Friday, May 05, 2006

i don't care where -- just far away

whoever invented vertical blinds should be arrested in the middle of the night, bagged in a pillowcase, and drug out into the street in full view of his family and neighbors. my kids have a knack for destroying things, and vertical blinds are just too easy a target. grrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

i recently saw an online plug or review for the latest mission: impossible installment. the title was "mission: impossible iii, does it deliver the goods?" i think the more import question is: do we care?

why is it that when they make a sequel to a horror movie, it is never two hours' worth of therapy sessions as the main character struggles to return to normal after all the horrible experiences they have suffered? i know i have put this one forth before, but i mean, c'mon. really. are we just figuring that they get over it cause the sun comes out the next morning or what? take a look at real people that have dealt with extremely traumatic experiences. but apparently, if you manage to outrun the slasher/demon/evil spirit or whatever, and conquer it, you recoup easily. it is just in your nature.

feliz cinco de mayo to those as da un bledo. i, for my part, plan on getting out of work as early as possible and doing a few tequila shots before i am completely exhausted and sack out. there used to be a time when i would've tried to get together all my friends, have mexican food, coronas or jose cuervo, and really throw it down. especially if it fell on a friday like it does this year. but let's face it, o my long-suffering droogs and only friends, this little malchickiwick is just getting too old, and is too tired all the time to be throwing shindiggities like he used to. last time i did tequila shots to any extent, i sliced the fuck out of my thumb cutting a lemon wedge, sat in front of the computer crying for no reason, and ended up in the bathroom with my head in the toilet bawling and calling myself pathetic and telling my wife she should leave me. but, in all fairness, i started that evening out on vodka tonics, and when the smirnoff ran out, switched to tequila. and, before the whole rig hit the skids and tailspinned into the above-mentioned stupidity, i was having a great time playing the fuck out of the drums while p played the guitar and laughing and acting silly. i think it was the cut thumb thing that made it go tits-up. who knows?

and because i really hate, and i mean fucking hate ending on a downer, try this some time: my wife and i like to play a game. she tells me a celebrity that is on her "list", and i tell her what's wrong with them physically. for example: tom cruise, of the aforementioned mission: nobody cares. my wife thinks he's pretty hot. short, big nose, huge teeth. brad pitt, squinty eyes, huge teeth (there seems to be a requirement to be famous and sexy, you must have huge teeth) and a penchant for skipping showers. i don't limit it to hers either, lets pick a few of mine: nicole kidman, (this is almost just too easy), skinny, pale as fuck, huge teeth. angelina jolie, (and i know a bunch of you out there are currently saying, "wait a fucking minute, don't you dare go there!" but turn off your libidos for a moment and lets look at her, shall we?) the whole reason we find angelina jolie hot is cause she is a genetic mutation. huge boobs, huge eyes, huge lips, huge teeth. the girl is just not right. but what is not right about her is soooooooooo nice. someone pass me a towel, i've got a puddle of drool forming all around me. better make it a few towels. better make it a wetvac.

the word you're searching for is "deftones", hahahahaha.

darth sardonic


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