Month: January 2010

Conan the Barbarian – Meaning of life? “To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of the women.” Nuf said.

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8 Mile-poor white rapper chokes in battle. Has rough life and relationships. Friends supportive. Kills it at the end. Go white boy, go!!!

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50 First Dates – Slut boy hits on amnesia girl. She repeats same day over and over. He falls in love. Makes it work through videos & a boat.

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Some folks are following this blog via Facebook’s Netblog app which is awesome.  There are currently 12 of you out there right now.  If I get 20 “followers” I get access to stats information via Facebook.  Please, please if you’re reading the site and on Facebook, hook a brother up and click the “Follow This Blog” button.

Tell your friends and family too.  They don’t have to read it and it’s certainly no worse than the daily spam on Facebook about shooting Russian mob bosses, stupid lost cows, butt finger soup recipes, or a quiz that will tell you if you’re really a man or not (and what your personality type is to boot!).

 I just need 8 more people.

What if I gave away prizes?  OK.  The 20th  follower will receive… hey, that won’t work because then everyone will just wait to be #20 and no one will be #13-#19.  I need to think this through.  While I’m thinking, follow the blog.

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I’m one of the most easily bored people I’ve ever met.  I have the attention span of a walnut and my interest level in any said activity wanes faster than an addict’s bankroll on buy one get one free crack ball day.  Does crack come in balls?  I don’t know.  I actually have no first hand knowledge of crack.  That’d be an easy explanation as to why my brain runs off the rails so often, but I just think my rails are different from everyone else’s.  Or perhaps they’re the same and I’ve just switched down a different track from the pack.  I suddenly want to go buy a model train set.  Woo-woo-buckaroo!  A cowboy themed train set apparently.  This opening paragraph is a great example of my lack of mental cohesion.

Anyway, listen.  So I was watching one of the greatest cinematic epic tales ever to be recorded in the annals (2 n’s ok, 1 n-gross) of history.  Of course I mean Kindergarten Cop.  Arnold’s finest work opposite some rug monsters that yielded such wonderful gems as “It’s not a tumor”, “How are you?”, “Yeah”, “Stop it!”, and “Who is your daddy and what does he do?”.  Through tears of giggliness, I noticed in one of the classroom scenes (I believe it was the one during the firedrill when the kid is happily dancing on the table yelling “I’m on fire! I’m on fire!”) that there was one of those old turny-crank handle versions of a pencil sharpener nailed to the wall by the door.  Boy did that bring back memories of wasting time as a very small Monty.

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