Ars est dolor
Imagine a public stupid enough to receive the original Texas Chainsaw solely as an allegory against eating meat (because there is a widespread, handheld, nightmare platform of social reward brownie points drawing a treasure map with your dopamine), a populace with such piss poor regard for what they have just experienced in a theater versus what they pettily intellectualize afterward (including what the director/writer might say postpartum on his platforms) - well, here we horrifyingly are. If somebody plucks their tongue out and hands it to you for a present, the hidden message is: just take the fucking thing!
Has everyone who stuck his thumb into a review of this film pulled it from an ass too big for its britches, forgetting to mention that the ending is so good nothing occurring beforehand could possibly ruin the whole encounter? Perhaps if the setup were condensed to half an hour and the final gag exaggerated further, in a nearly sixty minute plateauing absurdity, this wold be the ballsiest and best American film ever produced.