Forget an intro, forget a little quip — this just deserves to be splashed about with no regard for anyone’s cashmere sweaters.

With an opening so wild you’d think it spared no expense on its punches, this movie — whose title I will not repeat every time I want to bring it up, simply because I don’t want to type it out — goes through every possible coin-flipped, schizoid ramble you could imagine, only to land on top of a world so diabolically dreary, on a scale so flamboyantly perplexing, it ripples intense patterns of cosmic paranoia down your spine, hidden behind the laughter of someone who knows it’s so true it’s painful.

Gone is the “what this means” and “how boring are we to assume this could or may happen next.” Instead, sit back — sip on something, anything really — and enjoy whatever we, as a community, will eventually categorize this open can of who-hashed cranial tickler.

Fine. I’ll say it. Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die (that’s the first and last time I’m gonna type that, I swear on that Giracat? Gircattfe? Who knows anymore) exceeds expectations by making sure you can’t have any in the first place. We’ve transcended ratings here — we’ve moved into simply having so much “fun” in the moment. Sam Rockwell pours his heart and soul, and sometimes salt… on a Twinkie… in this bombastic, self-deprecating tale of dystopian epilepsy. If nothing I’ve said so far made any sense, then I’m glad we’re on the same page — because you’ll need that kind of attitude to step into the room with this film. This one came to play, and let me tell you, you’re not ready for that fastball.

Sam Rockwell, “The Man from the Future” — I shit you not, that is literally his character’s name — rounds up one hell of a tag team of the toughest, craziest band of role-playing knuckleheads you can imagine to join him on an adventure. What adventure, you ask? Well, stop asking and maybe I’ll tell you, my god.

I’m joking. It’s to save the world.

Obviously.

And who else better than a mother who just lost her son to “Another Tuesday” in a dark and comically foul mockery/commentary of teen violence in schools — so desaturated I thought for a moment I’d lost my sense of smell for orange. Juno Temple plays Susan like a leaflet blowing in a strong wind, hanging on for dear life, only to receive a blessed portion of bird shit that knocks it clean off, sending it tumbling down a void of spiraling, cartoonishly nefarious rabbit holes.

Let’s not detract from our humbly broken couple of who knows how long (forgot to give me that information, huh, “Man from Future”? Pft). Zazie Beetz’s (man, what a fucking awesome name) Janet — who probably couldn’t see it if it was right in front of her eyes (I know what I typed, don’t correct me) — and Michael Peña’s Mark, a man so afraid of his own shadow, blinking probably sends him into a panic attack.

Asim Chaudhry’s Scott — who does, in fact, get five goddamn stars, thank you very much — with so much more to offer this world than a measly 96 degrees.

Of course, let’s not forget Haley Lu Richardson’s Ingrid, who prances around like, I don’t know… Ela’s cousin or something, bringing the hapless joy of sweet release to every scene like a horsefly that lands on your sandwich and starts rubbing its hands together like it just figured it all out, huh — just like that. She brings that “I’m a princess” vibe that some kids just don’t understand, I guess.

Cursed with an honestly fucked disease of being allergic to phones and Wi-Fi (plot convenieNCEE!).

Georgia Goodman’s Marie, well, she just wanted pie.

Hoping right out of our jolly descriptions, we find our rag-tag team of rarely-do-wells in a fight for not only their life but — well, honestly — mostly just their life.

Jumping from what appears to conveniently be a phenomenal drinking game of “try and guess what’s going to happen next” in a film so absurd you will not — trust me, you will not guess.

Plot plot plot, time-space man says “whaat” and everyone looks, and we find ourselves deep in the trenches of a zomboid Black Mirror project that forgot to tell its extras that they’re done filming for the day. Featuring a… well, let’s just say it’s got a lot of furBALLS (if you know, you know), and with a couple of Scooby snacks for the road, Clifford the Thing clomps away into the moonlight without a moment to spare. While we swing back to the main timeline in a galaxy way too close to home, we’re given our ever-perpetuating speech of “me good, your plan bad, I am good, listen to good, me — why? Because” speech (it’s a villain thing, you get it), only for it to fail miserably at the hands of common sense herself.

A 4/5 movie for the premise alone. A 4.3/5 movie for execution.

An exhaustingly wild ride through and through — and I would do it again for the 118th time.