Try To Ignore The Nonce Sense

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The slogan for Marmite is that 'you either love it or you hate it', although of course that's not strictly true is it? As with all things, the reality is that you either love it or you hate or you don't really mind it. In fact, there's only one thing that I think that you will either love or hate and that is child pornography. I can imagine people being pretty ambivalent towards a food spread, but my guess with child porn is that people will rarely fanny about on the fence. I can't imagine people hating Marmite so much that they'd be willing to burn down the house of somebody they knew that had bought some. Nor can I imagine somebody that would love Marmite so much that they'd take the risk of having their balls chopped off in prison just to spread some on their fucking toast. When you think about it, it's actually pretty weird that Marmite would brand itself with a slogan that literally only applies to child porn although I do admire the boldness of their marketing team. I mention all of this solely because of the new Netflix film Cuties which has recently received some significant amount of backlash as a result of its subject matter. Wisely, the film has swerved the controversial issue of Marmite only to run head-on into an argument about its depiction of young children and the glamourisation of their sexualisation. To lay my cards out on the table upfront, I ironically feel the same way about Marmite as I do about child porn. I've never experienced either although if you forced them both into my face then I'd be very surprised if I felt anything other than sick to my fucking stomach.

 

Join In The Fight That Will Give You The Right To Be Free

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So I went to the cinema to see a film about the French called Les Misérables, although I should clarify that it wasn't the one about the cunt who stole a loaf of bread. Instead, this was a modern-day cop drama thing that tries to draw attention to a certain part of life and in a certain part of France. The title seems pretty apt to me though because whenever I see the French I do think 'oh look, there are the Miserables'. For me, the question isn't about why this film is called Les Misérables but rather as to why all the other french movies aren't called that as well. Except maybe Amelie which should probably just have been called The Upbeat Gnome Thief. I should clarify that I've never actually been to France and I haven't met a single french person since I was in school and they wheeled one out in class to help us learn their language. But when did that ever stop a Brit from making an unfounded and xenophobic judgement on an entire country? I can confirm that the individual in school did not find it funny when I suggested the french word for ' the pub' might, in fact, be 'la pube' and so you know. Fuck'em. They say that french is the language of love and yet every single one of their words sounds like they gave up about halfway through and just started fucking vomiting. “Bonjurghhh”, they might say before doubling over and expelling out what looks like liquid cheese. “Sacreblurrrgghh”, another will respond as a chewed up frogs leg spews back out of their mouth in a semi-digested green paste. French might be the language of love but only if the thing that you love is to be face down in the fucking toilet as your partner holds your hair back and you have to catch a breath between the fucking dry heaves. 

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A Film Without A Craftsman

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It is April 2017 and an X-Men spin-off that focuses on a cast of new characters coming to terms with their new powers in a creepy asylum enters pre-production. It is called The New Mutants. I am miles away in England and am unaware that this is taking place. I am probably masturbating. It is September 2020 and I am walking towards the cinema having finally booked my ticket to see The New Mutants. The reviews I'd read the day earlier prepared me for the worst. I continued masturbating. It is September 2017 and principal photography has concluded on the film. Director Josh Boone claimed to feel “a bit neutered” during the process having been prevented from making the horror movie that he'd intended. As I sit down to watch his film tonight I notice a man sat a few seats along from me. He smells like a toilet. As the New Mutants title card appears on the screen, this man's smell will not be the last thing that reminds me of shit tonight. “I wish this man had been “neutered” like the film was” I think to myself, “he seems to be looking at me like I'm a discount sex doll and, despite my lack of luck with the ladies, am still yet to turn - as I call it... prison gay”. It is January 2018 and the film's release is delayed until February 2019 in order to allow time for reshoots that are intended to make the film feel more frightening. As the film begins to play in front of me I do feel fear, although not because of what I can see on screen but because the man that smells of shit has decided to slowly move seats to get closer to me. I regret leaving the house tonight.

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I've Had The Time Of My Life

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When I walked out of Christopher Nolan's Dunkirk back in 2017 and declared that “I would die to see his next movie”, I didn't expect the director to actually hold me to it. It's now 2020 and after several global pandemic related delays, the new Nolan film Tenet has been released at a time in which sitting in a room with a stranger is liable to lead to your immediate death. Although if you've sat anywhere near me in a cinema over the last few years and dared to so much as fucking breathe too loudly then you've very much been at risk of death already. On average I tend to go to the cinema literally about three times a week and yet it has now been five entire fucking months since I was able to visit. Sitting down to watch Tenet was like returning to a church but better because although God might not really exist, big explosions, thumping soundtracks, and mind-bending visuals thankfully do. Plus I'm relatively young, pretty healthy, and have at least one older member of my immediate family that I really can not stand. As I ran up the stairs to the screening room whilst licking the bannisters and door handles, I decided that, although I might not be prepared to die to see Christopher Nolan's latest film, I was more than happy to at least risk the passing on of a deadly virus to my bitch of a step-mum. 

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Imagine Being Stuck Inside With Nothing To Do!

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Disturbia is a film about a guy, played by Shia LaBeouf, who is put under house arrest for living the dream and punching out one of his teachers. We've all been there, haven't we? An authority figure has given us a shitty look or a pissy comment and then we've spent the rest of the day just fantasising about what it might have been like to roundhouse kick them into the fucking road. Just imagine if you could do that and the worst thing that would happen to you is that you get told to stay in the house and to stop being naughty for a while. I haven't assaulted anybody and I'm having to go through that same punishment simply because somebody developed a sniffle after boning a fucking bat. As I write this now we're in the middle of the Coronapocalypse and being told to stay in our houses and my God it's fucking boring. What the fuck is there to do? There's nothing is there? Well, there's all of our gaming consoles, streaming services, social media, and I'm basically at the point where I've accidentally wanked my dick down to the size of a fucking toothpick. But other than that what else is there to do but to look out of the window and wonder what our neighbours might be up to? In the case of Shia LaBeouf, he's convinced that the bloke across the road from him has started to kill people for fun and I know how he feels. The other day I had a look out the window and saw Joan from across the road coughing her guts up into the face of our local postman.

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Help The Aged

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The villain of Netflix's new film The Old Guard plans to capture a gang of immortals so that he can experiment on their genetic make-up to find a way of having us normal folk live a little longer. What an evil bastard. Not because he wants to capture the immortals. I couldn't give a shit about them, but why the fuck is he trying to extend my life? The other day I discovered that I'd panic-bought so much cheese that a lot of it was about to go past its expiration date. Amid this absolute fucking hysteria, I began performing several surgical operations on the cheese to remove its cancer-like mould before then traipsing around my local area to find friends who might be willing to store it in their fucking freezers for me. Right now, the average lifespan for a male in my country is about 81 years old, of which I have already had 31. Are you seriously telling me that somebody wants me to live past that? I can't even look after a few blocks of fucking cheese and yet somebody thinks that I'm so important that it would an absolute tragedy if I lived passed the next 50 years? Fuck that and fuck them. I don't mind spending my day on a brief pilgrimage to cytogenetically freeze my soon-to-be-off dairy products if I've only got half-a-fucking-century to kill. But if I've got longer than that then what the fuck am I going to do with my time? No, thank you. How about trying to extend the life-span of my fucking cheese and then perhaps we can talk. 

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From Cradle To The Grave

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Alice Lowe's comedically black horror film Prevenge begins with the line that David Attenborough has never had the balls to use; “Nature's a cunt”. Having found herself knocked up and alone, the lead character Ruth appears to have lost her fucking mind and I honestly don't think I can blame her. Her baby still has a little while until its due but already she believes that she can hear it talking to her and it mostly seems to want her to kill people. It's all just 'want, want, want' with these fucking kids, isn't it?! But can you imagine getting pregnant? It's a fucking terrifying idea. One minute you're having a fun time fumble with somebody that you hopefully fancy and the next you're preparing for a tiny human to blast their way out through your fucking genitals. Thank God I was born a male because unless that shit Arnie movie from the early nineties turns out to be a true story then it seems pretty unlikely that I'll find myself up the duff anytime soon. I honestly think that expecting mothers are braver than fucking soldiers because of what they have to go through. At least if you go to war you can convince yourself that you'll return unhurt and having taken a few of the enemies down with you. But pregnant women? There's no escaping the inevitability that a tiny person is about to rip their way out of your vagina and there's nothing you can do in retaliation but love them for it. Nature really is a cunt. 

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Is There A Starman Waiting In The Sky?

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Incredibly, I once found myself preparing to go out on a date with an actual human lady and so to make the most of this rare event I decided to buy myself some breath mints. “Why are you getting them?” My friend asked. “I stick a mint under my foreskin”, I joked, “that way my date will have minty-fresh breath when she kisses me after a blowjob”. “Really?” My friend asked in awe like a total fucking moron. “No”, I bluntly responded, “obviously fucking not”. But had I actually done that then in many ways that breath mint stored snuggly up my cock would have very much been like the film The Vast Of Night, in that it took me completely by surprise but was an absolute treat none the less. In honesty, it's been a few days since I saw the film but such was its power that I think I'm still yet to begin breathing normally again. I watch a lot of films and, as with all of life, the majority of everything is shit and ultimately nothing more than a loading screen of mundanity to tie us all over before we fucking die. But every so often you'll take a bite of that one incredible piece of fruit, or hear that one perfect piece of music, or have that one life-changing mega-wank and suddenly all of the other efforts will have been worth it for having lead to that one monumental moment. The Vast Of Night was one of these epiphany experiences and without any real poetic skill to express how I truly feel about it, I'll simply have to settle for telling you that I loved every single fucking second of it with every single fibre of my motherfucking piece-of-shit heart. 

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When Lockdown Starts To Do Damage

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The coronavirus continues to take its toll, lockdown drags on, my dog died, and I'm being forced to leave my home to find somewhere else to live. Fuck it, I'm going to watch Snakes On A Plane again. In case none of you have noticed, it's been a pretty fucking stressful year so far and sometimes you just need to turn off your brain and stare at something distracting for a couple of hours. Occasionally it might not even be porn either. Snakes On A Plane is a weird movie because it was all anybody could talk about until it actually hit the cinemas and then we all seemed to decide to just never to talk about it again. That's kind of what the Germans initially did regarding their Nazi atrocities after they'd lost the second world war. They just tried to hush the whole thing up and pretend it never happened until about twenty years later and the students suddenly began to question what their parents were trying to hide. I'm sure that nobody is going to claim that Snakes On A Plane is the greatest film of all time but is it as bad as the holocaust? Let me be bold and claim that I don't think it is. So why have we all decided to develop this collective amnesia in regards to its existence? How bad can it really be? Because having watched it the other day I have to ask myself a pretty important question, has Snakes On A Plane actually aged really well or has lockdown finally fucking broken me?

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You Just Scream With Boredom

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The film begins with a media frenzy taking place outside of a building called Fowl Manor. Having never read the books I had no clue what the film Artemis Fowl was going to be about and so just assumed that Fowl Manor was a place where rich people might go to wear strange masks and have sex with each other. It's not. It's where the Fowl family reside apparently. Although Fowl Manor does also sound like it could be an old fashioned euphemism that my Nan might use for the bathroom after she's visited it for a shit. I suppose all of the above could still technically be true to be fair. The film never explicitly mentions that rich people use the place to spaff all over each other but that doesn't mean that they don't and I never really visit my Nan enough to know what she might call the bathroom. I think you have to agree that would be a pretty bold opening for a Disney film though, wouldn't it?! Children sit around excited to see their favourite book adapted to the big screen only for it to open with a gang of rich toffs all fucking each other whilst dressed in dog suits as one confused old lady wanders about having shat all up the bathroom. It wouldn't make any end-of-the-year best lists but you know... I'd watch it. 

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The Film Is A Saddening Bore

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John Carter is the greatest film that has ever been made ever and I will die to defend it. Not really. Obviously. It's a massive piece of shit, but it was fun to write a sentence that no sane human being had ever written before. What a novelty it felt to do something so original. I only hope that the makers of this fucking God awful movie get to experience that one day themselves. What is John Carter about though? From its title we can guess that it's likely about a person called John Carter, but what else? That's hardly an exciting sounding name, is it? Maybe it's about a bank manager that gasses himself to death in his own car after walking past a mirror and seeing how fucking dull his life is? Can you think of any other movie titles that are just the main characters name but that isn't part of a pre-existing franchise? Because off the top of my head, I can only think of Jerry Maguire, Donnie Brasco and Vera Drake. Is that what John Carter is about? Is he a sports agent that goes undercover with the mob to perform illegal back-alley abortions? Because if not I've just found a really easy new way of coming up with new stories? What about Carrie, Domino, and Alfie? In which case John Carter could be about a telekinetic bounty-hunter whose womanising ways end after a trip to an.. oh.. to an illegal back-alley abortionist. Hmm. Well, I can tell you right now that John Carter does not involve the subject of abortion in the slightest. Although if I could kill it with a coat-hanger and then wash it down the drain then I absolutely would. 

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This Film Is Dog Shit

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Netflix's The Wrong Missy begins with David Spade being mocked by Missy, the blind date that he's agreed to meet up with because he doesn't drink alcohol. Well, I don't drink alcohol either, although by the end of this fucking God-awful piece of shit movie I'd have been fully prepared to shoot heroin straight into my fucking dick if there was a chance that it would help me to forget. Nobody wants to make a bad film but this one is so fucking shitty that I honestly can't imagine that anybody involved had much intention of making a good one either. Lauren Lapkus plays the title character of The Wrong Missy and manages to give such an offensively irritating performance that you start to wonder if the actress might not actually be from our fucking planet. Surely a genuine member of our own species couldn't have such little insight into what it is to be a human that this would be the best they could come up with? Imagine Simple Jack crossed with a rapist that's been given amphetamines after being kicked in the head by a fucking horse and you're close to the horror show of her performance as Missy. If Lauren Lapkus is an alien then what she does here should be considered a declaration of war to which I suggest preemptively nuking every single planet within our fucking solar-system in response. David Spade's character is equally disturbed by her character and so decides to try and escape from his date by sneaking out of the bathroom window. Despite what we mere mortals might think when looking at this tiny gremlin of a man, this film treats David Spade as an actual living adonis for which the fairer sex can do all but resist. Throughout the entirety of The Wrong Missy, women continue to hurl themselves at him vagina first as I sat at home spraying vomit all up the fucking walls. 

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Why Mute Deserves A Chance

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Mute begins with a young boy involving himself in an accident that leaves his throat ripped open and with his Amish parents refusing his treatment as a result of their religious beliefs. Seems pretty reasonable to me. I don't have children because they make too much noise and so if I could find a way of having one shut the fuck up whilst being able to pin the guilt onto God then I'd probably go for it too. The boy had his throat ripped open by a speedboat which caused many critics to joke about how few times that they've seen an Amish person on a speedboat for this to happen. Now firstly I would point out that it doesn't seem to be Amish people driving the boat.. or piloting it ..or captaining it ...or whatever it is that you do to control one of those things. If anybody knows the verb for being an aquatic-leisure-twat then let me know. But it seems that some randomers have accidentality ran the kid over as he was swimming. I know that these people have pretty strict rules regarding modern technology but unless critics are confusing the Amish with the Wicked Witch of the West then it seems fairly plausible that they might at least occasionally go near fucking water. Secondly, and even if I'm wrong about this and it was Amish people in charge of the boat, then are you seriously telling me that you've never seen this before? You've had the internet all this time and you've still not gotten around to typing in every possible combination of words before the word “porn”. Because I guarantee that always yields results and if you don't think that there is any Amish speedboat porn out there then you are living an embarrassing lie. 

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Bring On The End Times

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I don't know about you but once we get over the shock of having to eat each others face-meat to survive, I think the apocalypse will be pretty good fun. Just imagine the disappointment of all those fundamentalist Christians who thought they'd ascend to Heaven only to find themselves still stuck down here and forced to shit into a hole like the rest of us. What an absolute laugh that'll be. We could taunt them the way they've been taunting gay people for thousands of years. “Come on now God boy, shit in a ditch because Jesus didn't love you”. Also, fuck society. It's a piece of shit anyway. The only way that most of us are getting the deposit to buy a property is by selling off our kidneys and then renting out our arse-holes to some rich sugar daddy who insists on calling us “little piggy” in case using our real names humanises us too much for him. But with society gone and us all scrabbling around in the same old dirt it'd no longer matter which class you were born into or what cunty connections you made at your snobby piece of shit private school. All that would matter is the size of the rock in your hand, how hungry you are, and how much you like the person that's between you and that delicious looking rat. I also think it'd be nice to have a bit of structure in my life. Right now I'm sort of treading water having spent the last directionless decade achieving an impressive sweet fuck all. I like the idea of knowing that as long as I'm not being splayed open and feasted upon by a rabid hillbilly gang of cannibals by the end of each day then I might close to experiencing a sense of achievement for once. 

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Not Worth Cancelling The Apocalypse For

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Pacific Rim: Uprising begins with director Guillermo Del Toro being strapped into a metal cage above a fiery pit by a creepy (and racially problematic) Temple Of Doom-style Thuggee Priest. Not literally of course, although that at least would have been a momentary detour from the two hours of mind-numbing predictability that we actually got. Del Toro directed the original 2013 Pacific Rim which has only become an increasingly better movie on the extensive re-viewings that I've given it. His was a film of colour and majesty that had both hidden depth and a message of unity that our shitty species has so far failed to understand. Every frame of Pacific Rim was laced with Del Toro's passion for art, whether it be his love of classic paintings, old Jerry Anderson shows, or simply the sub-genre of seeing huge monsters being twatted in the face by giant robots. For various reasons, he failed to sign on to this sequel having instead decided to win an Oscar for his latest fish-fucking masterpiece The Shape Of Water. Quite right too as for me, Del Toro is an artistic genius that we've been blessed to live at the same time as. His films will one day be remembered in the same way that we remember Hitchcock's or Kubrick's and if I was a director I'd want to follow in his footsteps as keenly as I'd want to be pegged by a psychopath with a cactus for a strap-on. Del Toro's heart went into his Pacific Rim film and as this sequel began I saw that Thuggee Priest rip it out and set it on fire as though showing it off to Indiana Jones, a screaming woman, and a small Asian stereotype. 

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Cage Fighting With The Cosmos

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During one of the earlier scenes in director Richard Stanley's latest film Color Out Of Space, Nicholas Cage decides to milk one of his many alpaca's before drinking it straight down before it has chance to cool. Did you hear that? Nicholas Cage squeezes milk out of an alpaca's tits before instantly guzzling it down to enjoy its freshness. Nicholas Cage. An Alpaca's tits. He drinks its milk. I think it was at that point that I decided that this might be one of my new favourite films of all time. What was cinema even invented for if not to see Nicholas Cage fondling a random animal's nipples before necking back whatever liquid he manages to get out of it? How can art ever top this? What are they going to do next? Will they make a sequel in which he wanks off a pig? According to Cage's character, alpacas are “the animals of the future”, and although he never explains his reasoning for this, my belief in his performance is such that I've now got ten on order. Will I milk them as Cage does here? Of course I fucking will. Will I name one after him when they arrive? Why the Hell wouldn't I? What's the point in having a pet alpaca if you can't then offer guests a glass of milk squeezed fresh from Nicholas Cage's hanging nipples? Color Out Of Space is the kind of movie that delivers exactly what it says on the tin and not only does it not disappoint but as with Cage's own ability to over-act, it goes above and beyond. What a fucking film. 

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Some Very White-Knuckle Action

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If Eve was made from a piece of Adam's rib then I'd suggest that Chris Hemsworth was grown from a sliver of God's own cock. Have you seen Chris Hemsworth? Has he been here since the dawn of time? Because he looks like the archetypal alpha-human that the rest of us mere mutants might have once spawned from. I see him as that first completely pure wolf to walk out of the forest before being bred with increasingly inferior creatures until you've ended up with us.. his Shih Tzu descendants. We're the bastard mongrels of his original super-being and I feel fucking sick about myself. As an atheist I find the Garden Of Eden to be quite a farfetched story but if I'd not seen Chris Hemsworth with my own eyes then I'd probably say the same about him. There might not be any treacherous snake involved here but have you seen Hemsworth's arms? In his new action film Extraction, they're so fat and veiny that they looked like a close-up of a porn stars dick. After years of being exposed to unnecessarily misogynistic online pornography, my brain had been conditioned to expect him to shout, “choke on this, you bitch”, every time he'd punch somebody in the face. I don't know where the filmmakers took inspiration from for these fight scenes but they reminded me of a blooper reel from fucking Deep Throat. At one point in this film, he jumps off a cliff and lands straight into the sea which I can only assume was a special effect for fear of the ensuing tsunami being an extinction-level event that would devastate our entire fucking planet had it been done for real. 

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One Wedding And Not Enough Funerals

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Love Wedding Repeat begins with a montage of Rome which is great because I went on holiday there once and I love being reminded of my trip. The film shows the cafe where my friend accidentally spent his entire holiday budget on one lunch, the hotel in which my friend intentionally exposed himself to me after he'd somehow twisted his testicles around within the sack, and the Vatican which is where my friend and I decided to visit to see where all of the paedophiles go to hide. What a beautiful city. Eventually, we focus in on our hero of the film, Sam Claflin, as he struggles to tell his sister's friend Olivia Munn that he fancies her. Or at least I think that's what he was trying to do. It's kind of hard to tell because Claflin's teeth are so fucking white that I began to get a little distracted... Why are they so white? What is he trying to hide by keeping them so insanely clean? Because he's looking at Olivia Munn here like he actually wants to start biting big chunks of meat out of her fucking face. He's really starting to get quite a wrinkly forehead too for someone so young. I watched this film in Ultra Hi-Def 4K which is really not the kindest option for the people on screen. I'm sure Claflin's head is no wrinklier than anybody else's but with the picture as good as it was he looked like Mr Wharf from fucking Star Trek. I think Claflin might actually be going bald too. I'm not a betting man but I'm seriously tempted to put money on him looking like a massive fucking thumb after a particularly long bath within the next five years. I don't mean to body shame him but his character is so lacking in any personality that there really was fuck all else to judge him on.

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It's Amateur Hour On Netflix

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At the start of the week, I had to have my dog of fourteen and a half years put to sleep and yet watching Mark Of The Devil was probably the worst thing I've experienced over the last few days. Not really. Obviously. But you get my point. The dog thing was like having my heart ripped out whereas watching this film was more like I was being lightly kicked in the head for a bit. I'd spotted the film on Netflix and so figured I'd give it a whirl but despite only having a running time of about 80minutes I swear to God that it must have been on for about five fucking days. By the time that the film was finally over, I'd grown facial hair, lost weight, and reality was now tinged with this surreal dream-like edge that didn't feel real. Admittedly most of that was probably down to the dog situation but there's no denying that getting through Mark Of The Devil was like being stranded on a desert island with only rocks to lick and suicide to contemplate for entertainment. The film itself is about a group of people getting possessed by a.. thing? That's about as much as I can tell you because the whole film was so painfully tedious that my concentration began to lapse and I was forced to retreat to that safe-room in my Mind Palace. It was as though I was a fucking torture victim. I swear that Terry Waite would have found himself with more to think about as he spent five years chained to a fucking radiator than I did whilst watching this piece of shit film.

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Save Me Some Food You Selfish Bastards

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Look, I'm not saying that Netflix has intentionally started this coronavirus bullshit but it is all beginning to look a little suspicious. What better way to get us all watching their service by having us put under house arrest for fear of catching bat-AIDS? Not only that but they've just released a new film called The Platform that is so perfectly timed for right now that I reckon they probably fucked that flying rat themselves. The Platform is a Spanish language horror film about a man, Goreng, who wakes up to find himself trapped on a grotty random floor of a grotty random tower block. Unlike the rest of us who would only find ourselves in this environment if we decided to dabble in being a crack-head for a little while, Goreng is actually imprisoned here. There is a hole in both the floor and the ceiling of his room by which a table full of food is able to magically glide down once a day for him to eat from. The only catch is that the higher up the tower you are then the more food you'll have to choose from. Those nearer the bottom of the tower are obviously therefore only able to scavenge the scraps that they might have been left with. Any of this sounding familiar yet? Because right now I'm stuck in a small building in 'lockdown' with only the food I could find after you fucking bastards had grabbed everything off the fucking shop shelves first. The only difference between what's happening to Goreng and what's happening to us is that Goreng doesn't get offered a seven day free trial of PornHub's admittedly quite exciting-sounding premium service. 

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The Last Blockbuster We Ever Made

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Fisting a donkey, fucking a monkey, or sucking off a badger? I keep asking myself what must be in the photographs that Vin Diesel has of the movie producer that he keeps blackmailing for work. Because I refuse to believe that he actually gets hired for his acting ability alone. Have you seen any of his movies? The Fast And Furious franchise literally only works because he seems to be the only person involved in it that doesn't realise how fucking stupid it is. I don't dislike him but I think that we all know that he is a po-face figure of absolute ridicule. In which case it must be his good looks that people keep casting him for.. right? ...Are you kidding me? He looks like a camel fucked a potato and then nine months later a baby made of shoe-leather fell out. When I look at him I see a gingerbread man wrapped up in recently-waxed bollock skin. Sure he has a deep voice but he sounds like a butch woman that's been smoking seventy a day since the early Fifties. I agree that his best role is in Guardians Of The Galaxy but that's only because he's playing a tree monster called Groot and he'd already spent his entire career giving wooden performances anyway. I'd probably sound like him if my voice was booming out of from a charisma-free husk too and listening to him speak is like being shouted at by a haunted cupboard door. About forty-five minutes into his latest film Bloodshot, he takes off his jacket to reveal that he's also wearing a white vest. As usual. My theory is that filmmakers actually keep hiring the vest and he just comes fucking free with it.

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From One Extreme To The Other

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Author and columnist A.A. Gill once claimed that he'd shot a baboon to death because he wanted to know what it'd be like to kill an actual human being. That seems reasonable. We all try things out on an animal before going all the way with a human, don't we? By that logic, I presume Gill also tried to fuck a baboon before losing his virginity to an actual human too. Perhaps if Gill had really wanted to kill a person then instead of murdering an innocent baboon he should have just put the gun in his own mouth and blown his piece of shit brains all over the fucking walls instead. Blumhouse Productions' new movie The Hunt features a new riff on the 1924 Richard Connell story The Most Dangerous Game in which a group of sociopaths decide to kidnap and hunt down a gang of what they consider to be society's “deplorables”. Except due to a super-clever twist, it would be Gill on the run here as this new film features a group of liberal elites deciding to hunt down a group of right-wing shitheads instead. How subversive is that? My God. The left-wing lunatics are the ones going after the pro-gun right? That's such a special idea. I can only presume the writers of The Hunt typed this script by slapping their dicks back down onto the keyboard after spaffing off over their own unprecedented level of genius. 

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