Hey Jim Schembri, you offend my sensibilities.
Who in the world gave you the right to sit in judgment of, or even have a partial say in anything? Why hasn't anyone with half a brain and all the power have you tied up, bound and gagged, tarred and feathered and brutally impaled?
How is it that your awful shit gets published week in, week out while so many hopeful modern classics or sub-cultures humbly seeking wider recognition suffer miserably at the loathsome hands of your slithering, venomous pen and eventually die a harrowing death?
Your vulgar prose and cultural tunnel vision turn every letter in your stagnant articles into an inky, repugnant hemlock which seeps into the pupils and pollutes the minds of any wide-eyed aspiring journos and media types - soon to be studio grunts and desk jockeys who, unfortunately being in the wrong place at the wrong time had the bad luck of being callously assaulted by your depravity.
All your opaque reviews are witlessly engineered of ignorant yet obstrusive opinionated baloney balls stuffed with horse shit. Still, credit where it's due, and that could only be for your astounding consistency (literally of the viscous kind).
In fact, your very media presence is so foul it's hard to believe a person can turn to a page with your name on it and not be unceremoniously propelled backwards by the degenerate squall of stench blasting out from underneath the 'reviews' headline.
Anybody insane enough to be too curious for their own good and approaches it willingly will be sucked into the horrid world of middle-class pretentiousness and cruel ignorance, followed by heinous disgorgement into mainstream society as a grimly deformed philosophical zombie.
Speaking of which, what purpose do you serve? Who the fuck do you appeal to anyway? Volvo drivers? How many of them are there left? And what idiot appreciates your sense of humour these days? You certainly don't strike any major chords (sic. [wow, that's almost as bad as your jokes!]) with Trevor Sixpack, and anybody who has endured even the most basic of cinema studies courses has better taste than you so who are you trying to impress? Even Alan Partridge (were he not fictitious) would be rolling in his shallow grave, and so would Jesus (were he not resurrected). Please leave the world alone and let good culture develop uninhibited.
Nevertheless, even if you do eventually comply, we've had enough. My semi-transparent yet incandescent buddies are looking to fuck you up good you evil turd emitter! Our plan is to surreptitiously throw popcorn at you when you're at the movies, then, while you're smugly engrossed in writing your vile, sullied notes for your toxic, puerile reviews we'll sneak up on you from behind and set your fucking hair on fire.
Watch out you shitbowl, everywhere you'll be we'll be right behind you... waiting, with candles.
So fuck you, Jim Schembri, fuck you 'til your eyes bleed when we finally take our revenge for the literary trauma you've induced and force you to read over and over in a jackknife position what once respected newspapers now deem to be acceptable print. This will continue until you realise that the steady decline of global discernment rests squarely and entirely on your shoulders, just like all the people with our predilection who are ready to jump up and down on them repeatedly. Only then might you get a taste of your own bad medicine.
Forever optimistic and sincerely yours,
The Compassionate Cynic