So I was watching "Fellowship of the Ring" again...
and it gets to the point where Frodo's been stabbed by the badasses in black and he's all "ooh I'm hurt wahwahwah" and then Liv Tyler comes along and runs away (like a girl, natch) with the wee one. She's looking foxy in her elf-ears and semi-transparent clothes and a light goes off in my head. Wasn't she pregnant recently? And didn't she say that she'd pose naked after she had the baby? The answers, of course, are yes and yes.
Time to pay the piper, sweetheart.
Moving along...
Not a whole lot up with your beloved Imperator. I had gradschool orientation a few days ago. And it felt really, really weird. It's been four years since I was in school, and a lot of the people in my program are of the super-motivated variety. As most of you know, I am not one of those people. Then they start sounding off about how they went to Columbia and Stanford and so on. And then I feel like someone with a blazer is going to take me aside (they always wear blazers...fuckers) and say: "Mr. Caesar, I'm sure you understand we find this very embarassing, but it seems there's been a bit of a mistake. You actually should not be here and I'm afraid these two burly gentlemen with barcodes tattoed on their necks will have to 'escort' you off the property. Oh, and we're keeping your money too. Ta!" That feeling makes me want to set something on fire.
The day of my wedding approaches evermore close. That's a bright light in an otherwise pretty dim corner of the world. NonScarlett GF will arrive in all her glory, goats will be sacrificied, and linens will be bought. Speaking of linens, should anyone be of a mind to buy something as a contribution to NonScarlett GF's dowry, may I suggest something from here (bwo boing boing). I haven't passed this by the future missus yet, but I have a feeling she'd approve. And that feeling also makes me want to set something on fire.
Revisiting this earlier post: Fox has fucked me again. Not only do they have a show starring Carrot Top's less endearing cousin, they moved the best program to grace broadcast television in many many years to Monday night. Why is that so bad? Because Monday night is the ONLY NIGHT OF THE WEEK I HAVE CLASS. Maybe the memo about the world stopping and starting at my convenience got lost. But you and I know that's not what happened. Rupert Murdoch thinks I'll just bend over and take it like a prag in gen-pop. That's why I'm saying this now: I'll see you in Thunderdome, motherfucker. You know the rule. Two men enter, one man leaves. Seriously, I need to get tivo or something.
And Natalie Portman has a mohawk. She hasn't been this hot since she was ten years old. As Dennis Leary said, "I'm going to hell for that bit...and you're all coming with me."
Finally, here's a few bits of goodness from screenhead:
Time to pay the piper, sweetheart.
Moving along...
Not a whole lot up with your beloved Imperator. I had gradschool orientation a few days ago. And it felt really, really weird. It's been four years since I was in school, and a lot of the people in my program are of the super-motivated variety. As most of you know, I am not one of those people. Then they start sounding off about how they went to Columbia and Stanford and so on. And then I feel like someone with a blazer is going to take me aside (they always wear blazers...fuckers) and say: "Mr. Caesar, I'm sure you understand we find this very embarassing, but it seems there's been a bit of a mistake. You actually should not be here and I'm afraid these two burly gentlemen with barcodes tattoed on their necks will have to 'escort' you off the property. Oh, and we're keeping your money too. Ta!" That feeling makes me want to set something on fire.
The day of my wedding approaches evermore close. That's a bright light in an otherwise pretty dim corner of the world. NonScarlett GF will arrive in all her glory, goats will be sacrificied, and linens will be bought. Speaking of linens, should anyone be of a mind to buy something as a contribution to NonScarlett GF's dowry, may I suggest something from here (bwo boing boing). I haven't passed this by the future missus yet, but I have a feeling she'd approve. And that feeling also makes me want to set something on fire.
Revisiting this earlier post: Fox has fucked me again. Not only do they have a show starring Carrot Top's less endearing cousin, they moved the best program to grace broadcast television in many many years to Monday night. Why is that so bad? Because Monday night is the ONLY NIGHT OF THE WEEK I HAVE CLASS. Maybe the memo about the world stopping and starting at my convenience got lost. But you and I know that's not what happened. Rupert Murdoch thinks I'll just bend over and take it like a prag in gen-pop. That's why I'm saying this now: I'll see you in Thunderdome, motherfucker. You know the rule. Two men enter, one man leaves. Seriously, I need to get tivo or something.
And Natalie Portman has a mohawk. She hasn't been this hot since she was ten years old. As Dennis Leary said, "I'm going to hell for that bit...and you're all coming with me."
Finally, here's a few bits of goodness from screenhead:
- Commercial adveritizing as it should be.
- A LOTR remix that one could put on European radio and absolutely no one on the continent would think you are making a joke.
- Finally, a flash-animation retelling of Star Wars Episode IV. Words can't accurately describe this one, but suffice it to say I have a huge kill-boner right now.
That is all.
