Lift the lid. Take a peek.

Harrison Ford, for a good stretch of time has been more notably revered actors of his era. He’s grossed oodles of dough playing some of the box office’s most recognizable, macho-yet-cerebral, shining-image-of-American-Ideology characters.

Sure, as Han Solo he’s the cool ying to Luke’s awkward yang. I’d make a Patriot Games / Jack Ryan comment, if I’d ever seen any of those movies. He’s fucking Henry Jones Jr. (“we named the dog Indiana. Indiana is a dog’s name”). Being Ridley Scott’s vision of (Philip K. Dicks) Rick Deckard must have been cool as shit too.

He is … GET OFFFFF MY…PLANE!

I don’t like Harrison Ford. Never have. An over-actor, someone who never explored much range; old balls. Then, to boot he dates Calista Flockhart (is that still going on?), dons a single earring, and does Indy 4 (see: my glowing review)!

My favorite Harrison Ford movie, for as long as I can remember, is Regarding Henry.

…

You know who likes to where golf/polo shirts and cargo shorts?

And backwards hats?

And smoke cigs?

Frat guys? No. Your douche-bag, kinda-older-than-you cousin who never went to college? Nazzir.

I’ll save us both some time … the answer is lesbians. Butch lesbians. Their number in ranks is fucking staggering and on one hand they irritate the living hell out of me (see: forthcoming blog post on Lesbian Karoake night… what y’all call Wednesday), but on the other … they tickle my funny bone. What, with their “Friends don’t let friends take home ugly girls” T-Shirts (thanks lesbian version Snorg) and their much-thicker-than-mine legs.

Do you think this particular path they’ve chosen, means they’re more likely to enjoy / be knowledgeable in sports? Or do they do typical woman stuff … just in a cut-off t-shirt?

I think I’ve found a social experiment. Fire up the bunson burners, dust off my lab coat, kids!

…

I like the idea of super-smart cats who are sent into space as contributing, respected astronauts.