Last night's episode of "Lost" validated my anti-TV-drama inclinations. Suddenly introducing a brand-spanking-new pair of lovebirds in the third season? Shamelessly inserting them into "flashback" scenes with the main characters? Conveniently offing both of them by hour's end? Sheesh -- these writers won't stop at anything to bamboozle us into mindlessly accepting their contrivances. I mean, come the fuck on. It's madness, exactly the kind of shit that makes it so difficult for me to suspend disbelief and just enjoy the show. (Of course, I can't wait till next Wednesday night's episode -- looks to be a real doozy.)
Incidentally, I may have to retract what I said in a previous post about the skull-cap-lifters at my gym. Over the last several days I've spotted at least one of them, on two occasions, wearing a bandanna that in no way anchored his earphones. The obvious conclusion is that his head-gear is a fashion accessory rather than a practical solution to sweat-induced slippage. Therefore, I can no longer extend to him the benefit of the doubt, and what his skull-cap fashion statement loudly, slowly, and clearly says to me is, "Look at me, for I am Douchebag."
A couple of other things: it really pisses me off when people put tomatoes or peanut butter in the fridge. Cold tomatoes are disgusting, and anyone who knows anything about anything knows that tomatoes must ripen generously in order to achieve optimal flavor. If you were previously unaware of this, I hate you. As for peanut butter, who freakin' said it needs to be stored below room temperature? When I go to someone's house and see a jar of hardened Jif in the fridge, I'm filled with the same sense of outrage as when I see a guy wearing capri pants. On this planet, we keep our peanut butter in the cupboard and market our capri pants exclusively to women.
If you can't conform, off yourself.
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