Travis Goes to the Movies

I love movies.

Because of my Netflix membership I watch over 50 movies a month. (still single, ladies) Sometimes I decide to get up out of the hole my ass has made in the recliner, and head out into the light of the world and the dark of the cineplex. I love the Wilma: great atmosphere, popcorn, and beer.

I stopped in Monday to check out the new Wes Anderson (Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums) flick, Darjeeling Unlimited. I'm not a big fan of reviews before I see the movie, so all I will say is: "Great movie, darker then previous attempts".

I have rules. Movie watching etiquette, if you will. I expect the world to understand this and respect my simple requests. Most of these requests are ignored.

I choose a seat in the middle of the Wilma, 10 rows from the back, perfect. I have my huge-ass sized popcorn, gallon of Coke, and 2 Kokanees. I turn my cell phone off as I'm enjoying the previews. I'm now 1 of 6 people in the entire place. As the opening credits roll, in walks a man and woman arguing over the best place to sit. Wouldn't you know it, they chose the middle of the Wilma, 11 rows from the back, perfect. There is now 8 people in the theatre and they are sitting directly in front of me. They even say "Hi" and "Sorry" as they invade my little bubble. Not "Sorry, we will move anywhere else." or "Sorry we ruined your week." but, "Sorry, these are the only seats left." They have missed the first 13 minutes of the movie and she is already doing the "laugh at every joke and repeat the punchline" thing. I decide that I'm going to move. With Rage Against the Machine's "Know Your Enemy" playing in my head, I pack up my pile of movie-shit. Instead of going to the aisle like a civilized human, I take the B-line to the middle of the Wilma 13 rows from the back like the poo-flinging-ape that I am. Balancing on the backs of the chairs, I "cirque du soleil" my way around them and plop down one row ahead of them, barely able to contain my own laughter/hatred. Amazingly enough, they seem to have no problem with this and she continues to laugh as if she is watching the latest Wayons-Brothers-dick-n-fart-joke-piece-o-shit. I'm not known for shushing during movies, I'm not that guy, but you wouldn't know that by what came out of my face in the next 30 seconds. This wasn't a shush. It wasn't a shhhhh. It was a 3 syllable SHHHHHH-SHISH-SHAAWWW! I felt like Al Pacino in "Heat", Mel Gibson in "Mad Max 2", all wrapped up in a cock the size of James Woods' swollen member(Google that shit).

I tried to catch up with them on the sidewalk to say I was sorry, but they were busy having near-sex in the doorway of the futon shop.