The day my opinion got flushed

We all make mistakes. Some are apparently less forgiveable than others... say, killing someone. That's usually a biggie. Among my friends, subjecting them to the wrong indie flick is capital punishment worthy. I learned this after picking out a saucy little movie called Urinal.

Now, I still maintain that there was no way I could have predicted the unparalleled badness of this movie. From the summary on www.imdb.com:

A mystery man brings together a group of dead, gay artists to investigate a police response to the dilema of wash-room sex in Toronto. The artists have seven days in which to report on the ethics of police tactics. The artists infiltrate the police only to discover that they themselves are under surveillance as a political subversive group. The artists explore and report on the evolution of toilets and wash-room behavior.

I mean, what more could any movie renter want? It's got it all: Dead artists, unethical police, an inside look at toilets, and of course, a "mystery man" bringing it all together. Who wouldn't want to see Frida Kahlo and Langston Hughes play gay avengers against the homophobic fascists on the Canadian police force?

Okay. Apparently it IS possible for a winning combination like that to go awry. Somewhere between the bad lighting and the bad acting, I finally admitted that I had chosen a very terrible movie. I even apologized. Me. Apologized.

But it was too late. My movie renting priviledges have been revoked. Forever. And I'm not even allowed to go *near* Stardust, the local haven for indie flick rentals.

Hindsight is 20/20 my friend, but don't tell me you wouldn't have fallen for that plot line too. You know you would have.