Fuck You Errant Boners

I have a totally fucked up love for popcorn. I will go to see a movie based solely on the timing of the massive quantity of popcorn that I’m going to eat. It’s not “dinner and a movie” for me, no sir, I have dinner AT the movie, and I don’t care if I feel terrible afterwards. I ask for layers of the nuclear sauce, too. But I don’t add salt; that wouldn’t be healthy. If I can’t have the snacks, I won’t go to the movie. I’ve missed some fine films that I quote-un-quote really wanted to see, because I was full from a meal, or the movie was playing at a theater that, in my experience, has sub-par, stale corn.

I was very excited to go see Fish Tank, partly because I had heard from my esteemed colleague that it was good, partly because the place it was playing has the best popcorn/yellow sauce combo I’ve had in this area. And I can always bring in my own drink: the 17-year-old ushers couldn’t give a flying fuck. They’re too busy trying to hide their pimples and errant boners. The problem with Fish Tank was it was so riveting and unpredictable and uncomfortable that I had to pause a lot from stuffing my fat face. And I ended up bringing half a bag home with me – unheard of! And after the movie ended, my gratitude for making it out of my feral teens was increased, and I wanted to hug the little usher kids and their errant boners when I left. Yours truly, Super Glossy