... but I stopped. Now I'm a dad, and may blog again...

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Block Chop 33: Meaningless ramble; don't read me.

This is crap>>>>>>>>>

So...?  The Bourne Identity; not as good as Die Hard.  24?  Not as good as Deadwood.  Ok, I have no way of comparing 24 with Deadwood, as I have never seen 24 and I’ve already firmly convinced myself that Deadwood is the finest piece of dramatic television ever formulated.  I suppose, at a push, I might concede, a slim, tiny possibility that 24 might be ok.  It might not just be a Nazi torture fantasy strung out over way too many hours.  But as I have already implied, who am I to comment.  I have never seen 24, but yet I still profess to know exactly what I am missing.  Woohoo, Jack Bauer loves torturing people, and I love watching Jack Bauer torturing people.  But I’m a 24 fan, so I can distinguish torture from drama by one subtly televisual conceit - a timer!  Yes, that’s the difference between torture and television: a time limit.  At this point I must remind you once again: I have never seen 24.  I have no idea what I am talking about.  PS Deadwood is better.  Some people will have you believe it is just a lesbian shouting ‘cunt’ over and over.  And yes, it does seem to be this, but it is also so much more.  It is also an old guy who used to be Lovejoy beating up whores, especially one particular whore called Trixie who he is obviously in love with but won’t admit it.  He also owns a disabled woman who he often chastises and calls the gimp, yet he seems to love her like a sister.  There is a Chinese gangland boss, who can speak only one English word: Cocksocker.  There is the rich cunt, I mean rich woman from New York, whose husband was murdered by Lovejoy’s right hand man Dan. She makes a fortune from her dead husbands gold claim, then opens a bank.  There are an ex lawman and a Jewish stereotype who run a hardware store.  The ex lawman has a big cool moustache, makes friends with Wild Bill, fucks the rich cunt, and becomes the new lawman.  The Jew does the accounts, then fucks the whore that Lovejoy loves.
I’m churning through this nonsense, trying to get it finished before I fall asleep.  My girlfriend (who I never refer to as “my girlfriend” in real life) is staring at me in a mad giggle, because she is using her slanket in bed.  No it’s not something rude, it’s a blanket with sleeves.
And as I settle down to sleep, the people of Deadwood awake as though at a debauched festival. They make their way to The Jem to spend their stream-panned gold dust, or their road-robbed dollars on pussy and whiskey.  And even though writing about Deadwood popped into my head by default, it’s now obvious what sort of crap I will dream about.  Sleep tight.

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