...way out on the corner of fucked up and evil...

Oh no, you guys, a terrible thing has happened! See, there I was, innocently enjoying a day filled with zombies and/or Cillian Murphy, minding my own business, not doing anything mean to anybody (for a change). And I'm about half-way through 28 Days Later, and part of me is enjoying the zombie monkey action while another part is wondering why Cillian Murphy insists on starring in films that, with the exception of Batman Begins, either suck or require him to be not-hot*.

And then. THEN! I realise that the evil Army dude who keeps zombies chained up in his garden, stupidly within reach of clean laundry, is Christopher... well, I can't remember how to spell his last name, but the Potato-Headed Doctor Who! And he's all, "Oh Cillian Murphy, I shall make you my own personal Boy Wench," and Cillian Murphy is all, "I would rather be stabbed in the throat with a PEN!" and then violence happens, and now my brain is all, "Dude, we should write some kind of Doctor Who/28 Days Later crossover with perhaps ADDED JACKSON RIPNER and inappropriately feminine scarves!" and I am entirely disgusted with myself.

Although not so disgusted that I didn't immediately go looking for such fic, and feel disappointed when I found none.

Oh, and also? The Wind That Shakes The Barley is SHIT! All of Ireland should be nuked in punishment for that film. Fuck you, Ireland, even Skeet Ulrich and JAMES REMAR cannot save you now.

*Please note, I am not denying that he was very pretty in Breakfast on Pluto, it's just that my own personal preference for Cillian Murphy does not extend to Fishnet Stockings Flavoured Cillian. Unless he gets it on with Dakin. That would be acceptable.

The most awesome thing about Easter is the after-Easter sale on all kinds of delicious chocolatey items. I did indeed get my rum truffles, and some snacks for Thlayli and co., before returning home for a marvellously vampire-themed moviefest: Blade Trinity, Dracula 2001, the Lost Boys, Interview with the Vampire, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (and oh, the delicious irony of Donald Sutherland being a Watcher and Keifer Sutherland being, well, David) and of course, Jesus Christ: Vampire Hunter. Because everything's better with ninjas.

Of course, nobody can see that much religious iconography in one day without some consequences, and so I give you another installment of...



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I don't normally talk about serious things in this journal, owing to the fact that I'm not a very serious person and also because I believe the internet is for porn, but occaisonally something will rile me to the point where I have to speak up.

I am sick and tired of hearing pretentious fuckwits whine about the great evil that is Christianity. You're not being oppressed when I go to mass. Lighting a candle for the dead does not mean I am some right-wing anti-abortionist lunatic, or that I have been brainwashed by Vatican propaganda. How dare you make assumptions about my intelligance or political allegiance or in fact, any other aspect of my life based on something that is none of your fucking business in the first place? It's so wonderful that you're secure enough in your own belief system that you feel entitled to make snide remarks about other peoples. I'm not making you attend with me, I'm not asking you to pay lip-service to the things that I believe, I'm not trying to convert you, and frankly, if that's how you're going to act then I wouldn't want you on my side anyway. What I believe is not up for debate, and spouting anti-Christian rhetoric at me in a loud voice is not debate to begin with.

Those people with the signs get on my nerves, yes, but so do Big Issue sellers and Amnesty International members and buskers and anybody else who interferes with me getting in and out of town with as little human interaction as possible. But the ones that really annoy me are mother-fucking hecklers who verbally attack these people. Nobody cares about their religious views, and guess what? Nobody cares about yours, either. Stop trying to impress your worthless friends with how "OMGALTERNATIVE" you are, and grow the fuck up. And the next time you want to talk to me about my faith?

Fuck yourself, and don't act entitled to answers.

Normally I love the IMDB. It's the Holy Grail of movie geekdom and the next best thing to a cure for those of us who suffer from HITS*.

But I could really have done without knowing that Tino and Dash X are played by the same guy. I keep imagining Dash getting all worked up about not being awarded a Yearbook Superlative or tricking Mars into buying a load of stupid stuffed dogs or being forced to dress up as a mime and consequently developing an irrational fear of seagulls.

In other news, Ginger Snaps Back is awesome. If you disgree with me, clearly you don't have a proper head.

*HITS: "Hey, isn't that...?" syndrome.

Yesterday I had to walk around town with a broom sticking out of my backpack for two hours. I looked like a retarded ninja. And every time we walked under a low-hanging "SALE!" or "CHRISTMAS!" sign, it was like:

Aminder: Watch out for the-
Froodle: *THUNK* *is jerked back as broom handle catches on sign, door frame, light fitting etc*
Aminder: ...never mind.

And then, when I finally got home, instead of respecting the suffering I had gone to just to make tidying their pen easier, my bunnies decided chasing the broomhead and chewing the bristles and generally getting in the way was a hilarious game. So I was forced to cuddle them for their crimes, while watching werewolf movies that Aminder forced me to buy. Forced! My will was overborne. I shopped only under duress!

Also, I just realised Joe Dante directed the Howling. Heh. I get it now.

So, today the vile and filthy Hannah forced me to go see the new Pride and Prejudice with her so that she might indulge her unwholesome lust for Keira Knightley's angry tadpole-shaped eyebrows. And... it was terrible. Oh, don't get me wrong, Judi Dench and Donald Sutherland were every bit as awesome as usual, but Keira Knightley just really needs to be killed, or at least forced never to act again on pain of being killed, and Matthew MacFadyen is less "aloof and aristocratic Mr Darcy" and more "sweet and socially inept Angel". I swear, at one point he actually makes David Boreanaz's patent "please don't seduce me" face. And while God knows I love socially retarded!Angel, MacFadyen doesn't even have the decency to do the Angel dance or turn into a puppet, and therefore it makes me sad.

And that's not even the worst of it. Oh no. Prizes go to Rosamund Pike for the blandest, most insipid Jane ever to make it to film (yes, I'm biased, and yes, I love Susannah Harker and wish to bear her babies, but seriously, Pike is quite possibly more irritating than Keira "Angry Tadpoles of DOOM" Knightley), and to Simon Woods for one creepy-ass interpretation of Charles Bingley. I'm serious, every time he smiles at Jane, he's totally imagining peeling her skin off with a knife and stitching a suit out of it. Not to mention, he has the stupidest hairstyle imaginable and he's ginger.

However, my suffering was not in vain, since I may now force Hannah to go see one movie I want to see that she doesn't. It was going to be Serenity, but after suffering through that travesty of justice, I feel that she no longer deserves Space Pirate Cowboy Opera in the style of Joss Whedon, and am thinking of dragging her to see Land of the Dead. Because zombies are frickin' awesome, and also Serenity isn't out for ages yet.

And now, I go to watch The Importance of Being Earnest and Chocolat. Feel the Judi Dench love!

Augh! Why is the Candyman in Smallville? Why?! Didn't I suffer enough insect-related trauma in that episode with the kid that gets bitten by Kryptobugs? (Also, no need for his mother's dessicated corpse! I swear that image will haunt me until something else creepy comes along and pushes it aside) And poor sad Lex at the end of Jitters - watching the Kents with that expression on his face like he was the saddest little future evil genius in the world. *sniff*

In other news, I have been watching the second season of Nip/Tuck, and my God, what is it with people and trying to cut up Christian's pretty face? Seriously, that bloke in the terrifying creepy doll mask is like the third, fourth person to try and fuck Christian's face up. Go pick on Sean, damn it! Or Julia. Actually, pick Julia. She annoys me so much. Stop whinging and blaming everyone else for your problems and go do something worthwhile with your life, bitch! Not to mention, that mask has frightened me half to death and now I don't dare have a bath until tomorrow when it's daylight in case the Carver gets me. I am Wuss, see me cower.

Also I have a mark on my head from slamming it into the coffee table when Julie was telling Ava that she could rise from the ashes of her despair "like a Phoenix". You just know whoever wrote that line thought they were being so fucking awesome. "Hahahaaa, it's funny because she's Famke Janssen and she played Jean Grey!" Jackass.

And finally, Deadwood. Am I completely missing something here? I get the impression we're supposed to think Bullock is this incredibly noble stand-up guy, when really he mostly comes across as a santimonius prick. Star, on the other hand, genuinely does come across as a nice guy. Bullock? Is a twat.

I return!

After two weeks in a desolate wasteland of cardboard boxes, irate rabbit and total lack of an internet connection, I have at last managed to find my way home to Livejournal. You may all remove the black mourning bands from your arms now.

During my soujourn in the arid plains of Internyet*, I have had many adventures, mostly involving trips to the park accompanied by my nobel bunny companion (who, it transpires, likes to chase squirrels, thus proving my theory that he secretly believes he's a cat) and trips to the cinema with my no less nobel but somewhat less soft, fuzzy and strokable human friends.

Went to see Batman Begins, in which Liam Neeson is a bondage ninja, Cillian Murphy is pretty, Micheal Caine does not say "You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!" (woe!), Morgan Freeman is awesome and Gary Oldman is... really skinny. And short. Also, Katie Holmes does not get shot in the back of the head with a nail gun, which is pretty much the only flaw in the entire film.

Did I mention that Liam Neeson was a ninja? That is so awesome. I'm going to get a little Ninja!Liam Neeson doll and make him wrestle in a homoerotic manner with fight my Jedi!Liam Neeson doll.

Afterwards, we were debating whether to watch Saw or Red Dragon, and we got to talking about the difference between horror movies that scare you in a fun, enjoyable way - like a rollercoaster - and horror movies that leave you a sweating, shivering nervous wreck who can't sleep for two days *cough*the Ring*cough*. Then Jess suggested Miss Congeniality 2...

Froodle: *laughter*
Jess: What?
Froodle: I'm sorry, it's just we're talking about movies that inspire fear and horror and you mention a Sandra Bullock film.
Alan: Well, she is horrifying.
Froodle: I didn't watch 28 Days Later when it first came out, despite everyone telling me it was awesome, because I got confused between it and a Sandra Bullock film called 28 Days.
Jess: I can't picture Sandra Bullock in a zombie movie...
Froodle: Are you kidding? Most nightmarish thing ever - instead of monkeys, a bunch of stupid hippies unleash the terror that is Sandra Bullock upon the world.
Alan: Everyone who exchanges bodily fluids with her becomes a talentless, irritating bint whose very presence makes any film fifty times more annoying than it already was.
Froodle: Oh God, the London underpass filled with hordes of slavering Sandra Bullock clones! Only Cillian Murphy can save us now!
Alan: Are you kidding? Fear gas is useless against the reality of a thousand Sandra Bullocks.
Froodle: He will trample her with his magical Fear Horse while shielding himself from her evil with his Potato Sack of Immunity!

*This is a pune, or a play on words.

Rarr! I am, as they say in Robot Opera, angry.

So today I went to pay in my maintenance grant, and also a few Manx notes that have been lurking in my pockets from the last time I was on the Rock of Smell. I get to the front of the line, and the fucking cashier has to do the usual "Oh, you're from the Isle of Man?" spiel I am forced to listen to every single time I go to pay Manx currency in.

No, fucktard. I just like collecting notes from the Rock That Time Forgot and carrying around with me, despite the fact that nobody on this stinking mainland will accept them. Also, my grant cheque says "paid by the Isle of Man government". What do you think?

This in itself would justify wishing some mildly unpleasent fate, such as anal violation by weasels, upon my tormenters, but alas, the ordeal had only just begun. Cashier Tard felt compelled to show this "novelty" money to Old Biddy Cashier, who proclaimed she had never seen such a thing either, and that she wasn't sure they could accept it (!!) and they had to call a supervisor, who of course felt compelled to add her "I've never been to the Isle of Man"-esque remarks to the conversation, along with the inevitable "Oh, isn't it quaint, they'll put Anything on money these days, won't they, teehee".

Listen, Spacktardius Natwestius. Treating me and my home country like we're some kind of fucking exhibit when all I want to do is make sure there's enough money in my account to cover my utility bills this month is Not Fucking On. Stupid remarks about cats with no tails (Oh, HAHA! So original!) and three legs are just going to make me wish the mill had collapsed on your dour, humourless Yorkshire ancestors, or that your tweed jackets with leather elbow patches come to life at night and strangle you.

Seriously, you gloomy Dale-dwelling bastards. Don't you have some Lancashiremen falling down holes you should be guffawing over?

I was going to say something mean about Gwyneth Paltrow and how her stupid, simpering voice ruined Seven for me here, but I used up all my anger and now I'm going to paddle my coracle and maybe build a giant waterwheel or ride a steam train. BECAUSE I'M MANX! HAHAHAHAHAAA I AM SO RUSTIC AND AMUSING!