Good day my fine friends today’s picture is a still from the filmed fruits of when yours truly embarked on the creative path of making movies of a bygone era of B type.  Yes having been an avid addicted pupil of the cinematic school of the questionably hapless but posthumously proclaimed maestro of synchronised (fiscally challenged) B-movie skills Ed Wood I was filled to brimming with the inspiration to entertain the nation.   Drawing from the recent phenomenon of all things feline and the age old love of the smashing (pardon the pun) to wreckaged state of the perfectly fine forms of vehicular carriages I decide to spin an innovative twist and combine the two to create a worthy alphabetically challenged cash cow from a `colossal kitty goes car crunching` carnage caper.   In brief the story unfolds as, unloved cat-neglect-blah-blah-no more sardines-yada-yada-hunger- seeks fodder-misunderstood as feral revenge when chancing upon `tinned feast` blah blah.   

Set in the by gone era when chaps cut a dash and the Lades were draped in better-behaved garb and they slinked with style not slovenly lack of concern for logical leg manoeuvres, the plot revolved around the afore-referred to abandoned feline who was forced, through fiscal lack, to volunteer for, the highly inappropriate use of a pet programme of, laboratory testing, blah blah, test, test, lippy, not nice, ciggies, not nice, inject this inject that test - oooops! - blood guts - debris - result gone wrong blah gargantuan blah, escape hunt for food, and this is where we endeavour to evoke empathy from the movie viewer. 

As the cat embarks on a carnage rampage of crushing cars, they recoil in terror and emit piercing vocals at what appears to be an evil feline, a monstrously mad moggy, but no the underlying and most poignant message is evident.  ‘Tis only, due to enormously griping innards, that the not so fat cat, embarked on a quest for food from a tin, see, he is merely, and nothing more than, a victim of circumstance, if it comes in a can it’s his.  After all he had until the point of neglect enjoyed a relatively pampered style of life, so I put to you the question, on whose, giant or not, shoulders does the blame for this victim of ambivalent attent resulting in a human curiosity magnet, lay.   Why my mentor Ed, alas long since dead, would be cheering not churning in his grave.

Unfortuitously, production problems arose, involving a particular but insignificant member of the cast, you may bear witness in this still.  He was an over aspirational, and underpaid type, devilishly sporting the mode-a-la-day and ad-libbing with a cocky peruse of a broadsheet instead of dramatically communicating for emergency aid but wraths were pushed aside as the consensus from my sole, but many-hatted and some have said multi personality riddled, self was `heck this is indeed a gift from the God of B-movie bits` and I left it in the can.

A problem of more colossal scale was that the realistic vibration-al effects of the freaky feline frolicking with its catch were so immense they brought about an early inadvertent harvest of no less than 3 acres of root vegetables that through compensation for their ruination catapulted my B movie budget to a scale equivalent of a top Hollywood production, however a quick witted commercial transaction with a producer of composted products reduced this detriment drastically.   

Well twas made in B movie style for that A list of avid animal adorers, the cheezburger clan, with not a Z-list celeb insight, with the incidental intention that Hollywood would suffice, or straight to DVD if the covetted bapwrapped barmy blog success was illusive.