Kryptonian Kimochi (Psychataxia)
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Having said that, I just finished watching National Lampoon's Pledge This! To be quite honest, I can't accurately describe just how awful the film was. Imagine taking a dump, flushing the brown bastard, and then finding out that the chunk of choco-delight produced, directed, and starred in a film. I'd rather see that film. Fuck, I don't know what I had been thinking, soiling such a wonderful holiday with this piece of jaozym*. On the other hand, a different movie station was playing Nightmare on Elm Street, part five - The Dream Child, so basically I had chosen to go with something unseen. Freddy's attempt to return via the dreams of a young woman's unborn child is too classy for me, at this point in my life.
Here's a picture, to help you grasp the plot of Paris Hilton's masterwork.
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(If you want a synopsis, stare at the picture for about ten minutes, go headbutt a mirror, and then leave a comment. I'll get back to you.)
In hindsight, I must have been more intoxicated than I expected to be, or perhaps I was lured in by the sporadic appearance of large-breasted, naked women (or both). No, okay, look, I was really watching it because I've a penchant for spry, nubile young women. Not really young, mind you, as such things are reserved for the once-in-a-millennium idealjetsam post, but definitely outside the realm of the mature quail.
Which brings us to Sarah Carter.
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Speaking of ideal women, as a lad I had a big crush on Helen Slater aka Supergirl (I think that's why I'm a sucker for vivacious blondes, and luscious magicians), and Sarah Carter kinda reminds me of Kara Zor-El. Sparkles probably thought that my first picture was merely a homage to two of the greatest performers in cinematic history, but alas, I'm simply a drunkard reminiscing about a romanticized past (namely, my affair with Peter O'Toole, but also about Helen Slater, who has successfully spurned me sixteen times). I truly believe that a shard of my boyhood innocence was lost upon discovery that Helen Slater had borne her breasts in a film. I won't say which film, because I'm a gentleman, but rest assured that it can easily be uncovered by any enterprising individual. It also scarred me for life****.
What had I been talking about? Something akin to an ideal woman, I suppose. (Enlarged canines, splattered by blood, and a feral disposition.) You know my number, Carter, and it's time to make the call.
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Hati
* Jaozym
** That she makes poor choices implies that I may have a shot with her...so blow me!
*** I worked at a Wendy's during college, and you read this post. We're about even.
**** It disrupted my sense of perception, but not nearly as much as the head-changing Mombi did.
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