BERNING QUESTION

Okay. I have serious fucking doubts as to whether this adorable little newborn kitten was alive at all when these people started shooting this movie. Do its eyes open even once? Do we ever get a clear shot? Because I've totally seen live things that do that. (Open their eyes, not get clear shots.)

There — look how the woman's hand nods the kitten's head limply up and down, then carefully props it up and waits for gravity take it to the ground in a vaguely "falling asleep"-like fashion. I suspect there is some serious Weekend and Bernie's style shit going on.

Hey, you guys, come on out to my island beachouse this weekend! You can find me dead then haul my corpse around for two days making me act like I'm alive because you think that people will think you killed me and call the police! Then we can go hunting for treasure five years later on the Virgin Islands and you'll turn me into a zombie! The Washington Post will hate my antics but I'll still make $12.7-million! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Weekend_at_Bernie%27s_II!

That was, like, the dead kitten talking.

FURBALLS TO THE WALL

Hey, did you feel, like ... gravity change in between the times of 10 p.m. and 10:01 p.m. ET Monday night? Well, that was this fucking guy. This kitten here can bend space and time with its mind if it concentrates really hard, and spent over three-quarters of a minute last night demonstrating this incredible, unfathomable ability.

Didn't even know what was going on. Did not fucking understand. Totally just a kitten; thinks it's having a dream. Hey, where are the giant balls of yarn and laser pointers or whatever else kind of shit I like? I want beef jerky!

Only when he finally collapses, exhausted, into a dazed and pitiful crumpled heap in front of his sniggering master do things mercifully return to normal. Damages worldwide total in the hundreds of trillions of dollars. More lives lost than a thousand World War One re-enactment troops who travel back in time to fight the original cast of World War One.

That's right. Five. People.

PEACE AND TRANQUILITY

Bobby's ketamine addiction was getting out of hand.

He tried it for the first time two months ago when when a friend brought it to some rave club in Brixton Hill and it really freaked him out. But the next weekend came and he did it again. It was better. Then there was a party on the Wednesday. And the Friday after that. Soon, parties every day. There were glow sticks. Then oversized sunglasses, neon American Apparel hoodies and gold-lamé stretch pants. Nights that never ended. It was the best. And now, what was it? Tuesday? And here Bobby is, waking up naked in a field, wondering what time it was and why he wasn't at the club with Brit and Jayda anymore and, hey, where the fuck are his gold pants while some dude films his death for an internet snuff film.

What a waste. (Bobby was being raised for food.)