Throw in the Pal

Picture half of an Australian choccie biscuit, blown up to massive proportions and then frozen over, becoming the coldest, most massive hunk of a common confectionery you've ever seen. They're calling it a Tim Brrrr-tonne, and it's the topic we were supposed to be talking about in this week's episode, but instead we started chatting about this freak-deeky goth director. Whoops!

Adam West did it best when he wore the crusader's vest

Mr Affleck sadly naffed it, wasn't made for Gotham habits

Robert Patz beat the stats, made for such a brilliant Bats

Then there's Christian, sure do miss 'im, even when he's hissy fittin'

But this here Michael is an eyeful, with a chin that's most delightful

And Nicholson's a tricky one, who cackles like Don Rickles, hon!

Throw in the Pal, oh give in now, before we have a mighty row

Whether you're watching the second movie in a documentary series about anatomy (Leg: A Sequel), addressing an elven archer via a misguided nickname as you instruct him to use his water powers to stymy an oceanic tempest ("Lega! Sea quell!") or you've just got a mouthful of turkey stuffing and are garbling random syllables while trying not to asphyxiate ("Leh... guh... thee... kwoll!"), you're more than familiar with the term Lega-sequel. So this mini-sode is probably completely pointless. Enjoy!

If Booksmart, does that mean Moviedumb? The answer may surprise you...

What's this?! An episode where the Pals have decided to discuss the sometimes illustrious, oft-ignominious life of Oscar, Sesame Street's grouchiest denizen? Or is it, instead, a dialectical in which the automobile industry of Australia and its multivalent products (colloquially known as Oz-cars) are given a right old lashing of the Pals' ever-waggling mouth slugs? Or, perhaps, it's some third, even more ludicrous thing? All false, I fear! Instead, the Pals are discussing the upcoming Academy Awards, including their opinions on the films themselves, as well as their predictions of the night in question. Huzzah!

You know how to whistle, don't you? You just put your lips together and blow... Well, no, not quite like that. That's less of a whistle, more of a, uh... wet trumpet, I guess. Overall, not a very pleasant soun-- Hup, still goin' are ya? Right, well, yes you... you certainly are enthusiastic. By the by, couldn't help but notice the golden cap you have on one of your incisors. That's... yeah, that's a choice. Adds a strange texture to this this whole damp farty-mouth thing you've really chosen to stick with... Y'know, you're actually not bad at that. If there were some kind of award, I reckon you'd be in the running. Maybe some prize given to the best spittle-flecked lip vibrations by anyone with a gold-encrusted tooth. I guess they'd call them... the Yellow Mouth Brahps? I dunno, something along those lines. Whadda ya want from me, huh? HUH?!

On the seventh day, God rested. He had created the heavens and the Earth; all things terrestrial and cosmic had unfolded and sprung from His benevolent palms, twisting together in arcs of splendour and horror to find shape in four key elements: fire, water, wind and soil. And yet, in his infinite wisdom and boundless scope, the Lord had neglected the fifth and final element, the crucial component that would fuse these disparate particularities, making them greater as a whole than they could ever hope to be apart. God, realising his error, gave His golden wrist a mighty flick and willed into being this ultimate entity, the adhesive property He had forgotten that would guide the world into everlasting glory and hold back the tide of our suffering: He created Bruce Willis.

And the rest, as they say, is Pal-story...

Why do we kiss? Is it just to swap spit?

To supplement words when we lack any wit?

Are we driven to taste what someone has eaten?

Does it lift up our spirits when our will has been beaten?

And what about watching others lock lips?

What's up with that? Seems sorta suspish...

Are we perverts, romantics or something between

When we're moved by the smackin' we see on the screen?

This rhyme holds no answers, all truth is amiss

So pucker up, Pals, and give us a kiss!

Did you know that in French, death is known as "the little orgasm". It's true, kinda! Perhaps that's why Marion Cotillard looks like that when she snuffs it in The Dark Knight Rises. Well, since people have been dying on the big screen almost as long they've been dying to get onto the big screen, the Pals compiled some of the most convincing (and even some of the most non-vincing) death-de-liars of the celluloidal era, in this Short and Sweet (also know as "The Die-t Edition") of instalment of Throw in the Pal.

The Exorcist is a story of pain. The pain of late 20th-century America, torn asunder by the dual impulses of its self-avowed exceptionalism: the urges to expand and to conserve. The pain of raising children in a world where spurious, quasi-religion dichotomies of vice and virtue erode under the weight of moral relativism. The pain of confronting one's own frailties, not just those of the flesh but those of the spirit, the pale recognition that love has its limits but terror, as always, is infinite. The pain -- most especially -- of letting Jesus f@$k you.

Pal-lelujah!