Mondays mornings are akin to having my ass sand-papered after a long bike ride.
Insult to wedgie is the fucking two-hour management meeting which goes down first thing every Monday. Being coherent and upright really sticks in my craw. (I confess, I told the sun to fuck off this morning.) (It was shining right in my eye, your honour!)
Pause for photo of Ryan Reynolds’ undies and zen-inducing breath.
Ah, Grosse Pointe (turns to greet movie warmly), I love you as if you single-handedly nullify Baz Lurman’s existence. Blessed be those Cusacks, John or Joan. They make me happy in my John Hughes bone. Such is my joo-joo love that, while Minnie Driver burns my toast to volcanic lava with her prolific freckles and outlandish chin, just this once I’m gonna let it slide.
“You can never go home again, Oatman! But I guess you can shop there.”