Withnail and I

I've just seen a film few Americans have ever heard of, but in England is considered one of the great cult films of all time. "Withnail and I." Dave, you must see this. fiveseconddelay, you must see this. Imagine "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" set in rural 1969 England, between two out-of-work and impoverished actors. Richard E. Grant rules.
Example:

Withnail: I must have some booze. I demand to have some booze. (sees a bottle of lighter fluid, grabs it)
Peter Marwood: Not even the wankers on the site would drink that. That's worse than Methys.
Withnail: Nonsense. This is a far superior drink to Methys. The wankers don't drink it because they can't afford it. (drinks it greedily)Got any more?
Peter Marwood: No. I have nothing.
Withnail: Liar. What's in your toolbox?
Peter Marwood: Nothing.
Withnail: LIAR. *You've* got antifreeze!
Peter Marwood: You bloody fool! You should never mix your drinks!

In another scene, they're starving, so a poacher sends them a chicken. A live chicken.

Withnail: What are we supposed to do with that?
Peter Marwood: Eat it.
Withnail: Eat it? Fucker's alive.
Peter Marwood: Yeah, you've got to kill it.
Withnail: Me? I'm the firelighter and fuel collector.
Peter Marwood: Yeah, I know, but I got the logs in. It takes away your appetite just looking at it.
Withnail: No it doesn't. I'm starving. (pause) How do we make it die?

I need to spread the word of this movie. And I need to start dressing like Withnail. And make an icon of him.

"Why has my head gone numb?"

Got me Richard E. Grant icon of Withnail. I am content. But only in that aspect.

So strange that I should so love a character like Withnail, a man whose battle plan upon entering a pub is: "Right, here's the plan. First, we go in there and get wrecked, then we eat a pork pie, then we drop some Surmontil-50's each. That way we'll miss out on Monday and come up smiling Tuesday morning." Meanwhile, I spend the day at my father's, who himself spent today in bed, "taking a nap." When I leave without saying goodbye, I get a furious drunken call from him three hours later, seething "you could have left me a note" and leaving an unspoken threat lingering in the air long after I've hung up.

Which leads me to my normal life. Y'know, I've always been kind of grateful for the respect people have always given me. "You don't drink? Ok, that's cool." I've never encountered any problems from this lifestyle decision, since everyone understands. Most also understand and respect my... aversion, shall we call it, to pot. Oh fuck it, let's drop the pretense. I fucking hate the drug and I fucking hate what it does to people I love and respect and I fucking hate how socially accepted it is and my tolerance for it has fallen dramatically over the past year. And I know most everyone here knows this, or at least you should by now and so I've posted that diatribe in the hopes to remind you. And everyone here, I think it's safe to say, respects my opinion. Just as I respect theirs. Although the respect and the level of comfort sometimes find themselves with an ever-growing rift between them, such is the case with how I feel tonight.

I could go further with this, but for several reasons I think it'd be better if I just stopped before I risk being rude to certain people, which is neither in my heart nor is it my intention. My point is, people generally would lay off of me because of my father, like it was a more acceptable excuse than just "I don't like it." People have also generally stopped the tired BS argument that it's all part of being open-minded, which I really appreciate. But really, sometimes that respect just doesn't feel enough, but to expect or want anything else would be wholly unrealistic so never mind. Suffice to say, ganja-lovers, you wouldn't want me with a Green Lantern ring.

And strangely, with the exception of that very small number of people I deeply love, the effects of alcohol on others no longer bothers me at all. Funny how that one works, eh? Did I have a point with this? I think I spaced on it. Oh screw it, I'll just quote some more "Withnail and I."

Withnail: Have you been at the controls?
Peter Marwood: What are you talking about?
Withnail: The thermostats. What have you done to them?
Peter Marwood: I haven't touched them.
Withnail: Then why has my head gone numb?