Chipmunks In My Pants
I was looking forward to this weekend as the first weekend since May when I would not be paddling, traveling or shooting, or a combination of the three.
It is 8:53 AM Saturday morning and I already have ants the size of chipmunks running around in my pants. Now having anything in my pants that isn't normally there is usually pretty exciting for me but if I am using the expression correctly I think I am trying to say I am bored senseless already and even the frolicsome
chipmunk/ants aren't going to be enough. What shall I do with myself? Normally I would rob a 7/11 if I was looking for some downtime thrills but that is so 90's. (Besides I can't find my Clinton mask and Monica is still locked up and mad as Hell!) Maybe I'll go to the Home Depot and ask the experts questions about plywood. "Comes from a tree? You don't say. Not really shaped like a tree though is it?"
The temperature in my place dipped below 65 degrees last night and the cats absolutely panicked. It was a Chinese fire drill as they ran around franticly looking for the warmest place to sleep. Now these cats are so fat they could easily spend the winter in Antarctica rolling Penguin eggs around between their legs and be fine. They just don't have any confidence in their life sustaining fat. Cover your eyes if you are not 18 but they usually wind up burrowing under the blankets for the night which looks somehow perverse to the occasional overnight guest..."They never did that before."
I saw the 14th worst movie ever made last night. Flight Plan with Jodie Foster is so absurd in its nonsensical plot turns that even the dopes in the audience that know the moon is made out of cheese were squirming. Now I use the "willing suspension of disbelief" quite a bit in this blog but you don't have to pay eight bucks and sit in a theater for two hours to read this. A movie that had a man wearing a Bill Clinton mask with chipmunks in his pants, roasting hunks of moon over a plywood fire, in Antarctica with two fat cats at his side hatching Penguin eggs, would make more sense than this movie.
I hope to live to a time when if something absurd happens in a movie I will be able push a giant red button on arm of my seat freezing the movie. A Man-Hologram will emerge from the middle of the movie screen and say "We have a question about plot from the man in the third row. It seems he doesn't believe lovable whales can fly." Of course, if they were really stuck for an explanation a sparkly go go dancer would come out of the screen for a little bit to take my mind off the lovable flying whale.
Look I just killed an hour. 47 to go.
It is 8:53 AM Saturday morning and I already have ants the size of chipmunks running around in my pants. Now having anything in my pants that isn't normally there is usually pretty exciting for me but if I am using the expression correctly I think I am trying to say I am bored senseless already and even the frolicsome
chipmunk/ants aren't going to be enough. What shall I do with myself? Normally I would rob a 7/11 if I was looking for some downtime thrills but that is so 90's. (Besides I can't find my Clinton mask and Monica is still locked up and mad as Hell!) Maybe I'll go to the Home Depot and ask the experts questions about plywood. "Comes from a tree? You don't say. Not really shaped like a tree though is it?"
The temperature in my place dipped below 65 degrees last night and the cats absolutely panicked. It was a Chinese fire drill as they ran around franticly looking for the warmest place to sleep. Now these cats are so fat they could easily spend the winter in Antarctica rolling Penguin eggs around between their legs and be fine. They just don't have any confidence in their life sustaining fat. Cover your eyes if you are not 18 but they usually wind up burrowing under the blankets for the night which looks somehow perverse to the occasional overnight guest..."They never did that before."
I saw the 14th worst movie ever made last night. Flight Plan with Jodie Foster is so absurd in its nonsensical plot turns that even the dopes in the audience that know the moon is made out of cheese were squirming. Now I use the "willing suspension of disbelief" quite a bit in this blog but you don't have to pay eight bucks and sit in a theater for two hours to read this. A movie that had a man wearing a Bill Clinton mask with chipmunks in his pants, roasting hunks of moon over a plywood fire, in Antarctica with two fat cats at his side hatching Penguin eggs, would make more sense than this movie.
I hope to live to a time when if something absurd happens in a movie I will be able push a giant red button on arm of my seat freezing the movie. A Man-Hologram will emerge from the middle of the movie screen and say "We have a question about plot from the man in the third row. It seems he doesn't believe lovable whales can fly." Of course, if they were really stuck for an explanation a sparkly go go dancer would come out of the screen for a little bit to take my mind off the lovable flying whale.
Look I just killed an hour. 47 to go.
posted by Exaggoman at 5:51 AM
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