Just last week, Gavin T brought his family round to my place for our first Biennial Communism Celebration Weekend.
After lunch and a few drinks, the women set to building a nice perpetual motion powered water feature shaped like Stalin on the roof and the kids played Pin the Moustache on the Disposed Dictator, while Gavin and I sat in the lounge discussing Fascism and its effects on modern car seat lumbar support.
“Vince,” Gavin said, “I can see what you’re saying about Mussolini and his insistence on having all five lower vertebrae recognised as requiring sufficient support, rather than say, Attilio Teruzzi, who claimed it was only the traditional lower three vertebrae that really counted, but right now there’s a wasp on your shoulder.”
Being afraid of all things small and evil (wasps, gnomes, John Howard and flying monkeys), I jumped up quick smart and aimed the hose from the beer keg at the wasp, letting loose a mighty stream of alcohol fueled death and destruction. After a good two minutes passed the little bastard was so drunk that it stung itself in the arse and fell to an undignified death in a bowl of tzatziki dip.
In the aftermath, Gavin surveyed the newly soaked furniture and proceeded to suck the beer out of the cushions. “You know, you really should put glass in the window frames.” Gavin pleaded between mouthfuls of beer. “It’s just a thought. Might stop the wasps getting in the house all the time.”
“Gavin, Gavin, Gavin,” I said, “That’s exactly what the devil would want us to do. Think about it.”
“Fair point, I guess. Anyway, my family should get going. Shouldn’t you be reviewing that David Spade DVD this weekend instead of celebrating the Rise of Communism with my family?”
“Gavin, Gavin, Gavin...”, I said disparagingly while walking over to the television, “Do you think I really want to review crap like Lost and Found on my big beautiful telly? Why do you think I invited you around this weekend? Because I like you? Ha! Perish the thought. You’re a tax deduction, my friend. And also, now that you’re here and I have my hidden cameras trained on you and your family, I can prove to Amy that I really was doing review related work this weekend, rather than having to lie to her that I was tending to my dead grandfather’s grave or something stupid like that.”
Gavin had finished with the cushions and was trying to fish the wasp out of the dip. “But is Lost and Found really that bad?” He said. “I mean, it’s got David Spade, he’s funny, right? I’ve got every episode of Just Shoot Me taped on VHS. It’s a funny film, right? Right? You laughed...”
“Gavin, Gavin, Gavi...”
“Will you please stop saying that!” Gavin exclaimed.
“Sorry Gav. What I was going to say is that David Spade is about as funny as having rectal surgery performed on you by a monkey wielding a blunt axe. He’s so laboured and predictable, his style so boring, smug and conceited. The only redeeming feature of this film is Sophie Marceau. She plays a hot French chick that Spade tries to woo by stealing her dog.”
Gavin just stared at me blankly “Yeah, Sophie is one hot babe. Man, if my wife wasn’t up on your roof right now defying the laws of physics, I tell ya... hooo. But you’re kidding about the dog stealing bit, right? That’s what the film is about? That sounds so lame.”
“No, Gavin. I tell no lie. It is so ‘by the numbers’ and unimaginative that I zoned out in record time. It doesn’t help that you start to hate Spade’s character so much that you actually begin to barrack for the evil ex-boyfriend who has come from France to try to woo her back again.”
A look of resignation came over Gavin’s face. “Evil ex-boyfriend? Oh crap, man. They resorted to that ol’ chestnut? And let me guess, at the very last moment, just when he thinks he’s lost the girl for good because of his lies, the girl suddenly reappears and forgives him and they live happily ever after?”
A sudden thought worried me. “Are oranges called oranges because of their orange colour, or some other reason?”
Another more relevant thought worried me. “Gav, some readers might be pissed that you gave away the ending of the film. Shouldn’t I rewrite this part of my pretend discussion?”
“Nah, screw ‘em, Vince. If they think we’ve ruined the film then they don’t deserve to have eyes to watch DVDs with.”
“You’re right you know.” I said. “There are so many far better films out there, none of them featuring David Spade, that it’s hard to think of a reason why anyone would want to watch this film, even if Sophie is in it. In fact, this DVD is going out the window right now!”
With that I took the disc from the DVD player and flung it out the window as hard as I could.
Gavin looked impressed. “Nice throw. Good wrist action. You really got some spin happening there.”
“Thanks Gavin. This has really turned out to be a great weekend”, I said with a satisfied grin.
“Don’t forget you still have to write the review though”, Gavin chimed, instantly ruining my moment.
“Shit.”
