Today I went with Ned to a picture show at the health hazard otherwise known as the cinema. It’s a dust and/or death trap if you ask me. Think of all the people that have sat in those seats shedding dead skin and who knows what! Don’t even get me started on how much rotting food debris there must be in-between the cracks of the seats. The floors are always sticky too, why is that? Would it kill them to go over them with a mop every night once they have closed?

We went to an afternoon matinee showing of The Passion of the Christ. Jesus! It was awful. Twenty minutes I had to sit through those damn trailers and then the film wasn’t even in English! I’d left my reading glasses at home, so I couldn’t even read the subtitles to understand what they were saying… That’s two hours of my life that I’m never getting back, and at my age I can’t afford to be wasting time like that. It’s a good thing I’m half death too, because they have the sound up so high that I could feel the vibrations through my chair. My bones are so brittle nowadays that I’m suprised I didn’t break a hip or something. It wasn’t like that when I was young, although the fact that the films were silent back then is irrelevant. You knew that when you went to see a film you’d be thoroughly entertained, not subjected to some kind of barbaric torture ritual!

— Excerpt for Grandfather Moochimor’s diary.