Sure, posting’s been feeble today. But can you blame a guy? I mean, I spent the day drinking whiskey, and now — miraculously — White Lightning shows up on American Movie Classics. Burt! Moonshine liquor! Muddy cars and gator-filled swamps! Laura Dern (uncredited) at the age of six…!
Sorry, but I take these kinds of coincidences as a sign — so much so that were I a Mason (or a Robert Anton Wilson devotee, even), I’d be sexing up a virgin right now, then looking around for a live volcano to toss her into.
Instead, I’ll settle for a fresh bag of pork rinds and no shoes.
Yeehawwwww, tc…
Y’all.
[update: Kristofferson! In Peckinpah’s Convoy! Coming up next! This is too much — too coincidental… Hmm. Looks like I might have to find me one of them virgins to deflower after all, and an angry rock to stuff her into…]
Hmmm… An okay table wine, and a rather better brandy, are not enough to make me yearn to be in your shoes. (Burt Reynolds… ::shudder:
Ye olde! How could you <i>not</i>! This is <i>Burt</i>. Burt! My mom, I remember, had a puzzle of him (semi-nude and on a rug), that she and her little circle of friends put together—sometime in the early 70s, I believe. He was the coolest.
Well, next to Kristofferson, I mean…
I saw the listing for it but passed. I’m now grooving to Serpico on Encore.
Can’t fault you for that, Stewart. One of my favorite Lumet films. And Pacino performances.
A couple of Halloweens ago, I dressed up as Serpico. All of two people knew who I was. Out of, like, 100.
What a sad world we live in.
Sitting thru Convoy means you are the world’s #1 Kristofferson fan. My hat is off to you. And I never knew Peckinpah was the director of that.
I watched The Right Stuff on DVD again, for about 500th time, last night.
PS I’m glad to see you take some time off. I can’t hardly keep up unless you do that occaisonally.
I think that you’re supposed to sacrifice the virgin <i>without</i> deflowering her (I know; waste of a perfectly good virgin).
You don’t think I’d drop a perfectly good virgin into a live volcano, do you? What am I, a savage?