Ratatouille

Two Rats Say "Cheese" For The Camera.

After a long hibernating Winter, it's movie season again, and so The Girlfriend and I found ourselves at the cinema watching Ratatouille, a film about rats and their fondness for cooking fine French cuisine.

This is ironic as I remember meeting a rat once many years ago during my high school days, where I attempted to befriend it as I was quite lonely and would often get picked on by the girls because I would get my mom to cut the crusts off my sarmies, and this was apparently frowned upon in modern society.

"Hello there, my rodent friend," I said to my rodent friend, who was lounging near the Recycling Area, having a Rothman's Mild cigarette.

"Howzit," he greeted nonchalantly, ashing his entjie with his thumb, the way the cool kids do it.

"Say," I ventured cautiously, "I know you're a rat and all, but how would you like to hang out with me? Also, can I have a drag of that cigarette?"

Well, he gave me a drag of his cigarette, but he didn't become my friend.

In fact, he actually went on to bite me because, well, he WAS a rat after all, and I guess he felt cornered, which is something you should NEVER make a rat feel like.

The rat in this movie never bit the guy who befriended him though. In fact, he went on to cook for him, saving his bacon at the restaurant he worked at and indirectly getting him some of that cute ass who worked with him and drove that little white scooter. So I guess I just drew the short end of the stick.

It's an entertaining little flick, in a similar vein to The Incredibles and Finding Nemo. I say this because it's the same people who made those films (Pixar). I don't really think it's in a similar vein though, but I made a concious decision to use that phrase when I started writing this, so there it is. I always do as I say. I have a good follow through, as my cricket coach used to tell me.

Anyhoo, it's not hilariously funny or anything, but there probably isn't a better way of spending two hours on a Thursday evening.

Actually I probably CAN think of a better way of spending two hours on a Thursday evening, but this would involve a few stiff Jamesons beforehand, lots of slow foreplay, as well as spelling out the alphabet backward a few times.

But that's just me.



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