Fight Your Guts Out

If you were to slice open my veins, I swear to God I'd bleed out cheese. When my Mum left, I suddenly lost a shit-load of weight and for the first time in my life I was actually skinny. Not because I wasn't eating by the way, but because suddenly I was responsible for whatever shit I wanted to stuff into my greedy face. As it turns out, I pretty exclusively love meat, bread and not much else. It took me a few months to realise that I'd accidentally put myself on the Atkins Diet and was probably one spoonful of mayo away from a full cardiac arrest. In a brief attempt to remain alive, I therefore decided to go for a jog which to my surprise started off quite well. In fact it was so easy that for a split second I thought that I might actually be a runner and it'd just taken me this long to try it and realise. It didn't last... by the second minute, I was basically just dragging myself along the pavement unable to breathe and using what little energy I had left to try and resist the urge to puke out my fucking lungs. Oh, and none of that is counting the time I went so long without eating fruit that my lips started to fall off and I became the first non-pirate ever to possibly catch scurvy. To reiterate, I might not be fat but I am not a fit or healthy person.

Let's Be Frank

Frank starts in some fucking God-awful British coastal town where the beach is made out of broken rocks and the sky is constantly threatening to piss down. Life for Jon is predictably boring with his attempts at writing songs resulting in both unproductive brain-farts and well... shit. One day when out walking, he spots a man attempting suicide which, having seen the grottiness of the area, seems like common sense to me. Being both British and human though, Jon doesn't really worry and instead watches apathetically from the side in the vain hope that he'll suddenly be struck by some musical inspiration. Also, watching this breakdown with understanding nonchalance are the chap’s bandmates who are now in need of a new keyboard player. Jon plays keyboard. He joins the band... it's as easy as that. Sadly though, the band he's joined are so musically experimental that their sound is like listening to somebody angry fuck a dustbin and everybody except the lead singer hates his ginger guts. Oh, and just because that's not already enough of a set up for a ninety minute film, the lead singer is clearly fucking mental having made the common-as-muck life choice of permanently wearing a giant Frank Sidebottom mask on his head. Yep, it's another one of them... A film about the creative process as filtered through the deranged mind of a nutcase, hidden behind a papier-mâché symbol of musical old Madchester. God, I hate all the fucking clichés!

Live And Let Live

In many ways I regret getting my dog because I've grown annoyingly fond of her and I know that one day the bitch will break my heart and die. For years I refused to watch animal documentaries because I didn't like the idea of seeing a shark rip open a seal or a crocodile pulling the head off a zebra. People say I should man up because it's just part of life, but fuck them! When I was younger I lived in the kind of area where a young girl would drop her pants in the park and then casually do a shit under the slide. Just because something's part of life it doesn't mean I need to watch Richard Attenborough narrate it on a Sunday night. Around the time she was doing her public dump, there seemed to be a weird sub-genre of animal abuse movies that masqueraded as kids films that I didn't like either. They all had the exact same plot in which a child would befriend an animal that would be taken away and tormented by the adults before being rescued by the kid at the end. Free Willy is probably a good example of this with the film-makers cleverly realising that the simplest way of creating drama in a film for children is by finding a cute, innocent creature and then fucking it up. Like those shit movies from my youth, my dog too has found herself in trouble when I've needed to protect her. Another dog attacked her once and so I had to kick it in the face... Job’s a good’n. Let's move on.

Remaining Optimistic

Have you seen 22 Jump Street yet? Expecting something to be shit and then finding out it's actually not is such a lovely experience because of how rarely it happens! Have you ever eaten a mussel? Surely anybody who has must have had low expectations from looking at it! As food goes, there's always going to be something more appealing than what looks like fish snot on a shell. Well a few years ago and during one of my braver moments I decided to give it a go and you know what? To my surprise I learnt that even though it doesn't look very appealing, it still managed to taste even more fucking disgusting than I could have predicted. Imagine licking squid cum off a sharpened rock that was once used to scrape shit from a mermaid’s arse and that's pretty much what eating a mussel is like. It was rank. I think that it's a general rule in life that if we have low expectations then there's probably a reason and we're usually right. The same is kind of true of films too, to a degree, although I'd argue you should always remain a little open minded when walking into the cinema. Yes, Michael Bay's next film is probably going to be rubbish but I'd rather remain optimistic on the off chance that I'm wrong about him being a talentless, angry, fucknugget... I'm not, but you never know. Expecting something to be shit and then finding out it's actually not is such a lovely experience because of how rarely it happens and despite the fact that it should be a massive raging turd, I decided to see 22 Jump Street.

Live. Die. Repeat.

Edge of Tomorrow is a film in which Tom Cruise dicks about with aliens and everybody thinks he's mad. What a stretch that must have been for him! Right, I've already talked about the film and made a shit joke so now it's time for me to go off topic. God, I hate my life. Like, it's actually fucking shit. I drive to work where I get bollocked for being crap at my job and then I drive home were I'm bollocked by my step-mum for still being alive. To be honest, I think that knowing how much my existence annoys her is all that's stopping me from driving head on into a fucking wall. Is this getting too grim yet? I suppose it's meant to be a movie blog and not a suicide note so I'll lighten things up a bit. Hey, have you ever noticed Tom Cruise's front two teeth? They should be in the middle of his mouth but they're not. They're actually off to the side for some reason. I promise that once you see it you'll never un-see it ever again. If you thought a cult that rapes its followers’ bank balances before treating them to bullshit secrets about little green men was weird then just wait until you see Tom Cruise’s smile. Oh, and did I mention that I'm only one bad day away from slashing my wrists? Sorry, no- ignore that.. It got dark again. We're here to discuss a film and so that's exactly what we'll do. Have you seen Edge of Tomorrow yet? I'm thinking of sticking my head in the oven. It's a good film. It's about a man who has a really shit time every single day and from the moment he wakes up. How unbearable does that sound? Fuck my life...