Piss off

I cannot and willnot run through all the frequent sequent relations in which I very indusputibly pined to see this film. But now after taking a viewing of it, why, last Saturday evening, I would appreciate it if Wayne would keep his bizarrely-cool bruxism music as his true dutiful bailiwick; film isn't really his for the jumping. See, I can assiduously tell-all Mr. Wayne Coyne is still very much rambunctiously attatched to the MTV generation of the mid-80s; with the magnificent swilling colours, tear-lines and so fourth-- all the Jazz & Blues and stubby adulteration from the domination of the VHS. Films that ask for your "getting" aren't getting my vote in. What I got here--was--well, "seen it, heard it, fuc*ed it, aborted it ALL BEFORE".... yes, to some "critical" types, it was cheesy, but that's not why I'm so volatile; it is because that I do believe Wayne himself thought the cheesier the better, and therefore, you catch the Chicago Sun Times with its pants down, wanking off in the shower. Right? Most the set-up was comprised of electronic devices found in, well, not every home, but some, but that ain't why I've acquired a frown, it is because of the mere execution of this department that I crown incompetence to the very few involved with this shrill hiccup. Please, it's artsy-fartsy and all that bullsh*t but was it worth it? I say, "no..."

She may not use jelly, but at least she had the pea-nuts to cleave in your head.
This won't stay for more than a week, and if under the influence of any spirituous beverage, you'll either forget what it was entirely or remember why you drank after 6 years of sobiety: to escape films like this.

now, rejoinder on back, or piss off.

craigh.