I know that you want cheerful, folks, or if not cheerful, then certainly not the all-out wrist-slittingly, weepingly sore pity-fest that I've been offering up for the last week or so. I want that too, honest. Honest Native American. But I don't have it. So I thought I'd fake it. I fake a lot of shit, I can fake this.
Me and V, we used to collect movies . We were old school pirates, back in the day, the day before any Tom, Dick or Harry could happily gad about, defrauding innocent multinationals while simultaneously shitting in a dead policeman's stolen helmet and then stealing the helmet from the grieving policeman's wife, Every fucker is a pirate now, a glammed up, humour and violence free, plotless Pirates of the Caribbean style pirate. The fucking internet again, ripping the joy from everything.
V and I, living happily as a married couple, discovered that we could combine our two video recorders and copy just about any movie we cared to rent from 'Reel World', our local arty-farty video shop. We were reasonably selective to begin with, copying mostly the classics, stealing mostly from the stellar, but spurred on by a drug-fuelled enthusiasm, the whole concept quickly got out of hand.
And so the index cards came to pass. Because we had to have index cards, didn't we? How else were we to fill the empty days of the no job 'jobbing' actor?
A regular feature is born, folks. In fact, I might just do this shit every day until I stop feeling worth as much as my stock market portfolio.