These Are My Gifts.
Anyone remember that line? 10 points at the end, if you can ferret through all the movies clogging your heads for that bit of crazy.
Now, the line does have a bit to do with this post, because this weekend I've been verily blessed with several gifts. And I mean "gifts" in the tangible sense and not an egotistical lookie-here-how-I'm-gifted sort of way.
First up, courtesy of Gina, comes this care package to soothe the edges of my Friday deadline (which I kicked in the ass, I'm happy to say)...
I didn't need to open the handmade and stamped envelope to know I was going to be shitting myself with glee about the contents, it's enough that readers even think about doing stuff like this (of course, now I must stalk Gina in a very scary way, but I figure she knew that going in). But I did open it and promptly ran for a bowl of water and the camera. Couldn't resist, not after last year's Holy Ghost/smegma (or is it shmegma?) mishap.
So, we'll be dropping in on Mr. Skeleton periodically. I fully expect that this time, the growth will be positively spooky.
Next up--and this may be more of a curse than a gift--Smokey.
I really don't have anything poignant to say about my little shitter, except well...here you go Cherie, another cute dog pic. THE TONGUE!!!
On Sunday, Caroline and I went to see Ben Stiller and Justin Theroux's skewering of the Hollywood asshole-set, Tropic Thunder.
I loved it. and not in a heartwarming way.
Tropic is my kind of movie. It celebrates the offensive and shanks political correctness in that thoroughly tongue-in-cheek way that can only lead to picketing (I don't know why it continues to surprise me that people don't get satire).
I'm not saying this flick is a masterpiece of comedy by any stretch--in fact it sort of fizzles in the third act (until Tom Cruise reminds us why he's still relevant)--what I will say is I haven't laughed like that since Jaye Wells, Leah Hodge and I came up with official gang sign for Oklahoma (and I nearly peed myself at that, let alone Jaye and Leah).
Sure there are protesters angry about this or that. There always will be. I propose a cure for being offended. Ridicule. If everyone is subject to embarrassing jokes and humiliation then it becomes a joining experience. No one is sacred...or safe. NO ONE.
Do you see the logic?
You get yourself some tough skin or, hell...Darwinism in Effect, y'all!
One last thing...
Patrice Michelle goes to some weird ass places on the weekend. Case in point, The Bunghole (seen above). Apparently, she was with her husband on this latest trip, or at least that's what she says. Many people find exploring the bunghole embarrassing and often keep it to themselves. Not Patrice. She sends pictures.
Thanks for the gifts!
Now, the line does have a bit to do with this post, because this weekend I've been verily blessed with several gifts. And I mean "gifts" in the tangible sense and not an egotistical lookie-here-how-I'm-gifted sort of way.
First up, courtesy of Gina, comes this care package to soothe the edges of my Friday deadline (which I kicked in the ass, I'm happy to say)...
I didn't need to open the handmade and stamped envelope to know I was going to be shitting myself with glee about the contents, it's enough that readers even think about doing stuff like this (of course, now I must stalk Gina in a very scary way, but I figure she knew that going in). But I did open it and promptly ran for a bowl of water and the camera. Couldn't resist, not after last year's Holy Ghost/smegma (or is it shmegma?) mishap.
So, we'll be dropping in on Mr. Skeleton periodically. I fully expect that this time, the growth will be positively spooky.
Next up--and this may be more of a curse than a gift--Smokey.
I really don't have anything poignant to say about my little shitter, except well...here you go Cherie, another cute dog pic. THE TONGUE!!!
On Sunday, Caroline and I went to see Ben Stiller and Justin Theroux's skewering of the Hollywood asshole-set, Tropic Thunder.
I loved it. and not in a heartwarming way.
Tropic is my kind of movie. It celebrates the offensive and shanks political correctness in that thoroughly tongue-in-cheek way that can only lead to picketing (I don't know why it continues to surprise me that people don't get satire).
I'm not saying this flick is a masterpiece of comedy by any stretch--in fact it sort of fizzles in the third act (until Tom Cruise reminds us why he's still relevant)--what I will say is I haven't laughed like that since Jaye Wells, Leah Hodge and I came up with official gang sign for Oklahoma (and I nearly peed myself at that, let alone Jaye and Leah).
Sure there are protesters angry about this or that. There always will be. I propose a cure for being offended. Ridicule. If everyone is subject to embarrassing jokes and humiliation then it becomes a joining experience. No one is sacred...or safe. NO ONE.
Do you see the logic?
You get yourself some tough skin or, hell...Darwinism in Effect, y'all!
One last thing...
Patrice Michelle goes to some weird ass places on the weekend. Case in point, The Bunghole (seen above). Apparently, she was with her husband on this latest trip, or at least that's what she says. Many people find exploring the bunghole embarrassing and often keep it to themselves. Not Patrice. She sends pictures.
Thanks for the gifts!
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