Some things that warrant a good hand slap or two: plays, cockfighting, Jon and Kate’s divorce. See, clapping is a form of positive recognition for a job well done between two people in a general vicinity, “great work on that structural liability report,” “way to go kicking that sphere in that hole”, “man you rode that pole like a champ,” you get the point.
Why then does Movie Credit Clapper greet the rolling lines of every Sandra Bullock snuff film with a rip roaring round of applause? What the fuck is the point? Not one person responsible for the eye gouger is even in the theater. Who are you celebrating? The overweight mustached popcorn shoveler in the lobby? Was her ability to add 3000 more calories to your snack in a single pump really that amazing? Do you want to die? Because besides the cholesterol backhoe named Shelly the only person worth palm spanking is Roy the urinal cake replacer and he’s on smoke break.
Don’t get us wrong we love movies, if it wasn’t for low-self esteem, night terrors and having no hands we’d probably be trying to sell our screenplay about underwater gnomes titled “Shallow Water” instead of writing this blog. It is just that we can’t for the life of us understand why you’d clap the end of one. And like most things we don’t understand, we fear. And like most things we fear, we bitch slap. Just ask Will Smith.
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