But anyway, owing to a buncha balls, I ended up seeing Star Wars Episode III for the first time on just such a Friday evening, almost two days after it had gone on general release. The fuck kinda voodoo leads to this sorta bullshit, you're thinking? All sortsa voodoo, to be related via a hotly debated prequel trilogy of some kind.

But no matter.

I was at least a day behind The Schedule, but fuck it, the mood's good, a fella got a reasonable night's kip, and I gotta say, I could feel the good-will seeping through my every fuck-gland in that damn cinema, that's for sure.

Most of the seats were booked well in advance, but being something of a Rebel Without A Pause Motherfucker, I decided to take a chance on just walkin in and demanding a damn seat right the fuck now, in exchange for a couple quid flung at your tyrannical teeth.

Now here's a horror story for to have you screaming yourself blind and nauseous every night of the week from now till doomsday;

I picked what folks in the business might call "an aisle seat", because let's face it, no matter how many jars a piss a man forces out his bladder prior to the screening, there's always gonna be that niggling thought about "Did I do enough pissin? Should I have gone through the thirty minutes of adverts? Maybe I should go during this advert right here, just to be sure. What if I go through an advert and it turns out it was the last one, though? I'd miss the motherfucking opening scrawl. Screw that upside the ball-holes."

A fella's prone to doin' so much thinking about pissing, in fact, that next thing he knows he has convinced himself he has to piss, and the last thing you want is to be stuck in the middle of a row stretching from here to Golgotha when it becomes apparent that "Sweet Sweetback, looks like I'm gonna have to go piss after all". Next thing a fella knows he's struggling to get past half a zillion sets of awkwardly raised knees and inconveniently placed cups a stuff, needing to think about that whole "arse or crotch" thing from Fight Club, needing to apologize ninety times over, "sorry, 'scuse me, sorry, cheers, sorry" till before you know it you've annoyed the fuck outta not just your row, but the three rows behind who had to contort their necks in all sortsa zany directions just to get a glimpse of the screen past the silhouette of a motherfucker couldn't piss before the picture started, and worse, takes half an hour to get to the damn aisle, stuttering and apologizing and causing no end a fucked-up disruption.

"I did piss, man! It's the pressure! Risen fuckin' Lazarus, it's the pressure of it all!!"