We're All Horrible But At Least I Know It Now

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Hello neighbour, I'm glad we're online neighbours you and I. You come knocking at my little blog's door and I'll always let you in so that you can read some of my most recent and special thoughts. Of course, if this was real life I'd spit in your face and tell you to fuck off you piece of shit. I hate you. You're a cunt. I don't think I'm a bad person, but I realise having seen Tom Hanks' latest film A Beautiful Day In The Neighbourhood that I'm probably not a good one either. The film tells the real-life story of a journalist who was tasked with interviewing the children's TV host Mr Rogers. Over here in the UK, I don't think we're too aware of Mr Rogers, but by all accounts the Americans fucking love him. I was trying to think about who our equivalent might be and I really struggled. He's a TV presenter that has a special relationship with his younger audience and who is admired for all of the positivity that he's brought into the world. Who is our version of that? Because right now I'm thinking Jimmy Savile. In the film, the journalist is asked to write a puff-piece on Mr Rogers that might explain why he's considered such a hero. I guess it'd be trickier to write that about Savile now that he's turned out to be one of the most notorious fucking child molesters of all time. Mr Rogers was apparently a genuinely lovely human whereas I once read an interview in which Savile retrospectively seemed to imply that he'd spent a week fucking the corpse of his dead Mum as she lay decomposing in his flat.

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The journalist in this film goes to interview Mr Rogers with every intent of uncovering the dirt on him and it's easy to see why. The guy is too fucking nice. Nobody is that nice. Mr Rogers seems to genuinely care about everybody that he meets whilst apparently finding the value of everything they do. Have you met people? They're all arseholes! Most people could die having said nothing and their impact on the world would probably be improved. Fuck'em. I'm on the journalists' side. This guy is a nonce, surely? Knowing very little of Mr Rogers and with only Savile, as a reference point, I couldn't wait to find out what this guy's sinister fucking secret was. Then the film actually began. It opens with Hanks recreating the beginning of Mr Rogers' show in which the character talks gently and reassuringly down the camera. One second into the movie and I was creeped out by how culty the whole thing felt. This is the way people talk to you before convincing you to give them all of their your savings and then trying to touch you in the dick. What a fucking creep, I thought. The only way this film could have started in a more unsettling manner would be if it had opened with Christoper Lee prancing about in a frock as he warms himself by the fire of a giant fucking wicker man. By second two of the movie, I'd fully fallen in love with Mr Rogers and had decided that he could have any of my internal organs. He's already got my heart and so why not take a couple of kidneys too? He really is so nice! In that one second, I'd decided to say yum-yum to the Kool-aid and guzzled it all down like a dehydrated cum-fiend in a cock-factory full of leaky dicks.

Do you know about this thing called ASMR? It stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response and is basically when certain noises cause your brain to feel like it's tingling. I've become obsessed with it over the years and have spent hundreds of hours listening to YouTubers whisper into their microphones whilst experimenting with various different sounds. My friend is convinced that I masturbate to it because he thinks that I have access to the internet and it's some kid scrumpling tin-foil that I'm spaffing one out to. But A Beautiful Day In This Neighbourhood is like ASMR the movie. Particularly during the recreations of Mr Rogers' show where it's all slow, gentle talking and with soothing music playing in the background. If I was using ASMR to whack one out to then this film would have caused me to turn the cinema screen I was in into a jizzy recreation of Magneto's plastic prison. Mr Rogers even leaves little pauses after speaking to allow the viewer to respond to his greetings and various questions throughout. It's like the actual ASMR version of porn but a lot more wholesome. Oh yeah, there's actual porn versions of ASMR too. Did I not mention that? To be fair I probably have tried to tug one out to that but what genre of porn haven't I tried at this point? Have you tried cringe porn? It's where two people are trying to bang whilst being pure awkward with each other and constantly apologising. I've honestly never related to porn more. 

After the film, I decided to watch some of the real Mr Rogers to see how accurate Hanks' performance was and it was pretty spot on to be fair. Although it probably helps that Hanks too seems to be beloved by all and so only really had to dye his hair and slow down his talking to convince as the national treasure. I don't know who the fuck we'd get to play Savile if we ever made a film about him? We'd probably have to do it as a stop-motion movie with the decayed remains of Klaus fucking Kinski. Anyway, I put on the clip of Mr Rogers when I got home and ended up watching the whole show because it made me feel so warm and fuzzy. People are constantly trying to do things to make themselves feel happier. They'll buy new cars or sleep around and those things will make you happy temporarily. But eventually that high will disappear and you'll be back to living in the shit with the rest of us miserable twats. The only thing that we can apparently do to make ourselves happier and in a way in which we'll actually maintain it is to be kind to one another. That's a scientific fact too and not some hippy bullshit I'm telling you before I try to sell you some candles made out of... I mean I don't want to say congealed spunk because this has all been way to cock-snotty as it is. So let's say candles made out of shagwhizz and ignore the details of what that might really be. But my point is that we're all in pursuit of happiness and yet most of us would rather look for it by sticking heroin needles into our fucking eyes than simply being kind to one another. 

When I was watching Mr Rogers show afterwards he asked if we'd played peek-a-boo and then hid himself behind a cushion to demonstrate it. It was genuinely lovely. Then he said, “now I'd like to do a different kind of thing. You'll see what's behind this pillow next”, and my brain genuinely said, “it's going to be his cock”. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why are we all so horrible? Mr Rogers, his show, and this film all act as a much-needed reminder that we're all scum. The journalist is sent to write a 400-word article on his subject which is obviously bullshit. It's currently only taken me an hour to write this far in and I'm already up to 1266 words and yet this guy is being paid to take days to write 400? What a lucky bastard. None of mine are good obviously. I'm aware of that. But Mr Rogers teaches kindness so don't be a prick about it! Rather than finding any dirt the journalist instead has a transformative experience of his own by seeing the impact that this mans attitude is having on the people around him. The concluding result is that the finished article that this film is based on ended up being 10,000 words long instead. Just think how much he could have written if he'd actually been sent to Bill Cosby. I really loved the movie, I've fallen in love with the character, and I understood the overall message of being open and patient with people. But as I was trying to leave the screen some old man was walking down the stairs in front of me. I smiled at him to let him know that he could take his time and to be careful. But deep down inside I was still fantasising about kicking the old bastard in the back of the fucking knees so that he'd trip and I'd get out a few seconds faster. Thanks for reading, motherfuckers, and see you next time.