It Can Only Happen In Hollywood: Number 1

Welcome to a new series on my ever-changing blog! In the 'It Can Only Happen in Hollywood' marked postings you will find me rambling about films and incidences in films which are so absurd they could only happen....you've guessed it....in Hollywood movies. Here's the first!

Mrs Doubtfire
Let me cast your mind back to the key moment of this film when Robin Williams, in full Doubtfire costume, is spotted whizzing standing up by his son Chris. At this point, the family's idyllic home life turns upside down as young Chris discovers his mother's heavy chested old housekeeper is infact, on first inspection, a pre-op transvestite.

Running around the house shouting 'He's a she, she's a he' a million times, Chris bumps into his siblings and attempts to explain the horrific sight he's just seen. However, Robin Williams rises to the occasion and reveals that he isn't actually Mrs. Euphegenia Doubtfire, but their father.

Now here's where my problem is. The two female children are ecstatic by the news while poor Chris refuses a hug by simply saying "it's ok, I get it". The film continues, all manner of highjinks ensue and the ending is relatively happy (ie. no one dies).

What the fuck?! These children have discovered that their father, already facing court battles to see them, is spending his days dressed as an old woman cleaning their house and they're not that bothered. If I were in their shoes, I fucking know I'd want to know what the fuck a man who is supposed to be a role model to me is doing trannying it up every Monday to Friday. Plus, I'm very sure he wouldn't get a fucking hug from me, the fucking weirdo.

Any normal person would sever all contact with their father if he behaved like this. There would certainly be no hugging and no 'i get it'. How can you fucking understand that your dad's dressed as a granny? It's a disgrace!

So there you go. I hope this has gone some way to convincing you why Mrs Doubtfire only makes sense in....Hollywood!

Until next time.

Kidnapping and Celebrity...

The other day at work I was sat on my till when a customer put a copy of Woman magazine under my delicate nose for me to scan. As I scanned it through I noticed one of the headlines on the front-page: 'Captive to Celebrity: Natascha's shocking next move'.

As you may or may not know, this is referring to Natascha Kampusch, the Austrian girl found recently after being held captive for 8 years by the wonderfully named Wolfgang Priklopil. You may also know that she's become a bit famous in Austria as everyone wants to know her story.

Now then, I don't know what exactly the headline on the front of Woman was referring to, but I know if I'd lost 8 years of my life to a kidnapping I'd milk it for all its worth. EIGHT years locked up in a soundproof cellar in a cage she believed to be wired with explosives!

Fucking hell, I'd do everything once I was out: TV interviews, Celebrity Masterchef, even Love Island! You can almost imagine her doing Stars in the Eyes: 'Tonight singing live, Ms Kampusch is Tina Arena!!!!'

That's a joke by the way.

Tina Arena? Song called 'Chains'? Forget about it, I understand not many of you are mini-Paul Gambaccinis.

Paul Gambaccini? Musicologist? Fuck it.

Anyway, my point is Austria (as I know Austrians read my blog all the time), give the girl a break! Eight years! Can you imagine the amount of Coronation St she has to catch up on?!

The Beauty of Advertising...

Last week, I was sat on the toilet at work (bear with me, the story gets better) and the music being played over the tannoy faded out as an advert started up.

Expecting another drab boring bloke wittering on about dog food, I was stunned to hear the warm tones of a woman, who said the following...

"The birthplace of the Mona Lisa, the setting for Romeo and Juliet and the home to some of the world's finest foods. But luckily you don't have to travel to experience the great taste of Italy as..."

Wow! what a brilliant way to start a supermarket advert, this product must be the bestest thing in the world!!! I settled myself (still on the toilet) and waited to discover what wonderful product this advert was promoting.

"...Crosse and Blackwell's Pasta and Sauce are on sale at 72p, buy one get one free"

BRILLIANT!! 'The great taste of Italy!' I'm sure Michaelangelo, Donatello and all the other turtles would be shocked and appalled to find that a sachet of powder and dried pasta represents the culinary heritage and history of Italy.

God bless whoever wrote that wonderful piece for Morrisons. I nearly fell of the toilet when I heard it.

Yes, I was still on the toilet then.

A shit since you ask.

I've Killed People Today!

Yes I have!

Don't worry however, Rob isn't off to prison just yet as it was by legal means! Hurrah!

For the first time in my deeply depressing life I worked behind the cigarette counter in Morrisons. This was an amazing experience as people from all walks of life (from the suit-wearing businessman to the Special Brew-drinking hobo) introduced me to the wide scope of cigarettes on offer. You see, unlike other means of death, smoking brings a huge selection of styles to die in. For instance...

If you're hit by a car: OUCH you're hit by a car, so what?
If you slit your wrists: BORING! you've slit your wrists.

With smoking you can die the Marlboro way, the Mayfair way, the B and H way and many other ways. You can die via kingsize cigs, superking cigs, cigars or rolling tobacco! So much choice!

So yeah, I've been helping to kill off the undesirables of society. The ones who are being driven from our pubs, restaurants and shopping centres. The ones who smell like tar and have green teeth. The ones who are more infertile than a BIG DEAD SPERM.

Before today I was completely oblivious to the prices of cigarettes. So I was stunned to see people come in and spend £100s on the things. It's just crazy. Don't do it kids, that's my advice for today.

My second piece of advice is don't put anything that belongs in a toilet in your mouth.

Here endeth the lesson.