Author Archives: ionlywatch18s
So what I said in January, was a lie. I said I’d write loads this year, but I didn’t. So what? Whayagonnadowabowdit? I was very busy and did some other things instead. Like:
- I touched myself a good few times.
- I ate some Bombay Mix off my bare chest using just my tongue.
- I plopped in my panties whilst in a pub. Smelly bum bum!
- I shagged.
- Oh Lord did I shag.
- I failed HARD in front of some very beautiful women.
- But then I rectified the situation by shagging some other very beautiful women I mean I touched myself a good few times.
- I bought a Scotch egg, cut it in half, took the egg out, put some grated cheese in the hole, then put the egg back in and ate it. Gordon Ramsay? More like WhoreDong Ram-Lay or something.
- I frantically pushed myself towards the back of the bath in a frenzied panic to get away from the sperm I’d just released into the water.
- I watched a HELL OF A LOT of 18s.
It’s probably the last one you’re most interested in (maybe the third one too), so that’s what this “article” will be about. It’s been a great year in 18-rated cinema, so sit back, relax, pour some Bombay Mix on your chest and read the goddamn fuck out of this shit:
In my book of obscure and annoying vernacular, a green room is normally merely one I’ve just sneezed in, but in this case, it refers to the room in which bands hang out before they have to come on stage. You know, like the one where all the celebrities used to have “banter” in on The Jonathan Ross Show. Only, on the Jonathan Ross show, there isn’t a screeching maniac outside trying to burst through the door – unless Davina MccAll’s on it or something.
In Green Room, there most definitely is – there’s a bunch of them. And they’re Nazis. And what they’re trying to do is kill all the members of a small-time punk band because they witnessed a murder. What follows is a horror/thriller as taut as my banjo string (was), chock-full of more tension than my arsehole (was) and as chill-you-to-the-bone petrifying as my left nipple (is). It’s violent, exciting and got daym terrifying, if I’m honest. And as I have already mentioned, I am not often honest. But I actually am being honest now. Honest.
So, here we are again. I posted a total of two articles on this website in 2015, and I think you’ll agree, that’s pretty fucking amazing work on my side. To fit writing two (admittedly fantastic) posts in between all the relentless shagging, fisting and drinking that I’ve done over the past year, is an achievement not seen since they built the fucking pyramids. And who gives a shit about pyramids anymore? I certainly don’t, unless their sides are cut off, they’re all laid in a row and then covered in chocolate.
A Toblerone. A Toblerone is what I’m talking about here. They look a bit like pyramids or something. I don’t know, I’m not thinking straight. That’s because I’m shagging right now. Well, ‘shagging’, anyway. And by that, I mean ‘wanking’. And by that, I mean ‘crying’.
Anyway, there were loads of great films released in 2015, and I saw a lot of them. And as I have done on this site in the past, I’m going to gift them some less-than-arbitrary awards that I’m sure those involved will be most happy about. You can see them now, dancing about their living rooms in pure joy – well, maybe you can’t, but I’ve got cameras set up in their houses, so I can.
Here are the awards:
Now, there were two 18 westerns starring Kurt Russell made in 2015, and one of them got all the glory. That’s because one of them was directed by Quentin Tarantino, and we all know how mental everybody goes when his name is mentioned. Naked in Waitrose at the deli counter mental, that’s how they go. The Hateful Eight was alright, but it was too long and there wasn’t enough action in it – if I wanted to watch eight people talking and keeping secrets from each other for three hours, then I’d actually attend my AA meetings.
The other western that was much, much better was Bone Tomahawk. Now, don’t get me wrong, there’s a hell of a lot of talking in this one, too, but there are two clear differences. One, they’re talking whilst walking, which makes things 100% more bearable, and two, what happens at the end is worth the longest wait in the world. Even longer than the wait you have to endure at the Tesco salad bar when all you want is the cheese cubes and pickled onions at the end.
Bone Tomahawk kicks off in such a big way in the last half an hour that it’s hard to believe. It needs to be witnessed by anyone with even a passing interest in genital trauma. Also, Kurt Russell is much more of a badass in this than he is in Eight.
Also, I noticed something else shit in The Hateful Eight: when one of the main characters* is killed, the squibs go off in the wrong order (or the shooter points the gun in the wrong order) and that is unforgivable – I thought Tarantino was a perfectionist.
Sorry I’ve been away for a bit, I basically set myself this challenge to finger exactly 2000 girls before I could write anything on this website again – not entirely sure why I did this though, so don’t ask. Anyway, I’ve done it now, so I can carry on writing about films and that. Also, I’ve just seen The Human Centipede III and I thought that would be a great one to get me back into the swing of things.
If you need to get yourself up to speed on the Human Centipede saga, then I suggest you read these two pieces of hilarious writing that I found on the internet one day when Googling “pictures of my dick human centipede”. Here’s a review of the first one, and here’s a review of the second one.
What you’ll notice is that I really liked the first one, but the second one wasn’t as good. This is something that happens a lot with sequels isn’t it? Especially when the first sequel is downgraded from an 18 – you know, like what happened with Taken. The first Taken was so good it actually caused me to do a poo which floated out of my arse and slowly rose up towards the ceiling before resting there like a tiny blimp. I think it’s still there now – you’ll have to ask the people at the cinema. However, Taken 2 was a 12A! If there’s anything that’s gonna get that Goodyear turd down from the roof, it’s that. The less said about Taken 3 (or as I like to call it – Taken WEE), the better.
Anyway, The Human Centipede II was still an 18, and one so extreme that it was actually refused a classification the first time round. When it was eventually released it was cut a bit, but still an 18. This made me happy as well as unhappy – the same as when I have a wank, sort of. But either way, it wasn’t as good as the first one.
IF YOU THINK I GIVE A SHIT THAT IT’S ALMOST HALFWAY THROUGH JANUARY AND I’VE ONLY JUST DONE MY REVIEW OF THE YEAR THEN YOU CAN TAKE YOUR WHINING SOMEWHERE ELSE YOU ABSOLUTE PRINCE.
Anyway, here we go:
The Raid 2
Yeah, so this one was probably pretty obvious from my initial review. Nothing really came close to beating The Raid 2 this year – I mean, I can’t even think of one film that had as many hammers and baseball bats in it. For sheer unadulterated mayhem, you’d be hard pressed to find anything more frantic, save for watching me when I hear the doorbell ring when I’m having a wank.
The Raid 2 contains, hands-down one of the best martial arts fight sequences I’ve ever seen. That fucking fight in the kitchen had me so far on the edge of my seat that I was practically in front of the screen (much to the annoyance of all the other patrons). It’s just SO FUCKING GOOD, and I doubt I’ll see it beaten. Until The Raid 3: This Time You’ll Shit Yourself comes out anyway. Gareth Evans is a high ledge and I want to have a drink with him. Hope he’s up for fingering some girls though, because drinking always turns into that. Even when it’s just Sprite.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love myself a good look at some tits and/or gashes, and now and again I may even “stumble” upon a video of a nice big dick going in and out of one or the other – sue me. So when I heard about Nymphomaniac I was all ears. And dicks.
Shame then, that it spent about five hours and all we saw were like five different sets of tits and even less minges. Seriously, this film did nat need to be in two parts – especially when there were that many terrible British accents being bandied about the place like a bunch of, erm, bands or something. Shia Laboeuf (who was in that film about the talking cars or something – Cars I think it was called) needs to go down in history along with Dick Van Dyke and Charlie Hunnam (Green Street) as committing one of the worst accents to film since that time I pretended to be French for my Take Me Out audition video.
Overall, the film is so far up its own arse, that it can’t even see its own arse anymore. We can though. And it’s covered in SHIT.
I like wearing sunglasses because they make me look all cool and wicked and hard and that. I also like wearing them because you can look at girls’ bums without them knowing what you’re doing. Unless of course you start to look at their bum whilst they’re talking to you – in that case, it becomes pretty clear as to what you’re doing, because you actively have to walk behind them. Things get complicated whenever I’m wearing sunglasses, is what I’m trying to say, ok?
But not as complicated as they get for professional wrestler-turned bubblegum-enthusiast, Roddy Piper in They Live. Why? You ask. Well, because when he puts on his cool pair of sunglasses, he realises that the entire world is being run by aliens and that everything the public sees and hears is sinister subliminal messaging designed to brainwash their minds. Also, he suddenly realises that he doesn’t look as decent as me.
That’s because they’re MAGIC sunglasses, or something. Either way, when you put them on, you can see through the aliens’ human disguises – basically they look like your Mum. Well ugly and gross and I bet they stink, too. Ok, you can’t actually smell what’s going on on screen so I can’t vouch for their stink, but if they smell as much as your Mum as they look like her, then they’ll absolutely grim. Your Mum grims.