(It’s finally back! Welcome to the first match of the second round of The LAMB Action Hero! Here you will read two different essays, both describing why one action hero would be a good roommate while their opponent’s would be a bad roommate. At the bottom of the post will be a place to vote. Please vote as unbiased as possible, basing it on the essays. Vote for whoever you think would be the better roommate. You have three days to vote. Now let’s enjoy!)

Update: Voting for this match has now ended.
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By Jess from Insight Into Entertainment.

What are the best qualities you can ask for in a roommate? Quiet, pays the rent on time, shares some of his or her stuff/friends/food, and doesn’t break or steal your stuff. Lara Croft does all of these things really well. Particularly since she’s a pretty wealthy gal, so sharing her stuff isn’t that big a deal. She’d be a great roommate as she’d have interesting stories to tell about her travels and kicking ass around the world. I’m sure she would help me getting visas to visit strange places, and give me a place to stay when I got there, because she knows everyone. Lara has no need to steal or break my stuff as her stuff is probably better than mine anyway.

John McClane on the other hand is never quiet; he’s loud, and loud things follow him everywhere. He always seems to be strapped for cash, either because of alimony or losing his job and such. He doesn’t really have much stuff because it constantly gets destroyed because of problems at work, so sharing it wouldn’t really be an option. He’s probably a freeloader and would eat all your food and not clean anything, but expect you to keep the place looking good. He’d borrow your stuff all the time without asking, and, yes, he’d probably have a great reason like saving his wife or his kids or the country, but he still took it without asking.

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By Mike from Big Mike’s Movie Blog.

I want to tell you about another roommate I once had and why I appreciate John McClane that much more.

Her name was Lara Croft.

First off, Lara is not even a real name. Sara, Cara, even Tara if you’re a big Gone With The Wind fan, but I digress. It was actually an accident that I ended up sharing a room in her mansion. Whilst vacationing in India, I got lost in the jungle and stumbled across a large temple. As I went to explore it, I twisted my ankle, fell down a bunch if steps in front of a beautiful woman. She took me back to her mansion where her butler tended to huge lumps on my face and some bruised bones, all the while giving me free run of the house. Good times, right?

Not so much. Lara, as it turns out, was both filthy rich and a woman. Together, these two can combine to form a powerful deity known as Oprah or, in Lara’s case, someone with way too much time and money on her hands. I mean, this chick was way into the occult. Not in the cute Hot Topic way, but after hunting down every mythological artifact in the world, she would chase after a Frisbee if you threw it far enough. I tried telling her that space was still relatively unexplored but she wouldn’t hear me, off on another quest without so much as a ‘Bye, luv.’

And the mansion was full of this shit. Remember when George Carlin talked about stuff and shit? Lara has shit. And a ton of it. One room was full of these giant statues. Or so I thought. As I was wondering if I could find Easter Island on a map, a giant robot thing started chasing me around, with these fangs and these claws. I was running like an idiot until I screamed for it to please, heavenly God, stop chasing me and it did. What kind of sense does that make?

Also, the butler thing is more of a headache than its worth really. If I come in and leave my jacket on the couch, it’s because I’m leaving in fifteen minutes and will grab it when I come out! If someone puts it on a hanger and places it back in its proper place, how the hell am I supposed to find it?! That also goes for half empty Cokes, remote controls, and my porn.

Speaking of sex, Lara was an unmitigated, unapologetic, unrelenting, Guantanamo Bay-level torture of a tease. Four months living there, I never saw boobs, side boobs, cheek, or left arm for some weird reason. Not that she wasn’t showering in large, glass-filled rooms or walking around like some love child with a free wheeling hippie father, but never once did I get the goods. And I was trying REAL hard. And I can get some hot chicks. Does the name Justin Bailey mean anything to you?

I can’t wait for John to get back from New York. I hope he doesn’t get delayed at the airport.