Boorish tae kwon do instructor Fred Simmons (Danny McBride) is a strip-mall hero for whom demonstrating his cinder-block-breaking skills to parking-lot gawkers is “my fucking life.” Fred takes seriously—or at least talks seriously about—the tenets of his combat technique, while being completely oblivious to what’s happening just outside his storefront kingdom. He considers himself a warrior; meanwhile, the world is kicking his ass. Director Jody Hill shot The Foot Fist Way mock-doc style; it’s probably best, since nothing much happens in the film as it ambles from sketch to sketch. There’s only the loosest of plots, involving Fred’s bleached-blonde wife (Mary Jane Bostic), who fucks around with her boss, sending Fred into a tailspin—and providing the punching bag with further reason to act like a douchebag. There’s something real about this guy—and something real nasty about him, too, something that lingers after the movie’s choked a few laughs out of an audience that won’t know whether to pity Fred or punch him. Truthfully, The Foot Fist Way is no different from an episode of The Office or Curb Your Enthusiasm: This is irritainment, something you snicker at while covering your eyes, praying this guy never gets loose in the real world, when, in fact, he’s your next-door neighbor. Or, God forbid, you.