Was just checking the name of the dragon in Dragonslayer and am, having checked Wikipedia, the only person to have misspelled it.

Damn.

I’m sitting at my desk bewailing my lack of inspiration for this week’s writing assignment (said lack of inspiration resulting from the tired old Joseph Campbell cliché they want us to rehash).

“I am NOT writing Nibbly Pig Goes To The Moon!”

“Well if Nibbly Pig won’t go to the moon then the moon will have to go to Nibbly Pig.”

Damn him for making it sound so reasonable.

Spiderman 3.

Turgid torpid festering nauseating chundering shitey fuckwank bollocks extruded from a goat’s anus and forced through a twisty straw.

Jee-zus. What a pile of crap. And I’m a Marvel fangirl.

I don’t know where to start with how bad this film is. No, really. But let’s try beginning with the wasted 2 hours and 20 minutes of my life, for which I paid premium seat prices (I have a bad back) and will never get back. Two hours of this shite comprises needless, pointless maudlin crap about Peter Parker and MJ, none of which was remotely interesting. Even when he turned “bad” the best they could do was to put eyeliner on him and make him look like Pulp’s Jarvis Cocker. Only less attractive. And more cringe-worthy.

I came so close to walking out of this movie, and stayed only out of stubborn determination to hang on for Venom, who turned up right near the end and wasn’t even particularly well done. Wasted. Utterly wasted. I was praying for someone to kill Spidey just so I wouldn’t have to think about yet another sequel in which Parker spends most of the film being an utter twat who needs his ass kicked. I so wanted one of the other Marvel characters to turn up and throw down on his angst-ridden butt.

What makes Spidey worth reading is the badinage. Only there was none. There was some horrendous David Brent style posturing, which I suspect was meant to be funny. There was the Jarvis Cocker sequence. There was the obligatory boo-yah, NY hearts Spiderman crap and lots of swinging around. Too much plot. Too much emotional crisis. An enormous lack of good old-fashioned Marvel ass-kicking.

Spidey teams up with Green Goblin Jr and ends up crying over the way circumstances can force good men into terrible deeds with the Sandman, who moments before had been a 3 storey tall dustmonster and who was responsible for killing his uncle? Puh-lease.

The biggest crime was turning what should have been a special effects action movie into a soap opera. The best bit was Bruce Campbell reprising John Clease’s French waiter role from The Meaning of Life. And that’s not saying much.

Someone PLEASE take Sam Raimi’s budget away. Please. He doesn’t work well with a big budget.

I hated this film. I can find good things to say about Ghost Rider but Spiderman 3 had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. None. Nada. Zilch.

While it was not helped in the slightest by the three lads drunk on vodka and jeering for half of the movie before walking out in disgust, I can see their point.

A couple of years ago my lower left wisdom tooth decided to make an appearance. Several years late, but still.

Many people told me I would have to have it removed. What with wisdom teeth being necessarily EEEEEEEEVIIIIIL! I told them where to stick it. My bloody wisdom tooth and I’m keeping it. So there.

It hasn’t all been pleasant. I don’t have a huge mouth. I had to have a couple of teeth removed when younger for lack of space, and there’s a slight overlap of the teeth at the bottom on the front because the jaw isn’t really big enough to have them all crammed in there. But me and that wisdom tooth, we’re doing okay. We’re getting there. It’s taking it’s own sweet time about it, and when I last saw my dentist she tapped it and said: “Partially erupted. There’s not really enough room for that in there.”

I argued for its preservation, on the basis that it wasn’t giving me any trouble (I didn’t tell her about the aches or the occasional swelling and bleeding or the strangely good sensation of my jaw stretching to accomodate, which feels like scratching an itch inside the bone). My bloody tooth. I’m keeping it.

Only now, guess what, well beyond ‘fashionably late’, the lower right wisdom tooth has decided to join the party. I’ve felt it crawling about and wriggling over the past few years but didn’t think it had the balls to go for it. Last week I noticed a sly corner poking out right at the back and a quick exploration with a finger revealed that yes indeedy, there’s another tooth coming through there.

If there was insufficient space for the left one, there really isn’t any room at all for the right. There is going to be trouble. I can tell.

After watching Stitch Has a Glitch.

“I need one of those sheets so I can colour it in to show how good I’ve been.”

“I’ll make you one. You can laminate it and use a whiteboard marker. Do you want me to bother with the ‘good’ square?”

I’m not bad, I’m fluffy!

Is it wrong to identify with a mutant koala?

Lilo & Stitch.

“Wow. San Francisco.”

I can’t remember the last time I laughed until my ribs hurt and I couldn’t see for the tears — or the last time Frood laughed so hard at a movie about genetically engineered aliens.

I don’t like Disney films. I really don’t. And yet I think the fifteen quid I spent on the 2 disc special edition, on the recommendation of a friend, is probably the best fifteen quid I’ve spent in months.

And new avatars! Yay for new avatars!

Hold Your Colour.

We am be liking you now, oh yes. Fasten Your Seatbelt is a real groovy bum tune. It’s the sound of the giant clowns in the Chronicles.

I think the technical term for this particular sound is “fat”. It’s a bit Crystal Method, a little bit Altöm and in places would make a fantastic addition to Podrunner.

Oh yes. Super likee!

A raccoon? Puh-lease.

I have taken it down because I was fed up being a rabbit, raccoon or bloody ferret. It is now a crow (I had to lie). Thank you please.

People buy lambs in ‘poodle scam’.

“…the scam was only spotted after a leading Japanese actress said her ‘poodle’ didn’t bark and refused to eat dog food.”

Erm… right. Okaaaay. Is it actually possible to mistake a lamb for a poodle? Even a carefully coiffeurred one?

Music to train to.