Alfred Hitchcock: Not For Stoners
Theys babes. Theys chases. Theys parties. Theys people that are just as terrifying and weird as jumping spyders. That's all dope. But nobody likes a plot twist when they’re high because its such an easy vibe manipulator for a part of the film that a high person couldn’t care less about.
The exception to this stoner shit is the byrds. All the gnarly colors and lack of justification for anything kill the competitive edge that stoners hate about Hitchcock movies. You’re just witnessing so much relatable terror that you party on it.
Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants Dubbed Into Spanish: ✔+
As we all know everything is better Mexican style. Whether its fast food (the chorizo and queso blanco tacos at 5th and Girard for 2 clams), skeleton illustrations, true crime stories or high strung drama queens it will be better if its got the Mexican seal of mayhem on it. That’s why you can take Hollywood filmmaking’s thickest, creamiest buttjizz and turn into something rad just by morphing its actors into Spanish ventriloquist dummies.
The Bathroom at Barclay Prime: ✔
Unisex bathrooms are a new ploy to encourage flirtation and drug use in hip restaurants. You get ninjas and jugglettes rearranging their facepaint and throwing up their 80 clam entrees next to each other and some neddan exchange is down to happen. That’s why the gendered stalls with their full-length doors at Barclay Prime are a next level edition to architectural wingmanning. Everyone from Patrick Bateman to Luis Caruthers can let all of their weird illicit desires fly free in a place like that. There’s even a little mirror in each of the stalls so you can be freaked out by the bags under your eyes that the generous overhead lighting can’t conceal. My only complaint is that the mirror didn’t have a Z-axis to lie it flat so you could do massive grub sized lines right off that. As a solitary location the place gets high marks because its so crazy. But I can’t be totally stoked on it because the infestation of Manhattan zones into Philadelphia grosses me out. Stephen Starr is seriously Wraithing out at the top of the Comcast building in a chair with detailed engravings of the Yawm ad-Din that appears to be made of walnut but is actually tanned dolphin pelt and Jew-bones. And I can’t hate on that but goddam it’s unsavory.
Worlds Wildest Police Chases (TV show; not event): ✔−
Why not just watch porn you nutcase?
The 2010 Philadelphia Phillies: For Stoners
Statistics aside these boys have the intangibles down pat. They’re clearly the hunkiest team in baseball—though we’re all going to miss Jayson Werth next year when he signs with the Shelbyville Shelbyvillians. They just have a great attitude. From Michael Sweeney’s pervasive niceguy high-fives you can feel through the cable box to Ryan Howard’s chill dad to Chooch’s incomprehensible yarbling interviews. They’re havin fun out there and hastlin the haters better than most rappers. Few people have had such a pronounced aversion to haters in the history of ballin. Maybe Triple 6 Mafia is their only competition. Like. In general. Anyway let’s WFC it again come October bros.
The Ticket I Got From The NYPD For Not Letting an Undercover Cop From Jersey Cut Me Off: B −
I left Mateo’s house in Jersey City at 2:30 in the morning for Brooklyn to avoid getting a 40 clam ticket for parking Big Red on the wrong side of the road. Needless to say the Path train confused me and I ended up in Newark where a man claiming to be a lost member of Manudo gave me some Orbit Mist Gum and explained how he was never gay with Ricky Martin. The next day I was stuck on Broome Street trying to leave Manhattan for 2 hours when a car attempted to cut me off. It was a white Ford charger that turned out to be an undercover from Jersey. An NYPD officer gave me a hundo and 30 clam ticket. I told her I had no money and she didn’t care. I know this has nothing to do with the first part of the story but feel like the two events are linked cosmically or something gay like that. In either case I’m not paying the ticket. Come find me. I have bats that rule the evening with rabies and bad attitudes.
No comments:
Post a Comment