Pourne Ultigaytum

Holy guacamole, Rose! (Notice my slippery use of spanish? Clearly both of my language lessons are paying for themselves already).

A mate of mine stayed last night, so after serving a few bowls to Xtina down at the soup kitchen (she's even void of The Voice these days - do we need an interfriendtion?) we pondered Katy P's "hair colour of the day" before a little art-house cinema. 

It's a reliable way to spend an evening - about as sure fire as the slim takings seen from an Adam Sandler film. 

But on this occasion, rather than indulge, we awkwardly in-bulged in the independent feature, I Need Your Love.

No bet your head's tilted to the side right now, given your preference for Pixar and Pirates of the Caribbean plop. So to recap, this low-budget, full-frontal picture based in San Francisco tells the story of, ah... well, I haven't got the foggiest. 

But whatever they were trying to say, here's my hot tip: Don't buy it on Blu-ray for Barb next Mother's Day. 

Unless, of course, she's got a knack for man crack, prone to wielding a naked sword or five (to plug the distributor) and willing to pay with embarrassment for a number of money shots.

In Australia, this film was banned for public screening during their festival. 

Ever wondered what happened to Ally McBeal's dancing baby?

And while I was moments away from bringing out Britney's brolly for a bashing befitting of such bureaucracy when I read about this decision, I've now literally seen why it was a 'no' from Oz. 

Because for most of the daring actors/polished adult performers who shared this endearing tale about how to reach orgasm, I know what they've got to give Down Under.