Birth of a Critic
Let me tell you a little story. A story of a boy with a dream. Not a boy and his dog or a boy meeting a girl or a boy versus nature or a boy versus another boy or a boy versus himself or a boy versus giant car robots from the future or a boy who can teleport all over and steal lots of shit and get laid and go to museums when no one else is there or sold-out concerts and stuff.
No. None of these.
Just a boy with a simple dream—a dream to watch movies and TV, write about it and get paid. Or at least just write about it. And then that boy grew into a man and went off into the world and discovered mysterious and magical new fauna and flora. Well, actually just flora. Mmmm… Sweet sweet flora.
And a new dream was born: The Chronic Critic.
But do not worship him. No. Worship together with him, with all as one, at the very same altar—the great glowing screen and the great glowing green. Mmmm… Sweet, sweet glowing screens and greens.
Welcome to The Chronic Critic’s theater. Pull up a couch. All are welcome.
By the way, do you have any popcorn? How about some ice cream? Anything?