IN 1999, the landscape of the horror movie genre was changed completely with the release of The Blair Witch Project.
A decade after this groundbreaking movie hit the multiplexes; it is still widely regarded as one of the most important films of its generation.
At the same time, it remains a much-maligned picture by critics and moviegoers alike. I decided to dig it out of my collection in order to give it another whirl and so, ten years later, this review was found...
Before talking about the film itself, it is important to make mention of the hyperbole which surrounded the picture before its release.
The film's producers capitalised on the incredible internet boom taking place at the time, suggesting via online marketing that the events shown in the film – three filmmakers venturing into the woods to make a documentary about the 'Blair Witch' – were genuine, and that the footage had been recovered following their mysterious disappearance.
The movie and its events are entirely fictional, however, but praise must still be lavished upon those behind the Blair Witch Project for attempting such a daring campaign with which to market their creation. This bold movement paid off, and the film is one of the most profitable of all time, estimated to have made around $10,000 for every single dollar spent.
The film is shot exclusively on handheld cameras – a style which has since been emulated by more recent movies such as Cloverfield and Quarantine – and consists of a mixture of colour and black and white film.
In it, film students Heather Donahue, Michael Williams and Joshua Leonard are shown making a documentary about the Blair Witch, a legendary creature rumoured to haunt the woods near Burkitsville, Maryland.
As the film progresses, the trio become lost in the woods, where a number of strange occurrences – with a possibly supernatural element – begin to take place.
The plot is never entirely tied up, and the audience is required to use their own imagination with regards to what has taken place, a factor which only adds to the truly terrifying nature of the movie.
It has since been revealed that the actors were subjected to a genuinely frightening ordeal while filming, often being deprived of food and suffering harassment through the night, meaning the terror depicted on screen is authentic!
The film may not boast a Hollywood style, every-question-answered ending, but that is exactly why the Blair Witch Project holds such importance in the fright-flick genre.
It was vastly different, hugely audacious and it remains a cut above many of both its predecessors and successors to this day.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Film Review: Righteous Kill
ANY film with Robert De Niro and Al Pacino in the two leading roles is always going to guarantee some excellent on-screen business being carried out, and on that front, Righteous Kill certainly does not disappoint.
The chemistry between the two icons of the silver screen, teaming up for only the second time in their careers, is very strong from the beginning, and remains so throughout.
By way of contrast, the plot is something of a letdown and the aforementioned 'business' on show is carelessly frittered away.
The film begins with a botched wire-tap on a drug-dealing club owner (50 Cent), which results in the officers in charge of the string, Turk (De Niro) and Rooster (Pacino), being referred to a therapist by their lieutenant.
From there, a story of vigilantism begins to unfold. A serial killer with a penchant for poetry is taking out the remorseless and wrongly acquitted criminals of the city – often perpetrators of emotive crimes such as rape and child murder.
The killer is being closely followed by the veteran team of Turk and Rooster, as well as Detectives Perez and Riley (played by the excellent John Leguizamo and the less convincing Donnie Wahlberg respectively), and it isn't long before tensions run high and fingers are pointed at those within the police department itself.
To reveal any further detail would blow the whole thing wide open, although the ending is nowhere near as big a surprise as the film's creators would have you believe, but I will simply say there is more to the story than a straightforward eye-for-an-eye plotline.
On the whole, the film is by no means terrible and there is enough here to please even the most ardent of movie cynics, although there is a strong argument for the recent career paths of De Niro and Pacino to be called into question, given their willingness to appear alongside the likes of 50 Cent and Donnie Wahlberg!
The chemistry between the two icons of the silver screen, teaming up for only the second time in their careers, is very strong from the beginning, and remains so throughout.
By way of contrast, the plot is something of a letdown and the aforementioned 'business' on show is carelessly frittered away.
The film begins with a botched wire-tap on a drug-dealing club owner (50 Cent), which results in the officers in charge of the string, Turk (De Niro) and Rooster (Pacino), being referred to a therapist by their lieutenant.
From there, a story of vigilantism begins to unfold. A serial killer with a penchant for poetry is taking out the remorseless and wrongly acquitted criminals of the city – often perpetrators of emotive crimes such as rape and child murder.
The killer is being closely followed by the veteran team of Turk and Rooster, as well as Detectives Perez and Riley (played by the excellent John Leguizamo and the less convincing Donnie Wahlberg respectively), and it isn't long before tensions run high and fingers are pointed at those within the police department itself.
To reveal any further detail would blow the whole thing wide open, although the ending is nowhere near as big a surprise as the film's creators would have you believe, but I will simply say there is more to the story than a straightforward eye-for-an-eye plotline.
On the whole, the film is by no means terrible and there is enough here to please even the most ardent of movie cynics, although there is a strong argument for the recent career paths of De Niro and Pacino to be called into question, given their willingness to appear alongside the likes of 50 Cent and Donnie Wahlberg!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Film Review: Hancock
PURE escapist fantasy is probably the simplest way of describing Hancock, starring Will Smith and Charlize Theron.
The film centres around John Hancock, a homeless and largely dislikeable drunk who appears to possess invincibility.
Within five minutes the viewer is made aware of his capabilities, which include the power of flight, superhuman strength and the ability to resist bullets. Superman with liquor, in essence.
His exploits are clumsy, however, and his fellow citizens aren't happy with his gung-ho vigilantism, and despite saving the life of a struggling PR executive (Jason Bateman) a warrant is issued for Hancock's arrest.
While he is incarcerated, attempts are made to 'market' Hancock as a hero, using the age-old 'You don't know what you have until it's gone' theory as a way of turning the public's feelings around.
When Hancock is called in to diffuse a hostage situation - in his own inimitable style, of course - the film elevates into an adrenaline-fuelled rush of action and excitement.
With explosions, fast-paced battles and a plot twist which, in fairness, you saw coming from the film's early exchanges, Hancock never takes itself too seriously and the viewer should afford it the same courtesy.
Despite it's tongue-in-cheek feel, there are darker elements to the story, such as the protagonist's struggle with alcoholism and anger-management issues.
There is a sloppy attempt to explain the origin of Hancock's powers, which feels rushed and could have been handled better, and the less said about the segment which serves as nothing more than an advertisement for YouTube, the better.
These are minor grievances, however, and overall the film is an entertaining piece which offers the audience something different to the usual superhero-movie fare.
The film centres around John Hancock, a homeless and largely dislikeable drunk who appears to possess invincibility.
Within five minutes the viewer is made aware of his capabilities, which include the power of flight, superhuman strength and the ability to resist bullets. Superman with liquor, in essence.
His exploits are clumsy, however, and his fellow citizens aren't happy with his gung-ho vigilantism, and despite saving the life of a struggling PR executive (Jason Bateman) a warrant is issued for Hancock's arrest.
While he is incarcerated, attempts are made to 'market' Hancock as a hero, using the age-old 'You don't know what you have until it's gone' theory as a way of turning the public's feelings around.
When Hancock is called in to diffuse a hostage situation - in his own inimitable style, of course - the film elevates into an adrenaline-fuelled rush of action and excitement.
With explosions, fast-paced battles and a plot twist which, in fairness, you saw coming from the film's early exchanges, Hancock never takes itself too seriously and the viewer should afford it the same courtesy.
Despite it's tongue-in-cheek feel, there are darker elements to the story, such as the protagonist's struggle with alcoholism and anger-management issues.
There is a sloppy attempt to explain the origin of Hancock's powers, which feels rushed and could have been handled better, and the less said about the segment which serves as nothing more than an advertisement for YouTube, the better.
These are minor grievances, however, and overall the film is an entertaining piece which offers the audience something different to the usual superhero-movie fare.
Film Review: The Dark Knight
FOLLOWING Heath Ledger's posthumous success at this year's Golden Globes for his portrayal of the Joker in The Dark Knight, I decided to give the film – and indeed Ledger's performance – another viewing.
From the dramatic opening sequence – quite remarkably filmed using a high resolution IMAX camera – the viewer is instantly drawn into the film's detailed and complex plot, which starts with a Joker-led bank robbery in the heart of Gotham.
From there the story unfolds slowly, with director Christopher Nolan's dark and menacing vision building towards an explosion of frantic action which is guaranteed to thrill die-hard and casual cinema fans alike.
It is in fact very easy to forget this is a comic book adaptation, with the film often feeling more like a hard-boiled crime thriller plucked straight from the neo-noir genre.
On top of Nolan's moody screenplay and some stellar character acting from both Gary Oldman as Lieutenant James Gordon, and Morgan Freeman as Lucius Fox, the special effects are genuinely mind-blowing, with high-octane car chases interlaced with stunning shoot-outs.
Ledger's performance as the Joker has of course been the subject of much debate, with many critics declaring the overall film's huge success as a by-product of the young actor's untimely death.
This is a somewhat harsh assessment, and his manic performance is one so deeply captivating that it becomes hard to tear your eyes away from the screen, even during the character's darkest moments – of which there are many.
Despite the grit and gloom, the script is awash with witty one-liners, as should be the way with comic book movies.
Throw in the subtle undercurrent of a tricky love-triangle between leading man Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale), his childhood friend Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal) and Gotham's district attorney Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart), ultimately there is something for everyone in this truly epic blockbuster of a movie. But only after you've got over Batman's baffling gravel voice!
From the dramatic opening sequence – quite remarkably filmed using a high resolution IMAX camera – the viewer is instantly drawn into the film's detailed and complex plot, which starts with a Joker-led bank robbery in the heart of Gotham.
From there the story unfolds slowly, with director Christopher Nolan's dark and menacing vision building towards an explosion of frantic action which is guaranteed to thrill die-hard and casual cinema fans alike.
It is in fact very easy to forget this is a comic book adaptation, with the film often feeling more like a hard-boiled crime thriller plucked straight from the neo-noir genre.
On top of Nolan's moody screenplay and some stellar character acting from both Gary Oldman as Lieutenant James Gordon, and Morgan Freeman as Lucius Fox, the special effects are genuinely mind-blowing, with high-octane car chases interlaced with stunning shoot-outs.
Ledger's performance as the Joker has of course been the subject of much debate, with many critics declaring the overall film's huge success as a by-product of the young actor's untimely death.
This is a somewhat harsh assessment, and his manic performance is one so deeply captivating that it becomes hard to tear your eyes away from the screen, even during the character's darkest moments – of which there are many.
Despite the grit and gloom, the script is awash with witty one-liners, as should be the way with comic book movies.
Throw in the subtle undercurrent of a tricky love-triangle between leading man Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale), his childhood friend Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal) and Gotham's district attorney Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart), ultimately there is something for everyone in this truly epic blockbuster of a movie. But only after you've got over Batman's baffling gravel voice!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Marlon Harewood: Hero or Villan?
My opinion on Marlon Harewood has fluctuated more wildly than the stock exchange, and I thought I'd give a brief history of my views on this very divisive individual.
In the early days at Forest, I can't say I had an opinion on him. I'd heard his name, but never really cared to study his form. Was he good? Was he an embarrassment to the club? I was very much in the dark.
My only real opinion of Harewood during his West Ham days came when he scored a hat trick against my beloved Villa in a humiliating 4-0 defeat. And with this being a family blog, I won't repeat those thoughts on 'ere.
So, still grossly unaware of his work - when Martin O'Neill splashed the £4m asking price and beat Wigan to his signature, I thought I'd better do a bit of research.
What I found was quite remarkable. Some fans hailed The Hare as a legendary goal-scoring machine who should be playing for his country and should be playing for his country now, dammit!
While others chastised his embarrassing misses and ridiculed his Goomba-style head, not to mention the very idea that he could play for the national side!
Who was this man? I was still none the wiser as to whether O'Neill was making a brilliantly astute signing or if he was panic-buying and landing Villa with a shockingly piss-poor bench-warmer.
It was a few games before he made an appearance, but a goal against Wrexham in the League Cup (part of a 5-0 demolition of the lowly League Two strugglers) had him pencilled into my good books in no time. Marlon Harewood a joke? Shurely shome mishtake!
Then came the Spurs game.
The occasion was very much Lilywhite-orientated. It was their 125th anniversary, and the celebrations were threatening to overshadow the game itself. Those celebrations went into meltdown when the ever-casual Berbatov gave the East London over-achievers the lead.
That lead was short-lived, and the Jumping Dane, Martin Laursen, equalised within minutes thanks to a completely out-of-character howler from Paul Robinson! Soon after, Villa were in front, after a second Robinson clanger, and just before the break we were cruising to a famous victory when Agbonlahor made it 3-1.
Half time was spent dancing around with me dad, waving claret and blue flags and laughing at the pitiful Robinson and his pitiful outfield cohorts.
In the second half, things went from good to fantastic. Craig Gardner rifled home a superb free kick, and the celebrations in the Madge family household hit their peak. Four goals away from home against a side who were not only meant to be enjoying their birthday, but were also meant to be THE team capable of breaking into the supposed Big Three*.
The Villa fans at The Lane started chanting the hilarious "Happy Birthday to you", and before long, the "You're getting sacked in the morning" chant was being aimed well and truly in the direction of the ill-fated Martin Jol.
This was brilliant. This was what it was all about. This was the Martin O'Neill effect in action, right before my eyes. This was my team, destroying another, and it was only going to get better.
Then Marlon Harewood was brought on as a substitute.
Within a matter of minutes the score was 4-2, and then Harewood decided, upon seeing Darren Bent travelling away from the goal and posing no threat whatsoever, that he would try and decapitate the over-priced forward with what can only be described as a crane kick!
Penalty. Converted. 4-3.
So at 4-3, with just 8 minutes remaining, it was officially time to panic. Hands were trembling, fingernails were being shredded, and then deep, deep, deep into stoppage time, the Spurs they did equalise.
The unthinkable had happened and my heart exploded into a million, trillion bits.
Was this a case of Villa's general inability to finish a game? Was this a case of the Gods of Fate working overtime? Was it a case of Spurs having the heart and character to fight back?
No. It was all Marlon Harewood's fault. The cone-headed twat!
It was reactionary and it was petulant, but I insisted I never wanted to see Marlon Harewood in a Villa shirt again. I felt hurt and confused. This guy didn't seem so bad. He'd scored for us earlier in the season. And now he'd broken my heart and shattered my dreams. How could he do this to me? Why would he do this to me?!
I meant what I said, and I wasn't prepared to give Harewood another chance. He'd been given the opportunity to become a Holte End Hero and he'd blown it. Nothing he could do from now on could make up for that. Nothing.
In fact, I thought I would be enduring a severe case of deja vu when he was brought on as a substitute against Blackburn. We were away from home. We were three goals up. We were playing quality football and toying with the European places.
"If Harewood comes on, who knows what could happen?" I remarked.
He scored a few minutes later (his 100th league goal) and we won 4-0. But I was stubborn and I was sticking to my guns. Nothing he could do from now on could ever make up for the Spurs game. Nothing.
Then came Liverpool v Villa.
I'll be honest and I'll say it now. In this game, we were absolutely fucking awful. We were without Gareth Barry for the first time in 3858943 games and we looked like it. There was no leadership, there was no heart, and there was NO distribution at all.
We'd win the ball extremely well, thanks to Nigel Reo-Coker, but we'd pass it straight to a red-shirted goon and find ourselves under a rather large cosh. We were a goal down at half time, and a goal down after an hour.
Then Marlon Harewood was brought on as a substitute.
I screamed, I shouted, I damn-near cried my eyes bloody! I was fuming and I didn't care who knew it. We needed to score, not attempt to murder Liverpool players with kung-fu. Why was this sorry excuse for a Villa player being brought on? Something did seem different, but still, it was all over now, surely? The transcript with my father probably went something like this:
"Harewood?! No! Why is he bringing him on?"
"He'll probably score"
"He wont! He's shit! I can't believe he's bringing Harewood on! Have you forgotten the Spurs game? He nearly killed Darren Bent with that kick and - blimey, he looks quite pumped up and ready to play - I hate him"
He was on the field for 5 minutes, if that, and all of my ludicrous fears were allayed.
Marlon Harewood scored what could be the greatest goal of his career, and in doing so, redeemed himself completely. I leapt higher than O'Neill in celebration and all was forgiven. Mighty Marlon had emerged and bygones were bygones.
Three minutes after Marlon's spectacular overhead volley, we were in front and the roof of my house still hasn't recovered. Thanks to Harewood and his pumped up, passionate attitude, we had turned the game on its head and were looking at a crucial victory.
As it turned out, we were pegged back ourselves three minutes from time and it finished 2-2, but that really is by the by. In hindsight, it was a point from a game in which we'd played an hour of terrible football and probably should have lost.
And it was all thanks to the man I'd previously turned my back on. The man who I didn't want to see playing for my club again. The man who I'd decided was a true waste of £4m.
The man I now utterly adore.
Since the Liverpool game, he hasn't stopped endearing himself to me, the crazy scrunch-faced loon!
He hit the bar against Blackburn, shone in a poor team performance against Fulham, and totally changed the game against Newcastle (One nil, and you fucked it up!), even being described as a 'bully' by the very non-Messianic Kevin Keegan.
To be truthful, I'm still not totally sure a starting place for Harewood is a good idea, as he is a player who seems to thrive on making an impact as a super-sub, but there's still a strong case for a Carew/Harewood partnership in the starting 11.
And now, there really isn't a lot left for me to wax lyrical on as far as The Hare is concerned, other than to apologise. To make amends for all my previous criticism and hatred. To retract my derogatory comments and to embrace this superb player as a true Aston Villa legend.
Marlon Anderson Harewood, I salute you!
* There is no Big Four. And if there is, historically speaking, we're already part of it, babAy.
In the early days at Forest, I can't say I had an opinion on him. I'd heard his name, but never really cared to study his form. Was he good? Was he an embarrassment to the club? I was very much in the dark.
My only real opinion of Harewood during his West Ham days came when he scored a hat trick against my beloved Villa in a humiliating 4-0 defeat. And with this being a family blog, I won't repeat those thoughts on 'ere.
So, still grossly unaware of his work - when Martin O'Neill splashed the £4m asking price and beat Wigan to his signature, I thought I'd better do a bit of research.
What I found was quite remarkable. Some fans hailed The Hare as a legendary goal-scoring machine who should be playing for his country and should be playing for his country now, dammit!
While others chastised his embarrassing misses and ridiculed his Goomba-style head, not to mention the very idea that he could play for the national side!
Who was this man? I was still none the wiser as to whether O'Neill was making a brilliantly astute signing or if he was panic-buying and landing Villa with a shockingly piss-poor bench-warmer.
It was a few games before he made an appearance, but a goal against Wrexham in the League Cup (part of a 5-0 demolition of the lowly League Two strugglers) had him pencilled into my good books in no time. Marlon Harewood a joke? Shurely shome mishtake!
Then came the Spurs game.
The occasion was very much Lilywhite-orientated. It was their 125th anniversary, and the celebrations were threatening to overshadow the game itself. Those celebrations went into meltdown when the ever-casual Berbatov gave the East London over-achievers the lead.
That lead was short-lived, and the Jumping Dane, Martin Laursen, equalised within minutes thanks to a completely out-of-character howler from Paul Robinson! Soon after, Villa were in front, after a second Robinson clanger, and just before the break we were cruising to a famous victory when Agbonlahor made it 3-1.
Half time was spent dancing around with me dad, waving claret and blue flags and laughing at the pitiful Robinson and his pitiful outfield cohorts.
In the second half, things went from good to fantastic. Craig Gardner rifled home a superb free kick, and the celebrations in the Madge family household hit their peak. Four goals away from home against a side who were not only meant to be enjoying their birthday, but were also meant to be THE team capable of breaking into the supposed Big Three*.
The Villa fans at The Lane started chanting the hilarious "Happy Birthday to you", and before long, the "You're getting sacked in the morning" chant was being aimed well and truly in the direction of the ill-fated Martin Jol.
This was brilliant. This was what it was all about. This was the Martin O'Neill effect in action, right before my eyes. This was my team, destroying another, and it was only going to get better.
Then Marlon Harewood was brought on as a substitute.
Within a matter of minutes the score was 4-2, and then Harewood decided, upon seeing Darren Bent travelling away from the goal and posing no threat whatsoever, that he would try and decapitate the over-priced forward with what can only be described as a crane kick!
Penalty. Converted. 4-3.
So at 4-3, with just 8 minutes remaining, it was officially time to panic. Hands were trembling, fingernails were being shredded, and then deep, deep, deep into stoppage time, the Spurs they did equalise.
The unthinkable had happened and my heart exploded into a million, trillion bits.
Was this a case of Villa's general inability to finish a game? Was this a case of the Gods of Fate working overtime? Was it a case of Spurs having the heart and character to fight back?
No. It was all Marlon Harewood's fault. The cone-headed twat!
It was reactionary and it was petulant, but I insisted I never wanted to see Marlon Harewood in a Villa shirt again. I felt hurt and confused. This guy didn't seem so bad. He'd scored for us earlier in the season. And now he'd broken my heart and shattered my dreams. How could he do this to me? Why would he do this to me?!
I meant what I said, and I wasn't prepared to give Harewood another chance. He'd been given the opportunity to become a Holte End Hero and he'd blown it. Nothing he could do from now on could make up for that. Nothing.
In fact, I thought I would be enduring a severe case of deja vu when he was brought on as a substitute against Blackburn. We were away from home. We were three goals up. We were playing quality football and toying with the European places.
"If Harewood comes on, who knows what could happen?" I remarked.
He scored a few minutes later (his 100th league goal) and we won 4-0. But I was stubborn and I was sticking to my guns. Nothing he could do from now on could ever make up for the Spurs game. Nothing.
Then came Liverpool v Villa.
I'll be honest and I'll say it now. In this game, we were absolutely fucking awful. We were without Gareth Barry for the first time in 3858943 games and we looked like it. There was no leadership, there was no heart, and there was NO distribution at all.
We'd win the ball extremely well, thanks to Nigel Reo-Coker, but we'd pass it straight to a red-shirted goon and find ourselves under a rather large cosh. We were a goal down at half time, and a goal down after an hour.
Then Marlon Harewood was brought on as a substitute.
I screamed, I shouted, I damn-near cried my eyes bloody! I was fuming and I didn't care who knew it. We needed to score, not attempt to murder Liverpool players with kung-fu. Why was this sorry excuse for a Villa player being brought on? Something did seem different, but still, it was all over now, surely? The transcript with my father probably went something like this:
"Harewood?! No! Why is he bringing him on?"
"He'll probably score"
"He wont! He's shit! I can't believe he's bringing Harewood on! Have you forgotten the Spurs game? He nearly killed Darren Bent with that kick and - blimey, he looks quite pumped up and ready to play - I hate him"
He was on the field for 5 minutes, if that, and all of my ludicrous fears were allayed.
Marlon Harewood scored what could be the greatest goal of his career, and in doing so, redeemed himself completely. I leapt higher than O'Neill in celebration and all was forgiven. Mighty Marlon had emerged and bygones were bygones.
Three minutes after Marlon's spectacular overhead volley, we were in front and the roof of my house still hasn't recovered. Thanks to Harewood and his pumped up, passionate attitude, we had turned the game on its head and were looking at a crucial victory.
As it turned out, we were pegged back ourselves three minutes from time and it finished 2-2, but that really is by the by. In hindsight, it was a point from a game in which we'd played an hour of terrible football and probably should have lost.
And it was all thanks to the man I'd previously turned my back on. The man who I didn't want to see playing for my club again. The man who I'd decided was a true waste of £4m.
The man I now utterly adore.
Since the Liverpool game, he hasn't stopped endearing himself to me, the crazy scrunch-faced loon!
He hit the bar against Blackburn, shone in a poor team performance against Fulham, and totally changed the game against Newcastle (One nil, and you fucked it up!), even being described as a 'bully' by the very non-Messianic Kevin Keegan.
To be truthful, I'm still not totally sure a starting place for Harewood is a good idea, as he is a player who seems to thrive on making an impact as a super-sub, but there's still a strong case for a Carew/Harewood partnership in the starting 11.
And now, there really isn't a lot left for me to wax lyrical on as far as The Hare is concerned, other than to apologise. To make amends for all my previous criticism and hatred. To retract my derogatory comments and to embrace this superb player as a true Aston Villa legend.
Marlon Anderson Harewood, I salute you!
* There is no Big Four. And if there is, historically speaking, we're already part of it, babAy.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Welcome to Fictional Pulp
This is it!
Fictional Pulp is a blog I will actually update regularly. A blog I will actually take seriously. And a blog that will amuse and depress you in equal parts. And if it doesn't? I cannot and will not help you. Not now and not ever. Alright?
I can only show you the door. It is you who must walk through it.
Fictional Pulp is a blog I will actually update regularly. A blog I will actually take seriously. And a blog that will amuse and depress you in equal parts. And if it doesn't? I cannot and will not help you. Not now and not ever. Alright?
I can only show you the door. It is you who must walk through it.
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