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I can’t be the only one who thought mom was Lena Dunham.
What confuses me the most about YOLO is that in such an overtly Christian country, American seem pretty comfortable with a one-way burial.
Did the green screen make this feel less like exploitation, because that’s not the effect I got out of it. I just get protective about people like this falling into the hands of children emulating Daniel Tosh.
Glad I tuned into your noise, may your feminism reek with empowerment.
Don’t know why anything remotely biographical just doesn’t just adopt the I’m Not There business model, that ended up pleasing everyone right?
In college and friendless but far from depressed or defeated.
I would institute a law that we boom-boom into the darling afternoons, and when famine pops in to say, “hey,” just shut them down.
You are thanked let my zygomatics have a pleasant seizure please.
The only reason anyone should watch Lawnmower Man pt II is for the following comedic jewel:
“Incest! The game that the whole family can play!”
Now that you know Lawnmower Man says that, while doing his best Jim Carey, feel free to thank me for saving two plus hours of your time.
This article should not caustically prod the buffoonery of a man, barely clinging to a legacy, a time to twinkle on cultural landscape before being snuffed by the very people who granted him the opportunity.
Now what is Allen but a shoulder to lean on during these days of massive unemployment where the warm glow of a mid-morning dip in the TBS line-up can rock the wretches of the world back to comfort.
Behold, a mere segmented glimpse into the sort of inspiration Tim Allen is still capable of providing an Internet community who like him are just another Shaggy dog trying to wipe off the grime of their own excrement and take a spin on those wild hogs:
I’ve studied your questions for 24 hours. I understand them, can relate to them, and am positive I do not have the answers. I believe (like another wrote) that sometimes there is something to be gained in like-mindedness, so here goes…(and this is only the tip of my mind!)
After I copied your post to think about it, I wondered where ‘a Wilson’ was when we really needed him. Then, I wondered if you had not asked these same questions of your Wilson on HI…perhaps in different words, but close to the question? Who wrote those pearls of wisdom that came from his mouth? And like God, you never really got to see Wilsons’ face…so, that was one level of response…maybe you’ve already gotten answers to some of these questions through your own creativity? Just one thought. (consciousness) “
The emphasis on the 3 to 6 people serving size is the video’s real clincher, makes me wonder if that was the size of the family he never got to have.
Tim and Eric with Bob Odenkirk and a side of John C. Reilly.
The Seventh Seal – An adventure of a semi-medieval smouldering Nordic engages in a tabletop game.
China Town – Jack Nicholson plays a gumshoe who unknowingly stumbles in a nest of incest.
Religulous – Ugly Anderson Cooper wants to talk about faith.
The Big Lebowski – Bumbling Bohemian or just a bumbler? Either way this Dude entangles himself in an existential crisis sure to knock down all the pins.
I Love You Philip Morris – A gay man just can’t play straight with the rules.
The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai – Where does Buckaroo Banzai find the time to be Buckaroo Banzai this rock n’ roll tour de force makes one thing clear and that is there is bound to be positive reinforcement gained from being raised by Asians.
Boys in the Hood – Sometimes rapping about problems doesn’t make all the pain and strife found in this slice of derelict Americana go away.
True Grit – A cowboy story you can believe in. There are no Indians!
Metropolis – Look out Communism, we’ve got robots!
Bearcity – Sexual niche goes deep dish when a city has the courage to purge all other sexual minorities out of their territory.
The Last Samurai – Caucasian won’t let fading tradition commit hari kari, because fortune has a different plan in store.
Stardust Memories – A neurotic, aging auteur makes an aging neurotic movie about the neurotic, aging human experience.
Sister, mother, aunt, babysitter, wife, girlfriend, but above all she be a dancer.
Out of all the possible verbs those think septic tanks could come up with is trickle. Trickle down anything is just a clear indication of what level of intellect we are collectively working on as a nation. Sure Europe has austerity which is just as ridiculous, but at least it brings images of robed men muttering Latin at a casting call for aa film adaptation of Brothers Karamazov. Trickle down is perfect for the raunchy Calvin sans Hobbes set.
Guns don’t kill people, penises going into vaginas not formally sanctioned and venerated by the Osmonds..kill people.
EXTRA EXTRA, get a behind the scene’s glimpse of Hugh Jackman’s, apparently some sort of legitimate actor in things not filled with explosions, starring in a new musical A Yankee In Kim Jong-un’s Jester Court, studying cultural authenticity with Psy, apparently some sort of legitimate Asian musician who sings things not filled with zither. Coming to a united world order near you!
Still really want to vote for Jill Stein to contribute to the meager and unrealistic effort of dismantling our two-party dictatorship…but with or without the debates I would take a more-or-less corporate friendly democrat like Obama over practically any other conventional figurehead.
I just want this election cycle over, it just makes the bog that is international affairs coagulate into a fine sticky cement, that devours any thought of productivity in its entirety only to belch Productivity’s suspenders back up to the surface.
The mammoth bedazzled crufix that is dangling from her neck contrasted with her desperate mewing for man meat is really unsettling.
Seems to me that females desiring freedom from monogamy and those sentiments should become more empowered as they age and not end up like this.
Anyway would have preffered if this video had something to do with Tea Party politics or anything other than experimental, atonal bargain-bin cougar pop.
Once you have commissioned your child, or any kid for that matter, as a member of the Kidz Bop brigade there will be a portion of glory that can be shared if only for a moment. Regardless, one no matter where they happen to be positioned in the cosmos can sense a post-Kids Bop wash out realizing that the glory was merely the tarnished hand-me-down usurped from the bins of the Mickey Mouse Club. Once this fatal blow has been struck it becomes a lot harder to convince another date down to Coney-Island and tell them what happened during the summer of “Call Me Maybe.”
Happy Madison’s resident tailor was thrilled from the start to put down the khakis and ball caps, to work on a project he could experience the genuine feeling of accomplishment, which hadn’t happened since making a cape during the Little Niki era. Upon finishing the gargantuan garment he swooned inside the front pocket never to be seen again.
Rape Camp should have contracted a merger with Pipe Camp, essentially Sandler should have sought me out to set things straight for him.
Should have gone with a more Aryan Sesame character to waddle around in.
Plenty of offenses are made by this video but the one I would like to touch upon is the necessity members of today’s society have to validate every action that they do by documenting it. There are plenty of far more tasteful examples of writers or photographers that shared their experiences in a foreign locations such as George Orwell’s essays or Henry Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn. Video can not be compared to writing and should be held to a different measure of quality altogether but this abomination is a hybridization of everything wrong with the digital culture.
The music that accompanies the video, a squeaky clean pop song that is unmistakably made for and by people who live in stock photos for what corporations imagine what the artistic youth of today listen to. They didn’t even bother to slap on some Paul Simon circa Graceland or one of the many white tribal aping groups such as Animal Collective which would at least made spineless human stereotypes buy Nikes.
The excessive use of quotations diminishes the value of those words every time they are plastered on a poster or a bumper sticker or twisted into sinister brand mantras for corporations. In this case specifically the creator of this piece shamelessly degrades himself as a puppet, a puppet that is proud of its inability to speak for itself and will go to every extreme to display this mentality.
Make it count. For the quantity of people exploited everyday, brainwashed, lied to without remorse, starved, destroyed, and finally robbed will add up to you becoming a pioneer of industry that will leave a mark on this planet. That mark will most likely be the piling of more faceless corpses that committed the crime of not being born wealthy and white.