“Goats are trouble. Goats are trouble…” #gooblegobble #gooblegobble
Sir Thomas Wyatt the Woofer. What a lovely head to behold.
The obvious building blocks for a non sexist/anti-pedo joke at Quvenzhané's expense are the unusual name and her fierce natural talent and petite adorableness. In both cases one must be careful of racist pitfalls (no "La-ia" semantics or Gary Coleman/Emmanuel Lewis references).
For something a little more now-but-also-then, whip a little Willow Smith in the mix--some kind of reverse of Amy Pollard's "Dakota Fanning Show" SNL skit. But don't touch weave-snatching (see above).
How about the fact that she is nine fucking years old nominated for a role she did at six. Do you know what I was doing between 6 and 9? Neither do I, but there's got to be at least one decent joke in there. Look what I'm doing at 37.
Or take me out of the equation and insert other child stars--failed, fallen or otherwise. Did cutie Q-né grab a fag with Tatum O'Neil during commercial. Spotted in the bathroom during the (yawn) In Memorium sharing lip plumper with Macaulay Culkin. Wasn't she overheard getting career and relationship tips from Jodi Foster over champagne at Drew Barrymore's otherwise dry Oscar after party?
No gold there, just easy, winky child-friendly jibes so the bile can be better spent har-/lampooning someone more deserving. Like Kristen Stewart. Girl was so high.
I thought Azog was pretty hot, in a butch albino Xerxes sort-of way.
Maybe it's the lawsuit? http://wot.motortrend.com/nyc-taxi-operators-sue-tlc-mayor-bloomberg-over-nissan-nv200-taxi-of-tomorrow-302961.html
On The Worst Places To Wait On Line In Order Of How Much Time They Allow You To Imagine The Sad, Everyday Lives Of The People In Front Of You Until You Eventually Confront The Depressing Reality Of Your Own Existence And The Crushing Burden Of Being For All Of Us—A Pain Which Only Ends With Death, But Never Soon Enough
Assuming you haven't been much to any post office branch above 110th. They make the pharmacies seem like a gorgeous, cheap, empty beach on a remote location of Vieques as-of-yet untouched by New York mag or The Times.
Wire. In. The. Blood. If you can get over the [REDACTED FOR SPOILERS]phobic first episode, it's a winner in terms of quirky British crime TV. Each episode is a 2000 minute hyper-tense delight, an anomaly in the genre. Except the one where they go to America. That one was shit except to play spot the terrible American accent.
Kansas native here. Apparently Stull, Kansas is one of the world's 7 gateways to hell, so the secret monster may be The Devil (see also Kansas Board of Education, current Governor Brownback). We used to call my hometown of Topeka "Derry" after Stephen King's fictional town in IT because people would disappear in the sewer system and once I saw a crummy car with no driver and suddenly (AHH!) a clown popped up in the driver seat. True story.
Rocky Mountain HELLO.
Heel-arious! Because there is one like this at my Lenox Ave & W 110th St. Harlem stop with not one but three miss-measured steps. They installed them a few years back (lowest bidder much, MTA?), and I've only recently gotten to the point where I can smile at the newbies tripping their way up. Though, yes, son of a dentist, teeth. *shiver*