The current altitude record for an air breathing jet propelled aircraft was set by the famous SR-71 Blackbird in 1976 at a height of 85,069ft. In a staggering statistical coincidence it is the exact same height at which the romantic comedy cinema genre has placed the expectations of women below the age of 45. It’s left them desiring a Richard-Gere-standing-through-the-white-limousines-sunroof-with-the-flowers-moment and being in a state of perpetual disappointment with the poor chump they are dating who still thinks that Pretty Woman is just an old Roy Orbison song. These same Rom-Coms usually feature Matthew McConaughey, Richard Gere or Hugh Grant in a flimsily scripted, soullessly acted cinematic travesty which, if Orson Welles hadn’t been cremated, would have him rolling in his grave.

“Deceiving others. That is what the world calls romance.” Oscar Wilde said that many years before the inception of Hollywood and thus it is impossible he was describing romantic comedies, this most dastardly of genres, although on retrospect he did pen The Importance of Being Ernest which, although a masterpiece by any yard stick, may have been indirectly responsible for the yearly summertime onslaught of syrupy cinema trash and the ensuing line of unfortunate young men being led by their hand with their heads hung low into a large, cold, darkened theatres the world over to be be reminded for 100 minutes or so, of their own significant insufficiencies in the romantic arena. If they are amoungst those unfortunate enough to be dragged into the latest McConaughey stinker they’ll also be reminded of their glaring physical short-comings at the hands of his impossible and invariably denuded torso.

My theory on the future demise of humankind centres around the damage done to the collective mental faculties of our societies young women at the hands of these celluloid brain-washers. You see, I think we’ll slowly begin to see that the most successfully reproducing males in our society are not the cleverest or most genetically perfect but the males most capable of emulating the drivel that emanates from the mouth of Hugh Grant. We will end as a society of morons with flip-floppy hair, big white smiles, sparkly eyes and empty heads. A society in decline, until we end up without the minds necessary to maintain and advance our technological civilisation. Thus stripped of our greatest resource, our intelligence, we will slip back into the caves of the world as the world we built crumbles around us. The dolphins will be smarter than us within just a few short generations and will take over the Earth, proving once and for all that opposable thumbs are a totally unnecessary luxury. Global warming will be reversed by the now dominant dolphins. Humans will be studied intently by porpoises and they will marvel at our ability to rub sticks together and make fire.

We are doomed. All because you let your girlfriend pick Runaway Bride at blockbuster for movie-night instead of Die Hard 2. That one mistake was the flutter of the butterflies wing that triggered the downfall of mankind. Hope the popcorn was tasty chump.