Saturday Night Movies
The movie theatre is always my favorite place to go. I enjoy stories, and movies provide the entertainment. They're all fantastic hollywood masterpieces. The movie theatre itself is always entertaining too, and on the weekends, the same cast of characters always appear.
There's always a group of high school girls, possibly freshman or sophmores, that dress entirely too innappropriate. Though as appealing as this may sound, those females are usually ugly, and if I were to give them the benefit of the doubt, at the very least, ugly ducklings. Their flat chested figures don't help them look like more than a miniskirt on a tubetop wearing plank. Their faces don't help either. You can't sprinkled some concealer and eye liner on Disgusting and think it helps.
Then there are the wanna be thugs. They got the baggy pants and oversized shirts look perfected. They got the matching bling, the ghetto walk, the timbs and the cornrolls did right. Except half of them are white, so you just laugh. The other half are worse, and it's difficult to act hardcore when your mom is picking you up with her minivan.
The young come out in droves on the weekend, and the worst character of them all is the kid who just got her license. She rolls up with her baby-thug 16 year old friends that haven't gotten their licenses yet, blaring loud music. She makes a statement: Hear the music? That's from my car. The one that I earned to drive. It's hard to actually hear the lyrical message through the staticy speakers of her 1992 toyota corolla. To her, that soundsystem is a million times better than the one she had before--nothing. Whatever her actual message is though, the only one recieved and heard by those who have had cars for more than three years is simply, Embarrasment.
Not all is lost though, normal people do show up to the movie theatre on saturday nights. The loving father who earned his due during the work week gladly takes his son and daughter out for a lovely film. He overly loves his son though, and feeds this love to him physically in the form of deliciously rotten food. Barely breaking into the double digits of life, this pudgy four foot tall tub of walking fat skips along, holding an equally sized tub of popcorn. He stops after his second hop, noticing his buttery fat making puffs leap from the sides of his oversized bucket, and shrugs to himself, knowing that there are plenty more inside as he continues his mini earthquake to his waiting father. His poor sister gives a confused look to her pack of twizzlers, not yet fully realizing that her fatass brother is probably going to spill his lardy arms way over her armrest.
The ticket collecter gives me a familiar nod as he points us to the proper theatre. He's been there for years, and if you want, he'll let you in for five bucks. You just have to wait until the manager isn't looking. But I have since stopped tipping my hispanic brotha, as the manager now is a friend from highschool. Every other movie we go to is free, depending on time of day, if we're lucky enough to run into him. We never wait for him though, we never arrive at the movie theatre early enough to do so.
In a way, looking at the teeny boppers who run around at the movie theatre on a saturday night in disgust is like looking at myself in disgust. After all, we've all gone through the phase where we wanted to look more grown up. We all have tried to fit into a crowd. We all remember how proud we were of our first day of driving.
But few of us have the ability to be the innocent fat kid, ignorant of everything around us, except for a few stray puffs of popcorn. The pudgy waddling kid who's just happy to have loving parents take him out for a special night. After all, that night, nothing matters except for him, his smiling parent, a tub of love, and a fantastic hollywood masterpiece.
The movie theatre is always my favorite place to go. I enjoy stories, and movies provide the entertainment. They're all fantastic hollywood masterpieces. The movie theatre itself is always entertaining too, and on the weekends, the same cast of characters always appear.
There's always a group of high school girls, possibly freshman or sophmores, that dress entirely too innappropriate. Though as appealing as this may sound, those females are usually ugly, and if I were to give them the benefit of the doubt, at the very least, ugly ducklings. Their flat chested figures don't help them look like more than a miniskirt on a tubetop wearing plank. Their faces don't help either. You can't sprinkled some concealer and eye liner on Disgusting and think it helps.
Then there are the wanna be thugs. They got the baggy pants and oversized shirts look perfected. They got the matching bling, the ghetto walk, the timbs and the cornrolls did right. Except half of them are white, so you just laugh. The other half are worse, and it's difficult to act hardcore when your mom is picking you up with her minivan.
The young come out in droves on the weekend, and the worst character of them all is the kid who just got her license. She rolls up with her baby-thug 16 year old friends that haven't gotten their licenses yet, blaring loud music. She makes a statement: Hear the music? That's from my car. The one that I earned to drive. It's hard to actually hear the lyrical message through the staticy speakers of her 1992 toyota corolla. To her, that soundsystem is a million times better than the one she had before--nothing. Whatever her actual message is though, the only one recieved and heard by those who have had cars for more than three years is simply, Embarrasment.
Not all is lost though, normal people do show up to the movie theatre on saturday nights. The loving father who earned his due during the work week gladly takes his son and daughter out for a lovely film. He overly loves his son though, and feeds this love to him physically in the form of deliciously rotten food. Barely breaking into the double digits of life, this pudgy four foot tall tub of walking fat skips along, holding an equally sized tub of popcorn. He stops after his second hop, noticing his buttery fat making puffs leap from the sides of his oversized bucket, and shrugs to himself, knowing that there are plenty more inside as he continues his mini earthquake to his waiting father. His poor sister gives a confused look to her pack of twizzlers, not yet fully realizing that her fatass brother is probably going to spill his lardy arms way over her armrest.
The ticket collecter gives me a familiar nod as he points us to the proper theatre. He's been there for years, and if you want, he'll let you in for five bucks. You just have to wait until the manager isn't looking. But I have since stopped tipping my hispanic brotha, as the manager now is a friend from highschool. Every other movie we go to is free, depending on time of day, if we're lucky enough to run into him. We never wait for him though, we never arrive at the movie theatre early enough to do so.
In a way, looking at the teeny boppers who run around at the movie theatre on a saturday night in disgust is like looking at myself in disgust. After all, we've all gone through the phase where we wanted to look more grown up. We all have tried to fit into a crowd. We all remember how proud we were of our first day of driving.
But few of us have the ability to be the innocent fat kid, ignorant of everything around us, except for a few stray puffs of popcorn. The pudgy waddling kid who's just happy to have loving parents take him out for a special night. After all, that night, nothing matters except for him, his smiling parent, a tub of love, and a fantastic hollywood masterpiece.
posted by Allen M @ 10/16/2005 05:20:00 AM
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