I have no idea how many movies I’ve seen in my life. I’d be guessing somewhere between a crapload and fun-tonne. And while some may say that all that movie watching has rotted my brain until it resembles week old broccoli, I’d like to think it’s actually expanded my understanding of life, the universe and everything else. Also, explosions. It’s expanded my understanding of explosions.
So allow me to drop some knowledge into your forebrains as I share a fraction of what I’ve learned from those storytellers in Hollywood.
Except for the whole wanting to turn your organs into a red mist thing, bomb makers are pretty nice guys. I know this, because why else would every single one of them always put a handy display on the front of all their bombs telling the good guys exactly how much time they have left to defuse it?
So you’re a cop and you’re having a bit a of a boring day. Want something exciting to happen? Then it’s simple: buy a hot dog at a street vendor, preferably with “the works”, and just give it a few bites. I can guarantee that before you finish that dog, your police radio will be screeching like crazy – Hell, a perp might even run right by you – prompting you to just ditch your heartburn on a bun.
Why, I would imagine that the streets of Los Angeles have a layer of spent shell casings and half eaten hot dogs that reach up to your shins.
Maybe all their watches are running slow, maybe they always obey the speed limit, or maybe they’re just using Apple Maps. Whatever the reason, no matter how much of an audible and visible mess you make while battling the bad guy – there could be explosions, car pile ups, hell, even dinosaurs – the cops will always show up right after everything has been cleared up, and they’re really not needed any more.
Racing against some guy in your shiny new sports car, but he’s starting to pull ahead? No stress, just gear down and watch your car rocket forward. And then when he gets close, gear down again. And again. And again. Don’t worry, your car has a 34 speed gearbox!
I’ve been using EFT’s for a number of years, but apparently I’m doing it wrong. You see when I transfer money to somebody, I shouldn’t just be clicking a button and watching money disappear from my account and appear in another. No, the correct way to do it, is to transfer the electronic equivalent of a single dollar, one at a time, with a glacially paced progress bar on screen to tell me how many dollars I’ve now moved.
If I should ever be in a hostage situation in a building, there’s only one thing to do: climb into an air vent. It doesn’t matter that I’m a 6ft2 half-cave troll, beast of a man, the air vents are big enough to take me.
Horribly outnumbered in a street fight? No need to panic, you’ll get through this. Because no combatant, no matter how dastardly and cruel he/she might have appeared just a few minutes ago, would ever stoop so low as to actually use their superior numbers to their advantage. No, instead they will each take turns (I’m guessing they drew lots earlier in the evening to determine the order) to attack you, while their buddies shadowboxed menacingly.
Despite what logic, your brain, your eyes and life has taught you, when you step into a dimly lit room/building to look for somebody/something, you should never switch on the lights. No, instead use a torch, as the 3ft diameter pool of weak light it produces will act as a focal point for all your powers of observation.
Did you just cough and/or have a nose bleed? Hate to break it you, but you’ve got an inoperable brain tumor. Or ebola. Or some rare deadly plague you contracted from petting that rhesus monkey you found in the jungle. No, it’s not just the heat or something stuck in your throat. It’s the black plague ebola whooping cough tumor of certain death. Trust me.
On the plus side, you can now probably move things with your mind and/or see into the future. The future where you die.
If you’re one of those people that get your jollies from general mayhem and destruction, then there’s only one job for you: Police officer. It doesn’t matter that you’ve just turned half the city into the Gaza strip on a bad day, as long as you catch your perp, nobody is ever going to mention it again.
You may not know this, but I’ve learned that all cars made since the 1950’s automatically lock their own doors, so no matter how rough a neighbourhood you find yourself in, there is never ever a need for you to lock them yourself. When the car is unattended, that is. Because when there’s actually somebody sitting inside the car to watch over it, that’s when you need to turn that sucker into Fort Knoxx.
Your parents were wrong. Nobody actually likes it when you say “Hello” when answering the telephone, or asking somebody to hold on while you go get who they’re asking for. And actually saying “goodbye” after the conversation has ended? Only losers do that. Real men just stop talking and hang up the phone!
Ladies, do you like clothes? Do you like trying on different wardrobes to reflect your ever changing personality? Of course, you do, right? Well then here’s a pro-tip: Never ever become a high school cheerleader. Unless it’s a prom, you will never again be allowed to wear any other outfit. Ever. You will be buried in primary coloured skorts and a sleeveless top with your high school’s initials on them.
See all those words and pictures in front of you right now? That’s not the internet. Not the real one anyway. The real internet consists of rendered, glow-in-the-dark, city like structures that you “fly” through using Cyclops’ sunglasses and an old Nintendo Power Glove (Teenage Angelina Jolie sold separately).
So you’re what might be called an IT guru, a hacker even. First thing’s first, throw out your mouse. You’re never using that ridiculous pointing device again. No, you have the power of the almighty keyboard. And your fingers will be a blur as they fly across it with godlike speed, randomly tapping keys on the entire length and width of the keyboard. Also, while all of this is happening your 13 screens will just contain a never ending scroll of random numbers, letters and schematics and all your frantic keyboard bashing won’t actually have any visual representation anywhere until you eventually stop typing to bash the enter key with all your might and voila! You’ve found the mythical backdoor into the Department of Defense’s triple fire-walled mainframe.