We're leaving the preps out of this, because I can't even stand to look at madras. And if you think this post is some kinda B-game/summer-filler material, I ask you to do the following: Google "swim trunks" and tell me if your eyes are immediately poked out by dicks in banana-hammocks. That's right, they are. I LIVE ON THE EDGE, FOR YOU.
OK, put your eyes back in their cock-bruised sockets. Bombs away:
I'd been avoiding it since Oliver Stone shat it upon us more than a decade ago. Dunno why. Anyway, can't say I enjoyed it. Can't say I savored it as an artifact, either. But Billy Bob Thornton's performance amounted to something-or-other, perhaps because he kinda represents the audience. Surely Stone didn't do that on purpose.
Or, at a minimum, I kept imagining that it was David Cross playing Billy Bob Thornton playing Darrell. I would pay to see that. Not sure who gets to play Sean Penn playing Bobby Cooper, though. Dane Cook?
The assumption of this "Matador 21" show in Vegas is that two decades after they started taking my money, I have grown into the kind of adult who can just drop everything and spend hundreds of dollars on a trip to Vegas for an awesome concert. FUCK THAT, MATADOR. YOU CAN'T SPEND 21 YEARS HELPING MOTHERFUCKERS BE SLACKERS, AND THEN TURN AROUND AND BE ALL LIKE, "HEY MAN, PAY BIG BUCKS TO SEE YOUR SLACKER HEROES." Seriously, Matador dudes, seriously. This shit is rife with contradictions -- and don't you dare say that it's a test of my loyalty, because I've got some motherfucking bills you can pay: