Dear Hollywood…

November 18, 2011

How many times do I have to see someone wake up slowly after a night of hot, mutually satisfactory and stumble-free lovemaking, reach across the crumpled sheets to the spot where their partner would be, had they not quietly vacated the room for some incredibly urgent and important reason, some time before dawn?

Just once I’d like to see a Hollywood A-lister’s character emerge from a night of perfunctory, one-sided rooting with dribble on their temple and a bad case of fucky hair, desperately trying to remember where the wet spot is so they can avoid it on their rush to the bog.

Which brings me to my next point. Why don’t we ever see anyone using the shitter? With the notable exception of Jon Travolta in Pulp Fiction, who was ironically reminding us that he hadn’t been in anything that wasn’t a pile of shit for two decades, why doesn’t anyone pretty ever need to drop the kids off at the pool? I’m not that interested in seeing details, but surely at some point before James Bond squeezes into a wetsuit to infiltrate a secret seaside hideout he says, “I’ll just lay a little pipe before you zip me up”. Surely Lara Croft didn’t go crawling through the temples at Angkor with a bullet in the chamber.

And another thing, you fucking unimaginative bastards: why do you insist on showing people sitting down to write a letter, only to give up after a few words, scrunch it up, chuck it aimlessly on the floor and start again? Apart from the total disregard for the fucking trees that died to make your little unconvincing vignette, there’s a fairly well-established convention of using a fucking computer to undertake writing tasks now. In case you haven’t noticed, even a fucking bear can do it.

While I’m at it, a few more points:

  • It is, in fact, possible to bump into somebody while carrying an armful of books without dropping them all on the floor like a clumsy dipshit.
  • Shooting at something and actually hitting it is really fucking difficult.
  • When most people die, they don’t suddenly think of something important to say. If you’re lucky, you might get an “ouch” or a “that was a fucking stupid thing to do, wasn’t it?” out of them, but most dying people just make a strange gurgling sound and shit themselves.

So next time I pay twenty dollars to see Halle Berry emerge perfectly from the ocean, at least give her an untidy bikini line or some fucking parsley in her teeth.

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One Response to “Dear Hollywood…”

  1. Greybeard said

    Skip the bikini & she can have a whole mouthful of parsley. Hmm, unintentionally kinky image.

Go on then. Have a go.

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