Philosophical sci-fi adventure, based on a true story, about a crack team of army dentists who are miniaturised and injected into one of the President’s molars after a priest determines his fillings are haunted.
A disgruntled Alsatian given a dishonourable discharge from the army becomes a contract killer in this neon-soaked futuristic sci-fi thriller from the director of Porcupine to the Face.
There was a sequel to A Clockwork Orange called A Clockwork Apple, but it’s impossible to compare the two films.
CUNTS TO BID FOR ‘ONCE IN A LIFETIME’ TRIP WITH CUNT
To all the people who voted in the EU referendum to leave; who voted to restrict the lives of future generations; who voted to side with racists, fascists and anti-Semites; and who voted with people like Nigel Farage and Ann Widdecombe so you could sit on your sofas and be jingoistic, self-righteous little Englanders: fuck you. Fuck you all, you small-minded, selfish, arrogant, two World Wars and one World Cup, throwing a party for Brexit Day, remembering the good old days, waving a Union Jack at a picture of the Queen, Radio 4 listening, jackboot-wearing Nazi fucks. Fuck you.
Update 22:25: Fuck your plastic Union Jack bowler hats and waistcoats; especially fuck your countdown clock projected onto the White Cliffs of Dover; fuck Laura Kuenssberg; fuck your fucking buffet made with only British fucking food; fuck your regional reports that make Brexit look like Children in fucking Need; fuck your backward-looking rose-tinted 1950s bullshit and, once again, fuck you.
Update 2020-02-01 23:45: Also fuck you if you referred to Brexit Day as ‘Independence Day’, you glib fucks.
Nothing says Brexit better than a bunch of idiots gloating over a senseless victory with a meaningless symbol. First blue passports and now a gaslighting commemorative 50p coin celebrating “Peace, prosperity and friendship with all nations” following nearly four years of bitterness, employment uncertainty, and open racism and nationalism. At least a 52p coin would have shown a bit of imagination.
Big Ben – you big towery bastard – you’ve gone silent just when the indignant pink-faced spluttering arseflaps of Brexit need you most. Never mind that before David Cameron inadvertently destroyed the country not a single one of those frothing tosspots had ever given a silent fart about Big Ben, its bongs or its clapper – Big Ben is now the shining needle that the country’s short-sighted, small-minded Union Jack-waving Gavins and Yvonnes will use to prick the country right out of the EU.
“Bung a bob to make Big Ben bong for Brexit!” Boris burbled bemi-boherently. “Big Ben must bong for Brexit!” the Daily Express quacked. “Bung Big Ben up Boris’s Backside!” No-one suggested, disappointingly. Why must Bigbenbong? Because if Big Ben doesn’t bong for Brexit then no Leaver will get the exact Brexit they demanded, when they voted to start this self-abuse nearly four years ago. Every single one of them voted Leave with one dream between them – that Spitfires would zoom over Big Ben as it bonged cheering crowds of backward-looking fuckwits into Britain’s brave new world of independence, before flying across the channel and bombing those bloody garlic-eating French garçons with tens of thousands of pairs of Union Jack boxer shorts. Without the bongs of Big Ben, the Spitfires, the Union Jack boxer shorts, even the jingoism, will just seem like spiteful, empty gestures.
Brexiteers started whacking off over their dream of freedom almost four years ago and that they could be deprived of their bongs just as they reach the vinegar strokes is something no Leaver will tolerate. Therefore Big Ben must bong for Brexit or Brexit will become an eternal one off the wrist demanding more and more extreme acts of nationalism enabling Leavers to finally achieve exit, all over the faces of those bureaucratic Brussels bastards.
Will drag you,