is in this movie? Awesome. Did you see him in The Professional?”

“Grant, that was Gary Oldman.” This was gonna be a long trip. I toked up and tried to steel myself in case Grant kept talking. He did.

“Yeah, well, you said he was the old man from Dracula.”

“Dammit, Grant! Anthony is an old man. Gary’s last name is Oldman.”

“Yeah, idiot,” said a voice. SMACK!

“F—k, Neil!” Grant whined. “F—k is wrong with you?”

Our mutual friend Neil spoke up. He sounded like his notoriously short fuse had already been lit.

“Jesus, man, who doesn’t know Anthony Hopkins?” cried Neil. “He was Hannibal-freaking-Lecter, for God’s sake.”

“Hannibal…” Grant searched his mind for a connection.

“LECTER!” I screamed. Then, after a breath, “The serial killer guy with Jodie Foster.”

Grant sat up. “Dude, that wasn’t a movie! That sh—t was real!”

“What?” Neil’s brow was wrinkled now.

“And he didn’t even kill anybody, man. He did try to kill President Reagan, though. He’s lucky. They would have fried his ass, dude!” Grant grinned, pleased with himself.

“That was John Hinckley!” I yelled into the back seat.

“Yeah, the killer who was trying to impress Jodie Foster.”

SMACK!

“F—k, bruh, what?!” Grant exclaimed. “That sh—t was not a movie.”

“I am getting stupider just sitting next to you,” said Neil.

“Oh, I forgot, you’re a genius. Like you know all about this movie.” Grant rubbed his head.

“At least I know who’s in it,” shot back Neil.

Grant smirked. “Oh yeah? Who?”

Neil grinned and his wiggled his eyebrows. “Beneeeeecio Del Tooooooooro!”

The laughter that erupted in the car seemed to break all the irritation. I began to relax again.

That was a mistake.

“And who is that, exactly?” inquired Grant.

“Goddammit!” screamed Neil.

“What?”

Neil grabbed Grant’s shirt and spoke slowly, as if to a retarded person or a Sarah Palin fan.

“Benicio Del Toro!” Neil hissed. “Ben-e-si-oh-del-tor-oh. One of the finest actors alive today. He was the Mexican cop in Traffic. He was the four-fingered gambler in Snatch. He was…”

“Wait!” Something seemed to connect in Grant’s red eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, he was in that Gabriel Byrne movie … Usual Suspects! That’s it!”

“That’s it, yes!” cried Neil. “You’re right. There ya go!”

Grant was excited now. “Oh, Kevin Spacey kicked ass in that movie!”

I smiled from behind the wheel. “Big time!” I said.

“I had forgotten Benicio was in Snatch, too,” said Grant, shaking his head. “He was the man in Suspects, though.”

Neil was smiling now as he nodded his head and agreed with Grant by saying, “Beneeeecio Del Tooooorooo! Kicked ass in Way of the Gun, too.”

“Yeah, but not as much as he did in The Mask of Zorro, am I right?” Grant had his hand raised for a high five.

Grant hit the door quite violently. It almost seemed like he hit the door before Neil had hit him in the face.

“F—K!” Grant was holding his nose and trying to fend off the further punches Neil threw at his face.

Neil’s face was a livid red.

“That was Antonio Banderas!” SMACK! “Do you hear me?! BANDERAS!” SMACK! “Banderas, Banderas, Banderas!!” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

In a vain attempt to save Grant’s life, I pulled the car into a Circle K parking lot. This was getting out of hand.

I reached into the back to break them up. “Guys, guys, guys…” SMACK!

Blood exploded from my nose. “You mother F—KERS!” I cried as I jumped into the back seat and joined the brawl.

I do not remember us falling out of the car and into the parking lot. Judging from the scrapes I found later, I imagine it was quite a hard fall.

At first, I thought I was seeing red because of the vice grip Neil’s legs had on my head. It was not until I heard, “Freeze! Put your hands on your heads!” that I realized it was the red pulsing lights of the po-po.

As you might imagine, our conversation with the cops did not go well. By the time we explained about the fight, both policemen had matching expressions of bemusement/disgust that one can only get by having a conversation with a blatant moron.

“So let me get this straight,” said the policeman not doubling over with laughter behind the cruiser. “You fellas beat the crap out of each other over a movie?”

I tried to explain more clearly. “Over an actor, actually.”

“Beneeecio Del Tooooooro…” chimed in Neil.

“Cool it!” I whispered.

“Well, ain’t that just the most dumbass thing I ever heard.” The policeman shook his head. With chagrin, the cop looked over at Grant and shook his head. “Well, can I assume you boys are gonna settle down and play nice, or should I save myself the trouble and run you in right now?”

I held out my hands to the cop. “No, we’re cool. We’re cool. I guess we just need to go home and chill out.”

“You boys do that. Straight home, ya hear?” The cop was getting back in the car, then stopped and looked Grant again. “You. If you’re gonna see a movie, at least have some pride and know who’s in the damn thing. Have some respect for the art.”

Grant wiped his bloody hands on his shirt. “Hey, I’m good. Believe me, I got it now. Benicio Del Toro is Usual Suspects; Antonio Banderas is Mask of Zorro.”

The cop smiled. “Mask of Zorro … never did see that one. Any good?”

I stepped forward. “If you love action films, you can’t beat it. I thought it was awesome.”

The cop nodded. “Who else was in it?”

“Anthony Hopkins,” blurted out Grant.

“You son of a bitch!” screamed Neil as he charged.

And that is why I am now in jail with no proper review. I cannot apologize enough.

If it’s any consolation, I am sharing a cell with a large biker who just stabbed his wife, sister, and dog. He saw The Wolfman earlier today.