It's unnervingly funny too, even down to Burt's exclamation in the play's dying minutes: "Shit.
We all gathered in the Darwin Dancehall, and spent the weekend dancing, eating great food and tie-dying shit.
It might look like these guys are just on some lame 12-sided die shit, but if you get close enough, it's actually one big hardcore scary postapocalyptic trip (those duct-taped swords actually have fucking steel rods in them).
If Mailer was America's Byron, Vidal was the Republic's Wilde, the master of the quotable quote, from, 'Whenever a friend succeeds, a little something in me dies' to 'Shit has its own integrity.' Once upon a time, at the end of the Second World War, his generation was immortal.
Some people die and shit along the way too.
Until the losers at Ofcom relax the rules regarding that "not dying on TV" shit, this sort of warning is only a cruel tease.
It's only the miracle of consumer capitalism that means you're not lying in your own shit, dying at 43 with rotten teeth, and a little pill with a chicken on it is not going to change that.
Not dying prematurely of shit you can likely prevent, like heart disease.
They'd do crack and heroin, too, if it wasn't for people dying over that shit".
We were told to wear less makeup, not dress in black, stop wearing weird shit, stop dying our hair, etc. Nothing ever happened to the normal kids.
