Dirty Harry

I have a dog.

She is a beautiful dog. Only problem is, she is a stay at home dog. That means I cannot go out and leave her on her own without her throwing some kind of weepy, abandoned kitten-in-a-sack routine if I even go down the road to laugh at all the man-child hipsters, who roam the streets looking for pulled-pork food outlets and moustache tweezer-twirling boutiques.

It also means that I have not been to the cinema to see any movies for the last two years. But then, most of these usually involve making me care for a character whilst watching said character mow down a whole town, make endangered/supernatural/alien species extinct and blow off faces with the kind of massively overpowered weapon that would make any gun-nut stick the barrel of into their orifices and masturbate frantically to.

What this all boils down to therefore, is that I’ve not managed to see the new Ghostbusters movie.

Normally, this is the kind of movie I would pay to see and probably enjoy but I can’t, because of the dog.

And the only reason I’m really annoyed at this is not because I know that the movie will be a success (in money, if not critical terms), but by not being able to pay money to see the film I will not have helped to make some sallow-faced, overweight keyboard warrior who still lives with their parents (even when they earn enough money to leave) cry tears of bitterness into their pillow over the unfairness of giirrllsss being the main focus point of said movie – whilst lying on their cum-stained bedsheets featuring a C-class porn star dressed as Harley Quinn.

But, I still have a beautiful dog.

Bibliophile, gamer, print and ePub designer, moving in a mysterious way. The other half of NinjaBeaver

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