My entire body convulses with loathing and despair as, for what seems like the seven hundredth time, a young woman makes reference to the size of a gentleman’s genitals.
The day had started poorly, I received a call from the oaf at Screen Idle. Maintaining a catastrophic bout of flatulence through out our conversation, said oaf demanded I view A Bad Mom’s Christmas and offer opinion.
Worn down by the sound of the oaf’s foul bodily emissions, I accept my fate and repair to the multiplex whereupon the smell of unwashed young men in cheap sportswear assaults me from the moment I arrive
I am offered a tube of offal in a bread roll with red and/or yellow liquid the consistency of mucus on top. I refuse as the traffic was such that an ambulance could never arrive in time.
I find myself seated next to a young woman who is at level 769 of something called Candy Crush at the beginning of the film and level 788 at the end.
The film begins and I am subjected to a catalogue of genital references, erections, and vibratory before someone learns a valuable lesson towards the end
How did it come to this? Christmas films were once gentle fables about angels showing people how best to value their lives. A Bad Mom’s Christmas featured a ‘Mom’ removing a man’s public hair. I weep for society
Screen Idle Star Rating – oh don’t be absurd
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