That Nipple Crucifixion’s Gotta Hurt

After a day of “working from home” in the company of his 33-month pregnant wife who’s finally commenced maternity leave, my pal Bruce was keen to get out the house last night and enjoy the delights of Bargain Tuesday at the local cinema. These included reduced price admission tickets and the biggest, f#ck-off helping of nachos and jalapenos I’ve ever seen. I, on the other hand, settled for Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream. Fascinating eh?

Anyway, we went to see The Last King Of Scotland which was excellent despite suffering from the biggest plot calamity ever seen in movie history. Ever.

Imagine… you’re a young, virile Scottish male (is there any other type?) newly qualified as a doctor and just arrived in Africa to do good and help others whilst sporting a wide variety of big-collared 70s shirts. After establishing yourself at a medical outpost in the middle of nowhere you are presented with the choice of…

a) Being handpicked as the personal physician to the President of Uganda with a spanking new Mercedes, palatial accommodation, running water, bountiful food and ready “access” to the most beautiful of the President’s wives…

OR

b) staying in the bush with Gillian Anderson.

It’s a no-brainer right? But before you can say this-is-my-Ewan-McGregor-smile, the doc’s up and gone to the bright lights and the big city. The f#ckwit.