at Milwaukee's Downer this afternoon, and I was glad to see Dave Wannstedt* didn't go wanting for work between his firing by the Dolphins and hire by Pitt.

* Seriously, when they make the Dave Wannstedt story biopic for the big screen, Sean Penn will have to play him.

go fuck yourself in the mouth. jesus, you never have anything to offer about anything, ever.

Were that I should be able to do such, I would never be here.

Oh, to be autofellatable....

That's wierd. I drove by there last weekend and almost stopped to see that. But ate at Beans and Barley instead.

So how was the movie?

The film was underwhelming. Considering it reconnected the main pieces from 21 Grams -- Watts, Penn --, plus brought in Alfonso Cuaron as producer, I was thinking it would be tremendous. But, take away the graininess of the film, and there is no comparison. Penn went hammy way too much, particularly when plotting in his unpaid-for apt. (this was after the character had quit his office-furniture sales job) for the hijacking. The sidebar Black Panther/Zebra moments were forced, trying to make Sam Bicke a little more likeable (that he wasn't a misanthrope, just misunderstood; that he wanted some amorphous "good" for all humble [sic] people, not just himself). And, while one purpose of the film might have been to subvert the North American message of progress-at-any-cost, kakocracy-run-amok, with the hijacking it only demonstrates that, a, our rivals in the first war of the twenty-first century aren't very creative, since what they did on the eleventh had been plotted before (apparently... the disclaimer at the end makes it seem the makers pieced the movie together like a Harry Turtledove historic fiction); b, capitalism/the pursuit of a good life does not imperil man's survival, and the basis of it, the family unit (while Sam's marriage fizzled, and his children grew (generally) distant from him, the relationship between Don Cheadle's mechanic and said character's wife and son, while unexplored, was solid, and even though the mechanic did not just work, but own his own business); c, Nixon was a sour guy, but in Sam's deprivation and insecurity leading to homicide and a chance to be famous (and, moreso, powerful), we see Nixon. Who's it to whom we should not be sympathetic, again?

don't ever do this again, meek bitch.

Failed to add, I loath Beans n' Barley, but not so much because it's vegetarian-vegan foods on offer. Rather, for being such a doyen of liberal thought and progressivism in Milwaukee, they don't go that extra quarter-mile, or however humbly the left would say it (but not do it, obviously), and provide their staff the option of employee health.... Goddamn! You don't know the number of women who work there who end up going to Planned Parenthood and getting their contraception half on their dime, half on the State of Wisconsin's.

Oh, also: the founder of Beans n' Barley is an Atlantan. In fact, he left the business in the mid- or late-seventies to return home to help his parents run their lard-renderer.... Funny, eh?

That's funny, well not funny, but interesting about the Planned Parenthood thing. I saw a woman working there that had a tatoo around her belly button, but also had several atrech marks around it too. Not exactly what you want to see when your eating a tofu buritto (not that I would EVER eat that).
Yea that is funny though about the guy being from Atl. Small world.

Oh, all the once-cute-now-haggard gals in Mil-town are baby-mommas. The blackies, the whities; the indie-rockers, the gang-bangers. Gone are the days when the only fifteen-years-olds I expected to see toting kids (of their own) were the reefer-smoking wigger sluts and their equally slutty boyfriends. Oh, '94, what a year!

Now, it's everybody.

In fact, just today, I ventured into hot topic, to see to what the kids are hep. And, I entered impressed: Korn playing on the PA, plethora of Led Zeppelin stickers and patches available for purchase (that, I was really not expecting). Then, Korn ended, and some shit emo-popcorn began.

Bad sign.

Next, I saw the thongs and bootie-short panties in sizes that were, let's be honest, too small for any gal older than thirteen. Plus, the front-clasping, burlesque-styled brassieres, and fish-net thigh-highs.

And, le piece de resistance: the baby-wear, jumpers and tee-shirts, accoutred with the names of and artwork for such bands as Social Distortion and AFI.

Shorties having shorties, indeed*.

* Of course, none of this will ever top the twenty-years-old I encountered during the past summer. She was a uni student on summer holiday, with a four-years-old son and grad school ambitions -- in fact, going to school some distance from Sconsin, and, probably, not taking the kid with (I imagine the grandparents, her parents, are pleased as punch (to borrow an expression from my seventh grade math instructor) to be bringing up another one) --, and the coupe de gracie: she was wearing a dashboard confessional shirt... Now, again, ain' that a Chremo band? Isn't Carabba -- publicly, anyway -- all 'bout Got, and wouldn't being such lend itself to being careful about having sex, if having sex at all when so young?... Well, you know, I guess if you're saved, it doesn't matter what you do. You have your ticket to heaven punched at baptism.

Eh, at least Suicide Girls should be well-stocked with prospective models for the next four, five years. No drought to come once it is to be the kids born '88, '89, '90, etc. turning 18 and getting buh nekkid on the internet. Nope.

do you really think anyone is going to squint to read this?