Before we go any further beyond a second paragraph, my name is irrelevant but you can call me Mr Observer. Or, if you'd prefer, just Observer. Not just Mr though, as, well, I wouldn't really respond to that.

Today I wish to tell you a story, its not a particularly interesting one and nor is it going to garner me any world wide prestige and fame. But, it is a story none-the-less. A magnificent story really, ignore my previous criticism of this fine story and do continue to read on for I am quite the wit when it comes to observing things and this is a story that I did observe with my own three eyes.

The Cinema

It was a Friday night, quite unlike the Friday night that preceded it, but not too unlike the Thursday just before it. I was sitting in my domicile's living room listening to an awful rendition of an average song blaring out of my speakers, caused by a rather erratic and downright tone-deaf radio DJ.

As firmly seated as I was in my most comfortable lounging chair, I had the eagers to do something. Now, usually I'm not the kind of person to be eager about doing anything, but, a combination of a wedgie, bad music and a serious need for fresh air was urging me to leave my house.

Leave my house! I exclaimed at my inner urges, Are you crazy? I waited a considerable time for an answer to my accusation, but none was presently forthcoming. My inner voice was being awfully quiet today, usually I couldn't shut the bastard up. Nevertheless, it had achieved what it set out to do, I had a serious case of the eagers.

What could I possibly go and do that would be more enjoyable than listening to the radio? I asked of myself, in a hopeless attempt at avoiding thinking for myself. (Wait, that is incredibly weird, asking myself for an answer to avoid thinking! Maybe I should see a Doctor like I had suggested to myself a few weeks ago? Anyways, I digress...) The answer to my question came in the form of a vision. Not a divine vision, Jesus' ugly bearded face wasn't staring at me from the correlation of dust motes on my walls – this vision involved a paper, a newspaper of the local variety.

Fortunately, the newspaper was a meter or so away and out of my immediate reach. This was fortunate on the account that I still had a wedgie, a very bad wedgie in fact – the kind of wedgie that is usually generated when a 9ft monster grabs your underwear and yanks it up around your ear holes. This was weird, because I distinctly don't remember any 9ft monsters paying me a visit today. That aside, it quickly dawned on me that I could kill two birds with one stone, getting up and rearranging my underwear whilst moving in the general direction of the newspaper.

Slowly I leaned forward and initiated the straighten-up procedure generally associated with getting up out of a chair. Having completed that and standing at my full 6ft frame, I began the forward motion in the direction of the newspaper. As I was slowly moving toward my goal, I began the tricky task of underwear rearrangement whilst in transit. Now, I don't want to belittle the skill it takes to perform a mid-air fuel exchange between two airplanes, but this underwear rearrangement whilst walking was infinitely trickier. I started with the crux of the whole dilemma, the article of clothing that seemingly wished to hide deep inside my rectum.

Now, I don't think you're the kind of person that would be interested in the exact art of removing an article of clothing from my rear-end, so I won't describe the whole event. Sorry, what did you say? You are that kind of person? Oh, OK, very well.

My hand descended and twisted to the rear of my body, slowly slipping in between my lax jeans and my pearly white skin. As my hand had penetrated the Bastille of trouser-like clothing, it began to descend further, deeper into the nether-regions of my second most intimate body part. My hand, though my eyes could not see, touch was alerting me of the fact that they had reached the perpetrating clothing, the shorts of boxer. Slowly I began to grasp at the 8% elastane and gave an all-mighty yank. (Not a Yank, as in an American, but yank as in 'a strong sudden pull') The product of that most violent yank was a crushing in the phallus area. This sudden, excruciating pain caused my descent to the floor, but, it also realigned my underwear to a far less rectal position, for which I was glad.

My fall placed me within reach of the newspaper and thusly I achieved my killing of two birds with one stone. As I picked the newspaper up, I noticed the headline, “Blind woman gets new kidney from dad she hasn't seen in years”, I stifle a laugh at the stupidity of the statement and decided that maybe the article itself would gleam more humorous pub-talk. (Which would go wholly unused as I wouldn't be seen dead in a pub).

Unfortunately nothing of real note or hilarity was within the article, in fact, it was a brilliant piece of journalism, well, it was readable in the very least.

At this point in time I began to question the logic of my inner voice, Why am I reading the paper? I asked of him, he took his time with his answer, but finally responded, “It's something to do” - couldn't argue with that I thought, it is indeed something to do. But the original something I had intended to partake in didn't involved crushed genitals or still being in my house. Stupid inner voice, I thought. You don't want to know what he called me then. What? You do? OK, he called me a “dickhead” - completely false might I add, I don't have a penis extruding from my forehead, I've never met anyone who has either, stupid inner voice, I thought once more.

The newspaper itself, aside from its incongruous headline, was of no real interest until the fifteenth page, upon which were some movie reviews. A movie! I screamed in my head, what a brilliant idea! It was a brilliant idea for numerous reasons, such as; I hadn't been to the cinema in years, it involved leaving the house, it was within walking distance and last, but no means least, I had a coupon which garnered me not only a free ticket but also a free bowl of ice cream. So, with those few things in mind, I set about deciding which veritable slice of brilliance I was going to take in on the silver screen.

This, in itself, was harder than I thought it would be. I remember a day when movies would be released of a intellectual nature, movies that would have you guessing till the very end, or movies that educated you or movies that entertained and made you laugh in an smart and ingenious way. Unfortunately for me, and basically everyone who wasn't involved in the money grabbing behind the movies, these days were long in the past. Today, I had to choose from three movies. Although the local cinema had a renovation a year or two back, giving it a new capacity fourteen screens, eleven of those were filled with a movie about a giant beast that scaled buildings and fell in love with a midget. What kind of sanctimonious bullshit is that?? I asked myself, but no answer came. The other two movies were of an equally disturbing nature.

One of the other movies was about a man and his dog, who switch bodies. In it starred a dried up old hack-comedian who obviously desperately needed money to pay for his drug addiction. I immediately decided that this movie wasn't for me, on the basis that I don't much like dogs and I sure-as-shit don't like dried up old has-beens – like that terrible Tim Allen.

The other movie sounded far more promising, if it weren't for two facts. One of the facts that this was opening night for the movie, something that any sane individual would attempt to avoid like one would usually attempt to avoid cancer. The second disturbing fact was its star: a fine actor, but, whose principal bulk of past movies are of a comedic nature. This particular movie was not of a comedic nature at all, quite the opposite in fact, a heartfelt story about a child and his story of abuse and rape. Not a particularly fertile ground beyond the realms of the aristocrats. Nonetheless, my need to leave the house was obvious and thus this was the movie I would be seeing, for it at least held some kind of intellectual value.

The show times were displayed below the movie's little mini-poster advert, it said that the next showing was in thirty minutes. The cinema was ten minutes away and all I needed to do was change into some underwear that hadn't been up my anal passage for the last few hours.

As I ascended the stair case with the task of underwear changing, I briefly thought of the movie I was going to see. I don't go to the movies much, as I had previously mentioned but that doesn't mean I don't watch movies. On the contrary, it is one of the few things I do. The cast of this particular movie was what I like to call of a 'actors-who-openly-don't-want-to-be-Hollywood-but-will-do-anything-to-be-in-a-Hollywood-movie' nature or AWODWTBHBWATBIAHM for short. The lead had attempted on many movies in the past to shed his comedic cloak to become what is generally better accepted, an actor. In my opinion, he did a fine job – notching up some very enjoyable movies. But, unfortunately, my opinion isn't worth much in this day and age – to be honest, it hasn't been worth much in any day and age.

I quickly donned my favourite, least-likely-to-cause-a-wedgie article of underwear and descended the stairs. At the bottom of my staircase is where I keep all my articles of outdoor-going clothing. So my hats, my jackets and my shoes. Sitting on the bottom step I undaintly clambered into my lovely pair of shoes. Standing up I briefly browsed through my large collection of hats on my large wall. I used to collect hats, of varying natures and designs. A lot of beanies for when I went through a grow-my-hair-long-to-see-what-it-would-look-like stage, I also bought a shit load of cowboy like imitation hats because they always looked so cool on the movie stars. Which brought me to the realisation of why I'm not a movie star. I decided that I should play it safe tonight and wear one of my tried and trusted plain beanies. Donning my long black jacket, I grabbed my wallet, keys and the movie coupons and exited my lovely abode.

The walk to my local cinema is usually one of a very boring nature. Not because I make it so, how dare you insinuate such a thing! It is boring because it is mainly made up of industrial lots that have long since been abandoned on the basis that the street they are on is very boring. But tonight plenty of things were happening, things of a fun nature and things of a very dangerous nature but all the things that were happening were of a 'I-wasn't-invited' nature, much to my dismay. Not that I would have gone to any of these things, not at all, but it would have been nice to at least have received an invitation.

One of the goings on was a party in an open-top car. Three obviously boozed blondes were swaying in opposite directions as if opposite breezes were dictating their stances in life. Three equally, yet less obviously, boozed up men were in the process of the age old game of 'grope 'n' slap', a game that I personally was only involved in once. I was the one doing the slapping, might I add!

Roughly a minute further down the road I came to the second thing of a non-boring and very-unlike-this-road nature. This time it was a bouncy castle. A bouncy castle in the middle of an industrial lot? How insane! Thought I, which, it was. This particular bouncy castle wasn't being visited by a gang of sugared-up children but was being visited by five midgets and a red-headed woman that seemed to have midgets for breasts. As the lady turned it was visible that she had two midgets clinging to her chest. Weird, I can see why I wouldn't be invited to this party as I wasn't a midget and didn't have big boobs, just ample man-boobs.

The rest of the trip I saw a few very weird things: a man lying on the floor with his brain spilled out, a griffin and a boy named Joe. But these things I had come to expect from where I live, so there isn't much to tell about those. Oh, there was one thing I should add, Joe is ten years old, he told me so.

As I rounded the corner turning onto the street on which the cinema resided, I was confronted with a glaring, gaudy bright light that sent my eyes into a spiral of brightness. My inner voice made a brief comment of how apt it was and I told him to shut up, also insisting that he be silent from now on until the end of the movie, on account of me wanting to concentrate. I had been practising my very-concerned-and-interested-face for the last five minutes and I didn't want that to go to waste. By the by, the big tacky light was that of the cinema's, a bright pink and purple thing that said 'Millennial Cinemas' in a font which reminded me of coca cola.

On the walls leading up to the cinema entrance to my immediate right where posters for the upcoming movies and also those that were presently released. None of the posters really interested me, nor did any of them really give me any real information about the movies they were advertising. One had a picture of a guy's face and said upon it in a stamped like font 'He's back!!!', three exclamation marks! I thought, how excessive, I'd never seen this guy before and really didn't think he justified the use of three exclamation marks, he barely even warranted the use of one. The rest of the posters were of an equally befuddling nature.

I stepped up to the counter in which I was to purchase, or give coupon in exchange for, my movie ticket. The lady before me was of a very Asian nature.

To me there are three stages of Asian 'looks', the first of which is pure-bred Asian, these you will see in the movies as the stereotypical Asian woman/man that has to be in the movie to be politically correct – you may also find this type underneath the mask of a ninja, but, I wouldn't recommend getting too close. The second stage of the Asian looks, is what I like to call half 'n' half Asian. You will find these particular Asians in your local supermarket, stacked on aisle foreigners. The third and probably most popular Asian look is what I like to call, not-really-Asian look. These are people who attempt so desperately to appear of an Asian nature but generally fail, because, they lack the genealogy.

This lady before me, was as I said, of a very Asian nature, she was part of the second stage, this cinema chain must frequent the local supermarket to keep stocks up.

“Good Evening And Welcome To Millennial Cinemas!” capitalised the Asian counter woman.

“Good Evening, I'd like one ticket to the movie that involves a child being raped and abused then writing about it, please” said I, for I had completely forgotten the name of the movie, not because I didn't care, but because I just forgot.

“Certainly, that will be $10.03” said she.

“Not on your life, fair lady, for, I, as you can see, have a coupon!” said I as proffered the fabled coupon in her general direction.

The woman before me managed to make even slintier eyes of her already slinty eyes and began to look at my coupon. Her face took on varying stages of anger, as if she only got paid for working here if the tickets were bought with money and not coupons.

After roughly three minutes of consulting five different managers, they unanimously came to the conclusion that I was cheap, free loading bastard and that I could use the coupon to gain entry to their movie house.

Great! Thought I, once more I have gained entry to somewhere for free, truly I'm the master of not paying for things.

After dealing with the insufferable staff, I decided that I needed a stiff drink of water, flavoured water! Yes, I was that bedraggled by the event. I was informed by a short man that my cinema screen was up the escalators, I enquired if the stairs would also get me there and he informed me that he wasn't sure but would promptly ask his managers. I quickly stopped him and informed him that I would take my chances with the stairs. I ascended the stairs and much to my relief, they did indeed lead me to the upper foyer on which stood a bevy of sugared-up children, various degrees of petty thugs and a confectionery counter.

“Ice Cream!!” screamed my inner voice.

I thought I told you to be quiet! Said I to he within my skull.

“OK, but, get ice cream, dickhead!” Said he once more.

“Ingrate” said I out loud whilst staring at one of the thugs. Realising that I hadn't internalised my comment I quickly ran to the relative safety of the ice cream counter.

Behind the counter stood two plastic young ladies, smiling at me with shiny fake teeth. Before them and between us was the ice cream freezer, within which lived the ice creams. Such wonderful, vibrant creatures they are, thought I as I stared into the misted coldness they lived in.

Oh look! There's an orange one! And a pink one! Ohmigod Ohmigod, they have banana ice creams living here, I must have a bowl! Were the general thoughts that ran rampant in my mind as I gazed at the grazing, elegant ice creams.

“One medium bowl of your banana ice creams” I said, barely holding in my excitement.

The smaller and blonder of the two was staring at me, upon her stare was the look of great dislike. The point of her attention was not clear to me as the girl appeared to have an affliction known as being 'beaten with the ugly stick', her eyes were also peering in opposite directions.

“One banana bowl coming up!” said the other, slightly less beaten Ice Cream employee. Taking a stick from the counter she began to slowly pull the fridge door open. At one end of the stick was a piece of string, tied to the piece of string was a small penguin. Of course! I exclaimed, how better to attract a flock of banana ice creams than with the temptation of a fresh penguin? Genius!

I watched as the girl slowly donned the protective glove that one needs when dealing with wild ice creams. She then began the process of attracting them. She began by flicking the small penguin in the stomach in the hope that it would make a noise. Faintly I could hear that it did so. Suddenly the banana ice creams saw the treat, they then began slowly to edge towards the penguin on the stick. With obvious intent on surrounding it, half of the ice creams left the group to cover the only means of escape.

All of a sudden the lead group pounced at the penguin, but, fortunately for the penguin, the girl was a seasoned professional. As the ice creams were about to make contact with the penguin, she pulled it back and replaced the air with a bowl,. The ice creams went splat into the bowl and the girl quickly closed the freezer.

“I see you are a master of the ice cream arts” said I to the girl, with a new found respect for her ice cream capturing skills.

“Why thank you. That will be $15” said the girl.

“$15! Why so much?” asked I.

“Well, sir, a lot of risk-of-life goes into the capturing of your ice cream. You have to factor in the brave hunters in the frozen forests, you also have to factor in the life of the mini penguin on a stick. Not only those two things, but you also have to factor in my life! Do you know what a pack of banana ice creams can do to someone?” said the girl, with obvious emotion and hard training.

“I'm afraid I do, all too well” said I as I gave the girl the ice cream coupon.

She promptly went slinty eyed at me and consulted her five managers with regards to the validity of my coupon. It was once more decided that I was a cheap, free loading bastard but I could have the ice cream in exchange for the coupon.

“Banana Ice Cream, mmm” said my inner voice and for once I had to agree, banana ice cream was most delicious. This particular flock was very fresh, you could tell by the way they still attempted to gain freedom over the edge of the bowl. If they had been old ice creams, they would be resigned to their fate.

Briefly pausing a few meters away from the ticket checking guy, I ate a spoonful of the delicious creamy goodness. Nature never ceases to amaze, thought I, as I slurped on one of natures true miracles.

“What you want?” said the ticket checking guy as I stood before him.

“Lots of things really. For one, if your offering, world peace would be nice. Then I'd like one of those big plasma televisions and a DVD Recorder and...”

“No, what you doing here?” interrupted the ticket guy.

“Well, I guess my intention was to go catch a movie. I guess that is why I'm holding a ticket” said I as I referred to the ticket that was in my arm which had been extended before his face for the duration of my meeting with him.

“Gimme that!” said he as he tore a slit in my ticket and replaced it in my hand, “Enjoy your cruise” said the ticket guy as a mere token gesture he also smiled a bit.

My ticket informed me that the screen in which my movie was to be projected was number three. I passed a door to number four, which was slightly ajar. Noises from which I could barely hear, but it went along to the tune of:

“Oh, Ding Dong! How can I, a little person, truly live a love filled life with you, a sixty foot Orang-utan? Life's so unfair!” said the shrill, tinny, little voice.

From that mere line I concluded that my decision to avoid that movie was one of true genius. I continued walking in the direction of a shiny light that informed me that the door next to it was the door to screen number three.

The door had a kick plating at the bottom of its swinging side, inviting anyone who wished to use their foot to open it instead of the traditional hand. Always open to new experiences on the third Friday of the month, I kicked the door. The effect of which was a searing sharp pain in my big toe and a motionless door.

Regretting my open mindedness, I pushed the door open with my traditional hands and entered the screening room. Before me was a brief corridor, the left side of which was a huge wall, the right side was a ever decreasing slant of a wall. As I moved further in, I could see over the slant and was given a view of the seating area of this room.

I moved slowly and attempted to veil my inhibitions, I immediately began to count the amount of people in the room, twenty-three all in all.

This movie, I had been informed was of an R-rated nature and generally implied that the movie contained disturbing images and/or language. Of course, as is natural in the world of parenting, there were three small children in the audience. I briefly hoped that the child that was in the movie would resemble one of the kids, so that their parents might feel a little bit of guilt about bringing them here.

The other twenty people were what I'd usually associate with a 'Comedy Cinema Experience'. You had your couples, busily necking away whispering sweet nothings that they'd heard in movies and thought were sexy. There were groups of people of an ethnic nature, making comments of an ethnic variety and generally emitting an air and sense that they were ethnic, they were proud of that fact and if you aren't one of them, you can get the fuck away from them. Not being of their ethnic variety, I got the fuck away from them.

My seat, or so I decided - as this particular cinema was not the kind that designated seating, was one row behind a middle aged couple and one row in front of a threesome consisting of two fat men and one fat woman. They were conversing on the subject of the quiz that was being displayed before the trailers began. The quiz was of a 'guess-the-movie-title' kind and the answer consisted of three words, designated by bottle caps – the ad was sponsored by a drinks company. The first word in the title had three letters and the letters TH preceded the blank space. The second word was five letters in length and the following letters were visible, HORS_. The third word read MONK_Y. The threesome were bitterly arguing over what they thought the answer was, the woman was adamant that the answer was THY HORSH MONKOY, she said she had seen the trailer on the television and as television never lied, she was right. The fatter of the two fat men decided he didn't much care for quizzes and his friends should also not like quizzes, so he was busy berating them about it. The slightly less plump fat man was certain that the missing letters were in fact numbers, to trick stupid people like the woman, his answer was TH3 HORS3 MONK3Y. Little did he realise that in some worlds he would have been almost right, like the world of text messaging where a 3 sometimes replaced an E.

They argued incessantly until the answer was revealed. Then they argued with the screen, loudly, telling it that it was a lying sack of shit and if they weren't so comfy and well positioned, they'd come up there and beat it. The screen was shaking in its holdings, I could see it.

Already I could sense that this movie experience was going to be of a weird nature.

I had long since placed myself in my chair and positioned my legs optimally for comfort. My legs were an inch away from the chairs in front of me, in which the middle aged couple sat. They were holding hands and talking about all kinds of things. As the trailers began, the female of the couple decided that her position would be of a laid back nature and she began to place more weight on the back of her chair.

I could see it happening in slow motion, the chair gradually getting closer and closer to my knee. I knew if it touched me should would explode with anger with regards to how inconsiderate the youth of today were. She'd turn around and notice that I wasn't a youth but a middle aged man, she'd then rectify her previous comment about how the middle aged of today are so inconsiderate, I'd agree and she would tell me to move my knee.

It happened, it hit me. She turned around.

“Do you mind?” she said in a muffled-by-her-own-ass kind of way.

“Well, actually, yes I do” said I.

“What!?” she said.

“Well, I do mind. You see, my knee was there and you backed into it” said I hoping that she would shut up.

She shot me a horrible glare, turned to her man in the hopes that he would get involved, when it was clear that he didn't want any trouble, she turned full on to the screen and spent the rest of the movie sighing and moaning with regards to how uncomfortable her seating was.

The trailers were of the usual fair. One movie that looked good, clever and well directed followed by one movie that looked awful, stupid and had been directed by a mini penguin.

The movie started, I had hoped the general noise in the cinema would cease when the opening credits began, but they didn't.

As the credits rolled to the vision of a kaleidoscopic view of compromising photos, a disgruntled looking man walked into the cinema, eyed everyone suspiciously and then sat in the same row as me, at the far end of it, nearest the exit. I spent a second looking him over, he seemed quite a nice middle aged man who was here to enjoy a movie. He glanced at me and I smiled at him, he didn't return it.

The movie began and I was enthralled. Homosexuals, rape, abuse, HIV, funny flute-like music every time a plot twist announced itself. It was great. The only thing that wasn't great was the sounds coming from various people at varying times, I could see the man beside me also agreed, his mannerisms and general demeanour was sending out a sign of 'I'm-getting-mega-angry-right-here'.

I continued to watch the movie.

The main character had just been called a dick smoker by the abused child.

Everybody laughed at the sudden realisation that the ex-comedic actor was playing a homosexual character and that he didn't have a pineapple-fruit hat on or wearing flamboyant pink.

This angered the man to my left. Very much so. He 'shushhed', loudly. For a brief moment the cinema was quiet, the movie continued to make noise, but the noisy watchers ceased their noisy noises.

It lasted three minutes.

Where the man had positioned himself, there were three people two rows above him and a couple two seats to their right. These were making a lot of noise. They weren't watching the movie at all. It seemed the only times they were paying attention was when a joke was made at the expense of a homosexual character.

It was getting close to the end of the movie, I'd long since guessed what was going to happen, it wasn't a particularly well hidden part of the story, but nevertheless, it was very enjoyable, had me at the edge of my seat at times.

Unfortunately, not for me, but the male of the couple seated behind the man to my left, there was another gay-related joke. The guy mad some terrible remark that he thought would be most funny. This sent the man to my left in what could be described, and was in the local papers as, a true mark of homicidal indecency.

The man to my left shot up from his seat. Walked up the stairs, noiselessly, in the direction of the man and his girlfriend. Between him and his target were three people. He stamped on the firsts bent knee and shoved his fist in the side of the person head, from this angle I couldn't see what gender the person was.

The man then proceeded on to the second person in his way, who he dispatched with a sharp smack to the nose with the bottom of a half full (or half empty?) bottle of water he had grabbed from the chair arm.

At this point, the target guy was clambering over his girlfriend, not caring that he gave her a bloody nose, and trying to escape. Unluckily for him, the only exits were on the other side of the room and to get there he would undoubtedly have to go past the man who was chasing him.

The fleeing cinema-talker decided that he could make it across to the exit. I had my money on him not. He dashed across chairs and people like nobodies business and had reached the last row when it dawned on him he had overshot his run, quickly he doubled back and as he did so he ran into his pursuer.

What happened now is something that most people wouldn't enjoy. Although the majority of the movie goers there that night hadn't really watched or enjoyed the movie, they certainly didn't enjoy the after show.

The credits were rolling down the screen as the man repeatedly smacked the talker's face into the back of a chair.

“You wanna talk in a movie? DO yer? Do yer, yer punk!” said the man as he continued to mash the guy's face up.

The guy couldn't respond on the basis that he had no nose left and he was semi-drowning in his own blood. A dark pool of liquid was noticeable around his genital regions and was pooling at his feet.

The man began to drag the talker towards the movie screen. He then decided that he hadn't finished beating his face and smashed his face into the metal pole that fenced off the fire escape from the seating area.

This was extraordinary. This wasn't the first time I had witnessed events of an extremely violent nature, but it was the first that I had witnessed in a cinema.

The lights had now come back up and the credits were drawing to a close. No employee of the cinema was present, obviously, and wouldn't be for another good five minutes.

The man now decided that his prey should be thrown into the movie screen. It took eighteen attempts. The first he didn't throw him high enough and there was a loud crack that reverberated through the screening room, as if the sound was picked up on the surround sound speakers. The second, third through to the seventeenth were also unsuccessful in a similar manner. The eighteenth attempt sent the well beaten and well dead body through the screen.

The rest of the movie goers were firmly planted in their seats, seemingly scared shitless of what had just occurred. The girlfriend of the now dead talker was crying, more so in pain than in anguish – her nose was red raw.

“Anyone else gonna talk through a movie again?” asked the crazy vigilante.

A spattering of 'no' could be heard and the man went to leave the cinema.

People waited minutes before they began moving. The girlfriend walked over to the screen to see if her boyfriend was moving, it was obvious to me from where I was sitting that he wouldn't be moving again unless someone employed a very amazing pulley system. She began wailing then at the realisation that her boyfriend had been brutally murdered because they wanted to come to the cinema and talk.

I got up and decided that home would be a nice place to be. Maybe sit in my seat and formulate a good wedgie.

As I reached the downstairs foyer there were a huge amount of police around briefly chatting to the man who had just killed someone.

“Yeah, I killed the guy, he was talking through the movie!” explained the killer.

“Talking through the movie? What you see, that Ding Dong movie? I mean, you go see a movie like that, you expect some talking – it ain't gonna hold anyone's attention for long, especially not the eight hours it runs for” said the officer as he fingered his handcuffs and gun, not really having any great intention of removing them from their homes.

“Nah, I was in the movie that involves a child being raped and abused then writing about it. Was really enjoying it until that guy started talking all over it” said the killer.

“Oh, so it was a good movie then? I was considering taking the missus' to see it in an hour at the next showing” said the officer.

“You know what, Bill, I'd wait a week or two. Opening night can be murder” said the killer.

And that, my friends, is my story for today. Not a particularly interesting one and it didn't garner me with any world wide prestige or fame, generally because I didn't do much but go see a movie and witness a murder.