I somehow wasted another Friday night at work. Sweating for your living is not as fulfilling as sweating for your fun. Whilst sweating for a living, I feel dirty and exhausted. Whilst sweating for fun, I feel free and alive.
Today I've drank a milkshake, and eaten a McDonald's sundae and a half pint of peanut butter chocolate ice cream.
My stomach, which rarely, if ever, sees liquid dairy products, is none too pleased. Good thing I've got the new copy of GQ in the bathroom.
I could never pull off a khaki suit. I don't have the complexion or facial hair necessary. I'm fat and sweaty that's for sure, but I'd need a nice goatee or soul patch/mustache combo to pull a suit like that off. A hat, too. A really badass hat, with a strip of fabric over the brim. But, a suit like that is only meant for lounging, and if I'm wearing a suit, lounging is the last thing on my mind. Actually, Darfur is usually the last thing on my mind, but you know what I'm getting at.
Keep July 21st in your hearts. It's the Shadow Lounge. Chuckles and chortles are certain to abound, as the man from 1939 who narrates my life for me, in my head, is apt to say.
The Way of the Gun is a vastly underrated and terribly unknown film. If you like movies with badass, stereotypical archetypes with a twist, this one's for you. Hollywood needs to grow a pair, and make more films this daring and refreshing.
This is the opening scene, and it only gets better.
One the few purely American, whiskey swilling, coke snorting, true rock and roll bands out there worth paying any attention to. Ladies and germs, Queens Of The Stone Age. Kill a Yuengling and grind against something while wearing boots, and don't forget to remember that music is sometimes about just havin' fun! Muscle cars and broads not necessary, but they certainly don't hurt.
Off on Sunday. I might go to a Pirates game, or I might not. Depends on temperature and desire to ride bicycle to PNC Park.
That's all the chips.-BK
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