Saw it. Simple and succinct. It should be mandatory viewing beginning in Grade 8. (or 8th Grade for you U.S. heathens. What do the Aussies call it? Fozzy-fuckaroo X8??)
On my phone, I can't see as much of the quote that QB quoted for her comment. I just assume she meant this:
In Soviet Canada: 0= freezing. 100= boiling. Easy math yes, comrade? The areas of 16-23 is the "Comfort Zone" when the weather feels perfect. About what it would be right now we're it not for the FUCKING RAIN. COME ON, BRO. Every fucking May 2-4 weekend it pisses rain around here. This is a not very chill way to kick off the warm season. Beer is meant to be taken in while being outside now.
I just read that Demolition Man predicted driverless cars, skype, GPS, Arnold Schwartzenegger's political career, and the demise of Wesley Snipes. I have to rewatch this, because all I remember was "how the fuck do the three seashells work?" And wondering if Stallone was planning to kill Rob Schneider in real life.
Just dropped $2600 on a washer dryer set. That should shut up the wife for a while. I'm drowning my sorrows in Shiner's prickly pear seasonal.
Sirius XM's blues channel has been playing non-stop B.B. King all weekend. I can't really complain about that. Somehow every one of his songs manages to be better than pretty much anything else on the radio. I think he was the last of his generation - a real hard blues musician, and by far the best-known throughout the world at that, and I think Eric Clapton and Jimmy Page are the only guitarists left alive who could match him for stature and talent. I'd bet a good chunk of change the vast majority of people my age would give you a blank stare if you asked them who B.B. King was a week ago. The other evening I was having a talk about music with a colleague. "You should buy Taylor Swift's vinyl!" she said. "I really like that new song, 'Style'". Radio pop has its place, I suppose. But the sheer amount of soul in his performances should make anyone embarrassed to admit liking a Taylor Swift song.
Because I know there are a few older members on this board, I'm taking this opportunity to provide you with some ideas for your weekend activities.
Are they sharing the oxygen tank? And is it part of the sex techniques or a medical necessity? Asking for a friend.
Sweet baby Jesus does my body hate me. And alcohol isn't even the main reason. If I was a dog I would have been taken out the back and shot a long time ago.
Holy shit do I have no energy today... made a trip to Home Depot for some electrical stuff and have proceeded to sit in a lawn chair, in the sun, drinking a beer, and stare at the bag all the stuff came in. I swear I half expect it to install itself. I had to fight to motivate myself to grab another beer out of the fridge.
Oh yeah... this happened a few blocks down from where I live: http://www.castanet.net/news/West-Kelowna/140049/Dynamite-removed I have some stupid fucking neighbours. "Oh look, here's a bag full of old dynamite... that's dangerous! We'd better save the little kids from it by TAKING IT TO WHERE THEY LIVE." Had to call the bomb squad in from Vancouver to remove it, after evacuating the entire neighbourhood. Happy long weekend, everybody! Apparently it was old and degraded/unstable enough that the bomb squad was quite surprised it didn't blow up on the trip to the trailer park in the first place.
If they were smart would that be more surprising? I think trailer parks and dumb people are kind of like KFC and obese people
I don't go straight to the "trailer trash" stereotype... I know a few people that work at mills, etc., that are somewhat transient, and live in a nice trailer rather than buy/sell a house every two years, and they're far from dumb. Sure, stereotypes usually exist for a reason, but I tend to give trailer park inhabitants the benefit of the doubt. Until they bring home a backpack full of old dynamite, that is.
Somewhere I have a picture of the Anchorage bomb squad disposing of a dangerous carrot salt shaker behind my house. I came home from work one day and found the thing sitting in my driveway. I examined it and determined it was a salt shaker, orange, carrot shaped. I disposed of it by throwing it across the alley at the dirt bag apartments it probably originated from. Two days later, there was the bomb squad. Apparently the dirt bag whose apartment it landed in front of was part of the lunatic fringe. (He once knocked on my door and handed me brochures for the NAAWP, a group of racist fuck-o's. ) He called it in as bomb.
I hope you were the gentlemanly neighbour and provided him the matching pepper grinder with conveniently inlaid clock a few days later.