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.

 

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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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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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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A Life Changing Hit From A Bong

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If you can watch the film Okja and still eat meat by the time the credits roll then as far as I'm concerned you're a fucking sociopath. I'd been considering vegetarianism for some time before seeing this movie but I'd been somewhat put off by the fact that I didn't like eating things that weren't meat and I fucking loved eating the things that were. If I were to order a pizza then when asked what toppings I'd like for it I'd ask for so much meat that it was almost easier for me to just sing “Old MacDonald Had A Farm” down the fucking phone. Of course, I felt guilty about it. To quote this film, “I'm an animal lover. Everybody knows that about me!” But my God they taste so good, don't they? It helps that we often give the food different names too I think. I'm not eating a cute little piggy but a delicious cooked sausage that I can imagine somebody must have plucked harmlessly from the sausage tree. I was going to say I'd like to imagine myself eating from the sausage bush but that just sounds as though I like a man with a lot of pubes and I'm desperate to suck his cock. Of course, I knew that sausages came from pigs but even the adverts on television made the animals look happy for me to eat them. Beef adverts make it seem as though the meat is a gift from the cows and I'd be hurting their poor little moo-moo feelings if I chose not to accept it. Look, I love giving gifts as much as the next person but if it involves me being shot in the head, hung from meat hooks, splayed open, and then shoved into a fucking burning hot oven then I might just get you a fucking gift voucher instead if you don't fucking mind. 

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A Disappointing Shaft?

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So I watched a Shaft film for the first time ever the other night. As in, the blaxploitation franchise, obviously. That's not just what I call pornos. If that was the case then I'd have to say that I'd spent my teenage years attempting to find the limit of how many shaft films that a single brain could take. I suppose that I should clarify further too that I didn't actually watch Shaft, the 1971 film featuring Richard Roundtree as Shaft, or even Shaft the 2000 film featuring Samuel L Jackson as Shaft. But rather I watched Shaft the 2019 film with Richard Roundtree, Samuel L Jackson and some young dweeb called Jessie Usher as Shaft, Shaft, and just one more Shaft. Essentially this film works on the same principle of a gangbang in that it assumes that the more Shafts there are, the more fun things will be. Roundtree is the oldest Shaft and father to Jackson's Shaft II, who in turn is the father of Usher's Shaft Jr. I also guess that the characters of Shaft are about as imaginative at naming their children as the filmmakers are with this franchise. There are only five Shaft films with three of them being called Shaft. Where's the fun in that? Has anybody even told them that the shaft is also what we call the bit of a dick that isn't the tip? It'd be ironic if not because I spent this movie hating these characters so much that where I was supposed to see three Shafts I could only really see three bellends.

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A Private Little War

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Outlaw King tells the story of legendary Robert the Bruce with the film beginning as he agrees to be England's little bitch. Apparently, the film is set in 1304, but as I saw peasants living in mud and the English trying desperately not to lose control of Scotland, I naturally assumed that it was set post-Brexit. A few years later, Robert notices how dissatisfied the Scottish seem to be with the slaughter of their hero William Wallace being something that particularly irks them. Although if he thought that they were pissed off with their national hero being killed and chopped into pieces then I look forward to him seeing their reaction to the future casting of Mel Gibson. From here Robert decides to fight back by being crowned the King of Scotland and rounding up a small rabble of bearded monsters that we call 'Scottish people'. I can't say I'm a historian and you could honestly write everything that I know about Scottish history onto a mouse's cock. Though from what I can gather, this film takes so many liberties with the facts that a game of Chinese whispers in a tourette's clinic would prove more reliable.

Fortune Favours The Dumb

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It took me so many attempts to get my drivers licence that, had I failed my final test, then I was genuinely prepared to claim the instructor had touched me on my 'no no parts' to blackmail them into passing me. I know that sounds terrible but they were failing me over such pedantic reasons that I started to suspect they were only doing it to fund their fucking Christmas party. As a consolation, I was told that the smarter a person is, the harder they find driving because people with a brain tend to overthink a situation instead of responding naturally. “Great”, I thought, “the world favours the morons once again”. First we weren't allowed free Pogs in our packets of crisps because some knobhead chocked to death on one and now I'm paying almost a hundred fucking quid a go because I signalled before checking my twatting mirror. Well, that was ten years ago, and although to be fair it has subsequently turned out that I am just a bit of a shit driver, it seems that the world is still looking after the idiots. This was meant to be the year that writer director Alex Garland had Annihilation, the follow up to his amazing directorial debut Ex Machina, released in cinemas only to find that idea shat all over by the kingdom of the fucking dumb at the last minute.

When Netflix Treated Us To A Dump

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The Cloverfield Paradox reminds me of a present I got a few years ago for Christmas. Ripping the wrapping paper apart with eager anticipation I was forced to fake a smile when I discovered that the only thing that my Dad had got me was a fucking cheap plastic dinner tray. “Oh that's useful”, said my stepmum, “we didn't have a dinner tray but now we can use that one”. So not only did I have a shit present but it wasn't even a shit fucking present for me. Anyway, we all knew that a new Cloverfield movie was coming but I'm not sure that many people knew we'd be getting it quite as soon as we did. Expecting a cinematic release at some point in the year, it was actually announced during the Superbowl that the film would be available to watch on Netflix as soon as the game was over. As a fan of the first movie and an even bigger fan of 10 Cloverfield Lane, I felt the excitement hit me like I'd been head butted in the stomach by an angry dwarf. It literally did feel like Christmas day all over again but better because I wasn't in anyway obligated to see my family. Loading up my friend's Netflix account like the fucking leech that I am, I selected the movie and began to watch it. I appreciate that like it was a gift that was given to me out of the blue. But like the time I got the dinner tray for Christmas, I can't help but feel like what I really got was a slap in the fucking face.