Spanky powered by tomato. From the United Collective of North American Tomato Farmers. All rights reserved. Don't fuck with the UCNATF. Wind up as tomato fertilizer. So just you watch out.

Just saw Michael Moore's Bowling For Columbine. Everyone must see. Basically the movie is one big question: why do Americans shoot each other vastly more than the rest of the "free" world? The best part is that he doesn't exactly try to answer it cause he don't know, and he challenges you to admit that you and all the experts don't know either. Plus you should see it for the brief display of new animation style powered out by Matt Stone and Trey Parker alone. Find some extra sauce and spend it on a movie ticket. Now.

Last Monday, not being a member of normal society, was surprised to discover many people had a holiday for the man who helped introduce scary and mean white people to the west, Columbus. I usually have Sundays and Mondays as my weekend. So I traipsed outside to one of my favorite theaters on an early Monday afternoon thinking I would have low interaction with the rest of the public. I prefer my movie viewing to be not hindered with a cluster fuck of crowd flocking. Hit the theater and boom, line out the door. Saw Punch Drunk Love anyway.

Not so long ago I decided never to purchase refreshments at the movies. It's all food industry runoff anyway. Prepackaged popcorn made "fresh" with imitation butter sludge. Brightly colored artificially flavored sugar bombs. Two gallon tubs of bladder splitting pop. Halfway through the movie guts being punched open, mad dash to the toilet. End up paying a pretty premium for all that intestinal trouble too. T'aint worth it I say.

Also the tards behind the counter fumble around like a bunch of farm animals in the rain. I know your life is shit yon teenager, but step it up with my Slushie you waste so I can claim a proper seat. It is highly amusing watching them attempt to make change from a twenty. Taxing those addled brain cells to the max.

So, I find a cosy little spot all the way to the side, up in the stadium style seating section. No reason to go to the movies anymore if a huge bobbling cranium is gonna be fucking with your view the entire time. Stadium style the way to go munchkins. One seat seperating me from a party of five or six in a row. Some spunkwad, more than halfway through the movie, decided he wants to crowd me in by sneaking in to the seat next to me. Groan. But wait, here's the fucked up part. The guy at the tail end of the party of five or six decides he's gonna grab my coat to move it out of the way. Which causes my fedora to tumble to the grimy floor.

So, with my usual tact, I thank the seat monitoring asshole and ask him to keep his fucking fingers off my shit. He huffs and puffs some. Teeteering on hoping for him to trip the piano wire attached to the live grenade ready to send shrapnel everywhere that is living in my chest currently. Unfortunately, I've been aching for a fight lately. Just a couple whispers or low toned gripes in my direction and I would have started with the fist to jaw instigations.

Mainly I was pissed he fucked up my hat. It's got one of those tacky velvety veneers, so it picks up all kinds of grime that it might happen to roll in. Say, when some tank of puke grabs my coat and sends the fedora that used to belong to my grandpa towards the sugarwater smeared cinema floor. Nice brightly higlighted specks on my black fedora. Grrrrrrrrrr.

Also pissed to have my enjoyment of the fine film interrupted. Latecomer must have tasted my displeasure as he scrunched his ass all the way to the other side of his seat to avoid any contact with me. Smart thinking.

Anyway, Punch Drunk Love is another fine outing from director Paul Thomas Anderson. Go spend more money to see that one as well. Don't listen to the critics. Fuck sake, what would you listen to critics for in the first place? Bunch of losers who couldn't do, so they comment on those that can. All career critics can get the gas face. Chumps.