The Greatest Thing That Our Species Has Ever Created

Join us on Facebook!

Cinema can probably stop now because John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum is the greatest fucking achievement that our shit show of a species has ever fucking accomplished. You can take your Great Pyramids, and your penicillin, and your pointless fucking trips to the moon, and shove them up your arse because the perfection of John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum, flat out shits all over them. Oh, did we figure out a way of splitting open an atom? Who gives a fuck?! John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum features a scene in which dogs in bulletproof fucking jackets kill about fifty people in five fucking minutes. Yeah, did you hear that? Dogs in bulletproof fucking jackets kill fifty people in five fucking minutes. I mean, what?? Did Einstein write the script for this movie? Was it Stephen Hawking? Is that what he was doing before he died? Just blinking this movie out in morse code as his last act of genius? Because unless aliens came down and beamed this film into our heads then clearly John Wick: Chapter 3- Parabellum is the greatest fucking advance that our society has made since we first crawled out of the swamp as a fucking fish.

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!