One of the lovely things about Tarantino around the release of one of his movies is that the auteur begins to spit about upcoming works. The Melty Faced One is now once again talking about his desire to make a 1930s gangster flick.
Shit, man. If I was a millionaire, I wouldn’t be building arks. I would be…Well, I’d probably still be blogging and just worrying a lot less about the bills. Buying my friends like so many bags of Gummi Bears. Dutch millionaire Johann Huibers doesn’t share my swagger. Dude is building his own Noah’s Ark.
It smelled like grease and I could still feel the skin cells from the corpse I ripped off of coating the inner guts. I didn’t care. I had the pepperoni pizza sweatshirt. I had it. Finally. George would stop laughing now, because when Tina saw me in this son of a bitch her labia would self-lubricate so fast that chaos theory dictated a colossal tsunami in some country that didn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. Probably didn’t have cable TV there, or McDonald’s, and if those aren’t the tent pole for modern civilization then I don’t know what are.
You have to hand it to PETA. Somehow a group that is designed to protect animals generally comes off like unbearably pious pricks. That’s difficult. From what I’ve gathered via the news reports, there’s a moment of Battlefield 3 when you kill a rat. PETA has come to the obvious conclusion that this will turn us into animal-destroying blood drinks.