Coffee? OR: Bordom breeds passive contempt

Recently I attended Bloor Cinema's launch of the Toronto's "Wright Stuff" film series, curated by Mr. Edgar Wright, director of Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, and a series thats very dear to my heart, the wonderful Spaced.
Launch night was a double bill of Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, and it was there that I had a missed connection with the woman of my nightmares dreams.

You sat behind me at Saturday's Edgar Wright double bill at the Bloor Cinema. I didn't notice you during Shaun of the Dead, which I was able to enjoy with relative peace. You came into my world during Hot Fuzz, a movie which you clearly enjoy, as you felt it necessary to shout every line at the screen as it was happening, in a hackneyed british accent. Everytime I thought you might have left or passed out, I'd be blissfully reminded with a clever shriek of "HOMOS!!" or "YEAH BOOBS!!" that would penetrate my soul and cause my fists to clench uncontrolably. Your intolerable wails continued for the duration of the film, your shrill, piercing squawks accenting every joke of Mr. Wright's film. My attention couldn't help but be divided between trying to enjoy the film, and trying to conceive of a way to tell you to shut the fuck up without the guy you were with getting all alpha-male on me and defending your honor. By the end of it all I would have rather listened to the death rattle of a newborn baby than another one of your abhorrent screams.

But then the strangest thing happened. I think it was around the time your cell phone wouldn't stop going off during Edgar's Q&A, that I realized I didn't want to put your face through a wall, so much as I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I imagined a lifetime of ruined movies. All my DVDs would now have an extra unwanted commentary track, and take on whole new miserable meanings. We would get married and go on long walks on the beach where you would shout "BULLSHIT!!" at sunrises. We would go to funerals of loved ones, where you could scream "Hurry up, Faggots!" at the pallbearers.

It would be a life where silence was an abstract concept as oppose to an attainable reality. You could be the nails on my chalkboard.

But perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself.

Coffee?

You can find the original Missed Connection Here