First thing: The Filthy Critic is an unemployed, undereducated, lazy prick. He lives with his employed and loving wife in a basement apartment behind the Walmart in Arvada, Colorado. He finds momentary escape from the utter mess he’s made of his life by going to the movies, getting drunk and yelling at his neighbors. Movie reviews are his outlet, used the way others use their assholes: To spew shit.
He dreams of being a writer but has neither the discipline nor the talent to do it. Hell, he can’t even be bothered to realize his frequent and attainable dream of going to the grocery store with no pants on and rubbing his nuts on the milk.
Arvada, Colorado was once the Celery Capitol of the World. Now it’s just where old people go to die of mesothelioma, and where young people priced out of Denver pretend they’re hip too. It is where Filthy lives and where Filthy will die. He is not hip, he is not old. He is just stuck.
Filthy has an old and very good dog. A truly wonderful dog who is now deaf and his hind legs are failing, but has never once judged his owner harshly. And he’s had plenty of good opportunities.
