“From the time he could stand he was baptized in the fire of combat.” That’s the narrator referring to the future King of Sparta:
“I am King Leonidas, and I favor a chicken in every pot, a chariot in every garage, and an Ab Lounge in every bedroom!”
Leonidas is visited by a Persian messenger.
“You annoy me, messenger,” said Leonidas. “Please stand over here, beside the architectural centerpiece of Sparta, a monument we call the ‘massive hole to nowhere.’”
“Why do you have such a bottomless hole?” asked the messenger.
“The Greek Senate needed a public works project to generate employment,” he answered. “The economy is tough when your only export is war-mongering.”
The Persians approach, and they are bent on conquering Sparta. What to do?
Leonidas climbs a mountain to visit the Ephors – ugly, diseased, and inbred old men who kidnap a beautiful young Spartan woman, get her naked, drug her, nuzzle her neck and ask her to predict the future. Because if you’re going to kidnap a nubile teenager, why not get your horoscope?
Ah, these drugs make her gyrate in an R-rated mid-air Bob Fosse jazz dance.
“Is that from Cabaret or Chicago?” asked Leonidas.
“It’s from All That Jazz,” said one of the Ephors, as his circle dropped to their knees. “Oh great Roy Scheider protect us!”
There, Leonidas traces his battle plan on the sand.
“You’re fighting sand,” they ask.
“No, think metaphorically,” he replied.
“You’re fighting sand with a stick?” they asked.
“No, we’re using swords and shields,” he said.
Leonidas sighs, applauds the showstopper from All That Jazz, and descends the mountain for a final display of breasts before venturing off for his Spartan crusade.
He takes three hundred of his finest men to battle the massive Persian army. “Into Hell’s mouth we march!” he shouts. “And may Hell have minty-fresh breath!”
Our heroes approach the site of a massacre – a tree wrapped, trunk to branches, with dead bodies.
“Do you think there’s a message here?” asks one Spartan.
“Yes,” replied Leonidas. “Collage-making is fun for the whole family.”
It doesn’t take long for Leonidas to come face-to-face with Xerxes, the God-King of the Persians:
“Behold,” says Xerxes. “I am shrouded in jewels and flamboyant piercings and my eyebrow is penciled on. Shudder before me as so many cosmetologists have before you! You may kiss my ring as long as it’s the one in my nipple!”
A stunned Leonidas recognizes he has met his match, in a manner of speaking.
“Kneel before me, shirtless knave!” he commands. “and my penis shall knight you Sir Fabulous!”
“By all that’s holy,” stutters Leonidas, “we are doomed!”
“I am the girlfriend King,” said Xerxes, “the Queen of Tranny-sylvania!”
“Thanks to the magic of audio technology, my voice is deeper than the deepest valley. Yea, even now my testicles drag behind us on yonder mountain, many meters behind the war-wagon I call my chinchilla throw-mobile.”
“Repeat viewings of Bewitched should have prepared me for this,” said Leonidas.
“I am the God-King, and I have the gold-encrusted Speedo and the encyclopedic knowledge of the lyrics of Guys and Dolls to prove it!”
“I want to flare my nostrils and give you a manicure you’ll never forget, shirtless Spartan! Your insolence will be answered by the slaughter of your kind – or a spanking, you naughty Spartan maggot!”
“Why do you come to the Hot Gates of Thermopylae?” asked a terrified Leonidas.
“The Hot Gates are where all the best clubs are, Mr. Gluteus Maximus!” said Xerxes.
“We shall never surrender,” said Leonidas. “Neither by your sword nor by your lascivious glare!”
“Then you will die, Spartan! And the mismatched leather sandal and red cape look will die with you!”
Battle and killing and bravery and courage and sacrifice and disembodied limbs ensue.
You’ll need a shower to get the blood spatter off.
But that aside, 300 is one Helluva movie.