Right, that’s it. The pair of you need to sit down and listen to a few fricken home truths, you shallow donkeys.
Ok Firstly OLD MOVIES .... Like the WHAT? The fucking GODFATHER? You bloody clueless embryo. Admitedly, had you stopped your “Oooh listen me I’m quirky cos I sing like I’m humming in a lift” ditty there, you would at least have given an indication that you like GOOD movies, but OLD??? That my deluded pal is NOT a fucking OLD movie – try something like Moonfleet or Ace In The Hole or Night Of The Hunter or The Searchers or the Maltese Falcon or basically anything that was made say before you were born, because truly, the whole world, not just movies, was better before you two came along, you waste of carbon.
Oooh but you didn’t stop there, you said “Godfather (Comedy pause...) Three”, like you were the Jimmy Carr of Funny reveal jokes, embarrassingly indicating you like a laugh, but for the most part no one else laughs with you because you have a hole where your sense of funny should be.
“Its not considered the best one, but that’s just me...” Now usually, people say shit like “that’s just me...” when they really mean “but they are wrong, and I know better....” I’m going to assume that’s what you were going for and say this – Your only hope is to have your entire personality wiped like in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, but don’t bother to try for just the stuff you think you know about movies, get rid of everything. Safer all round. Good. That’s that bit tourniqueyed.
Secondly, what the cock are the pair of you doing exactly, moping around in a second hand musical instruments shop dressed like you took about three hours to decide what to wear and still ended up looking like a really vain tramp. Seriously, were you going for the “I’m so not bothered about my looks because I’m so well balanced” thing that fashion knobheads on Carnaby Street think they have down? You know it doesn’t work, right? You are just the modern equivalent of the Naked Emperor, with your obvious vanity gonads slapping your bare thighs in the wind, making the rest of us stare in disbelief at your overt incognisance.
The pair of you are as bad as each other, you with your carefully sculpted bedhead hair, and her with that bloody “Enid Blyton Chic” look. No wonder you are both in some charity shop sans mates, bet you reckon you like your own company and you are “comfortable in your own skin”. I’ll tell you why you like your own company, its because over the years and years you have spent self obsessing and honing that choreographed casual look, everybody who has ever known you has walked away relieved at the fact they escaped the narcissistic black hole you have become.
So, now you are looking for someone “like you” at Match dot Com so that you can share your obvious social broke-dick-dog-ness? Well, I’m hoping with all my bloody might that you two don’t actually get together and breed, you pair of unfortunates. Because then we really do got some problems, Houston.