Ok. Normally this is the space where you turn to me for guidance about all the good new movies hitting theatres and DVD. You need to know what to see, and I need to notch 500 hours of community service under my belt so I can finally end my God-forsaken probation. It's a good deal; we're both winners.
You should be reading a review of Grindhouse this week. But, instead I owe an apology to the good people that run and frequent the Downey 20 Movie theatre.
This is hard for me to say. I really didn't mean for what happened on Good Friday to go down like it did. I mean it, I swear. But like armed robbery and an addiction to meth; Shit happens. Now, I'm not trying to blame anybody, but let me try to explain.
The first 25 minutes of GRINDHOUSE are so good, the exact type of thing I would do if you gave me hot chicks, money, a camera and a bunch of Zombies (That's the part that would scare me, though....I'd probably get a bodyguard like the one Puff Daddy had that held the umbrella for him when it rained). It's as if the Director, Antonio Banderas, or as my dad calls him, "Tony Bananas," saw inside my heart and decided to make a movie out it. I had never seen anything that good in my life.
So that's why I started masturbating in the middle of Grindhouse. I was probably home before God's film Death Proof even started.
There's a silver lining to this. Although the screening was at 7:15 PM on a Friday night, there was absolutely no one in the theater. What's wrong with you fools? There are hot chicks from SCREAM shooting bullets out of their leg and some guy doing crazy knife stuff and you're going to see some idiots drive around on their Harleys?
Sorry, I'm supposed to be nice here. I'm glad the screening was empty, it's the only reason the management just barred me from the joint instead of calling the police. I have two strikes; a third would be a wrap for me.
But I have to get back to the apology. You must believe me, I swear. I have never pulled a Pee Wee Herman in my life and I've been to some shady porn theaters in my time. Trust me, imagine the worst crack house you've ever been to, add a small screen and some hot dogs and you're still not there. And even in those places, I've had the good sense to uhm, you know, uhm….not pull a Pee Wee in a movie theater. But something about Grindhouse….I didn't even know what I was doing until management shined a flashlight in my face. It's just that the movie was so good! The boobs! The action! The machine gun legs!
The moral of the story is, no matter how good a movie is, it's not right to masturbate, even when it's in salute to the movie. Look at my punishment, I missed out on the second half of what could have been the best movie ever made. So don't do it. And that's the more you know.