I don’t even think I could drink through this one. Maybe on an airplane? With lots of Xanax? That’s how I attempted to watch the first one. We landed before it ended and I never considered looking up the ending. I assume the sequel begins with them all in prison.
I hear you and you, but what if I wear my Stormtrooper costume to the premiere? And come on, we can drink through anything. I’ll bring the diapers.
"For years, the show’s creators and actors have been running the same bullshit line about how Lost is a character-driven show. Here is the thing, though: It is not a character-driven show. It is a show, that has characters! But the characters do not “drive” the show, except in the sense that they do things that help advance the plot. Because it is a “plot-driven” show! Lost is a show that is interesting because it has an interesting plot. Frankly, most of the characters suck! Especially Kate. And Jack. And Sawyer. And, really, all of them, except for Ben.”
The entire final season was also incredibly dumb. So dumb, in fact, that now I’m tempted to say the entire series was dumb.
(My one caveat with this article is the one line where they call out Abrams. Hey, JJ had very little to do with Lost outside of the awesome pilot. I maintain that if JJ Abrams had been at the helm of this show, he would have found a better way to wrap this shit up. I mean, have you seen the final season of Alias? It’s awesome. Darlton suck. Go back to writing for Touched for an Angel or wherever you came from.)
I must admit, before meeting Tom, I had heard so many rumors and so much gossip that I was afraid. Frankly, his gambling debts, his animal magnetism, coupled with his disregard for the feelings of others… His elaborate gun collection, his mad shopping…
Q: Can you tell me an odd thing that happened in an odd place? Any thoughts? A: A Japanese freighter had been torpedoed during WWII and it’s at the bottom of Tokyo Harbor with a large hole in her hull. A team of engineers was called together to solve the problem of raising the wounded vessel to the surface. One of the engineers tackling this puzzle said he remembered seeing a Donald Duck cartoon when he was a boy where there was a boat at the bottom of the ocean with a hole in its hull, and they injected it with ping-pong balls and it floated up. The skeptical group laughed, but one of the experts was willing to give it a try. Of course, where in the world would you find twenty million ping-pong balls but in Tokyo? It turned out to be the perfect solution. The balls were injected into the hull and it floated to the surface; the engineer was altered. Moral: Solutions to problems are always found at an entirely different level; also, believe in yourself in the face of impossible odds.
Throughout my entire life until today, I’ve misheard “commit hara-kiri" as "commit Harry Carey." I’ll leave it up to you to imagine what I pictured every time I heard this, but I’ll tell you it had nothing to do with ritualistic Samuri suicide via self-disembowelment.
I was just sort of half mugged on the subway. I carry an old Jansport bookbag everyday with my gym clothes in it. It’s the model that has a smaller pouch on it. I never put anything valuable in the small pouch though because I’m A. OCD and B. a midwesterner (meaning no matter how long I live in New York City, I will always assume I’m going to get mugged anywhere I go). For these reasons, I always carry my phone, wallet and keys in my front pockets or in hand. Before getting off the subway, and periodically on long trips, I will have to physically touch each of these three things to make sure I still have them. The only things in my bookbag pouch are my gym lock, a hair brush, an emergency granola bar, and a couple of zip pouches filled with pens and spare change and bobby pins and the like.
As I was walking up the stairs out of the subway, I felt someone lifting up my bookbag slightly. This happens from time to time in a crowd, so I did what I always do, reach behind me to make sure the front pouch is zipped. Only this time, it was open, and at the same time, the dude behind me cut to the side and took off running. The guy behind him was like, “Hey that guy was poking around in your bag.”
There was no way I was going to catch the guy, and he was also GIGANTIC, so I dug through my bag to see what was missing. Gym lock? Check. Granola bar? Check. Hair brush? Check. Spare change pouch? Check. Other pouch? Dig, dig, dig. Other pouch?
So the guy got away with the other pouch, which is slender and black. And guess what’s in it? TAMPONS.