Bizarre weekend.
Watched Pulp Fiction on Friday with Mands. I forgot, that movie has almost as many good one-liners as Fight Club.
“Did you see a sign on my house that said ‘Dead Nigger Storage’?”
Picked up trash hella early on Saturday morning (I swear it wasn’t for community service). Now I bear an unholy grudge against anyone who throws their cigarette butts on the sidewalk 3 feet from a trash can.
Played around with my iTalk and marveled at is splenderificity in conjunction with my new 20 GB color iPod. God, I am turning into such a technology-whore. A magpie that lines my nest with more shiny gadgets than I can ever use.
Decided not to go to the Brothel party and instead watched Crash. And after listening to Portis Head all day *and* going to Wal-Mart, I was pretty depressed. The world can be such a fucking ugly place sometimes.
But like any good conservative-libertarian (I walked out on the first day of International Relations freshman year when the professor made a snide comment about Reagan) I have decided to ignore the unsightly malignancy that is America and instead chose to numb my pain with an excruciating 37 mile bike ride to the Missouri River this afternoon on a bike seat not much wider than Paris Hilton’s nose.
I will keep you updated on whether or not I ever regain feeling in my taint.
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3 comments:
Oh the ENDLESS possibilities presented by that last line that every ounce of restraint in my body is keeping me from pouncing upon!
I haven't heard the term "taint" used in a long, long time. Perhaps because we are all carted around by limos here. But, the "taint" still exists and is a neglected region long due a story on the Discovery Channel. I would say the only two likely candidates for hosted the show would be you or Prince Harry. (Or maybe both)
Mands-
Yes. "If you get a pot-belly I would punch you in it." Love.
Craiger-
Hmm, I seem to remember last night...Too much! Too much! Love!
Ms. Bees-
You would be you old dirty bird. You are worse than Alexis.Love.
The Mrs-
Harry used to be hot. I have a thing for redheads. You know, very Howard Roark. Love.
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