Starring Jason Sudeikis, Jennifer Aniston, and Emma Roberts. Rated 14A.

There’s sure a lot of anal in We’re the Millers. I mean, a lot of talk about anal activities. Cocks frequently come up, in conversation. During a campsite game of Pictionary, someone yells out “Black Cock Down!” while trying to get to Black Hawk Down. We who are developmentally compromised can’t help laughing at these things. We’ve tried, but it’s clear we will never grow up.

Jason Sudeikis is a funny fucker. He has the guileless, everyman thing going on but he uses it for cunning instead of the also-proven Will Ferrell moron method. We’re the Millers rides on Sudeikis’s ability to say and do terrible things and make us want to hang with him and maybe purchase some of his weed. Jennifer Aniston’s people will want you to know that she does a striptease to Aerosmith’s “Sweet Emotion” in this movie, proving that her body is terrifyingly fit—but, no offence, Jen, this is Jason’s time.

Sudeikis plays David, a drug dealer, the kind who wears a crap knapsack. When David gets his cash and stash stolen, he must go down Mexico way and smuggle back a “smidge” of weed for his overlord (Ed Helms). He enlists his unfriendly stripper neighbour Rose (Aniston), surly street waif Casey (Emma Roberts), and hopelessly innocent kid next door Kenny (Will Poulter) to pose as his family. They cross the border in a monster RV. There is much weed, scary Mexicans, an interaction between a testicle and a tarantula, and many more sexual situations not involving spiders.

Somewhere amidst all the raunchiness—faux incest!—director Rawson Marshall Thurber’s movie starts to wear out its mobile-home welcome mat. It’s not the actors’ faults. Maybe all that cock and anal simply tires a person out.