I would be the worst movie character ever.

Why?

Because I don't have a photographic memory like every other film character ever made has supposedly been blessed with.

I'd be in the film and I'd get to a nondescript pay phone at exactly 12:00PM and then when it rang I would answer and the kidnapper would be like:

'Bring the money to 7645 on the corner of Stanton and Prince Alfred Avenue, apartment 45 at 2:30 sharp - CLICK.'

And he'd hang up the phone! 

Come again?

The next scene would be me walking back to the parents house just shrugging, going:

'Sorry. He said something like 76 maybe something 7695 or something? It was like Prince Stanton avenue? Is that a thing? I don't know. I literally have no idea to be honest. He just said the address, and then he hung up. His voice was really deep and scratchy and it was hard to understand. I didn't have a pen, I didn't write it down. He didn't even give me a chance to repeat it. I'm sorry, I just no good with names and stuff like that, you know? So your son is most likely dead. I offer you my condolences but in all honesty I don't think any of this is my fault. The kidnappers should have been more considerate.'

In films you never here some crime informant or a kidnapper or double crossing spy phone the main character and be like:

'Meet me at 37 Pantion Drive at exactly midnight tonight....

.....


....that's 37. Three-Seven, right? Pantion Drive, P for Peter, A for Andrew, N for Nelly........T.....ah.... I for Igloo.....um......O.....then just N for Nelly again.

Okay? Got it? Great, yeah midnight, Twelve AM. Tonight. Okay. Bye.'

It takes away from the dark dreary effect of an anonymous caller if you're specific about dates and times.

Another thing in films I can't wrap my stupid brain around are detective mysteries where the main protagonist finds clues within a complex network of contradicting dates.

07-10-1947 2:00PM

Like some dude will be hunched over this manilla folder explaining to his side kick:

'You see this picture? This was taken on Monday, February 17, 1942. But over here is the same signature dated March 3rd, 1939. Oldman said that he was at the scene of the crime on the morning of Tuesday February 5th, 1940. This can only mean that on the 13th when Oldman went missing that....'

By now, I'm squinting at the screen saying thinking what the fuck is going on. I have no idea what sort of implications these dates have. I still have to sing the alphabet song to remember what letter comes after what, I don't know months and dates and shit like that.

I can picture like one month and then tell you what month is directly after it and maybe on a good day I could tell you the one that comes before it but don't bother fucking asking me if how many days it has because I have no fucking clue.

To this day, I honestly have no idea of the order of months from like August to December. Like of course, I'm not that dumb I can sit down and think about it, but it's literally something I need to think about. It's like a Rebecca Black song.

I think it's a reflection of my commitment as a child, like I just briefly learned the months up until my birthday and then just thought, fuck it, the rest of the year will come to me when I need them - December is the Christmas one, that's all I need to know.

The Erotic Adventures of Henry's Cat

Ohhhh, I am so fucking horny.

Henry thought to himself.

Then he got an idea:

Chris Rabbit! Let's have a good old fashioned fuck fest!

Chris Rabbit jumped up at the chance and ran to get Pansy Pig.

Hurry Pansy, it's a orgy! 

Pansy Pig ran to be first.

Oh God, get him off! No. No. Get him off. I don't want this any more!

But Pansy Pig was blinded by lust. To minimize damage, Henry's inner cavities widened in sheer defence.

I'll run for help! 

But Henry had other things in mind for Chris Rabbit.

You're not going anywhere! 

All in all, it was one of Henry's better orgies:

The End.

PS: I can't believe I just wasted thirty minutes of my life putting effort into compiling base level sexual jokes on  an obscure and forgotten children's television show for a blog that nobody reads. I'm fucking 26 years old.

An Excerpt from The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

Blomkitvz drove to the place where the files were stored and the lady who worked there let him in. He flipped through the newspaper clippings for eight hours and found nothing in the pictures that related to Harry's disappearance. The next night he did the same, the lady let him in and made him sandwiches and coffee while he worked all night looking at newspaper clippings. Then Blomkivtz returned to the castle where the old man asked if he had found anything further on the case. Blomkvivtz told him that he might have but he can't be sure, it was too early to tell and he needs to look at more news paper clippings. 

Then Blomkiztv drove back to the place where the files were stored and looked through some more photos. Then he went back home and fucked that dyke who takes herself too seriously. Then he fucked that old bitch who lived near him. Then he went and fucked his magazine editor who is married but her husband lets her fuck Blomkivtz any time she wants. Then he went home and fucked the dyke again. Then the old man asked if he had made an progress on the case and Blomkvistz said that it was an extremely hard case and that the witnesses needed more probing, and then he winked at the old man, but the old man didn't know what he was talking about so he made him a sandwich and gave him some more newspaper articles to read.

‘You haven’t checked the Daily Bungle.’ said the old man. ‘Maybe there's a clue in there?’

Later on, after looking through the files at his house, Blomkitvz went to the store near the castle and bought some groceries.

Mankind has already reached the infinite amount of knowledge

Most people may say that mankind needs to pursue a larger collection of knowledge about the world. Well, I ask them, how do you get a larger number than infinity?

If you answered that you take infinity and then add one  you'd be wrong. Infinity plus one equals infinity. Just as infinity plus infinity equals infinity.

So, due to the malleable nature of our structure of knowledge man kind already has an infinite amount of knowledge about everything in existence.

Take for example your common house pillow.

I can tell you an infinite amount of facts about the pillow and I'm not even an expert on the subject.

But wait, surely the summit of man's knowledge has a peak? Wouldn't you run out of pillow facts after a few hundred or so?

Nope.

Not with the execution of careful wording and evasive logic. Allow me to rattle off just a few of the infinite amount of facts we already know about pillows:

1) Pillow is a word starting with P.

FACT!

2) The word Pillow has six letters.

FACT!

3)  A pillow is a word once said by a man.

FACT!

Only three, you say? No. I'm just getting started.

5) A pillow can be brown.

5) A pillow can be brown and red.

6) A pillow can be brown and red and 30cm long.

7) A pillow can be brown and red and 31 cm long.

8) A pillow can be brown and red and 32 cm long.

9) A pillow can be brown and red and 32 cm long and placed on the Earth at latitude N49° and longitude W123°

10) A pillow can be brown and red and 32 cm long and placed on the Earth at latitude N49° and longitude W124°

FACTS!

11) A pillow can be used by a man with brown hair.

12) A pillow can be used by a man with brown hair who is 32 years old.

USELESS FACTS!

13) A pillow is a word with six letters starting with P that can be brown and red and 32cm long and used by a man with brown hair on this Earth at latitude N49° and longitude W124° four years ago.

All the above facts regarding are completely true. Simply alter the above process ad infinitum and you have your infinite amount of facts about pillows. Since the same process can be applied to everything, man's knowledge has already reached infinity. It just hasn't been written down yet.

Missed Call

Sorry I missed your call on Sunday bro but I was watching a movie.

And also I just assumed that you were calling to say that you fell asleep or something on Friday night and woke up the next day with semen and feces in your pants from a wet gay anal sex dream that triggered an erotic sense memory in your bowels.

YOU might be able to use the above text if your friend ever bails on you when you say that you'll meet him in a bar and he doesn't show but it didn't matter anyway because some seventeen year old girls had snuck in at the same time and talked to you to try and blend in with the crowd but soon subsequently fell for you because they're seventeen and everything you know (like titles of Strokes albums) is cool to them.

The Shame of a Good Deed

Today I experienced the crushing shame that comes with being on the receiving end of a good deed.

I was at train station trying to put coins in the machine when the train arrived. The machine was not accepting my two dollar coin and I kept trying to re-insert it to no avail. The train doors opened and I began to grow frustrated as I hurriedly re-inserted my coin.

A stranger passing me noticed my frustration and nodded towards me. He handed me a ticket voucher and I thankfully nodded giving him the two dollar coin in return and hoping on the train just in time.

However, while I thanked the stranger appropriately I also made a conscious effort not to board in the same carriage as him. For some reason I was gripped with this awkward sense of shame for receiving a good deed and I really wanted to avoid seeing this man at all cost.

It was almost to the point where I had wished that the kind deed had not have happened so that I could sort it out by myself and be in no-one's debt.

This may be a corrupt and sad view of society but it has happened on multiple occasions.

Once I was buying a lemon in a supermarket and a man with ten items let me go in front of him. I thanked him profusely but as I stood in front of him getting served at the check out I felt far more uncomfortable in that thirty seconds than I would have if I had waited the five minutes until it was rightfully my turn.

I really don't know where this comes from, whether it's some sort of reflection on my self esteem in that I don't think I truly deserve a kind act, or more realistically the undeniable truth that I probably wouldn't return such kindness to these people if I was in the other position.

See, when I navigate the social sphere I do so with extreme prejudice. For me, it's survival of the fittest. Sure, I'm never excessively rude and I hold the door open here and there but ultimately I'm looking out for one person.

I'm impatient with dawdlers and although I give to the homeless I'm never overly friendly to them. I give up my seat only to the elderly not the middle aged and I walk out in front of cars knowing that the pedestrian holds right of way.

Thus, when someone shows me a kind and caring hand it acts a reminder of the person I'm not and propels me in shame spiral which in turn negates any of the positivity within the initial deed itself. It's a demented psychological affliction and I literally cannot be helped.

People I Hate Archive #3453

The fucking people who when you asked them if they believe in God or not they say:

'Woah man, woah, don't even go there man. That's like a fucking six hour conversation with me man. You're gonna be sitting their in complete awe with tears streaming down your eyes for days if I get into my religious views, it's best we don't even talk about it. Seriously, man, you'll have to learn three dead languages to understand my opinions and beliefs on whether I, in terms of who you think I am, believe in what ever you think God is.'

And then they turn around and say something like:

'I don't think heaven is really a place in the clouds, you know.'

These self righteous fools honestly think the opinions they've summed up from reading Spirituality 101 are unique to how the rest of the world sees reality.

As a general rule, if you believe it, there's at least hundreds of thousands of other people who also believe it and countless amounts of past literature on the belief system.

It doesn't take six hours to explain your beliefs, just type what you think into Google and check the Wikipedia article that you most closely agree with. Whatever it says there, then call yourself that.