Who’s Strangling The Cat?

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So I just used up eight of my nine lives attempting to endure what felt like the four-day running time of Cats and I'm honestly still not sure what in the living blue fuck it was all about. This movie is our generation's Vietnam in that there will be people living with the haunting horrors of what they've seen for decades to come. This movie is what I imagine you'd hallucinate as you die in a gutter having drunk nothing but cats piss for an entire month. There are just so many questions that the viewer is left asking but the most important one is simply, 'why?' Why do the cats in this film look like they do? It's like the Thundercats decided to join an amateur dramatic society instead of going to the fucking gym. When was this film set? Because I would guess that it's some time after the apocalypse when all that's left of our species are the children of the cats that we had sex with to pass the time. I was once in a cubical in the toilets in a pub and as I opened the door to leave, my eye-line was directly on target to spot on old man's dick as he took a piss at a urinal. I hadn't known he was there or I'd have been at least a little more prepared to avert my eyes but the result was that his chubby little potato dick ended up burnt onto my retinas forever. Previously I'd have told you that was probably the worst thing I'd ever seen in my life but the hellscape that is Cats has probably just taken the crown from his stinky-looking and distinctly vegetable-shaped cock-head. 

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Freaks And Geeks

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“Do you want to go and watch that new Hugh Jackman thing?” I asked my mate. “The musical?” he responded, “Hell yeah I want to see that.. but where will we see it?” This question threw me slightly because we literally only ever go to the same cinema. “Err where do you think?” I asked. “Well..” he responded with slight irritation, “It's a musical isn't it so how the fuck am I supposed to know?” “It's still a film though” I stated whilst still confused. “Oh” he said with an obvious realisation that I was about to take the piss out of him. “Did you think it was a live show?” I asked whilst knowing full well that he had. “Well ..yeah” he answered sheepishly “But it's an easy mistake to make isn't it?!” ...“You thought that Hugh Jackman was doing a live musical show around here.. in the arse-end of nowhere.. and not only was I asking if you were interested the day before but that tickets would still be available for us to just rock up with zero notice?” “Yes” he snapped whilst now on the defence. “Well, I'm sorry to disappoint” I said remembering that he was the same person that once thought a double cheese-burger meant that he'd get a single burger with double cheese on top. “Do you still want to come?” I checked. “Yeah” he said, “But can you do me a favour? When you write about this film in your blog can you not tell people that it was me who thought I'd be seeing Hugh Jackman live?” “That's not a problem, Kris” I promised, “Nobody will ever know it was you”.

The Golden Circle Of Life

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A little while ago I heard an interview in which director Matthew Vaughn said that he'd dreamt up a scenario for Mark Strong's character in his Kingsman sequel that was so batshit and insane that he'd have to ask the actor's permission before committing to the idea. Considering quite how insane the first movie got in which Pride And Prejudice's dashing Mr Darcy fucked up a church full of arse-holes to the sound of both 'Freebird' and a lisping Samuel L Jackson, this seemed like quite a statement for Vaughn to make. Having now seen Kingsman: The Golden Circle I feel I can confirm too that his idea was literally off the charts in its insanity. So off the charts in fact that I actually have no idea as to what it might have been because presumably Mark Strong told him “Err.. no”. From start to finish I spotted literally nothing in this movie that Mark Strong's character did in which you'd assume the director would need permission before writing it into the script. Especially when you consider that Strong only recently appeared in the shite film Grimsby in which his character had to hide up one elephant's vagina as another elephant stuck its cock in, started the special cuddle that people in love do, and then finally jizzed all over him.

Why We Need Baby Driver Now

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On the 14^th Of June 2017 the UK received news of the Grenfell Tower disaster. After complaining and complaining about the state of their building and its lack of safety procedures, a tower block in one of the richest parts of the country went up in flames and killed so many of its working class occupants that the final death toll is still not expected to be known until 2018. In the ensuing shit-storm of finger-pointing and twat-blaming it was revealed that in 2016 the building had been given an £8.7 million refurbishment which focused less on making it liveable as it did on making it more visually tolerable for the surrounding richer people. God forbid the value of their often-unoccupied homes be affected by the sight of a living poor person. Since then it has subsequently turned out that this rejuvenation may in fact have been partly to blame for the way in which the fire spread so quickly, which makes me genuinely suspicious that this was a actually a secret Government plan to both kill off the poor whilst preparing the land ready to have more mansions built up for the hideously rich. I'm honestly waiting for the news that the survivors have since been re-homed in the Summer Isles, inside a giant fucking Wicker Man. And anybody that claims they can't picture Theresa May dancing around it next to a befrocked Christopher Lee is also a fucking liar.

Ready For La La Love?!

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Musicals are a strange old thing. Especially the ones in which crowds spring into a huge song and dance routines en mass and then go back to their normal activities as though nothing had ever happened. It's sort of as though every musical like that belongs to a George A Romero-like apocalyptic sub-genre in which humanity has been infected with some sort of singing tourettes. If the afflicted in 28 Days Later were bitten by a rage infected monkey then I can only assume the occupants of a musical were bitten by whatever this genre's equivalent is. I don't know what that would be but I'm thinking.. probably.. Bonnie Tyler. As such, I can see why some people wouldn't like musicals. It is strange to see people express their inner thoughts and deepest emotions with what looks like a completely improvised song and dance that everybody knows the lyrics and choreography too. Although fuck it- I'm English, so I'm shocked whenever people simply express their deepest emotions regardless of how they do it.