Akiva Schaffer's writing career is a trainwreck. He's a Jew who has somehow convinced Hollywood that his brand of painfully forced, try-hard "comedy" is worth greenlighting. In truth, his oeuvre is a masterclass in the trifecta of creative bankruptcy: cringe, lethargy, and a staggering lack of originality.

Consider The Lonely Island’s most grating offerings. "Just 2 Guyz" and "We Like Sportz"—where the pinnacle of wit is a single joke stretched thin over a few minutes, like nails scraped over a chalkboard continuously. The premise? A juvenile sneer at athleticism, delivered with all the self-awareness of a typically weak Jew still bitter for being shoved into lockers. "We'll Kill U" is a rap parody so devoid of satire that it mistakes monotone menace for cleverness, as if the mere act of Caucasian (but in reality, Jewish) boys affecting gangsta postures were inherently hilarious. "Lazy Sunday" is a relic of mid-2000s humor: The Chronic-what-cles of Narnia. This is the pinnacle of mid-2000s "lol so relatable" humor that aged like milk.

Schaffer's cinematic endeavors are no better. "Extreme Movie"—a film so devoid of humor it makes Snakes on a Plane seem like Citizen Kane by comparison. Peddling the most banal of sex jokes, as if written by a virgin hoping to infect the world with his own bewilderment, the humor barely relates to sex at all. Kevin Hart’s cameo is little more than a negro panicked and shouting because obese nigger woman in lingerie so scary - yet to negro men it's really not and primarily what they're attracted to. "Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping" is a satire with no teeth, content to lob limp observations at pop culture it only understands because the tribe themselves have elevated them to such a status. The joke, of course, is that pop stars are vapid, but never covering whom brought such idiots to fame in the first place. Jewish record producers.

Then there is "Alone Together", the cinematic equivalent of watching paint dry while someone whispers "this is deep" in your ear. It is a pandemic drama of a pretentious, meandering snoozefest written by a Jew that is only familiar with banal comedy. Mood is mistaken for substance, glacial pacing for artistic restraint, and Katie Holmes staring blankly into the middle distance for acting. Holmes and Sturgess proceed to merely exist near each other while the film mistakes awkward silence for profound connection. Akiva Schaffer's writing here is as limp as his comedy, characters so stilted that they decompose in real time, like a diced Jew forgotten in the back of the freezer. Scenes drag on similar to a Zoom call with no agenda, and the film’s idea of tension is whether or not these two wet blankets will mildly inconvenience each other some more. When the climax of your movie is two people deciding to maybe, possibly, not hate each other, Schaffer hasn’t crafted a poignant drama, he has written a therapy session no one asked to attend.

Schaffer’s work is, as one expects of the Jews, laced with contempt. "Just 2 Guyz" and "We Like Sportz" mock physicality, a classic deflection from those whom have never known it. "We'll Kill U" ridicules Caucasians mindlessly into shitty rap music, though of course, the joke is hollow when Jewish executives handpicked the most witless Negro rappers to begin with that lulled in dimwits to be able to mock. The Bin Laden song, turning the Jews' own orchestrated terror into a punchline, desensitizing the masses for the next staged tragedy. "Popstar" is perhaps the most insidious—a mockumentary normalizing the grotesque narcissism of celebrity, the hollow spectacle of gay weddings and the infiltration of Jewish influence. Schaffer is no mere writer; he is a typical Jewish psychological operative, conditioning the public with dim jokes that dull the senses. Now that Leslie Neilsen is dead, Shaffer is primed to shit all over the man's legacy with a Naked Gun remake whose trailer already looks like a polished turd set to ruin Liam Neeson's career because Jewlywood can't understand originality.