To the creepy, old man who insisted on sitting right next to me during an opening weekend screening of Sex and the City:
You are a sick man.
Not only did you laugh in a sinister, odd way whenever any sign of human flesh was shown on screen, you laughed uproariously at several key, heart-breaking scenes.
One pivotal scene in particular, involving a character using flowers as a weapon, you laughed so hard and so loud that I couldn't hear what the actors and actresses were saying.
The person with whom I went to see the movie was likewise appalled because your sadistic laughter saw no end. You found another scene, where a character's humiliating emotional anguish was written all over her tear-stained face, to be a howling scream. You even pounded your fist on our shared arm rest to drive home the point that you found it so funny.
Nothing ruins a movie quicker than having a man who's well north of 70 come to a film like this, alone, loudly chortling in the seat next to you at the on-screen nakedness -- both emotional and physical -- especially when it's not meant to be funny.
Signed,
A person who'll need to see the film again and make sure to tell other suspect old men that the seat next to her is taken
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