Film critics

My neighbour calls his dog “sea salt”. Bullshit. Utter Bullshit. As if calling a dog with a “poetic” name was a thing. He is one of the growing herd of ever more common gigantic posers. All of them big fat egos with an empty and ignorant little self. They nauseate me. They are sad and disgusting. And the worst of all is they are all going to watch our film. Rob, Marla, … God help us all.
We filmed it using a home camera. The result was utterly disgusting. Rob’s face was there smiling, his legs spread over the floor in front of his chair. There was something luminous and ethereal about the room that this piece of crappy shitty camera couldn’t get. And I told Rob. I told him That was the best asset of our shit movie. And he just laughed and said, quiet Marco. And I kept quiet of course while inside something was boiling and shouting Fuck it and fuck you. Things Rob didn’t hear of course.
Our film looks like a family video. It is a family video. My god! What a shame. What an utter and complete shame! And yes, I can see all those pompous bastards loving it, praising it for being so raw and intimate and many other idiotic reasons they will repeat ad nauseam while eating salmon and drinking champagne and glorifying our poverty. Our Fucking poverty! And I am tired. Tired as fuck!
Alright, alright. I told Rob it won’t work. It just won’t work. Not with me. This is shit. Caca. Mierda. And it infuriates me. It just makes me fume how it is they will be holding a vegetarian caviar cracker or some other crazy engender of a dish on one hand while grabbing our balls and our future with the other.
For fuck’s sake!

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