Your first thought, after silently turning over the words The 40 Year Old Virgin Who Knocked Up Sarah Marshall and Felt Superbad About It on your tongue to savor its unwieldy mouthfeel, is that this must be a joke, It must! Everything about this, from that strung together sequence of recognizable movie titles, to the straight-to-browser-window production values, signals to your suddenly stunned forebrain that you're watching a YouTube sketch (possibly funded by a Funny or Die or an Atom.com in a lapse of creative judgment) about a theoretical feature that would lampoon successful comedies of semi-recent Apatowian vintage.
Your second thought, as the fog slowly starts to lift, is, "Oh, perhaps those Wayans skamps, with their seemingly endless appetite for both clumsily skewering popular cinematic trends and cumbersome titles lifted from recognizable examples of those trends, are at it again! A Katherine Heigl stand-in's about to get a dong through the ear, when a Seth-Rogen-a-like decides that's safer than thrusting said dong anywhere near his unborn baby!"
Your third thought, upon discovering that no Wayanses -- not even any obscure, newer-generation Wayanses who were still crib-bound when In Living Color was on the air -- seem to be appearing in the scenes flying by, is that maybe this is the latest shoddy parody product off the Freidberg/Seltzer "[Popular Genre] Movie" assembly line. A quick trip to IMDd, during which you pause the video to investigate this hunch, reveals that this is not the case.
Your fourth thought, after resuming the video, involves confusion about the erection protruding from that dude's chest. But then you finally recognize that scene, and its now four-year-old sight gag featuring a embarrassingly conspicuous boner jutting out from the correct place on Steve Carell's body, as belonging to The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Hey, I'm almost certain a boner shouldn't go there! This confusion, however, elicits more of a furrowed brow than even a cursory laugh.
Your fifth thought involves somewhat enjoying, for reasons you don't completely understand, the presence of all these Bizarro versions of beloved members of the Apatow Repertory Players. That guy sounds like Seth Rogen, ish! And that's an uncanny, fake Jonah Hill, who probably enjoys going to parties and pretending he's the real Jonah Hill! And there's a McLovin! Excuse you, a McAnalLovin, because anal sex joke!
Your sixth thought involves asking yourself if perhaps your internal monologue is overusing exclamation points to convey mock-excitement. It is.
Your seventh thought centers around the shame of involuntary arousal at the sight of one septuagenarian buggering another septuagenarian, followed by a jotting down of this thought for discussion at this week's therapy session.
Your eighth thought is bewilderment about why anyone would bother to take the broadest moments from these source comedies -- all of which you enjoyed greatly, by the way -- and make them broader still for the purposes of feature-length parody. Is there a funnier way to rip hair off a man's chest that was left unexplored in the original Virgin? (You submit that if there is, it does not involve gluing a swatch of a cheap rug and two slices of nipple-pepperoni to a depilatory sheet.)
Your ninth thought is interrupted by the self-administered gunshot wound to the head.
Verdict: You should've shot yourself somewhere between the second and third thoughts.