Richard: "The movie tips from awesome to brilliant when it begins a series of repeated cuts to a group of Hooters' waitresses who are watching the runaway train saga unfold on television...and bouncing up and down with excitement. We hope this technique becomes standard for all future action films."
Chip: "I wish there could be an action film set in Lawrence, possibly The Day After, Part II, so that this technique could be employed using Quinton's waitresses."
Tonight is the premiere of the 8-part TLC documentary series Sarah Palin's Alaska. The boys are celebrating by hosting an ironic "tea party" in which they and their guests will be (cross) dressing as "Mama Grizzlies" and making snarky comments. Get in touch for directions to Chip's place.
We haven't had any exciting celebrity encounters in Larryville in quite some time (perhaps not since Chip urinated next to Coach Self at the Yacht Club). But our New York friend Captain Chanute found himself out hobnobbing with the beautiful people this weekend. Here's his report:
"Though it started off simply enough, last night was incredibly fucking hip for me. On a night where the only premise was for the Captain to sneak off to hip Williamsburg to drink whisky until he couldn't feel feelings, the Captain decided to set up shop in a new, hip spot called The Legion.
After a handful of shots and a couple 3$ Atomic Lagers (the Captain guesses this is old, poured-out Budweiser repackaged as a cold, refreshing draught with a weird aftertaste--very hip), the comfortably-numbed Captain noticed a star in his presence. Michael C. Hall had made an appearance at the bar and was currently standing within inches of our hero.
Momentarily stunned, the Captain gave him an ocular patdown. In real life, M.C.H. isn't a midget like Tom Cruise, is pretty broad-shouldered and he tends to wear about the same thing he wears on "Dexter." Yes, his celebrity aura was as intoxicating as the Evan Williams. Nonetheless, despite the Captain's better judgment, he asked to take no photos with his phone (though he tried in vain to snap one before dropping the goddamn thing and missing the opportunity) or autographs like the rest of the starry-eyed, starstruck wastoids.
Rather, the Captain enjoyed another libation (or four) and watched from afar as Mr. Hall picked out the hottest girl in the bar, bumped and ground (grinded?) to two songs then wisped her away into the night--probably to fuck her then tie her down and murder her in deliberate, methodical fashion before cutting her up, placing her (dis)members in trash bags and dumping them in the East River.
Yes folks, the Captain and Dexter himself were good company last night to many hip individuals. Though we ended up in different places by eve's end, the Captain thanks M.C.H. for being a hip sideshow for the night. The Captain also thanks White Castle for pumping him full of chemical sliders that undoubtedly dampened an immense whisky hangover. Finally, the Captain thanks himself for this wonderful opportunity to experiment in third-person self-reference: Now that's hip!"