That nobody EVER drops (or even lowers) their gun when you tell them to ''put the gun down?'' And yet, still we do. Why is that?
What fools these mortals be. It's called an education, try to get one. And stay off the pipe.
Unless you're cute and it's mine.
That no matter how unattractive a woman might be (I've been rating the pix of some of the chicks on Judge My Sex.com of late; hey, some folks golf, this is what I do with my all-too limited free time), put a cock in her mouth, and she's the Mona Lisa?
So to speak.
And yes, this is an all-too-subtle hint directed at those young starlets what are at a crossroads in their career. Am I really that transparent? Yes, Lindsay, this means YOU.
So, kiddies, since Season II of Dexter begins this weekend and since Mandy Moore will be guesting on Monday's season premiere of How I Met Your Mother (believe me, you don't want to know what I did to the bitch after I met her) and, since I've FINALLY been able to revisit episodes of 90210 The College Years (whatever happened to the last of the Hardcore troubadors, Jamie Walters, anyway?)...I find myself in a philosophical Bent (Song of the Day: Matchbox 20) of late.
As opposed to my usual state of just common ordinary everyday Bent, naturellement.
Word around the campfire has it that Buffalo Bills Tight End Kevin Everett (no, the hit he took didn't look like much, but then again, sometimes it don't take much) may soon begin walking again. Here's hoping. I know that all the folks here at Suavely Deranged Inc. are pulling for a rapid and complete recovery for him.
It just dawned on me (yeah, I know, something about a ton of bricks) that the fact a kinda cute, relatively exotic-looking chick at work knows my name and I've nary an inkling as to hersaffords me the opportunity to run my version of the ''if I have to have a stalker, I'm glad she's at least cute'' routine on her. Good Times. And yes, I HAVE been clocking the reruns of Good Times on Deja View occasionally of late.
I have another coworker what looks kinda like a Filipino Florida Evans. I'm just saying.
Speaking of work, plans are in the works to extricate me from my current gig and return me to my roots.
I was sorry to hear that The Wreckers were in town opening for Keith Urban the other night. Mostly because I discovered this little fact about an hour after the concert. And, of course, the fact that I discovered yesterday, whilst bemoaning the Fates, that the geophysicist turned down free tickets for said concert. Silly geophysicist.
And she's been dropping subtle little hints about what she'd like for her birthday on the 27th. Now, I'm all in favor of accepting help in such areas. And I'm ALL about being a little creative with the gift giving, mostly doing so on completely random occasions. But where, prithee, am I ever going to find her a flamethrower? Yeah, sometimes she's Cool like that.
Oh, I suppose you talk about work and family and the usual shit with the womenfolks. Me, not so much. That's just not how I roll.
I was thrilled to catch a rerun of Diff'rent Strokes the other day (always did love me some Dana Plato) on which the guest star was a then relatively unknown future foul mouthed comedian (and personal hero of mine) by the name of Andrew Dice Clay. I knew he'd been on M.A.S.H., but this was a pleasant surprise.
I'd sell crack to nuns just to sniff the hammer of the guy what's nailing Veronika Raquel.
Or is it guys? What can I say? I've seen some pix and stumbled acrost her spot on Judge My Sex.com, and I've become smitten.
Well, that and I just really like saying the above phrase. Merely one of the myriad of ways in which I'm funny like that.
O.J. Simpson? Damn, that name sounds familiar.
Ain't he Ashlee and Jessica (every day brings them one day Closer to porn)'s pops?
Um, dude, everybody knows who you are. Everybody knows you're broke and kinda, you know, nuts (to let Psych 101 rear its ugly head and shit). There are all sorts of tourists and random dispensable-type folk (some folks just plain NEED killing) in my 2nd home Las Vegas, just dying for a glimpse of a celebrity. So, no matter how many times you might've seen Ocean's Eleven (hell, maybe he even read for it, who's to say?), attempting to knock over a casino is simply a REALLY bad idea.
Or so I've heard. After all, I'm harmless, I'm the boy next door.
Anyway, it's hard to believe that this man was once THE Man, ain't it? And no, not just because he was always taking a beatdown in the Naked Gun movies, either. He was The Juice, once rushing for over 2000 yards in a single NFL season. Hell, he even won the Heisman. Although the track record on other past winners ain't exactly sparkling, but still.
Well, I'm off to work on my online dating profile as my results of late have been quite disappointing.