Saturday, 15 January 2011

Boom Boom.

Isn't the news depressing? Floods and murder and the beatification of a dead Pope who will become a Saint after he performed the miracle of hiding paedophiles and not going to jail. You're better off not knowing about the world. It's an awful place anyway. But once in a while a news story comes along and just makes your heart soar. It gives you hope. It makes you happy.

A fox shot a hunter. Is there ever going to be a more feel-good story than that? Well, there is because it wasn't just a fox that shot a hunter, it was a WOUNDED fox that shot a hunter. A terrified, wounded, bleeding, helpless, defenceless animal somehow turned the gun on his coward assassin and shot him. WHERE THE FUCK IS THE BEATIFICATION OF THIS FOX? THAT, BeneDICK, is a miracle. Saint Basil, patron Saint of getting rid of fuck-wits. I love that fox.

Read the beautiful story here:

Just got time for a tip: DO NOT SEE 127 HOURS. It's an absolutely brilliant film. Unbelievably tense, claustrophobic and horrible. The script is great, it's filmed beautifully and James Franco is, for once, amazing and likeable. BUT... The whole way through the film your head can't help shouting "YOU STUPID FUCKING PRICK" constantly. Who the fuck does these things? Who invented extreme sports? Why is smashing yourself to bits thought of as a rush? Isn't Batman on the Wii enough? 127 Hours is a true story about a man who likes going into the middle of the desert, WHERE NO ONE CAN FIND HIM, and climbing deep down into tiny crevaces hundreds of feet into the rock. WHAT A CUNT. I hate him. When he falls, traps his arm and spends six days going insane until he cuts his own arm off, it was all I could do to stop myself standing up and shouting "THERE YOU GO, YOUNG MAN. YOU DESERVED THAT. NOW THINK ON. dick". Just before he fell, TWO GIRLS asked him to go to a party with him. Did he go? NO. He said "Whooo!", high-fived them and tried to jump the Grand Canyon on a Space Hopper made of cement.

If you do any EXTREME snowboarding or EXTREME mountaineering or anything where you put yourself in danger with only a bit of rope and EXTREME Ribena to get you out of it then please stop doing that immediately or else I will dance all the way to your funeral and lay a big wreath that spells out "EXTREME PRICK". All I'm saying is, 127 Hours is exhausting and imagine how lovely a film it would have been if that dick just enjoyed dominoes or kitten kissing.

Oh, and wouldn't it be nice if just once, JUST ONCE, Danny Boyle did use his own terrible home-made compilation tape as a soundtrack?

Short blog but sweet blog.

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