So the prospects for this were pretty bad, and truly the most exciting thing I got out of watching this was feeling a pool of cold sweat collect in the hairy part of my barse, so livid was I with the treatment of Hooper's original classic.
You could tell from his long hair, grungy clothes, the poncey novel an newspaper on his dashboard an Coldplay album playin in his car that he was a muthafuckin coconut. So white he was inside his brown skin, he probably talked like those gorafied desis who read the news on TV. Probably even more poncier than the way how I used to talk. An think. Probly.
Close beside a tranquil pool, for the moonbeams melted harmoniously into its quiet depths, was an old tree.
A neighbor called one day wearing one of the shockingest bad hats ever seen, which he deposited on the floor beside his chair while he related his errand. On riding to depart, the hat had disappeared, […]
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