Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew.

I just got back from seeing Planet of the Apes. Normally I'd give you a witty review, but I'm a little too wigged out. I'm reasonably sure the guy next to me was masturbating, and that's just icky. I have no hard (as it were) or...ew... residual ... evidence, but he was having serious problems with keeping his legs in his own personal space, and there was a certian.... rhythmic... quality to the way his leg/god knows what was moving at the end of the film... and it's 90 degrees out, it was muggy in the theater, and he had a coat draped over his lap. Ew.

So, to the guy sitting next to me at Lincoln Village for the 2 p.m. showing of Planet of the Apes: Listen, far be it from me to quash your sexuality and sexual expression. If the sight of anthropomorphic apes, babes in form-fitting jungle wear or Mark Wahlberg give you the urge to gratify yourself, you feel free to do that -- in your own home. Or at least your own aisle. If it's jerking off next to someone in a crowded place that does it for you, put an ad inthe Reader, I'm sure you can find someone who gets turned on by being jerked off next to in public places. Y'all have fun. If it's jerking off next to someone unsuspecting, well, that you're going to have to deal with on your own -- not next to me.

I hope to god you clean up after yourself.

I told one of the theater employees, and I hope they caught you with your hands down your pants and chastised you vigorously (in a non-pleasing way.) In the future, I will not be sitting next to strange men in crowded theaters. We've already decided that the next movie a bunch of us goes to, I get to sit in the middle.

Now excuse me while I go take another shower and disinfect all my clothing.