Oh no, a chavalanche!

Or as I like to call it, a nice day out at the Peckham multiplex. Without a doubt one of the worst cinematic experiences in London. When I'm absolutely down to my last brass farthing and the only thing in my pockets is lint then I will go there to watch a film.

Every fucker piles into whatever seat they can find in sub-zero air-conditioned temperatures to watch the latest blockbuster. But you can only watch them because you sure as fuck can't hear them. This is partly because the sound is turned way down low and the audience volume is as high as you get. Yes, why not pay four quid (at least it isn't too expensive) and listen to pissketeers chat away on their mobile phones, black girls have a full volume conversation with their equally chavvy and idiotic friends about what they are going to do during the week and see small children run unattended up and down the aisles whilst their fuckheaded parents sit and watch the film without the slightest sense of embarrassment.

Why, oh why, do people go to the cinema if they aren't interested in watching films? If you have four quid in your arse pocket and you want a chat then go to a Costa or Caffe Nero but don't ruin everybody else's enjoyment you inconsiderate cunt bubbles.

I've got so many problems

Apparently I’ve got a really small penis, one that’s far too inadequate to sexually satisfy my woman, which is exacerbated by the fact that it is constantly impotent. And when I do get it hard – presumably aided with half chopstick splints – it is pointless because I proceed to shoot my load over the belly of the woman. And if that isn’t bad enough I am also morbidly obese too. Thank God that my good friends Brian Wang, Alfonso Q Confucious, Stella M’Bella and Hawk T Slayer were on hand to email about these horrific problems. Without them I would have wandered through life blissfully ignorant of my deficiencies!

Of course, how these people know this is beyond me as I have never actually met them, but who am I to deny their kind words. They have to be my friends because they are offering me solutions to these problems and they know my email address. Brian was kind enough to offer me a course of tablets which will increase my length and girth beyond the 'limits of my imagination' which is pretty big, particularly as the limit of my imagination comes from my 'Big Jonny Holmes' videos from the '70s and '80s. Alfonso offered me C!alis and V1agra which he informed me would cure my impotence problems immediately and give me the staying power to go all night. Hawk felt that my tendency to shoot first would be best dealt with by rubbing mandrake powder over my bell-end, at least that is what I think he was trying to say - Hawk's english isn't very good. Stella was cruel in her assertion, 'Face it, you're too fat,' but she did offer several very good solutions for dealing with my mounds of blubber.

The only problem with these solution is that it requires me sending them money - via Western Union money transfer, which will of course fully protect me if the funds should disappear in Britain's notoriously unreliable postal system. I think! But - wait a second - I thought friends offered you solutions without demanding money for them.

I wonder if they really are my friends after all?

Which is why I declined their kind offers. I'll still with what I've got thank you... and that includes the pittance I've got in my bank account!

And maybe I'll learn to start deleting spam too. Damn my curious mind!

Back Seat DJs

Yes, you may have heard these silly motherfuckers in the back seat of a bus recently. The wannabe Carl Cox's pumping out 2 watts of tinny shit from the single speaker of their megakicking mobile phones. Cunts!

There are several things these mongoloids fail to realise in their eagerness to share their music collection with us all, and these are:

1) Nobody gives a fuck about their music collection.
2) Nobody wants to hear their music collection (even if it was the best MP3 library in the world ever - which it never ever is).
3) Personal MP3 players have been invented. They involve the use of headphones - which are placed into each ear. It saves everybody from having to listen to their music.
4) Respect for others. These fucking idiots moan about being 'dissed' by others and yet they are first morons to whip out their mobile for a jammin' session.
5) The sound of R n' B ranks alongside hearing the sound of your parents fucking on the aural pleasure scale.

I'm truly starting to believe that eugenics may be the only solution to our problems. Surely science can isolate the chav gene and eradicate it.

Jesus, I'm boiling over with rage just thinking about these bastards!

A Cadre of Cunts

My term for the fucksicles who roam the shit-strewn streets of Cunt London thrusting free newspaper after newspaper into our sweaty paws as we attempt to get home after a hard day's skiving.

I wouldn't mind so much but these fuckabillies seem to position themselves right in the middle of the fucking pavement, so that people have jump off the pavement and into the oncoming traffic to avoid them.

And then you get the ones that I like to call 'Newsprint rapists' - the ones who don't seem to understand that occasionally no really does mean no. These fuckers chase you down the street trying to thrust as many papers as they can into your hands. Despite the fact that your arms are folded... behind your back.

Oh for a quiet walk along Cunt London's boulevards without being accosted. One can but dream!

Nameless Nobody's Guide to Cinema Etiquette

Home Cinema may be the next big thing, in fact it may be the current big thing, but until it addresses one serious flaw it will never truly recreate the cinema-going experience. To that effect I have created the next big advance in DVD technology: RAS, or “RetardAroundSound” to give it its full moniker. Utilising the full power of your Dolby Digital, or DTS, system the cinema-going experience will come alive in the confines of your own home. Gasp, as some fuckleberry opens the world’s crunchiest bag of Kettle Chips and rustles it right beside your fucking ear; Sigh, as a gang of teenage unemployment statistics strike up a full volume conversation during the film’s most pensive moment; Weep, as the simpletons behind you explain to each what’s going on, plotwise, at any particular moment and; Shit, as mobile phone after mobile phone resounds around the auditorium. I have submitted my plans to all the major companies and expect a positive response, particularly as it gives them the opportunity to resell their entire back catalogue to unwary customers. Consider me a pioneer…and don’t say you haven’t been warned!

Actually, consider me pissed off! What has happened to cinema audiences? There was a time when audiences went to the cinema to watch a film in relative silence, and the only time they stirred was to make the appropriate sound at the appropriate moment: cue gasping, laughing, crying, shrieking etc. They were generally a conscientious bunch who were well behaved and genuinely sorry if they disturbed the experience of those around them. They are sorely missed. But, then again, I do drink a lot, so maybe they are a figment of my imagination, or I’m looking into the past through rose-tinted specs! But, things feel different today.
Nowadays, audiences chat, shout, shuffle, slurp and belch their way through the entirety of the film. In fact, in today’s climate, I don’t consider my cinematic experience truly complete until some intellectually deficient chav sears away my retinas as he types a text message into a mobile phone with a display light bright enough to power a solar panel. And woe betide those who even dare to question these people about their behaviour. A recent episode involved a teenager who, upon my polite request for silence, offered me a look of disgust akin to me offering him a freshly laid turd in a box. To say he wasn’t pleased would be an understatement. Cunt!

So, who is to blame for this? God knows. And, frankly, I don’t care. I’m a critic not a social scientist, but I do know this: basic courtesy costs nothing, and usually leaves the recipient feeling better about both themselves and humanity in general! But, for those who don’t understand basic courtesy, here are a few rules that will enhance everybody’s day at “the pictures”:

1) Leave your conversation outside the auditorium. Your friend isn’t going anywhere, so whatever you need to tell them can wait a couple of hours. And if it can’t wait then whisper it. And to those fucktards who feel the need to explain every plot-point to their dimwitted chum/girlfriend/family member: Don’t! If they can’t follow a basic plot, and most Hollywood stuff is pretty basic, then they have no place in the cinema. Frankly, they might be better served by being placed in a small room, sat on a chair, and given a cup with a ball on a string to play with. So, please, just shut up!

2) Turn off your mobile phone. They are no longer status-symbols. They are just plain annoying. So are you for texting your friend in the middle of a darkened auditorium. You are a twat. Get out! Ditto cubed for those engaged in mobile phone conversation.

3) Eat with your mouth closed and stop rustling your snack bag. Major advances in table etiquette mean it is now possible to eat with your mouth closed, amazing but true. Eating with your mouth closed has two benefits: one, the sound of nachos being crushed between your molars is deadened, therefore reducing their ability to distract your fellow cinema-goers; two, eating with your mouth closed prevents your gnarly, nacho cheese ridden breath from stinking up the airspace of those around you.

By following these simple rules everybody can have a good time. And if you don’t shut up, don’t be surprised a nameless nobody ramming his fist down your throat. You have been warned!