Holy Grail

Hiii!!! I'm Baaaaack! And guess what? Yes, it is true. I have fucking done it: cracked the code, stumbled through the sewers of Venice, a la Indiana Jones in The Last Crusade and found the most stankass, busted piece of artwork on the internet, ever (I fucking HOPE).



Shiiiiiit, dude. That last fucking ollie was so tight I nearly crapped my Dickies, like wow fer real.

I know! I think it has crippled me. Yes, I am now a CRIPPLE. Emotional cripple, natch... much like the cold-hearted ssssnake Jack Palance. As we see below, even as a young man, he was incapable of love.



Or perhaps that is the myth he wishes to perpetuate... when in fact never before has a man loved as loved J. Palance... right, anyway. Question: do you think Jack Palance was just really FUCKING PISSED OFF when 'Young Guns' came out?



Can't you just picture him, sharpening a knife against his cheek, madly rocking away in his chair saying 'But I WAS THERE! It wasn't like that at all!' and then managing to find a convenient spitoon into which he could void his bladder?

Yep, I knew it. And if he's anything like me (and methinks Palance might just be MY SOULMATE, spitoon and all), the thing that PISSED him off about fucking YOUNG GUNS the most was...

wait for it...



Yesss: DERMOT MULRONEY, people. Never before has one man's name caused me so much pain. I mean, is it just because I have had this recurring dream where he is old, grey-haired and wearing a turtleneck and sitting reading me little humourous snippets from the local newspaper (Brattleboro Reformer, holla!)? I swear this has happened and it fucking freaks me out. I used to think it was from a film, but then I realized IT WAS A DREAM, aka MY SUBCONSCIOUS. Am I just ashamed of this love that dare not speak its name? Hells naw!

'Prove it, Freeman!' you say, like a schoolyard bully... FINE, here goes: Mulroney, you make me SICK! Make a fucking decent movie for once, will ya? Enough of your coasting by on your fucking 'Career Opportunities' (yes, I did just bust that out) credentials. That's BALLS. I saw How to Make an American FUCKING Quilt (on a plane, aiight?) and it fucking BLEW ASS... break yourself, Mulroney, or I'll do it for you.

Whoops, did that all just happen? It did? Um, cool. I'm going to go simmer down a bit, do a bit of spelunking with my peeps.



Layyytahs!