A late post-work snack turned into an auditory experience as the three people at the table next to me blabbed loudly, sang show tunes and delivered a piece of real human dialogue that not even the Japanese government's cyborg amalgamation of The Coeh Brothers, Tarantino and Hunter S. Thompson could write. You just can't make something like that up.
Any film that involves strudel, the consumption of strudel or Kevin Kostner normally tanks at the box office (see Message in a Bottle, The Postman, Tin Cup and Waterworld). But luckily for the genre-raiding self-referencing genius of Quentin Tarantino (not to be confused with Her Excellency Quentin Bryce AO - her films normally feature way more gore and language that can't be shown in a general release) this strudel curse seems to be lifted by his latest effort Inglourious Basterds.
Despite it's slightly bloated running length the film is funny, gory, heavy on Nazi scalping (as opposed to the Nazi bikini waxing of Fran Drescher's underrated The Fanny series of telemovies) and filled with tension. The opening scene in the farmhouse is cracking. But the film would be nothing without the talents of Christoph Waltz. Man that dude can act. Comedy. Villainy. Strudel eating. He can do it all.
My scalps off to you Mr. Waltz. (See what I did there?)
These unearthly beauties were perched mid-week at the Oyster Bar having an 'excuse my beauty' lunch. David Lynch would've cast them on the spot (and then made them kiss and chase each other in owl outfits on film).
Sometimes inspiration comes to you in unexpected forms; like when Michael Jackson's image appeared to an obese American family in the bark of one of their trees; or in unexpected happenings; like the fact that America managed to elect President Obama (despite that fact that some confusingly accuse him of being a fascist, a communist, a socialist - and some how all three very differing ideologies all at the same time - and oh the fact he is, well, erm, you know, how do I say this without offending anyone? From Hawaii).
But Anvil the Story of Anvil is also one of those occasions. See it. You will laugh at the real Spinal Tapness of it all. You will cry at the strong man-love bond between Lips and Robb. And you will be inspired to hang on to your dream and make that shiznit happen (even if it takes you 30 years to get there).
Conference calls are almost more evil than the long fabeled devil spawn of Rush Limbaugh and Jennifer Lopez (it will eat your soul - much like Nick Cave - but also raid your medicine cabinent for prescription medication. All while it shakes its ample booty). But until R-Lo ends all our lives as we know it, conference calls have to be endured and survived.
The best way? Give yourself over to an A2 layout pad and see what happens. The theme here - rad combinations.
The above great beauty is a 60ish year old woman in a aqua fur coat and volumous red mane (some of it her's, some of the remaining thatch of someone's merkin) who I observed marching through the lobby of the Hitlon.
Being up at 1am on a Sunday morning has its benefits. Like neighbours love it when you clean your house in the middle of the night and all the infomercials you can eat.
But it was on TV that I discovered this strange gem. Can't say Shakira is anyone I have ever really paid much attention too. And I am not so sure about the music (but then again I don't speak alien-vagine [see below] so the message she's spreading could be important), but this video was therapeutic.
It does leave me asking a few things however. Like why is she inside the sparkly-flesh-vagina of a large alien? If this is the dress code of the occupants of such a place, where do I get an invite? And how does Shakira manage to combine the moves of an exotic dancer with the out of time spasming of the homeless shemale I pass everyday on my way to work?
One hunch is that it is all caused by the psychotropic fumes of the alien tuna canoe.
I hope Michelle makes him an ice cream cake. Although being President he can order off the menu. I'd order the following:
Spaghetti and meatballs 6 shredded beef tacos Spaghetti bolognase A platter of assorted burritos, quesadillas, enchiladas and taquitos Chilli crab spaghetti Assorted salmon, tuna and sword fish sashimi Spaghetti amatriciana Roast beef, vegetables, Yorkshire puddings and gravy A roast chicken Thai red duck curry
Actually, stuff it I'd just suggest we have yum cha (dim sum).
Not only is this woman (Dr. Orly Downstairs Mouth) crazy enough to lather herself in Lindsay Lohan's tan-in-a-can (here I believe she models the ever popular Tuna-Canoe flavour) but she's also insane enough to spend her time campaigning with ''millions'' of other American's to have Barack Obama's "secrets" exposed.
She is a 'birther' and believes that President ''did we mention his middle name is Hussein'' Obama wasn't actually born in Hawaii, but rather forged his own birth certificate, and birth announcements (possibly while still in uterine: what else is a productive brother supposed to do with nine spare months?) in the hope that he would, 48 years later, be president.
Problem is that Dr. Orly Salmon Catamaran is way off with Barack's secrets. Dude is the rightful President of the United States - but he has hidden much from us all. Let me reveal what to you before the brown-pants media shut me down:
1. He is Spiderman 2. He uses an electric toothbrush 3. He invented River Dance 4. Every time he sneezes a butterfly has an orgasm 5. He once explored the realm of the flesh tagine
Watch this if you dare. And then hope that no one is actually stupid enough to believe anything that Dr. Orly Clam Surprise says.
American's love an instant fix. Want to eat the national savoury wrap of Mexico for breakfast? No worries all you need is a microwave.
Want to have the tan of a Miami call girl? Easy just spray yourself with some of Lindsay Lohan's snatch juice in a can.
And luckily now ladies you can have the arms of First Lady Michelle Obama without the work. It's easy just buy the Shake Weight. It's the only machine that readies your arms for providing gentlemen callers with light hand relief.
And all for the cost affordable price of $19.95. Is it wrong that I'm now craving Shake n' Bake?
With a script that has a really catchy and relate-able message. Oh and a tranny gag. If you can't include mannequin humour, then all scripts must have a tranny. I didn't make the rules Jesus did.
This is why so many people jizz in their pants about the internet. Because it is a place where a song from Phoenix's 2009 album Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix can mate with the Brat Pack and produce three minutes of online entertainment. How Ironic. I can’t explain why but people creating useless and meaningless stuff like this gives me a world wide web worthy boner.
Because you tube is the most magical place on the world wide web. Other than Kim Jong Il's twitter feed. And because I am a lazy blogger. Blog imitating life really.
I didn't know that ruling the Earth from Mars made your eye so wonky. But I guess it would be hard to find a good plastic surgeon up there. Just don't look into the eye, look around the eye, or you may end up a smiling follower in your very own 'it's a small world after all' national costume. Although not since the snuggie infomercial have I seen such happy people. Maybe her High Holy Queen of the rings of Uranus is on to something.
Forget swine flu (which is easy as it isn't the dreaded elephant flu) as I have mind flu. Sure you probably won't catch it being date-raped on a P&O Cruise. Or by attending a large gathering at the MCG. But it is just a debilitating, but doesn't come with the sexy face masks. It is a pain in the arse.
