Was it me?
Could it have been me?
Surely not, it could not have been me.
But what if it was me?
Was it?
Was it me?
Really?
Was it me?
IT WAS ME. So FUCK YOU... Britain. And probably most of continental Europe. But probably not America. But Americans don't count because, as I've learned today, most of your women are morons.
So, the day was very exciting and I saw a great deal of film stars, including CAROL VORDERMAN, G-4, and even JAMES FROM BUSTED but I didn't see him because I was playing with my camera. There were some others too, including that guy who played Officer John Hanson Number 2 in 21 Jump Street.
The screening took place in some massive cinema in this square in London (I believe that it's called 'Leicester Square' - pronounced l-ai-ses-tar). There was this little midget in the foyer, who later turned out to play several of the Oompa-Loompas, who went by the name of 'Deep Roy'. Now I think that this is a very classy name for a midget... small person... whatever. I mean... DEEP. ROY. I would LOVE a name like that. It's like having a really tall guy and calling him Shallow Hal. Wasn't there already a film called that? Was it about a giant? I don't know. In this film they had apparently managed to CLONE Deep Roy and shrink him down into a teeny-weeny person. I don't know how they did this; perhaps small people are easier to clone. They fit in the jam jars better, or something.
I'd like to say that I took some FIT blonde (or brunette... to be honest, probably brunette) lass to this thing with me and we spent the next hour making out like donkeys, but instead I took my little sister. BECAUSE I'M COOL. So we sat in the cinema, full to the brim with professional movie-making types who said 'DARLING' a lot and air-kissed. Then I started to get paranoid - I checked my phone like twelve times to make sure that it was still turned off. And sister was forced to turn off all sound on her tamagotchi. To be honest, I would have preferred it to be smashed into a fine powder with a mallet, but there were no mallets available and the fine quality japanese worksmanship was resistant to my attempts to pull it apart by hand. Those crazy japs and their inventions.
ALSO Tim Burton (the main man) came up on stage at the front of the cinema and delivered a long and eloquent speech that sort of went like "Uh, thanks guys for, you know, working on the film and, yeah, I hope you enjoy it", before vanishing into the darkness of a side door to hang from the cieling or paint pictures of boys with rakes for feet or whatever else those tortured gothic genii do in their spare time. I heart Timmy B (that's the street slang for his name). He is such a dude. He really is.
The film was quite good. It was about this boy called Charlie who goes to a factory of some sort, with hilarious and sexy results. There are also these four old people who constantly sleep in the same bed together. Now, I know my mind is perverted, but THAT'S A WEBSITE I REALLY DON'T WANNA SEE. And I've seen some crazy stuff on those internets. There was also this bit where these squirrels killed this little girl because she disrespected their collective authorities. That's the things with squirrels - you mess with them - POW - they take you down. Down to chinatown. Then in an act of skill that will surely result in her dismembered squirrel-ravaged body never being properly identified, those squirrels take out her father too.
The squirrels in this film were extremely well trained, leading me to my next point: If they can train 50 seperate squirrels to kill people on cue, where the fuck are my killer monkey bodyguards? I mean, if Willy Wonka (who, judging by this film, is clinically retarded) can persuade a bunch of dumbass fuzzy-tailed rats to band together and form a killer tag-team, WHY CAN'T ANYBODY PERSUADE MONKEYS TO WEAR TUXEDOS AND MAIM ON MY COMMAND?
This STUPID country.
After the film, we went outside, and saw that they had made Leicester Square all prettyful. This picture, detailing the prettyfullness, I like to call The Longest Picture In The World:
Oh dear, it's gone extremely teeny. Oh well, fuck off I'm not changing it. Don't you love its longness? I also adore the beautiful way I've captured the back of that fat fuck's head on the left. Hmm. After this, somebody had the bright idea of staying to watch the premier. I think that it might have been me, but for the purposes of this post, it was my sister. But although reluctant to the idea, I was swayed by the idea of schmoozing with the stars and drinking martinis in a hot tub with Timmy B. Oh my god. There are all sorts of hot stars to drink martinis in a hot tub with... and I end up with Tim Burton? Yeesh.
So we ended up crammed into a very tiny space, full of lots of thick-as-shit american tourists, who, although being a bit fit, were also as dumb as hammers. Fortunately, I was able to pass the time fairly pleasantly, as I had the things a boy needs:
Water
Fit american tourists to look at
Pixies CD
My own BLISTERING masculinity
The new, fascinatingly written Harry Potter book
My sexy Boris Johnson Tshirt
However, even this didn't save my from the mind-numbing inanity of the crowd. From the ugly fat foreigner who spent her time asking who everyone was, to the moronic (but fit) american teens who took photos of random members of the public but ignored the actual movie stars who walked by, they were the worst of a bad bunch. A cameraman zoomed past and filmed us. The crowed wooed happily. I did not woo. I am not a person who woos. If you look on the tapes, you'll see a nice picture of a boy wearing a blue tshirt, looking pissed off, and not wooing. I do not woo. Fucking wooers.
At this point I was wondering what the fuck I was doing, crammed in a crowd while celebrities (INCLUDING GRAHAM NORTON! OMG OMGOMG LOLZ!) walked past, ignoring out sorry asses. But then, Johnny Depp (or as the cool kids call him, J-Dog D-Man) walked past. THIS WAS IT! I raised my camera. He was in shot. He was in frame. I was about to get the POWER SHOT of J-Dog D-Man.
Here's the picture that resulted:
You can quite clearly see Johnny D's blur in the middle of the photo, nicely framed by THE DUMB BINT WHO DECIDED TO WAVE HER ARMS IN THE AIR, THEREFORE FUCKING UP THE PICTURE THAT TOOK 2.5 HOURS TO TAKE. I mean CHRIST. What POSSIBLE FUCKING CHANCE is there that Johnny sees you raising your arms, decides to LEAP ACROSS the railings, and makes you his bride? No. And like, people who scream JOHNNY and just shriek a lot. Whats the point? Man I hate people.
So I just sort of stood there and looked unbelievably pissed off while half of London mobbed the fence I was standing next to.
Johnny Depp is a twat. Stupid blue-hatted tit. I'm only kidding, Johnny, I love you. It's the entire continent of America I hate.
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