Touch me. Touch me like you didn't touch me last night.

CONVERSATIONS HAD WHILE MAKING GUACAMOLE:

ME: [sarcastically] Well, honey, you are kinda a prude, so maybe her shirt wasn't really that low-cut...
SARA: Puppies, benjamin. Puppies popping out of her shirt. Little golden retrievers coming out of her laundry basket.

Ah, seventeen; the lovely age when it's time to start photoshopping a girl's breasts.



Also, they did this to Keira Knightly for King Arthur. But she was 18, so it's all okay, right?



More info.

Discuss.

Woke up after about 5 hours and my brain had decided that was enough, I guess.

So, three things:

A) I promise more writing (read: poetry, prose, et al) on here soon, and through Composite Molecules, but I've been wedding crazed,

B) They Monster'd Kiera Knightley's BREASTS!

C) God, I love Dr. Stephen Hawking. Upon revising his thirty year-old black hole theory, "I'm sorry to disappoint science fiction fans, but if information is preserved there is no possibility of using black holes to travel to other universes."

Does that mean that Disney's THE BLACK HOLE, with B.O.B. and Maximillian and all that shit is no good? Another childhood dream, FLUSHED DOWN THE TOILET BY THE SMARTEST MAN ON EARTH.

If I could but touch the hem of his rumpled suit coat...

CURRENT MUSIC: Air conditioning and birds waking up.
CURRENT BOOK: A Confederacy of Dunces
LAST MOVIE: Once Upon a Time in Mexico, going to watch Takeshi Kitano's ZATOICHI remake later today, if I have time