Let it be known that my last post was cruelly abbreviated by Blogger, who (and I tend to picture Blogger as a bloated, gum-chewing Suburbanite with his many sticky hands in many sticky pies) wouldn't let me publish more than a single line of self-hype when I was at my most self-hyper.
I would also, had Blogger allowed it, have directed you towards my myspace page, where I recently uploaded some bits of video. You need a myspace account of your own to view all three, I think, but I put one right on my profile, as a scream of LET THEM EAT CAKE to the bread-lacking masses. In my mind.
But rest assured, no longer am I content to rest on my laurels (if I had any, which I don't and never did, unless you count the orange Sports Day ribbons that were handed out to everyone including, probably, visiting parents and homeless people) and content myself with reading other people's well-written posts of quality. O no, not today! Not on, uh...
...Flemish Day!
So what does summer consist of, this year, for me?
The first thing that comes to mind, I'll admit, is that I've been drinking mugs of black tea every morning, at home, rather than rushing to the nearest Starbucks and ordering a venti chai tea latte in a paper cup. It's a satisfying change to my routine, see, because not only does it assuage my environmental guilt, it barely costs anything. And it features caffiene! The only downside, as I see it, is that I'm slowly morphing into a character from Inspector Morse. And they tend to be murdered.
What else: I've been renting movies again, obsessively. The Videomatica/Rogers/Blockbuster-as-a-last-resort people are toasting my return.
In my mind.
And as a result, I currently have a crush on the young Sam Raimi of 1982, for obvious reasons. I mean, I'm just like all the rest. I only want him for his body. When will I learn to get past superficial appearances and like a man for his inside parts? I do not know.
And with that thought, I leave you.
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17 comments:
I give this post a hearty "woot". In fact, it puts the heart in hearty. The gigantic pencil-crayoned heart.
Plus Sam Raimi is radzone times super II turbo. And you know why I think so.
I'm very glad to hear it.
And I've removed that link to the gigantic pencil-crayoned heart, for reasons of my own, so that nobody will understand your reference. First that "home of the beaver" fiasco, and now this!
Yes. Where still the mighty Moose barks down small wailing infants at will.
You and your crazy crushes. Who's next? Keith from the office? Now there's a looker, eh? I think you're starting to fancy him already. You silly git. Go'on an get 'im before he slips thro the wee crack o' your fingers.
I give this post three stars out of three stars. Three stars being the best score you can get. The worst score? Zero stars. See how this works? It's like counting, only with stars.
You just don't understand my high-minded tastes, Kimbo. If three stars is the most you can get, little Sami Raimi gets THE MOON.
Marian is a PONY.
Have you registered for classes yet?
Saucy minxes, the whole squealing lot of you.
I AM a pony.
One of the questionable perks of being a creative writing major is that you don't register yourself. The faculty secretary does it for you. Only she hasn't done it yet, because there have been "problems with the system". But we are assured that she will, in fact, register us, and asked to refrain from filling her inbox with complaints.
At least I know now what classes I'll be taking, and how many. (3).
You do the multiple link thing smart. I'll have you know that I copied you a little bit, with that.
I have to write it here, before Jeremy accuses me of it.
Sam Raimi from Maniac Cop and Maniac Cop 2? Oh he's the sexiest!
(snickers)
I am a man. And as a man I am worried by the growing trend of crush-posts relating to men who were once young, but are not no more. I am verging on oldlyness, and while during my youngly years I was really crush worthy, I still think my death metal haykoos can melt the heart of manys a fair maid. I here by proclame this month "old man crush month".
Kim/Ciaran - You have the right to remain silent... FOREVER.
Hick Bob - You're preaching to the converted. I might as well be Queen Crush of Old Man Lovin' Island. That doesn't concern me. Frankly, I think it's old women that deserve a little more infatuation thrown their way.
Judy Dench, for example, is mad hot, and I want her to be my valentine.
Sigh. Lady Dench is cool, but not hot. Proof? Imagine getting down in it. You know what it would be like, don't you? Dry, overcooked egg white.
THAT IS NOT OKAY.
I don't want to eat her out, alright? I just want to go for nice... walks with her. OR SOMETHING. JESUS.
MARIAN UNDERSTANDS.
You want to go on walks with her that end in HOT OVERCOOKED EGGWHITE SLURPING.
Oh dude. No. For serious reals no.
I just want to watch movies that feature her. THAT FEATURE HER TALKING. Not doing anything untoward. Not even talking about doing anything untoward.
Now I have to go take a very hot shower in order to cleanse the FILTH from my EYEBALLS after reading that APALLING COMMENT.
Idonotloveyouegg.
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