toomuchcowbell
Too Much Cowbell
toomuchcowbell

You are wrong. If you are actually in a position to interview people for jobs, you either own a business, or are part of a business, that has attorneys. Check with them. Oh, and then kill yourself.

The Final Season

I’ve got no love for Pelosi—what happened to her spine?—but blaming her mild cattiness for anything this horrible man does or says is at best disingenuous and at worst, trolling.

Oh God. When I saw that (in the theater) I more or less literally lost my mind for about ten seconds. I actually tried to crawl under the seat in front of me and hide. I have no idea what goes on in the film for about 15 minutes following that scene.

I had nightmares for years.

I love this movie so goddamn much.  I finally went hunting for it on DVD and bought it.

The original Alien, which I saw in the theater one lazy summer afternoon of its opening week (so no spoilers). Never in my life have I been so frightened, in a theater or under any other circumstances.

These are better and only 0.99 more:

These are better and only 0.99 more:

Matthew Modine does not get enough credit for his wonderful performance as the evil, evil “Papa.”

You should have kept reading. The number and variety of psychobabble catchphrases is simply unbelievable unless you read it for yourself.

I would say that this particular detail matters a great deal.

Tolkien had the name “Luthien” carved on his wife’s gravestone. I won’t go into the story of Luthien here—you can find the gist of it via search easily—except to say that per Tolkien, she was the most beautiful and perfect living creature to ever exist in the world.

I was unaware that Audrey Hepburn was maligned for her singing in My Fair Lady.

Victoria Jackson is the one who went rabid and is now a horrible horrible racist.

I agree about bad onion rings, but fries are NOT “hard to mess up.”  IMO more restaurants get their french fries wrong than right.

...dafuq?? Onion rings are not even listed? And you people have the audacity to call yourselves food writers. Shee.

Oh, God. Lisey’s Story, with the exception of some surprisingly astute and poignant observations about the unique intimacies of a long marriage, is a pointless, overlong ramble. It’s Big Steve’s verbal diarrhea at its worst (yes, worse even than The Tommyknockers).

Picture this: There’s a multi-millionaire out there who wants to remove your children from your home, and invalidate your marriage, because his God told him that you are less than fully human.