Nicole Kidman and Other People Who Should Die
By Paul G. Parry
Hello, I’m Paul. I’ll be the cheeky one.
When young Master Kevin (Special K to his friends) asked me to write for his website, I was excited. Excited and inexplicably aroused, but we won’t get into that. Finally, a place to write! To express my opinions! To begin my plan to ensnare Kate Beckinsale in a hot sexual trap! The question that came to my mind almost instantly was of course, what to write about? I looked at the topics already covered. GARR, Facebook. GARR, Twilight. All the best meat had been taken already. The website is called Why I Hate Everything, so another problem was that I was in no way hateful or angry; my life was going well, and I spent my evenings writing poetry, smoking cigars, and practising the lute. Thankfully, that changed.
Over these past few days, I’ve been ill. Horrible cold, you see (I’m getting better, THANK YOU FOR ASKING), so I’ve spent my days in bed, rattling through all the films in my house. Things were going good; I started off my day with Deliverance, progressed to Lord of the Flies, and even re-watched Indiana Jones 4, to see if it had got any better or more cohesive or believable.
It didn’t.
I was running out of options, so I scoured my house and came up with The Golden Compass. I loved the Pullman trilogy the film is based on, and I heard the film had CHRISTOPHER LEE in it somewhere, so I thought I’d give it a go. After all, Christopher Lee! Am I right?
Know that feeling like when someone gives you a shiny red balloon, then pops said balloon, fashions it into a makeshift prophylactic and then proceeds to rape you in the spine? Yeah, this film was 1 ½ hours of that. They had SUCH a good material to work from, and they ruined it. Nicole Kidman spends the entirety of the film acting OUT OF HER ASS (or her face, as they are indistinguishable), producing reactions and expressions that would find a good home in porn storylines. Oh, you want me to take your….golden compass, to the land of the armoured bears? Oh yeah. You like that, yeah. Yeeeeeeeah.
I’ve lost track.
Ah, right. Shit films are the bane of my existence; I love films, so I take bad ones personally. Especially big budget ones such as The Golden Compass, which have no excuses for turning out as badly acted as a shitting nativity play. Does no-one notice? Does not one of the hundreds of people working on the film go up to the director and whisper in his ear “Dude, Nicole Kidman? Asshole move.” They should employ someone to do JUST THAT. Fuck, I’ll do it. Right now, for free.
SERIOUSLY GUYS STOP IT
It’s not JUST The Golden Compass, of course. Every few months or so there comes a film so catastrophically bad that it makes me want to burn my Columbo boxset, JUST to save the poor old Lieutenant from having to live in the same world as it. Things like (Insert word here) Movie, which are the most perplexing phenomenon in movie history: how can something so mind-numbingly shit earn so much money?
Let me get this straight. A REFERENCE is not the same as a JOKE. A joke has a set-up, middle, and a punch line. A REFERENCE is going HURR HURR LOOK AMY WINEHOUSE IS A TIGER and leaving it at that. Maybe make her shit herself or something, for extra hilarity. Kicking Paris Hilton down a hole is not funny just because it is Paris Hilton. There’s no point to it; I doubt anyone at any point in making that film stopped and thought WHY something would be funny. They just thought that minor celebrities+movie references=BOX OFFICE MONEYS HOLY OH SHIT WHAT.
They were right, but fuck them still. Fuck them in their rich faces.
The reason I’ve title this Other People Who Should Die is because that is a sneaky trap door enabling me to talk about anything. So uh, here we go!
The Five Most Annoying Crazes
1. Sherpa Hat/ Dappy Hat
This is a sherpa hat.
No, there isn’t a reason for the tassels.
And this is the reason it’s now called a Dappy hat.
West….East….ok, what side does this represent?
That’s Dappy. Lead….something in the band….N Dubz? Seriously? What does that even mean?
I wouldn’t mind the things if they served a unique purpose. Like, repelled insects as well as keeping your head warm. But it could be easily replaced by something that doesn’t look like Salvador Dali’s tea cosy, like a WOOLEN HAT WITHOUT PATTERNS OR TASSELS? Maybe a hood? I honestly would prefer hoodies to lots of brightly coloured scumbags running around, blinding me with their hats then whipping me into submission with them. It’s a weapon, people. THE TERRORISTS ARE WINNING.
2. Yo-yos
Wow, that’s great, it can go up and down. Can it do anything else? Oh, you can do tricks with it, right. Can YOU do tricks with it, though? Can anyone you have ever met do any tricks besides that shitty cradle thing? No, they can’t, because only people who go on Blue Peter can, and you just sit there in your Dragonball Z pyjamas while you mother is screaming at your father for buying too much toilet paper, and you just want to be able to yo-yo, just yo-yo, be the best in the world maybe then mum would stop screaming and then maybe I’M GOING TO MY ROOM TO PLAY TEKKEN 2.
FUCK yo-yos.
3. Indie
By this, I mean British indie; the art of putting on an accent that isn’t even yours. I know, bands have been doing this since the dawn of time, but not other accents from within the country. If a white man wants to feign a Jamaican accent, fine by me. But if a brummy suddenly decides that he wants to sound like he’s from London, they can fuck off to the nethers. It’s a craze, trust me. The people will see; they will see that indie, along with Myleene Klass, should die. Speaking of which…
4. Myleene Klass
I hate her. I hated her so much, and I didn’t know why. She’s a classical pianist, which I respected. And then it hit me- it was her...
WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER FACE?
5. Lists
Christ, lists. I hate lists. Like, lists of things people hate, and the 5 most awesome cheeses of all time. It’s the most lazy and ineffective way of writing ever, seriously. I hate lists. Stupid lists.
Well, as the Mexican drug mule said to the border police, that’s all I have in me. I hope you enjoyed angry time with Paul, and I apologise that it went completely off the rails and ploughed into the metaphorical orphanage, killing hundreds of metaphorical children in a metaphorical blaze.
You may have noticed I’ve given up. Go on, get out, all of you.
