I’m up late on Sunday watching Spanish soaps on the Netflix. I just finished showing my wife Monster Squad, which I first saw in 1988. Go watch it right now just for this snippet:
Not only could you not make this movie today, you could never, ever film a scene with a heroic boy with a shotgun taking ownership of his name and refusing to be bullied. This is what we’ve lost, and we are unfathomably poorer for it. It might seem like a little thing, a meaningless bit of drek cinema, but it’s lost to us, maybe forever, and that’s a bad, bad thing.
Fist bump, Horace, you were and always will be my hero. I was 12 and I was fat and you gave me hope. They wouldn’t even call you fat today, bro. You’d be a regular kid nowadays.
Picture time. Getting some sun.
Serious belly jewelry.
Are there women without pierced bellybuttons anymore?
Artistic arm veins.
Okay, so there are at least two women with intact navels.
Monday begins. Get out there and kick some ass. For Horace.
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