|
|
|
|
|
(LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING)
Oh my god y'all! The dastardly germs have made this Bewley a Flu-ley. I have never coughed so much in my life. At least not since I sniffed a entire McCormick tin of ginger up my nose. That fucking hurt like hell. My chest is so weak, I can barely do the 250 sits ups that I likes to do in the morning time. (ah - just kidding ladies! Sweet!)
Yeouch. And here's the deal, I went to see the epic conclusion to the Lord of the Rings with my old pal, Brian Yeh. His last name is pronounced like Yay! So it's always fun to be near him. Anyway I saw it with him, cause I am back in West Chester, Pennsey V where I was born and raised in an old stone house built in 1803. That shit is old. Not like pre-quake, SF suckers. This house was here when George Washington was skinnin rabbits. Ok?
Anyhow, there are like 3 billion people here. So no matter where I go, there is a traffic jam, an accident, and like no parking. I had an easier time finding a spot in front of the slanted door (overrated) than at the Eagle View Cinemas near the Concord Mall. Or whatever it is called. Everything here is named like Brook View, or Eagle Glen, or Radley Run, or GreenDeerValley Field of Fox Chasing Oak Nut Village. If I open up a residential complex it is going to be called Slammin Town! Oh yeah, come over to Slammin Town! We got a party tonight in Slammin Town!
I coughed a lot through the Lord of the Rings. It was really the start of my final descent into a deadly inferno of phlegm. And while it was not quite as satisfying as playing the paulstation version, Return of the King is my pick for best picture. I mean fuck off Last Samurai. You suck. This guy made three movies, and they all rocked. Except for the last part of ROTK, wherein there are far too many longing glances given by squirrelly hobbits. I mean do we need to see Bilbo gaze lovingly at Gandalf for quite so long? That time could have been used showing the hot sword girl really fight. It gonna be awesome when she starts taking all of Laura Linney's parts. And after that really weird speech at the end of Mystic River "you are my king, blah blah I am fucked up!", I mean, she can have em. Anyone else confused by what the hell happened at the end of THAT movie? Why was my baby, Marcia Gay looking so crazy at the end? Did she really have to run along that tiny street? I mean there were like 14 people on the whole street and she's going all Paul Revere crazy eyes shouting and running up and down for her little boy? MGH, chill it out, babes, the kid is on the float. He's fine. Let him have his day. Do not ruin his one float day by being crazy. I hated when my mom used to do that to me. I would be up there dressed as Vanna White, or the old dude from Cats, and she would be running and screaming and mascara would be all over. Chill it out women!
Well, from the sickbay, this is
Bewley-out |
