Finkle. You heard me right. I said Finkle. Mmm, maybe I spelled it wrong. Finkel? Yup, that's the first thing I wanted to write for this go-round.
Ok, let's talk King Kong. The movie, that is. I watched it this week. I say week because I think the running time on it is somewhere around 2.3 months. Is there anything worse than a 3+ hour movie that could easily be an hour shorter? Cripes.
So, anyway, here's my thing about this flick. So, Kong does all this dumb stuff, like climb the Empire State Building, which essentially gets him killed, because he's in love? Um, no. If any other dude did dumb stuff like this, everyone would say we're "thinking with the little head." Yet Kong gets off the hook. Nonsense!
And don't give me that noise about love. We all know that if Kong was anywhere near Naomi Watts' size, he'd have tried to boink her. He'd be in some bar, thumping his chest, throwing down shots like nobody's business, and buying her drinks. You know it. I know it. So it is.
I love stuff like this. I'm in the WalMart Vision Center (that's right ... nothing but the best for my eyes - it's no wonder I get beer goggles!), and there's a sign that reads "we except all major insurance." Hmm ... except? Except what?
Another. I'm driving home from the gym last night, and it's about 8:15. It's a friggin' monsoon - lightning, thunder, the works. On the radio, I hear a reporter note that there's a Severe Weather Warning until 8:00 for Baltimore City. Uh ... is that Pacific time?
My DSL went down for a bit last night. It was a little bizarre. I had to go old school for my porn, magazine style. I felt like I was living in a log cabin or something.
The furballs are back in hell. I feel so badly for them when it gets toasty like this. The Fat One will spread out as much as possible on the floor. It's like a living bearskin rug or The Blob has invaded my house. They also triple the amount of fur that flies off their bodies as well. Nuttin' better than hopping out of the shower and immediately being furred.
Living alone is great ... except when you get out of the shower and realize you forgot to get a towel. Sort of a helpless feeling, standing there dripping away. The cats use this as a chance to cruise by the door and snicker. Twerps.
I woke up this morning with "Elvira" by the Statler Brothers in my head. Talk about an ominous sign. Giddy up a oom papa oom papa ma ma. My reaction when I realized that was in my head? Eep!
Ok, let's talk King Kong. The movie, that is. I watched it this week. I say week because I think the running time on it is somewhere around 2.3 months. Is there anything worse than a 3+ hour movie that could easily be an hour shorter? Cripes.
So, anyway, here's my thing about this flick. So, Kong does all this dumb stuff, like climb the Empire State Building, which essentially gets him killed, because he's in love? Um, no. If any other dude did dumb stuff like this, everyone would say we're "thinking with the little head." Yet Kong gets off the hook. Nonsense!
And don't give me that noise about love. We all know that if Kong was anywhere near Naomi Watts' size, he'd have tried to boink her. He'd be in some bar, thumping his chest, throwing down shots like nobody's business, and buying her drinks. You know it. I know it. So it is.
I love stuff like this. I'm in the WalMart Vision Center (that's right ... nothing but the best for my eyes - it's no wonder I get beer goggles!), and there's a sign that reads "we except all major insurance." Hmm ... except? Except what?
Another. I'm driving home from the gym last night, and it's about 8:15. It's a friggin' monsoon - lightning, thunder, the works. On the radio, I hear a reporter note that there's a Severe Weather Warning until 8:00 for Baltimore City. Uh ... is that Pacific time?
My DSL went down for a bit last night. It was a little bizarre. I had to go old school for my porn, magazine style. I felt like I was living in a log cabin or something.
The furballs are back in hell. I feel so badly for them when it gets toasty like this. The Fat One will spread out as much as possible on the floor. It's like a living bearskin rug or The Blob has invaded my house. They also triple the amount of fur that flies off their bodies as well. Nuttin' better than hopping out of the shower and immediately being furred.
Living alone is great ... except when you get out of the shower and realize you forgot to get a towel. Sort of a helpless feeling, standing there dripping away. The cats use this as a chance to cruise by the door and snicker. Twerps.
I woke up this morning with "Elvira" by the Statler Brothers in my head. Talk about an ominous sign. Giddy up a oom papa oom papa ma ma. My reaction when I realized that was in my head? Eep!
posted by AxnJxn at 8:13 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home