June 2005 Archives

I saw this sign in east central Pennsylvania and I was nonplussed. I still don't know what to say.

Who says Hollywood is in a slump? With Batman Begins the studios have outdone themselves. They didn’t just create a gay ninja flick. No, they figured out a way to make it a comic book prequel horror action movie with bad dialogue that only started as a gay ninja flick. Watching this convoluted piece of crap is one of the most unpleasant three hours I’ve spent in years, including my colonoscopy and Lord of The Rings. The theater was packed with chatty couples, crying babies with pagers, and morons laughing at the fodder (I hate people). But even with all of that, the movie was the worst part. It was that bad.

The acting and direction were fine, but the story and script were such a bastardized mix of focus group crap that it was well beyond saving. And the worst part was that I was expecting a good movie. The critics, and even some of my EX-friends, said this was an interesting character piece. Shame on you! I went in expecting a thoughtful journey into a tormented soul and I left with only a headache and a loathing for mankind. All I’m saying is don’t promise me the world and then dump on my face. On a scale of 1 to Club11, Batman Begins gets a 3.

The Hope Cemetary in Barre, Vermont is home to one of the country's most interesting cemetaries. This is a favorite of mine, this man and his wife, a dreamy poof of smoke.

Curtis's Ribs in southern Vermont is a restaurant in a school bus. My guess is that this is Curtis, but I've been wrong before (once).

I'll be traveling until the 30th of June, so my site participation will be spotty until after the 4th of July. I'll probably post a few more photos soon.

Chad sat at the table in the coffee shop. He wasn't particularly fond of coffee, but he liked its shops and could always count on them to provide a satisfactory cup of hot chocolate -- even on the cusp of summer. He also partook of their cookies and brownies from time to time, but this wasn't one of those times.

Drumming his fingers on the tabletop, he looked up as his near-mirror image sat down across from him. Brad had two large cups in his hands. He handed the left one to Chad, who took it and handed him two dollars.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem."

"So, you were saying?"

Billy Churin sat at the dinner table looking at his parents with scorn. He thought, "How can they just sit there eating their Hamburger Helper and not realize that their son is being oppressed by society." The smiling faces of his mother and father just made his stomach turn. Supper was now ruined.

"Parents just don't understand," thought Billy. He poked at his food and then, without knowing he was even doing it, he began tapping his foot and humming D.J. Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince's "Parents Just Don't Understand." Right at the line "her hand was gently moving up my thigh," Billy realized what he was doing. Slamming down his fork, he stormed away from the table. Look what his parents had done to him again.

An insatiable masochist, Hot Dog Boy wants to be eaten. I wonder if that crazy cannibal guy in Germany's still taking volunteers?

The saga continues. Please refer to 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6.