I haven’t been to the cinema in bloody ages. In fact, the last film I saw was Clash Of The Titans (Titans Will Clash) in 3D, which was absolute ass of the highest order. I think it was really expensive too, but then I didn’t pay for it so WHO GIVES A FUCK?
I am, today though, going to the flicks. The pictures. The cinema. The movies. The picture house. The other name for it. The porn salon. No, wait – not the last one. There I will watch The Hangover 2: Hangover In Space.
I do not expect much from the film. Mainly because I really loved the first one, and it absolutely did not need a sequel at all. Hopefully low expectations will be rewarded with some fun, though.
Anyway, I need a topic away from aimless rambling here… hmm… cinemas, yeah. They’re a bit shit really, aren’t they? I mean, you have to sit in a room with other people, and we all know how shit other people are. They’re all “blah blah” and MUNCH MUNCH and screaming stupidly and smelling bad and being alive and other crap.
God I hate them.
Then there’s the skin diseases you can get from cinemas. Seriously – when I went to see Rambo in Leeds I went really itchy on the seat then a few hours later half my body was covered in a horrible rash. I mean, it went away pretty quickly, but still – that’s fucking foul.
Then there’s the shit expensive food and drink that can barely be classified as either of the things they claim to be. The massively expensive tickets. The inconvenience of having to go there. THE PEOPLE.
Yeah, I think I’ve convinced myself not to go now. OPPS.
I don’t watch TV a huge amount, and one of the key reasons is because I cannot stand adverts. It may shock you to learn I’ve been over this before. But out of all of the rip-offs, all of the sanctimonious, insincere nonsense, of all the half-baked notions of ‘art’, the other rip-offs and the painfully unfunny scripts that take up your mind-time in ad breaks, there is one thing that makes me want to vomit my gonads out through my nostrils before picking said gonads up and ramming them down the throat of whichever prick it is that first thought of this fucking advert. I present to you exhibit A:
Rather than keep on whining though, instead I’m going to combat this menace with a poem of my own. Bear with me, I haven’t written one of these since I was in the sixth form.
Now the scallies and the scrotes
The idiots and the muppets
Were just going for a Maccy D’s.
And the other townies and chavs
Called Shaz, or Baz
Were just spending their benefits on Big Macs for their six-month-old babies.
The morons and scrubbers
Too poor of intelligence to notice this stuff kept them pizza-faced well into adulthood
Were just passing by… but then stopping in because they can’t resist a MACCY D’s.
Then the thieves and the muggers
The kind who’ll happily stab chuggers
Turned up to spend the money they’d robbed from an old woman on Quarter Pounders.
And the children who should know better
And their parents who aren’t much older
Are just getting drunk and arguing with the security guard on the door.
Now the neds with their baseball caps
Aren’t surprised McDonald’s needs security guards
‘Cos they were the ones who stabbed someone in the bogs last week.
Then the inquisitive little girl
Just had to go and hurl
When she asked daddy what they put in those milkshakes.
And Gaz, Baz and Daz
All halfway through a night on the razz
Were just having a brawl in the children’s area.
Then it all just sinks in
An epiphany over the din
“I think I will just pass this place by”.