...but those picture labels just cut too deep to bury what I have to say.
I mean, how is wearing a tank top, cut-off jean shorts, a headband, and glasses with no lenses cross-dressing? Really, that's just good fashion sense.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Movie review: Red Heat
Thumbs up to:
--Smart-alecky James Belushi in one of his finest roles.
--Arnold ripping a dude's wooden leg off.
--Naked Russian ladies in the steam room.
Thumbs down to:
--Arnold playing it too serious to deliver any amazing catchphrases like, "I'll be back" (Terminator), "Killian! I'll be back" (Running Man) or "I'll be back" (Total Recall). Also would have accepted, "It's not a tumor!"
--Naked (mostly) Russian dudes in the steam room.
Verdict: 8 stars (out of five)
--Smart-alecky James Belushi in one of his finest roles.
--Arnold ripping a dude's wooden leg off.
--Naked Russian ladies in the steam room.
Thumbs down to:
--Arnold playing it too serious to deliver any amazing catchphrases like, "I'll be back" (Terminator), "Killian! I'll be back" (Running Man) or "I'll be back" (Total Recall). Also would have accepted, "It's not a tumor!"
--Naked (mostly) Russian dudes in the steam room.
Verdict: 8 stars (out of five)
Monday, February 26, 2007
Since I'm doing nothing else
I'll add another post (that's three today). I'm watching Red Heat and, even though I'm only two minutes in and haven't gotten to the opening credits yet, I can already say that this is my favorite movie of all time. It begins with a bunch of enormous Russian dudes wearing nothing but loincloths pumping iron inside what looks like a Turkish bath. Meanwhile, totally naked sexy Russian ladies swim around. Co-ed steam rooms--I didn't realize the Soviet Union was so progressive. Thanks a lot, Reagan. Anyway, for some reason Arnold Schwarzenegger just punched some fat guy who looks Hawaiian through a window and into the snow. Then he tumbled out the window with some other huge dude. So now the three of them are fighting in the snow in their loincloths. And the sound effects are amazing--each punch sounds like a tree splitting in half. That's as much as I've seen, but it's incredible and I expect it to only get better from here. I mean, we haven't even gotten to James Belushi yet.
By the way, I love the people who write their own reviews on Netflix and trash movies like Red Heat because the acting is bad, the cinematography is uninspired or the plot is unrealistic. What, exactly, were they expecting from a movie staring Arnold and Jimmy Belushi as mismatched cops from opposite sides of the Iron Curtain who must reluctantly team up to catch a drug lord who escapes from prison in the USSR and makes for Chicago, all the while realizing that maybe they're not so different and that there is hope for peace and understanding between our nations after all? Of course, I'm just guessing that's what happens, since I haven't watched the whole thing yet. But having seen Dragnet, Turner & Hooch, Running Scared, Beverly Hills Cop, 48 HRS, Lethal Weapon and Tango & Cash, I'm pretty confident.
Oh my god, Arnold just ripped off some guy's wooden leg and busted it open to reveal the cocaine hidden inside. I gotta go.
By the way, I love the people who write their own reviews on Netflix and trash movies like Red Heat because the acting is bad, the cinematography is uninspired or the plot is unrealistic. What, exactly, were they expecting from a movie staring Arnold and Jimmy Belushi as mismatched cops from opposite sides of the Iron Curtain who must reluctantly team up to catch a drug lord who escapes from prison in the USSR and makes for Chicago, all the while realizing that maybe they're not so different and that there is hope for peace and understanding between our nations after all? Of course, I'm just guessing that's what happens, since I haven't watched the whole thing yet. But having seen Dragnet, Turner & Hooch, Running Scared, Beverly Hills Cop, 48 HRS, Lethal Weapon and Tango & Cash, I'm pretty confident.
Oh my god, Arnold just ripped off some guy's wooden leg and busted it open to reveal the cocaine hidden inside. I gotta go.
What does it mean?
I woke up this morning early, about 6:30am, and I had been having this crazy dream. I was playing indoor soccer against Barry from EastEnders. But, instead of playing with a ball, I had to intercept a CD that Barry was trying to throw to a teammate. Which, I did. Then I raced down the field and stuck it into a boombox. I didn't recognize the music. End of show.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
BREAKING NEWS: Jake Jewsoegberg is Jewish!
However, he will never see the light of day in a Jewish cemetary because he has shot dirty ink into his skin that will never be gone ever ever or ever!
Saturday, February 24, 2007
the next great novel
let the eagles soar.
from rocky coast, to the golden shore.
hello dear friends, because I care for you as I do my totally rad killer Jeep (have you seen my Jeep? It totally kicks the shit out of Jake's compact station wagon (hey Jake, drive the kids to soccer practice much?)), I will now enlighten you with literary acumen.
Four score and seven years ago it was 1920. What does this mean, you ask? Nothing. I just know that none of you (except maybe Snafu) would know what 'Four score and seven years ago' means...and don't even try to tell me it has something to do with Chairman Lincoln's Getty's land address...and fuck you for thinking that.
My point: you are all stupid-meat-wagon-muscle-bound-bald-balding-balder-mutton chop wearing-idiot face having-under masculine-monkey people.
It is time to cry havoc and set free the dogs of war.
I've been sick as a dog for 2 years now and if I have to watch another episode of Seinfeld or fucking Sportscenter, I'm going to swim to Bainbridge Island like the little dolphin boy that I am. (note: I suck at swimming like Ginny does at bike riding to Vancouver and would probably turn back after 10 feet)
Time: present day.
Place: a roadside gas station in the desert.
boy #1: what are you looking at, sir?
(pause)
man #1: your stupid face, son. (pause) I wonder if you could provide me with a bit of information that would assist me with my travels?
boy #1: I'll try, sir. (pause) I been reading books since I was younger.
man #1: Reading books since you was younger? what the fuck hell does that mean?
boy #1: well, sir, I...
man #1: (quietly) son, do me and god and his son and his green pasture a favor and get me a map so I can get on my way to salvation.
boy #1: (pulls map out of his shirt pocket) here you go, sir.
man #1: (pulls out his wallet out of his shirt pocket) how much do I owe you?
boy #1: nothing sir, this one's on me.
man #1: oh. well I was planning on kicking you in the head for it.
(pause)
boy #1: nothing sir, this one's on me.
man #1: fuck.
boy #1: fuck?
man #1: fuck.
boy #1: fuck? what do you mean, sir?
(man #1 kicks boy#1 in the head. boy #1 falls to the ground.)
man #1: that's it. It had to end somehow.
(man #1 walks on his way to salvation.)
The End
I love you.
from rocky coast, to the golden shore.
hello dear friends, because I care for you as I do my totally rad killer Jeep (have you seen my Jeep? It totally kicks the shit out of Jake's compact station wagon (hey Jake, drive the kids to soccer practice much?)), I will now enlighten you with literary acumen.
Four score and seven years ago it was 1920. What does this mean, you ask? Nothing. I just know that none of you (except maybe Snafu) would know what 'Four score and seven years ago' means...and don't even try to tell me it has something to do with Chairman Lincoln's Getty's land address...and fuck you for thinking that.
My point: you are all stupid-meat-wagon-muscle-bound-bald-balding-balder-mutton chop wearing-idiot face having-under masculine-monkey people.
It is time to cry havoc and set free the dogs of war.
I've been sick as a dog for 2 years now and if I have to watch another episode of Seinfeld or fucking Sportscenter, I'm going to swim to Bainbridge Island like the little dolphin boy that I am. (note: I suck at swimming like Ginny does at bike riding to Vancouver and would probably turn back after 10 feet)
Time: present day.
Place: a roadside gas station in the desert.
boy #1: what are you looking at, sir?
(pause)
man #1: your stupid face, son. (pause) I wonder if you could provide me with a bit of information that would assist me with my travels?
boy #1: I'll try, sir. (pause) I been reading books since I was younger.
man #1: Reading books since you was younger? what the fuck hell does that mean?
boy #1: well, sir, I...
man #1: (quietly) son, do me and god and his son and his green pasture a favor and get me a map so I can get on my way to salvation.
boy #1: (pulls map out of his shirt pocket) here you go, sir.
man #1: (pulls out his wallet out of his shirt pocket) how much do I owe you?
boy #1: nothing sir, this one's on me.
man #1: oh. well I was planning on kicking you in the head for it.
(pause)
boy #1: nothing sir, this one's on me.
man #1: fuck.
boy #1: fuck?
man #1: fuck.
boy #1: fuck? what do you mean, sir?
(man #1 kicks boy#1 in the head. boy #1 falls to the ground.)
man #1: that's it. It had to end somehow.
(man #1 walks on his way to salvation.)
The End
I love you.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Hey you all...
Friday, February 16, 2007
Turns Out, I'm the Asshole
Maybe it's the incredible beating we take each Thursday. Maybe it's the lack of players. Or the amount of running with minimal--actually, no--no reward. Just punishment. It's cold out and my legs hurt and I just want to sit at home and eat some queso.
We're not unsung heroes. We're 90-pound weaklings. And I'm sick of getting dirt kicked in my face.
And so it was last night, when I was asked to leave a soccer game for the second time in my life. Am I proud of myself? Maybe a little. It sure felt good. Nothing like throwing a guy to the ground to work out a little pent out aggression. Besides taking off your Oakland Raiders belly-baring sweatshirt and pumping iron in the dark in tight acid-washed jeans as the sweat pours out of your luxuriously thick mullet and glistens on your giant, barabarian chest while your beautiful neighbor sits smoking and listening on the other side of the wall, smiling seductively at the primal sounds of you pumping a literal ton of iron. Of course.
We're not unsung heroes. We're 90-pound weaklings. And I'm sick of getting dirt kicked in my face.
And so it was last night, when I was asked to leave a soccer game for the second time in my life. Am I proud of myself? Maybe a little. It sure felt good. Nothing like throwing a guy to the ground to work out a little pent out aggression. Besides taking off your Oakland Raiders belly-baring sweatshirt and pumping iron in the dark in tight acid-washed jeans as the sweat pours out of your luxuriously thick mullet and glistens on your giant, barabarian chest while your beautiful neighbor sits smoking and listening on the other side of the wall, smiling seductively at the primal sounds of you pumping a literal ton of iron. Of course.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Reputed Ladies Man Reveals Himself a Boy
Many onlookers left the Luau last night disappointed, as reputed ladies man Bishop MacNamara failed to close the deal with an interested party. Said party was in fact a native Kansan woman who, according to several eyewitnesses, expressed definite interest in the notorious blogger and nanotechnologist MacNamara.
MacNamara attributes his presence at the Luau to a "shellacking" taken in Faun's Beard's weekly game. The sometime film actor and several teammates had retreated to the bar to drown their sorrows and, it turned out, take comfort in the lyrics of the also notorious B.I.G.
The lady in question is claimed to have initiated the encounter with a steathly approach to the open bar behind MacNamara, where she first addressed the group while waiting for her drinks. Reports have GinthMisterGrandeMax, fellow blogger (kind of), making nonsensical remarks, forcing the woman to take sanctuary in MacNamara's conversational sanity before retreating to her table.
MacNamara, all-around superstar, was presented with a second opportunity to close the deal when the woman returned to the bar slightly before midnight to close her tab. Despite several minutes in close proximity with the lady and the impending start of Valentine's Day, the generally talented MacNamara nonetheless failed to obtain a phone number, all to the great disbelief of his companions.
"She was hurting for a squirting" was the crude observation of one of Bishop MacNamara's teammates who was present during the encounters. MacNamara himself was made visibly uncomfortable by this statement.
In the end, the ladies man rep garnered by part-time model MacNamara has suffered a blow thanks to his boyish lack of cojones. Fellow blogger (kind of) Dick Trickle was heard to say, "grow a pair, jerkwad." Which pretty much sums it up.
MacNamara attributes his presence at the Luau to a "shellacking" taken in Faun's Beard's weekly game. The sometime film actor and several teammates had retreated to the bar to drown their sorrows and, it turned out, take comfort in the lyrics of the also notorious B.I.G.
The lady in question is claimed to have initiated the encounter with a steathly approach to the open bar behind MacNamara, where she first addressed the group while waiting for her drinks. Reports have GinthMisterGrandeMax, fellow blogger (kind of), making nonsensical remarks, forcing the woman to take sanctuary in MacNamara's conversational sanity before retreating to her table.
MacNamara, all-around superstar, was presented with a second opportunity to close the deal when the woman returned to the bar slightly before midnight to close her tab. Despite several minutes in close proximity with the lady and the impending start of Valentine's Day, the generally talented MacNamara nonetheless failed to obtain a phone number, all to the great disbelief of his companions.
"She was hurting for a squirting" was the crude observation of one of Bishop MacNamara's teammates who was present during the encounters. MacNamara himself was made visibly uncomfortable by this statement.
In the end, the ladies man rep garnered by part-time model MacNamara has suffered a blow thanks to his boyish lack of cojones. Fellow blogger (kind of) Dick Trickle was heard to say, "grow a pair, jerkwad." Which pretty much sums it up.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
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