Editor’s Note: The picture included with this article is actually a picture of Agatha Christie. See, David didn’t send me a pic to use with his piece, so I went digging through Google Images looking for something appropriate relating to advice. That’s when I found Agatha here. What does she have to do with this article other than that she’s a woman? Absolutely nothing. But what the hell, I couldn’t pass this up. Besides, I thought David would approve of my choice. 🙂
Author’s Note: The more irrational and highly sensitive readers out there might misinterpret the below as being sexist, bigoted drivel. Those people just can’t handle the truth.
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Hello girls, how’s things going? Your friendly neighbourhood Part-time Ninja here – but you can call me Dave. Here’s a question you’re bound to have thought to yourself at some point in your life – how can you cut down on those annoying, pointless little arguments with your boyfriend?
You know the type – the ones that start over seemingly nothing at all, but pride builds on both sides and next thing you know you’ve got a Herculean screaming match going on, furniture is toppled, sex is denied and then the boyfriend has to tolerate a week of silence until he admits that he is wrong about absolutely everything he’s ever done, said, thought, eaten or mounted. It’s a complex, regular and painful ritual that we’ve all been through – one which quite frankly is about as welcome as a hooker with a penis at a kid’s birthday party.
Well, here’s some advice as to how to stop at least one of these potential scenarios from happening – I am of course referring to the cinema night-out flavour of bust-up. Seriously – Hollywood’s responsible for more divorce and separation than the evil forces of Durex, Playboy and Shania Twain combined. Whether you realise it or not, the cinema is one of the main breeding grounds for anger, strife and other relationship-ruining horse shit that blackens even the most nausea-inducing of Hallmark love affairs. Yet it could all be avoided so easily.
So ladies, here’s a foolproof, practical guide as to how to bring these civil wars to a close – 5 molten droplets of pure, unquestionable wisdom. Follow this guide, and your cinema outings shall forever be romantic, your relationships forever blossoming. And for once you’ll be able to see a movie without your boyfriend having a face sulkier than a smacked arse.
1.) When choosing a movie, be decisive.
This may sound like vague, whishy-washy crap, but I’m serious. This is the biggest cockup you gals can make. The most dangerous words a woman can say about the choice of film are ‘oh, I dunno – why don’t you choose.’ You see, the average male is a simian-like, poorly evolved creature whose cognitive processes are limited to grunting when he smells food – anything further is an act he puts on in hope of sexual favours and / or cookies. He can’t be expected to read between the lines! So by deploying this false air of choice to your fella, what he thinks you are doing is actually putting him in some kind of position of power – but we both know he couldn’t be more wrong.
All this does is mean that he’ll look at the listings and then think for a second, before wasting your time by throwing up the title of some horrendous pile of shite with a retard in a hockey mask and a rusty chainsaw killing topless women. THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LET MEN CHOOSE. Stop it. The last thing we need is encouragement. Instead you could save lots of false hopes, bitter arguments and torn scrotums by simply picking the Drew Barrymore flick you came to see in the first place, giving your man a suggestive stare, then telling him to carry the popcorn and making him do as he’s told. A playful smack on the ass goes a long way here, too.
2.) Don’t make him feign interest.
Sure, while the image of Johnny Depp’s (or whoever’s) face may captivate your heart and fill your stomach full of butterflies, don’t expect the same to be happening for the lesser sex you dragged along with you. You see complex character development, a sublimely written script, and the perfect encapturement of human emotion, feeling and devotion up on screen. All your man sees is some bitch in a sweater-vest whose boobs he mourns not being able to speedboat. You’re sat there dreaming of how perfect it’d be to have a man who TRULY understands you like what you’re seeing in the film. Your man’s thinking of running over Colin Farrell’s head with a JCB Earth-Mover until it’s ground into a crimson, sticky paste.
By the half-way point of the movie he’s going to be so comatose that the row in front could burst into flames, sending molten, searing debris everywhere and setting the sprinklers off and he wouldn’t even notice. Local youths could be pelting bricks at his head and he wouldn’t even move. Think of the male experience here as being similar to that of a diabetic coma – except no amount of sugar or insulin could ever get him out. By the end of the movie, don’t be surprised if the tear ducts of his eyes are actually seeping blood.
After all that, while you’re walking out of the cinema, dragging him along like a beaten child, you may not notice the clenched fists, the far-away expression, or the fact that your boyfriend has carved his last will and testament into his arm just to distract him from madness… that’s fine – you’re not expected to. What really is a STEP TOO FAR however is when you nonchalantly ask him for some kind of feedback; some kind of response to the pink and fluffy abomination he’s just suffered through. Don’t. Seriously – if you value any kind of non-battery-powered penetration, don’t. You wouldn’t ask a victim of Gulf War Syndrome for some fun Saigon war stories or why he has fewer limbs than you, so don’t do the same here.
3.) Don’t try for the impossible compromise.
Ever since the dawning of true commercial cinema (a time of men in monkey suits that movie boffins refer to as the ‘golden age’ but the sexually active refer to as ‘the fifties’) Hollywood producers have been clamouring to make the impossible – a movie that both men and women like. Despite billions spent in research and development, and a few biologically hazardous near-misses, this imaginative goal has yet to be achieved. No matter how they tried, the closest they’ve ever managed is the inclusion of the ‘Bloke’s Bloke’ into chick flicks – such as Eddie Izzard in My Super Ex-Girlfriend, or anything else involving Luke Wilson and his magical, ever-expanding chin.
This is done under the false impression that it’d make us men give a shit. The fools. By the time the manly comic relief comes in to play, your fella will already have bitten off his own tongue after nearly an hour of ‘Will he? Won’t he?’ And as much as I hate to say this, chick flicks are the only type of film you gals really seem to enjoy [insert venomous rage about author’s stereotyping and ignorant generalization here.] You can try to compromise by seeing some kind of chilling horror movie, but your post-movie questions as to why Blonde Screaming Whore can never seem to escape from Axe-Swinging Maniac, despite the fact he casually strolls after his prey, will only serve to piss us off – thus entering us into a battle of wits we could never hope to win.
Or something even worse could happen – the unlikely event of Hollywood actually squeezing off a horror movie that scares people. Then your boyfriend’s going to be spending the whole film wondering how he acquired the squealing, shaking human train-wreck that refuses to take its claws out of his arm. In the mind of a woman, she’s happy her strapping hunk of a man is there to offer her safety, comfort and protection. He’s just begging for the end so he can finally get to the Men’s room to bandage up the massive slashes your talon-like nails dug into his biceps. Girls, think! If your man comes out worse than one of the horror movie’s victims, you should’ve stuck with that chick flick. You know the one I mean… the one where the woman at first falls in love with the wrong man, but finally ends up in the arms of Mr Right. You know the one I mean – they’re all the fucking same anyway.
4.) If you notice that someone in the cinema is shagging, for Christ’s sake don’t point it out.
There’s nothing worse for a guy than being forced against his will into a cutesy, nauseating, mind-numbing, soul-destroying chick flick. Oh wait! Yes there is! Knowing that everyone else is having sex EXCEPT FOR US! Jackpot!
5.) Turn off the phone. Shut the fuck up.
This one sounds harsh, but there’s a respite. Unlike the four previous golden nuggets of advice, this one applies to both genders. There’s nothing worse than being immersed in a film you’ve traveled far and paid your hard-earned money to see… than having some knuckle-dragging INFIDEL near the front have their phone going off. You know the type – that rare, ugly breed that seems to have survived the pitfalls of evolution – the type that leave their shit switched on despite the fact that every CiniPlex in the KNOWN UNIVERSE has paid thousands to have trailers before the movie telling you specifically to TURN THAT SHIT OFF. And do these mouth-breathers end the call? Do they do the right thing, get up and take their slow, sluggish, peon arse outside? NO. THEY SIT THERE AND NATTER ON, infecting our ears and our lives with their tired, meaningless crap! And how dare we criticize?! They missed the season finale of Prison Break and demand the right to BROADCAST THIS SHIT TO THE WHOLE GOD-DAMN WORLD.
Here’s my advice, fellow film-goer. Forget manners. Dispense with the formalities. The vast majority of you reading this are Yanks. You all have guns. Just do the honourable thing, okay? A few hollow points and some crossfire is nothing compared to the greater good you’d be gracing upon the world. You’ll be doing us all a favour. You’ll be making the nightmares stop.
Thank you, and good night…