Begrudgingly, Foot and Mouth

The Norwegian adaptation of Christensen's novel is kinetic enough, and I certainly appreciated the dripping excrement in the boys shared bedroom during episode four. Our European counterparts are always braver, and it signifies that this was the best shit scene I've ever seen on video. It beats Death at a Funeral, and Styron's 98 Shadrach, which was less about the might of grand nigger burden and more about family clasping hold, even if we're invariably eclipsed in that battle against the dark, so spastic has to eat soap. It is a relevant series, the Half-Brother, pity the post war working class doomed to their station.

Speaking of which, my reactionary pain shall not gravitate to Donald Trump, but that very same reactionism supports his right to be ugly, all the same. If the angry Caucasian working class want their spleen with the casino realtor mogul, they have a right to it. Wapo's contributors have been all over the map on this, offering cautious respect, and alternately comparing him to Putin, and yesterday, to Hitler. There are times it is useful to ignore established news content, and this is one of them. On the off chance that Trump can beat Clinton, his term in office would be paralyzed by SCOTUS litigation, and he would wind up impeached, and the federal government would cease to function. Yours truly would wind up a hate crime, barring some cleverness, as in spinning my drying vagina around a libertarian erection.

My anger at Charlie Sheen's cover-up is germane, and if it is an outcry against a certain fundamental unfairness, so be it. 10 million may not be what it once was against the backdrop of Google Apple Silicon uber wealth, but it is still an astounding amount of money for a performer to engage in a desperate evasion; alternately, the sexual partners purportedly suing him have no real standing to claim personal injury. If they fucked him consensually, that is simply a fact of life, the kind of promiscuity Salon enjoys quantifying as liberating, positive-- not that I haven't weighed a submission to the publication. 

I am scrambling to create employment, dared to contact the National Review with a slightly antiseptic tone, as they produced David Brooks, not my favorite analyst.