Four: Father John Misty
There are three things no one wants to hear about, no matter how politely they may listen:
I hear ya. The existence of a Pussy Posse was my tipping point.
I’m not going to ask questions. I’m just happy this appeared on the internet.
“Fuck. So close.”
Yeah, I see what they were going for, but in their defense, it would have taken at LEAST another half an hour to find a person of color in Portland to run that name by.
I literally wore the green one when I was in color guard. It was not a happy time.
A person in his mid-30s has a question! And that question is this:
Bullshit. I remember back in the day. We were down 34-10 at the half on a cold rainy November night. We were beaten, demoralized. Suddenly the color guard marched onto the field. The conditions were brutal, the wind was blowing something fierce. Yet they waved that flag. “Wave that flag girl” I said as she struggled…
You aren’t fascinated by the story of a middle-age man in the midst of a mid-life crisis that can only be solved by sleeping with some 20-year-old college student? You must not understand Real Important Literature.
That is a disturbing quantity of small teeth.
Meh...everything the ‘Important Literary Man’ ever wrote was boring as fuck. Good riddance, I say.
Door to Doors salesman
But where is Dermot Mulrooney.
But where is Dylan McDermott.
I am a 6-4, 220lbs fireman and am not ashamed to admit this news makes me squeal like an excited school girl. Well, at least as close as I can manage.