Holy hot shit, I am really fucking angry right now.
Let me preface this with some background: I love Star Wars, and have loved it since I was young enough to remember. I wanted to be a Jedi before I ever thought about playing for the Arizona Cardinals. I had the privilege of getting to see the re-release of The Empire Strikes Back at the original Cine Capri in Phoenix before it was shut down. I remember playing Star Wars: Shadows of the Empire and Rogue Squadron on my N64 over, and over, and over again until I could barely keep my eyes open. Shit, I used to play the Episode I (fucking Episode I!) soundtrack in my room on repeat in junior high.
The teaser trailer brought tears to my eyes, literal fucking tears. I saw JJ Abrams was doing the new movie and thought, “This might have a chance. This might just redeem everything the Prequels helped destroy.” After the second full trailer released, I stopped watching trailers because I felt they were giving away too much story, and didn’t want to ruin it. I fucking hate trailers that do that. I’ve done my absolute best, and succeeded, to avoid spoilers this entire time, and I was truly looking forward to watching this movie fresh, and with as little knowledge of it beforehand as possible. I’m so excited to see this movie, that I dished out extra money on pre-sale tickets to see it in IMAX, and in 3D (which I generally hate but figure fuck it, it’s IMAX).
I’m currently 15 hours away from seeing The Force Awakens (Wednesday, 12/23/2015 at 10 AM), and one random fan comment, on an NFL Instagram post of all places, just ruined the whole motherfucking thing.
Who fucking does that?
I understand that this may sound childish. I’ve even seen friends on Facebook and Twitter say, “Don’t want spoilers? Don’t go on social media.” I see why you might say that, but with all due respect, champ, are you out of your fucking mind? Look here, you human toll booth, I had to wait all of six days, SIX days, to get the timing right so that I could go see this movie with people I care about, and have someone take care of my kids while I take three hours to myself. I work 50 hours a week after factoring in drive time, my wife works night shifts at the hospital to help provide the life we want for our children, and surprisingly, our schedules don’t just automatically line up for movie night, so fuck you very much if shutting your flapping gums for a week was too fucking hard. Bro, I bet you were fucking horrible to talk to around the water coolers before social media was around. I’m guessing the standard Monday morning with you went a little like this: “Hey dick knocker, did you see that game this weekend? No, you taped it and can’t wait to get home to watch it well FUCK YOU BECAUSE THE RED SOX PULL IT OUT IN THE NINTH WHILE IT’S A TIED GAME BASES LOADED WITH TWO OUTS AND A 3-2 COUNT OH BY THE WAY BRUCE WILLIS IS DEAD THE WHOLE MOVIE, KEVIN SPACEY IS KAISER SOZE AND SPEAKING OF SPACEY IT’S GWENYTH PALTROW’S HEAD IN THE BOX, VADER IS LUKE’S FATHER, AND CHRISTIAN BALE IS JUST FUCKED IN THE HEAD IN EVERY MOVIE HE PLAYS okay guys, great talk, I’m gonna go try and fuck Debra in Accounting and try and avoid another sexual harassment lawsuit, peace out losers.”
That example, by the way, was brought to you by movies that are at least 10 years or older. If you haven’t seen a movie a decade since it came out, you don’t give a shit if someone spoils it.
If you’re this type of person (and you know full goddamn well if you are), then allow me to say for the rest of us, you are the fucking DMV of humanity. I would rather have to get a penicillin shot straight to the dick than have to talk to you, because you are a walking, talking time bomb and I hate you. I hope that the doctor tells you the sex of your baby to your face the second after you ask to keep it a secret; I hope that your kids run up to you on December 1st and say “Daddy/Mommy bought you a tie/bonnet for Christmas!” and I hope beyond all hope that someone leaves a note on your front door when you come home that says “Surprise party waiting inside. Happy birthday, fuck face. P.S. There’s no one in here and I want a divorce. Surprise! Fuck you.”
I want all of these things, because this was going to be an event that I could enjoy with my family, that I was truly excited for, and some random ass warthog of a human thought it would be funny to ruin that shit on Instagram. Enjoy your surprise party, douche canoe.