I flashed my normal cheesy sardonic smile at the camera showing off my porcelain white veneers before bursting into my review. “Another week and yet another two hours of my life that I’ll never be able to get back folks! All you film buffs know that its film fest time, so I thought I’d get out there and see what some of the indie filmmakers are up to. Truth be told, I wouldn’t know what they had to offer because I was held hostage between two feeding whales! Such a shame!” I twirled towards the camera and pointed my finger at the home audience. “I’m sure all of you at home are wondering what I’m talking about? Well let me elaborate. I was supposed to see Four Golden Stars, by writer and director Alex Rasner, whom ever he is? But I never saw anything, although I heard plenty!” I stuck my finger down my throat. “What nonsense!”
I swiveled my chair towards camera two and saw Samantha’s face contort as she listened to my vehement critique. I watched her scribble something into her logbook while she mimed the words I Quit to John. She then motioned for John to take over at the monitor and she ran off the set. Screw her! I thought, as I continued my brilliant vitriolic criticism.
“This was by far the worst chick-flick since Steel Magnolias. And for all you sicko’s who are thinking, ‘I loved Steel Magnolias, why don’t you just do us all a favor and go vomit on your LEFT foot!’ Four Golden Stars was TRASH, without zest! God help us all when we give the camera over to a blind retard. The only thing worse would have been to hand it over to a woman!” I took a sip from my mug of coffee and then sprayed it out at the camera. “For the love of God, I haven’t been able to get the taste of cinematic failure out of my mouth since I left that movie! Frankly, I feel violated. The Tribeca Film Fest…Crackers! More like a charity event for the Special Olympics.” I paced to and fro making it hard for the cameraman to keep me in frame. “And the Gold Medal goes to Alex Nastier. Unbelievable! What I heard of the acting was trite and unfeeling. The storyline was no better than that of a pretentious first year film student at a community college!” I snapped my fingers at the crew. “I’m not finished. So just take a seat ladies and gents in T.V. land, because I’ve got another forty minutes of R rated ranting about this piece of garbage. Forget about the other films I’m supposed to review. This is personal.” I ranted on and on soaking up every last minute of the show with my venomous tirade and then decided to end it with the following, “I’d watch your back Nasty Rasner. I’ll be waiting for you in the tall grass with a billiard ball in a sock! This is Angry Movie Guy sounding off… I give this pathetic excuse of a film two thumbs down and the middle finger!” I flipped the bird at the camera and then walked off set, but my tirade wasn’t over. I pointed at the director who was rolling his eyes at me and yelled. “Hey! I saw that. If it weren’t for me you would still be directing ‘Hollywood Squares’! So look alive!”
I watched my assistant Samantha reappear and tug on John’s shirt before ducking behind the monitor. Her annoying little preppy voice started going off in my head again. “Oh my God! See what I mean? He’s lost it. His niceness was just a prelude to his pre-adolescent desire to degrade another human being.”
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