Here I am on vacation, experiencing a lovely visit to the Four Seasons on Maui. The room is expensive, the hotel luxurious,
the water warm, and what am I doing? Watching Snakes on a Plane in my hotel room.
Yes, while there are beautiful young women wandering the beaches searching for the perfect man (or if desperate any man), I am sitting on my bed watching the B-grade cult classic starring Samuel L. Jackson, with my roommate... who is on his own bed, by the way. When in reality there are very few beautiful young women wandering the beaches looking for a man (it''s the off-season and I''m at a hotel few single girls my age can afford), I take comfort in watching Samuel L. trying to protect a federal witness from a plane full of horny, venemous snakes. There''s not much more to the plot than that - a young man witnesses a prosecutor''s murder at the hands of an evil drug boss, and the drug boss, in one of the weirder attempts to end a witness''s life, unleashes a crate full of venemous snakes onto an airplane.
Snakes on a Plane features such B-grade deaths as a young woman, who is in the process of joining the mile high club in the lavoratory, getting a snake attached via fangs to one of her nipples, a man whose own personal "snake" gettting attacked by a snake, a sleazy doctor becoming consumed by a giant anaconda (how did that snake get into the main cabin?), and so on and so forth.