It must've been somewheres in the middle of reading Interpretation Of Dreams that I realized what the fuck Freud was getting at, after all this time. He knew the score, man. Not only did my crippling fear of spiders mean I must be some kind of raging homosexaphonic madman, but also, all these stresses and anxieties I got in the skull, all these doubts and uncertainties, all they really mean, when it boils down to it, is that I got a very specific need that must be met.

To wit;

I fucking must see Bruce Willis rip a fella's balls off.

Only then, only when Bruce has grabbed himself a fistful of bollock and yanked said nutules from 'tween the legs of some low-down psychopathic bastard, only then can I begin to heal in some way.

I'm healing like a motherfucker off his tits on back-alley penicillin, is the truth of the case, and all because of a motion flick by the name of Robert Rodriguez's Frank Miller's Sin City.

Prior to viewing Sin City, I gotta say, I was in something of an emotional and physical rut, my brain being buggered senseless by the thrusting pelvis of insanity. Get your filth out my brain holes, I hollered, but weren't no motherfucker fit to hear.

Lend an ear, I'd be saying. Lend an ear, for the love of god.

No ears, man. Weren't no painters in the here or hereafter felt like sawing off a lobe on account of The Duke's done got himself all mentalized.

Next thing I know, I'm two seconds away from giddily announcing to the world that yes, most certainly I've gone totally fucking demented and I doubt, to be honest, that I'll be fit to walk the streets from here on in, when all a damn sudden I'm sat there in front of a motion picture screen, and Robert Rodriguez's Frank Miller's Sin City is set to not only blow the cobwebs out a fella's head-bumps, but also blow the fuck out the bastard spiders responsible.

Look here, you arachnid fucks!

Here comes Mickey Rourke as Marv, he's got a face like a vagrant's scrotum and he's set to grab you sons a fuck by the spindly legs and tear your guts out your eyes. Look here! Clive Owen, looking a bit like Geordie scallywag Jimmy Nail, and he ain't got a thought in his head other than how best to stomp a spider-beast into pulsing spider gunk.

And look, just look. Bruce Willis with a handful of stinkin yellow testicles. He's got his hands on a man's filth, but he's got spiders in his sights.

Sin City turned out to be just what a fella needed. Beautiful, violent, debauched mayhem, and all so gorgeous in high-contrast black and white that is, really, BLACK and WHITE, as opposed to your "grey".