Motherfucking Snakes Every-Goddamn-Where

Needless to say, I am looking forward to the B-movie spirited, A-movie budgeted, snake infested, extravaganza that is Snakes on a Plane. If 40's were sold in Florida, I'd buy you all a Schlitz. This makes me realize how amazing Samuel L. Jackson is. If anyone else was starring in this movie, I wouldn't be remotely interested. If this is true, then, scientifically speaking, the opposite must be true as well. A bad movie, after the inclusion of SLJ would instantly become good. A good movie would become great and the greats would become legendary. I propose we remake all movies, good and bad, and replace the male lead with Jackson. I'll start a short list of titles and rewritten dialogue. Feel free to add your own.
--L

1) Titanic: "Bitch, you betta get the fuck of that table or move over or something cause this water is cold as hell and I ain't no hero."

2) The Godfather: "Ya goddamn right he'll be a masculine child. Just look at me. I am the alpha male."

3) Alien: Sam: "What country are you from?"
Alien: Hisses
Sam: "ENGLISH, MOTHERFUCKER! DO-YOU-SPEAK-IT?"

4) Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone: "You point that goddamn wand at me one more time and it's going your eye. Do you understand me?"

Villainy

I have failed as a villain, and my enterprises as a scoundrel have only gone slightly better. You leave the table with your water glass unattended and I can only put the bread in your plate...after I've buttered it for you. I smoke my bread and drink my bread. Join me in a loaf. The children have returned and I wonder if they know I have four dimensions like everyone else. All I can think about is the fair in the distance, folding over the moldy towers downtown. I see the roller coaster and the ferris wheel. I wonder if I'll go this year to chase phantoms in a flimsy flyer. If I go I'll go drunk. And I wonder if this year will turn again and if there is an escape from the inevitable, the scripted, the rehearsed. I have practiced my role well but think I am better suited to write the script. If I could write, oh the things I'd write. It would be an unrealistic movie and there would be justice. The intangible would matter and pragmatism and ego-centrism would die with the hearts of those antagonists. The characters would grow and the ending would be happy. Thermodynamics and relativity would be relevant. There would be consequences. A hurricane would spring from a kiss because nothing unseen would be insignificant. But I would be blind, with knotted hands and a thick cane to crack.

Karaoke MADNESS!!!

Highlights. There were almost as many as there were drinks, but not quite. I tried earnestly to get drunk but no dice. Maybe karaoke is sobering. Watching people on stage pretending to be pretending. Strange voyeurism. But I'm thinking too much. Sorry Abel. Ultimately, it was top notch entertainment and it was free. Here's a collage: take Jesse singing Shakira in a cartoonish falsetto with Ed's head, headbanging away while Abel's tongue clicks percussion at Sarah who didn't really provide any comic relief on stage but actually sang really well after Rachel hired me for a new scare the creep contract until the boy toy arrives. Oh yeah, and don't play poker with Jesse cause he'll smoke your ass.

Um, yeah, okay

So I just read my last post and realized that if read in the wrong light it might seem like I was getting ready to go on a killing spree at the mall. Anyhow, I'm not. That wasn't even my intention. I guess it reads bad.

A hell of a way to start a blog

You’ve seen it in the movies when someone is buried alive. I think that’s how I feel right now. Allow me to extend this metaphor. I’ve been buried. I’m not in a coffin either; dirt is just being shoveled onto me so that I feel on the verge of being crushed. I am amazed at how heavy a grain can be when multiplied. That fucking grain of dirt. That particle. I have been deceived. I am buying lies and there is so much dirt that I can’t move. In my paralysis I find that I cannot speak but only move my fingers enough to feel the hardness of that packed soil. But inside there is a supernova. Age and weariness shoulder each other and amidst friction and electricity. Right now I don’t know which is winning: fear, pain, or rage. I think it’s rage, or tired out anger after a night of damp, muttering sleep. I want to destroy but am trying to direct it against myself. I am made a fool of. Out there in the static someone is laughing at me and if I ever see him he will remember meeting me. I am training. I can’t move right now. I can scarcely breathe. I try to do the right thing. Be honorable. Be noble. Just why in the hell do I do that? Maybe karma exists and I’m too small to see it. Maybe doing the right thing has spared me unknown horrors and I am too stupid, like all this dirt, to see it. Maybe, but it seems to me that the benefit goes inexorably to the scoundrel and to the villain and if that is the case, then encased in this earthy bed I train. I am becoming stronger. Once again I find myself in the ashes but I cannot be born, yet once again, to this pathetic life. I will make them remember me and when they are old (hopefully sooner) they will know what I was worth and that I am not someone to be trifled with.

This is a test

Yeah, so I don't quite know what to say...I'm testing this thing.