Blogspot, word vomit.
Last night was the second time I snuck beer into a showing of The Devil Wears Prada. Arriving several minutes into the previews, my friends and I were forced to sit so close to the front row that whenever Anne Hathaway got reamed onscreen for wearing synthetic fiber I swore I could feel the moisture glistening in her colossal, anime-like eyes. The movie remained excellent the second time around--the thrill of watching skinny bitches with uni-bangs trotting around in panic while yourself munching on a plastic container of super-nachos is…irreplicable.
*I deleted like two pages of stuff because I read it and was ashamed of phrases like "sartorial semiotics." Be glad.
Last night was the second time I snuck beer into a showing of The Devil Wears Prada. Arriving several minutes into the previews, my friends and I were forced to sit so close to the front row that whenever Anne Hathaway got reamed onscreen for wearing synthetic fiber I swore I could feel the moisture glistening in her colossal, anime-like eyes. The movie remained excellent the second time around--the thrill of watching skinny bitches with uni-bangs trotting around in panic while yourself munching on a plastic container of super-nachos is…irreplicable.
*I deleted like two pages of stuff because I read it and was ashamed of phrases like "sartorial semiotics." Be glad.
posted by Byron at 3:21 PM
1 Comments:
I took Steve The Dude to the movies and he liked The Devil Wears Prada more than I did. Steve the Dude LOVED The Devil Wears Prada and it frightened me a little.
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