Bitch, Bitch, Bitch...

If I wasn’t working at the crack of dawn tomorrow, my ass would be catching the midnight premiere of King Kong tonight. Epic movies like this one beg to be seen on the big screen on opening night. The crowd energy is different...more electric. And it’s just plain fun. Of course, there are the assholes in the theatre who ruin that vibe and quickly make me want to choke the very life out of their bodies. You know the jackoffs…

Idiots who don’t turn off their cellphones prior to the movie. And still fuckin’ answer the phone in the middle of the flick!! Or play Tetris…or send text messages, the whole time, cellphone casting out light bright enough for me to read my program from where I’m sitting…

Then there’s the talkers. Good God, they grate on me like nails on a chalkboard. If you want to keep a running personal commentary on the movie, then wait for the dvd & do it at home! I didn’t pay $7 to hear you yap your friggin’ flapper for two hours. How about the delicious irony of the talkers getting pissed at me when I ask them to keep it down?

How about the asshole who feels the need to keep kicking or pushing into the back of your seat throughout the entire movie? Or use your seat backing for leverage every time he/she gets up? Can’t forget about the guys & gals who feel the need to put their feet up on the seat in front of them, lounge style. Like I want a smelly size thirteen on top of the headrest in the seat next to mine…

Such douchetools always seem to end up sitting within a 5 foot radius of me. Every time. It’s gotten to the point where it makes for an unenjoyable movie experience for me. And lately seems to happen almost all of the time. Can’t I just go sit, relax & suspend my disbelief for a few hours without being bothered by someone who could care less about the movie?

My wife seems to think I’m getting more uptight & less patient with the younger crowds, which is probably true. It certainly does seem like folks are, overall, much less respectful today than years ago. And I’m only 30, so I can imagine what older folks think, compared to the 30’s or 50’s.

I can’t wait to build a house, so I can have my own theatre room and can sequester myself in there, never needing to bother with going to a Cineplex and dealing with crying babies or tubs of popcorn with that ‘buttery substance’ they dump on top. What is that? I’m frightened by the fact that the word buttery is used to describe it. By that virtue alone, it would seem to imply that there is no real butter used in the making of 'the substance'.

Gross.