Sam Winsall

I’m going to be blunt, when I arrived to the cinema, buzzing with anticipation at the idea of our Lord and Saviour, Jason Momoa, but was met with the pitiful endeavour of his brother trying to fill the chiseled shadow of his eye-catching colleague. I was less than impressed I instead left as frustrated as a mosquito sucking on a mannequin. Not one time, not one singular place in the time of arriving and leaving did I set my eyes upon the topless majestic body of a masterpiece. The only acceptable way to rectify this monstrosity of a failure is to bring me to meet the man I pray to of a night, Jason himself. I’m very flexible and as you can see not unreasonable. I’m open to either a private jet or first class on a normal flight. Our new generation is going through enough without the alleged deliberate deprivation that is my unsatisfactory movie experience. I would say thank you but I’m still reeling over the disappointment pre mentioned. Hopefully the next movie won’t make the same mistake.