Clive Owen: Sexy Beast!

Just seen Sin City, as it was showing on TVB Pearl tonight. Now, a short time ago, me mate asked me if I wanted to watch it. I said I kinda felt like it, but wont overly fussed about getting it out t' video shop. So I didn't watch it in England. I've just got back t' Hong Kong, and it's ont telly. Fab. I'm having a shite day, as PCCW didn't turn up to put my fucking broadband in – again. There were supposed to be here last night, but there were a problem. "I'll come back tomorrow at 4pm" turns into "Where the fuck are you?" at 6pm. This turns into: "Just called the engineer, he says he's running late, how about 8pm?" There's me: "What choice do I have?", and again, come 9pm, he's nowhere to be seen. Fucking fuck.

Anyway, picture me sat ont sofa wi a new packet of cigarettes, cursing the whole goddamned company seven ways from Sunday. There's no beer int house and no way I'm going out to get it. Fuck it. I play my compilation CD very loudly and enjoy every minute of it, and hope I'm pissing off the upstairs neighbours who regularly find ways to annoy me wi dragging furniture about upstairs.
Then I put ont telly and there's Sin City. I've missed the first 30 minutes ~ of course I have! This is me we're talking about! But I'm thinking, I couldn't be arsed. I don't want to watch it. I really don't want to be arsed. But something makes me watch ~ Mickey Rourke in amazing make-up, getting splattered by wee Elijah Wood, or at least, something that looks like it could be Elijah Wood. I'm fascinated. I'm watching. And then it all goes Pete Tong for Mickey Rourke, and he ends up the way of the HK hero. Enter what seems to be the next story ~ Clive Owen and that bird from the Mark Dacascos movie, Drive. What's her tit, Brittany Murphy, or some such. Anyway, Clive Owen cuts a realistic figure (we won't say "dashing") and gets into all kinds o shite, but he pulls through. It was the whole romantic picture of black and white, daring heroes, fast-driving, insane crazy-eyes, and winning over the scum etc., that had me pinned. He were fab, he were super-cool, he were celluloid's gift. If there were ever a movie to back up what he pulled off in Closer, Sin City were it. Just fucking fab. He had some good lines, and he did em well. Fan-fucking-tastic. And I'm thinking, didn't he get into my Fantasy Royal Marines Commando Corps? I'll have to dig that one up and slot him in, arf arf. (Have to say though, that bird who was head of the girls in Old Town made all the difference. I want to be her when I grow up.)

And then, cut again to another story ~ or is it? Now we have Bruce Willis waking up int bed, apparently after surgery o some kind. Having missed the first 30 mins, I'm not sure if it's actually Mickey Rourke's character swapping bods, a bit like Lost Highway. But no, later on it's confirmed it ent. Anyway, Bruce Willis is back on form and super-fab. I'd give him one ~ but he is American, and therefore cannot join my Fantasy Royal Marines Commando Corps. Bummer. As long as wore white vest, he'd be fine (you know he can't die when he's wearing a white vest, right?).
So here's me, wetting myself over how fab the film was, even though I've had a shitty afternoon and evening spent being totally fucked off wi a major telecommunications company. All the time they're arsing around wi installation "problems" (which have to be imaginary ~ the old modem was only taken away 2 weeks ago for fuck's sake, and they even left the cables behind! All he had to do was plug the new box into the old line and switch it on! How fucking hard is that?), I'm left wi'out a net connection, and that's puts me in a sweary kinda mood.

Anyway, I actually have to go to bed now, as I have to be up early tomorrow. Fuckers, all of em. All I wanted was broadband. Was I asking much?

Peach and lube to you all. Unless you're PCCW.

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