Mad props to the good folks at RHPT.com for linking to The League. We do our best, and always appreciate a little support. Or at least what we assume was support. Again, as people I don't know read this site, my paranoia increases.
Matrix Madness had consumed the Chandler Fashion Center Harkins 24 last night. I went to the Atomic Comics to go pick up a long box and an X-men trade I had on order, and lo and behold, betwixt the buildings were many a Gen-Y'er awaiting the midnight release of Matrix Reloaded.
I wish all Matrix fans the best of luck. May you not have need to experience the same six months of denial and wasted energy defending Reloaded that I spent defending The Phantom Menace (Jim D. can verify my bout with insanity). All I'm saying is that I spent five hours in line to see that damn movie, and it left me so crazed and delirious that I was not in my right mind until I viewed Phantom Menace on home video.
Melbotis update: A while back I gave Mel one of Jamie's socks to play with. It's totally disgusting now, and I don't know what to do about it. Lately he's really wanted me to hang onto the other end and play tug-o-war, but here's the problem: Jamie has little feet and little socks. Mel has a big, slobbery mouth. The sock is vile to the touch. I need to get out some of my old socks to at least give me a little breathing room.
Oh, and in order to get more hits, I'll mention American Idol. I always double my hits when I mention American Idol. I don't care who wins as we learned from last season, all of the bottom four or five will get record contracts. Clay Aiken and Ruben Studdard need to do a buddy cop movie that takes place in the Deep South, and it needs to be a musical.
If I mention the chillingly, vacuously talentless Kimberly Caldwell, I also get many, many more hits. I can never figure out if it's from little girls or dirty old men. And why do they like the same things?
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