By Ted Malanda
Chuck Norris waltzed into the melee like a ballerina. He kicked one bugger, floored another with a nasty karate chop on the side of the neck and sent the heaviest crook crushing into a litterbin.
Suddenly, one of the floored criminals reached into his coat pocket, removed a pistol and fired a bullet. You know what Chuck then did? He also removed a pistol and fired with deadly accuracy, killing the killer on the spot.
Now, if the two idiots had guns, why did they waste valuable time kicking and punching each other? Why didn’t they just shoot and have someone else call the undertaker?
Those are movies for you. These days, I watch them for amusement — to compare that dreamy charade with real life.
For instance, I have never been able to comprehend why two accomplices backbiting an adversary never shut the door. Even the most dimwitted actor should know by now that adversaries always hide behind the door, elephant-sized ears eavesdropping for secrets.
But it gets more maddening. Some wretched fellow spends six years hunting down the guy who raped and killed his mother (movies have the most morbid storylines). Yet when he catches up with him, instead of placing ten bullets in the rapist’s kneecap, he starts, “I hate you, ooh! You will pay for this, ooh! I hate you, ooh!”
Always, the sinned upon fellow tremulously clutches onto a pistol, snarling and crying in equal measure while the evil one taunts him, saying, “Go on — shoot if you are a man!” Naturally, the hunted always manages to snatch the gun and kill the hunter. Sorry Hollywood; angry people don’t give speeches — they shoot first and answer questions later.
Love scenes make my head spin even more. First, lets dispense with the fiction that when couples stir in the morning, they start kissing ravenously. Arrant nonsense. When you wake up in the morning, for the species that consumes alcohol, your mouth tastes like a tannery and no woman will by dying for your kiss.
Second, if you consumed seven beers the previous night, the first thing you do in the morning is beat it to the bathroom to empty your bladder while mulling over traffic jams. You don’t start admiring your wife’s skin.
- Relief as surgeons re-attach man’s severed private organ
- Can medical board really bite finger that feeds it?
- Mother claims nurse watched her newborn die
- Governor’s encounter with leaky roofs in school
- Police arrest former councillor for piracy
- Cord leaders allege ploy by State to ‘kill’ devolution through Ministry