The Elephant in 'The Room'

Last night I had the privilege of going to see a screening of 'The Room'.
Directed by Tommy Wiseau.
Written by Tommy Wiseau.
Starring Tommy Wiseau.
Produced by Tommy Wiseau.


(This guy)

It was the first time I'd seen the film, and while I wont spoil it for you, I will let you know what its about. Tommy plays Johnny, a protagonist who looks like a fairy tale villain made from the bleached body parts of 8 different death row convicts. But beneath his lumpy skin is a warm heart, as we see Johnny buy lots of flowers for his fiancee, Lisa, who decides to toy with Johnny solely out of boredom. The next 90 minutes are filled with revelations about various characters struggles with drugs, cancer, acting, and what appears at one point to be a mid production recasting of the 5th biggest character.
The film is mostly set in one flat (and adjoining rooftop) where most of the drama stems from the fact that they dont have a front door lock, as a chain of people walk straight in with the express intent of fucking with or on Johnny's couch.



Throughout the film, Room veterans (of which the cinema contained 700) preceded to scream the films lines, juggle footballs, and throw plastic spoons at the screen every time a particular photo (of a spoon) showed up in the background, but the real excitement came when Mr Wiseau himself came out for a Q&A.



I quickly learnt that Tommy Wiseau is a dangerously insane man.

He came out wearing both a suit and 6 different belts round his waste, claiming at one point he had a 7th on his person.
He spoke incoherently, managing to avoid answering a single question he was asked, particularly the carefully worded ones that might have given us a clue as to his background (which is a complete mystery, as some fans argue he is from New Orleans, others from Belgium).
Watch this clip from the night as Tommy tells someone to tell him to fuck off, sings half of happy birthday, then picks him up and flips him over, as we cheer this lunatic on:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f3RXyAEypac


Truly terrifying.

4 Nights With The Devil

I dont like animals. You can't trust them, you can't understand them and you can't reason with them. Sure, some are small enough to be put in cages where they are only a danger to themselves, and I'm just fine with that, but when you have to share a living space with one is when I start to get uncomfortable.
I just spent 4 days in DC with a new set of hosts, who were all friendly enough, though when it came to sleeping I was left to sleep in their living room/kitchen with their cat, Wilson, a 9 month old ginger ball of concentrated cunt.

You'd think with so much in common, we'd get along great, but when it came for me to sleep, Wilson decided to let me know who was boss by doing the most foul smelling shit just inches from his litter box, and playfully scratching me every chance he got.

Gagging through my blanket, I made a bed for myself on the sofa, and lay down, expecting Wilson to take the lights going out as an indication to go to sleep, but instead he repeatedly tried to join me on the sofa, claws constantly out.

Fortunately my hosts had told me I could get him to move by squirting him with a little blue spray gun every time he did something wrong.

What transgressed was me sitting in the dark for 90 minutes (bear in mind people went to bed at 2AM having been at a party), frantically trying to spot and shoot Wilson before he came at me, hoping he would get the message, or at least learn to fear the bright blue weapon I waved in his face whenever he neared me or tried scratching my beloved coat.

No such luck.

I eventually tired, and put on a hoody and more blankets as a defence against his claws and the lingering odour. Within seconds of creating my cloth fort and hiding under it, I felt his weight and spikey paws land on my leg.
For a full 20 minutes, the Gestapocatbastard paced up and down my body, purring loudly, never settling. Around 4 AM, I snapped and deciding I would deal with the consequences in the morning, locked Wilson in the basement.
I felt bad, but he had pushed me to it, but as this little dance repeated itself each night, it got easier and easier. Like murder.

On the last day I gave up, and as soon as everyone else had gone to bed, wrapped Wilson in a blanket, threw him in the bathroom and opened the window, letting the little cooz freeze.

Seriously, fuck animals.