I've been to the pictures! I love going to the cinema. The sticky floors, the annoying cunt beside you, the lazy projectionist that hasn't seen that the film's out of focus, the £7 bags of M&M's. It's all so exciting. Here's some FANTASTIC movie reviews to help you enjoy your cinema experience all the more:
District 9 is pretty good but the "wacky" stuff is a bit annoying.
(500) Days of Summer is very good. The most British film I've ever seen from America I think. There's so much referencing of British music from the 80's and 90's. Even Zooey Deschanel's final speech in the film is basically the lyrics to Something Changed by Pulp. And there's a great big bit of theft from Gregory's Girl. Other than that, great.
Inglorious Basterds is a shit, shit, SHIT film. If you liked it then you are a fucking idiot. Quentin Tarantino is just an embarrassing arse. Yes, yes, yes, Quentin, you're right. There were a LOT of shit films in the 70's. Why are you now copying them all?
And those are my movie reviews. Hope you liked them. Now for my cinema review: NEVER EVER EVER BLOODY ANYTHING GO TO THE BIRMINGHAM ODEON. Heed these words, people, for fear, danger, horror and just plain weirdness awaits ye. The first film I saw yesterday was (500) Days of Summer and after the film I had earned the right to expel urine. I went to the toilet, did my business, expelled urine and then tried to leave. I couldn't leave at first because a boy who was 12 years old maximum was holding the door open for his friend. I stood to one side and waited for the boy's friend to come in. I waited and waited but the friend just wasn't walking through the door. "Hurry up" said the boy. I decided I'd waited enough and walked out. It was then that I saw the boy's friend and saw what was delaying him. He was even younger looking than the first boy and he was staring at a condom machine. "3 for a fucking pound", said the little cherub. "Fucking rip-off".
Incredible to think that not only is this 11 year old stud getting all the pussy but he absolutely digs his heels in when it comes to the greedy fat cats in the prophylactic industry.
Then I saw the bollock in the eye that is Inglorious Basterds. Can I say anything positive about this film? Yes. This film did not give me AIDS. That is the only thing that it has going for it. But I sat through the whole thing, so that must mean that it was better than Tarantino's last film. When I walked into the screening room I knew I had made a terrible mistake. The floors were audibly sticky, the room was tiny and hot and the air was smelly and....funky. Basically, I was in the Odeon's Porn Cinema. I arrived as the trailers were on, as did a big fat cunt. I'm sorry but that was really the only way to describe this man. He was big, he was fat, he was a cunt. It took him about a minute to find his seat and all he did while trying to get to his seat was give out an annoying sigh/grunt ever 5 seconds. WUUURGHH, he would say. Finally, he sat down. WUUURGHH. Then he took his coat off. WUUURGHH. Then he settled down and relaxed. WWWWUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRGHH.
He was two rows in front of me and I hated him. As soon as the film started he decided to get a bottle of coke out and take a sip. When I say a bottle I mean a 2 litre bottle and when I say a sip I mean he downed a third of the bottle in one go. He put it up to his stupid mouth and gulped and gulped and gulped until he had no choice but to breath. The only thing that was stopping him gulping more was the headache and the feeling of passing out due to a lack of air. He stopped gulping and WUUURGHH. Five minutes later and he was thirsty again. He shoved the bottle up to his mouth and took another third of the bottle only this time as he drank he squeezed the plastic bottle just so he could get more of the fizzy drink into his head quicker. He then put the bottle down and WUUURGHH. Luckily, I had a shit film to distract me from this man.
The film ended. I was grateful and stormed off for a very angry piss. This was my second trip to this toilet and it was to be the most eventful.
Fat cunt was right behind me WUUURGHHing with every step. I held the door open for him and to thank me for my kindness he said WUUUURGHH. I went for the furthest urinal bowl from the door. He decided on the one three bowls away from me. I happily started pissing but was distracted by the fact that fat cunt had taken his cock out and just started pissing hands-free. Piss was going everywhere. On the floor, on himself, occassionally in the urinal bowl. I was pretty disgusted but to be fair he couldn't hold his cock to piss because he was eating a massive back of nuts. With his face. Seriously, he just put his face into the bag of nuts and started eating and pissing while his right hand dangled by his side.
Thankfully, he finished his piss and washed his hands. I say washed, he put his right hand under a tap for a second. Then he dried his right hand. He dried it under the hand drier while I stood beside him at the other hand drier watching him eating his nuts. It took him about a minute to dry that one hand. Quite a while, I think you'll agree. I stood beside him for nearly all of that minute drying both my hands. I wouldn't have minded standing beside but, well, he still hadn't put his cock away.
He left the toilet eating nuts and showing off his cock. I left about 10 seconds after him and just in time to hear someone shout DISGUSTING at him. He looked embarrassed and apologised and put his penis back in his sweat pants. SWEAT PANTS. It's not like he had to zip something up or button something. He just had to ping the elastic. But that was too much for fat cunt. The amount of WUUUURGHHing that would lead to doesn't bare thinking about.
At first, I thought he was mentally ill. He wasn't. The fact that he simply hadn't realised his cock was even out just suggested that he's simply that horrible. I hope you meet him.
It was an interesting weekend. Gigs were OK. Had a bit of an odd argument/discussion with Daliso Chaponda before the show started and I think that led to me being a bit all over the place. Basically, I said I felt let down by Janeane Garofolo's show in Edinburgh because she was doing material about airline landing cards and the questions they ask. That's been done a billion times before and Janeane was added nothing to her version of this ancient joke. Daliso disagreed. He had a point: the premise doesn't have to be original as long as what you do with it is original. I totally agreed. But Janeane hadn't done that. Daliso repeated his theory. I agreed again and then pointed out again that that was not what Janeane had done. He repeated his theory for a third time and I began to miss fat cunt. He then explained to me what the word original means for five minutes. It was a fair enough argument (albeit utterly patronising) between two people who were talking about two different things. The only thing that stuck in my head was Daliso's claim that "originality is not important". I'm far from an original comedian, even though I know that I've never used old material, but surely some form of originality is fundamental to being a stand-up? Then we looked at the stags and hens and realised he might have a very good point.
As it turns out, the gig was good. A bit of work but good. May I leave you with a question, dear reader? If you could get rid of one thing on the internet what would it be? My choice is currently the T-Mobile adverts where thousands of people are singing Total Eclipse of the Heart in Trafalgar Square. I look at those people and see no reason to not fund terrorism. What's your choice?