Every time I go to a local theater, I can never fucking hear any of the dialogue from the movie. Instead, I’m treated to a Mystery Science Theater 3000 type heckling but with funny jokes replaced by nimrods urgently screaming advice to the characters on screen, the ubiquitous “That’s What She Said” one liner and the sound of sixteen year olds talking on the phone about how Jenny blew Derrick behind the 7-11. Texters are on the same level as talkers. Thanks, since I am unable to listen to the movie, I may as well be distracted by the warm glow of your self entitlement. If you’re going to ruin the movie for me, Why don’t you just spit in my popcorn while you’re at it? Or come ruin my dvd collection by dubbing conversations about your friends and Rihanna ringtones over the audio tracks. Hell, I’ll pay you to come over to my place and switch the lights on and off while I’m watching a movie in my living room to truly recreate the theater experience. I swear, we should bring the pillory back. But until then, the Alama Drafthouse in Austin, TX has the best policy for dealing with inconsiderate moviegoers.