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Happy Boxing Day! If you live somewhere where people actually say that to one another, you might have find yourself under a customary or prescribed pattern of behavior for today: places to go, people to see, pubs to sit in, and so on. The rest of us, not so much…
No posting today. Too much festiviting. Regular programming resumes tomorrow.
“You shouldn’t mix fairy tales with liverwurst and buttermilk.”
Friday fun! Here’s a screen capture from a TV show on DVD. Guess the TV show — you don’t need to guess the episode, just the show. And if you assume it’s something I’ve said I’m watching or said I like, you’re not necessarily on the right track.
I’m gonna do a gender switch and say that Dawn French would be a fantastic Santa…
In case you need some last-minute help wrapping those awkward prezzies.
We really should worry about what happens when the rest of the natural world figures out that the upright simians at the top of the food chain have not been responsible stewards of the planet…
Chubby used to mean something different when I was a kid. I mean, I could say, “Han Solo gives me a girl-chubby,” and that wouldn’t have anything to do with cute little nesting dolls.
Dame Helen Mirren tells it like it is: Hollywood “continues to worship at the altar of the 18- to 25-year-old male and his penis.”
Poor Ioan Gruffudd. He was gonna be such a big star after Horatio Hornblower…
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