Oh, what an ordinary day
Take out the garbage, masturbate
Download the track for free at ilovestvincent
It was late in the meal when I mentioned his reputation among other journalists. He held his chopsticks in his hand.
“What did they say?”
Steve McQueen is 44 years old, tall and robust; he wore a T-shirt beneath a lightweight sport jacket and dark slacks and large black-rimmed glasses. He is exacting in his ideas, and sometimes struggles to communicate exactly what he’s thinking (he has occasionally borrowed reporters’ pens and paper to help him articulate his thoughts). He is full of energy.
“That I’m difficult?” he asked.
I rattled off some other descriptions: “curt,” “combative,” “volatile,” “scornfully dismissive,” “bullish,” “arrogant.” He pondered it a bit more. He asked whether I had an idea why this reputation exists. I told him I was more interested in his. “It’s journalists getting uppity, and when I get uppity, they write this.” It was an easy caricature: They expect him to be “from the ghetto,” he said, “to behave a certain way.”
“Excuse me for saying it,” he said, “but I suppose it’s because I’m black.”
A friend suggested an idea where Werner Herzog does a cover version of Call me Maybe and in the mist of singing the song, he goes into this coherent thought about the lyrics and why should he call her maybe. Thus producing this form of existentialism that the song has been yearning for.
If you ever want to watch a film where a group of people must fight for their lives as they try to escape the prowl of a group of hit man, I suggest you check out Judgement Night. It’s a film where Denis Leary plays yet again a raging psychopath, but this time with dramatic flare.
Instead of writing a story treatment, I have yet brought myself to the collage of 90’s films on Youtube.
dick dorkins reveals himself as frankenstein fan, pro-nascar, anti-hipster, libertarian
and he prays