When I’m old, grey, and even more bitter, I’ll gather my grandchildren around (pulling them away from The Walking Dead, which is still somehow scraping plot-points from the bottom of its shallow barrel) and make them watch ‘Balls Out’.
Yes, it’s a thing. And it’s not the raunchy sort of movie that may come to mind. Although, granted, it’s totally not suitable for grandchildren — that’ a bad move on future me’s part but you’ve got to understand that 2065 is a different time.
With various statements, questions and grievances I wished to get across to Hollywood, I decided to write them an open letter. Time passed without any response until my mail-person rudely informed me that open letters still need to be sealed if you wish for them to arrive in one piece (you can read more about this incident in my angrily written open letter to the Post Office).
Eventually, my letter did arrive in Tinseltown and they promptly issued me with a transatlantic restraining order.