Behold the divine excellence of cinematic genius, the Citizen Kane of the 21st century, the Holy Grail of Hollywood, the Muhammad Ali of movies, the FDR of films and all else that is sacred and capable of such epic grandeur. Oh wait. Wrong movie. Im supposed to be reviewing the asinine crock-pot co-written by Dana Carvey who also stars as a dimwitted human parrot that assumes the secret family legacy of harnessing the almighty invisible energy filed, consulting the sacred pop-up book and activating the wondrous Ball of Knowledge, which unfortunately is much too small to affect the brainless makers of this 74-minute kindergarten finger painting. However, I digress because how else would the SNL alum be able to transform into a hairy pimp, Mrs. Roepers evil twin or a cow pie in order to acquire the clues that are too far-fetched and illogical even for the Scooby-Doo gang but that are needed to free his kidnapped parents held captive by a vengeful cigar man with a flatulence problem.