The Abominable Mr. Weatherford
I prefer reading reviews to things to things themselves. Movies, music, cheeses, reviews, It's all somehow better dissected in text by an objective third party. After consuming any kind of media, I find myself rushing to my computer to have my tastes confirmed or contested, and finding millions crowding to oblige me, suggesting that I'm not alone in this respect.
One of my favourite movie critics, the Filthy Critic, reportedly died a few months ago, with the following headline:
"The Filthy Critic was killed in a bicycle collision late Thursday night.
He died the way he lived--wobbling aimlessly in the slow lane."
This epitaph was so effacing that I held some serious hope that he'd written it himself as part of some elaborate scheme to get some time off. I was half right. The filthy critic was intentionally killed on that fateful tuesday by Matt Weatherford, writer of the filthy critic. Some of Matt's other characters still write reviews, but filthy is done and buried. It's sad, especially considering what fun he would have had with hollywood's most recent spate of feces on film.
One of my favourite movie critics, the Filthy Critic, reportedly died a few months ago, with the following headline:
"The Filthy Critic was killed in a bicycle collision late Thursday night.
He died the way he lived--wobbling aimlessly in the slow lane."
This epitaph was so effacing that I held some serious hope that he'd written it himself as part of some elaborate scheme to get some time off. I was half right. The filthy critic was intentionally killed on that fateful tuesday by Matt Weatherford, writer of the filthy critic. Some of Matt's other characters still write reviews, but filthy is done and buried. It's sad, especially considering what fun he would have had with hollywood's most recent spate of feces on film.