This Gorgeous Sunset Is Rockin’ My Nuts Off.

So, I know it’s like, mere days before Chapter 15 (episode 2 of season 3) of Eastbound & Down, but after much deliberation, I decided I must recap the episodes of what is expected to be the last season of my favorite show on television.  I need to tell you two things before we get under way. 

1.  So as not to be too much of a spoiler to those who haven’t seen the following episode yet, I’ve limited these recaps to a “Who’s Fucking In, Who’s Fucking Out” power points system.  The setup is very simple:  If a character on the show does something that’s fucking righteous, then he or she gets points for being “Fucking In”.  If the vice versa happens, and a character displays uncool or pussy-ish behavior, he or she gets points docked, and perilously becomes closer to being “Fucking Out”.  Points will be tallied all the way to the end of the season, and both the ultimate victor and ultimate loser will be revealed.  Fun, right? 

2.  Some of you out there may not watch Eastbound and Down for moral reasons, or for the singular fact that you don’t have cable right now.  For those in the latter category, I feel your pain.  Cable’s fucking expensive, I know!  Like I mentioned before, these recaps aren’t meant to be total spoilers, so feel free to peak and participate via the comments section if you want.  Let me be your steward in this journey through Kenny Powers’ psyche.  For those of you that actually refuse to watch this show for ethical reasons…we’re kind of running out of shit to say to each other.  Gettin’ a little awkward.  Let’s call it a wash, and just enjoy the rest of the blog.

Now, let’s get to it.  You know what I think you need?  I think I should call a fuckin’ sitter.  And then you and I should go out for a bomb-ass evening in fucking Myrtle Beach, proper, fuckin’ awesome-style.  I think it would do you and I both some good to get out and have some fun without the baby pulling us down for once.  I think I’m getting tongue-tied here.  Basically, I think it’s high time you set that pussy free. Set it free.  Set that pussy free.

I Think You Mean...Piñacoladaburg.

Since I've been in a bad way for the last couple of weeks, I figured it'd be a good time to throw a PAXTON BOMB all over my front page to cheer myself up:

That's better.  I thought I might mash it up, and turn this into a Paxton-Tommy Wiseau match, but that man deserves another post entirely.  So, what else have you got, Bill?

Nice.  I think I'm starting to crack a smile.  But what I really need to see is lots of teeth and tongue.

Damn.  You have no idea how many times my sister and I attempted that trick at family outings when we were kids (to the point that my mom would have to pack extra plastic cutlery everywhere we went).  Now, gimme something I can snap my fingers to.

Love how you handed it to that bitch that dared compare you to Jimmy Buffet.  Loved you as a punk in Terminator with the tire tread marks painted all over your face!  And I especially love the fact that Big Love has been canceled (for your sake, not for Chloë Sevigny's) because now you can shed that boring, one-note, polygamous husk they kept you in all that time, and resume starring in every James Cameron film known to man.

Thanks, Bill. :)

Love.

No! I'm Too Young!

I almost spilt my beer when my mom called me out over the phone last week for not inviting her or dad to my wedding that happened nearly six years ago.  “That was so…mean,” she choked.  Seated cross-legged, I puffed on my cigarette twice before answering.  My eyes impulsively fixed on my own reflection in the standing mirror placed clumsily near the corner of the smoking lounge (read:  freezing cold ‘sun room’ of my apartment).  Only a minute ago, we were having such a great conversation about the Clutter family murders of 1959, one of those “we never talk, but Now. We. Are. TALKING!” type of tête-à-têtes only nearly estranged mothers and daughters can share.  Now my heart was racing, and a black hole was forming around the outline of my face in the mirror.  “Keep it honest,” I thought quietly.  “You’re never honest with her.”  Suddenly, for no good reason at all, I went into hyper-revelation mode that resembled something disturbingly like this: