1) This is George.
2) This is the gas George buys for his car.
3) This is the oil company executive who makes money on the gas George buys.
4) This is the terrorist organization supported by money from the country where the oil company does business.
5) We all know what this is.
6) The biggest weapon of mass destruction is parked in your driveway.
Jeez, somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.
Oh, yeah: we‘ll be in NYC this weekend.
Details to follow.
What the ?!?!?!
Either CNN posted the beginning of a previously unknown H. P. Lovecraft story, or the Yukon’s making some kick-ass crack.
Maybe I’m jaded. Maybe I set my expectations too high. Maybe I’m overcaffienated. But one thing’s for sure:
Autofocus sucks.
Yeah, the title sequence is good, and I was happy to see that the movie wasn’t art-directed to within an inch of its life (unlike another flick about porn in the 70s I could name), but in the end, Autofocus amounts to little more than a director sitting on his ass for two hours, making facile moral judgements instead of giving you the opportunity to care about the characters. I mean, Entertainment Tonight could have made a less cliched piece of tripe.
For those of you considering filmic forms of amusement this weekend, you’ve been warned.
eight zen questions for modern life
Of the 27 people on-duty at Kinko’s, why is there only one cashier?
When does “no cheese” actually mean “no cheese” to a Taco Bell employee?
Why does my keyboard have a greater affinity for Diet Pepsi than I?
Why do people insist on sending html email?
Why does my Windows folder view keep changing long after I’ve set the default options?
Why can’t money buy Bill Gates a good gay hairdresser?
Don’t you know who I am?
How did you get this number?
seven adjectives for a monday at 5:06pm
dreary
bleary
shrill
chill
loathsome
uninspired
fluorescent
Oh yeah: I wrote for someone else again. It’s pure mendacity, but it comes with a paycheck.
You can tell it’s slow around here ’cause I’m tidying up. Don’t get used to it.
My excitement over certain things only reaffirms the fact that I am, indeed, a complete dork.
It‘s kinda weird: just the other day, I was saying how no one really speaks of snipers any more. As a phenomenon, snipers fall into the same general category as flashers, streakers, and those who create macrame.
They want a profile? Try looking for (a) a 40 – 50 year old male with a history of stalking Jaquelyn Smith lookalikes, or (b) someone 20 – 30 with retro tastes that could best be described as terminally hip (and I do mean terminally).
