Tom & Dinosaur Hand Review 3 Movies!

Reviews on: Mama Mia, Milk, and Meet the Robinson's.

Dinosaur Hand: Is it an all M's Movie Matinee?
Tom: Clever, but no; just a coincidence.
DH: There are no coincidences...huh, huh?
Tom: Anyway, stopped at the library and picked up these three movies--I remember seeing them all advertised, and their trailers looked pretty good. Also, Milk was highly praised by critics and by fellow bloggers, well one that I remember.
DH: Chocolate.
Tom: Huh?
DH: I highly praise chocolate milk.
Tom: The movie Milk is about the gay struggle during the 70's.
DH: Sure, with all the really bad music is was hard to be happy, fer sure.
Tom: You know, Dino, i was just a kid during the 70's, and i never zoned in on all the civil rights stuff; gays, blacks, women's rights, Vietnam, even anti-semitism. I was eating saltines and was blissfully unaware.
DH: Cookies are better. With milk.
Tom: So this type of movie is a great boon for my generation. I liked one line Milk used in a debate, something like this: 'if it were true that children emulated their teachers, then there'd be a hell of a lot more nuns running around.' Revealing and thought provoking...movies like this help people see beyond their own sheltered lives and invite us to walk in other's shoes.
DH: eh, that leaves me out. I don't even get to turn doorknobs. Fooie.

Tom: Did you like Meet the Robinson's?
DH: It was very colorful. There was a dinosaur, briefly.
Tom: Our copy skipped at the last chapter. We watched the whole thing and missed the ending.
DH: eh, whatever.

Tom: What about Mama Mia?
DH: Singing and dancing, jive turkey, do the hustle, woo woo woo. Moving and a groovin', show me some skin, bro. Woo ha ha!
Tom: This movie musical was upbeat and set around Abba songs, which are for the most part very recognisable and infectious.
DH: So is a rash.
Tom: You've never seen Meryl Streep like this, people. I consider her maybe the best actress of our time, and in this she was way over the top...but it's a musical, so I guess that's good!
DH: Which one was she?
Tom: Dino, she was the lead female!
DH: Mama Mia! No one told me!
Tom: There was no Mama Mia; that was just one of the songs, dufus.
DH: She married Chef Boy R Dee.

Tom: Out of the three I would definitely recommend Milk...
DH: ...just skip the kissing parts.

photo credit: therumour1988's photostream/flickr

um...Theme Thursday, sorry.

DandyLynn's photostream, flickr

*ring ring*
'hello'
'hi, this is FRFC, Bob speaking! Are you having a good day?!!!'
'Hello, yeah; it's OK. Thanks.'
'Well hi, then! Just wanted to drop in and give you a heads up on our new Fund Raising campaign....I knew you'd want to get in on this right away!'
'Uhh...'
'Sure, it's Bob. Have you got your checkbook out?'
'...I smell dinner...'
'FRFC is a great charity...it's on Billy Bob's top ten list. Oprah too!'
'So, uh, what's this FR, uhm, etcetera stand for, again?'
'Yes, sure; it's Fund raising for chicks...you know? It's a great cause.'
'For chicks? What the hell! I'm not giving my money to some chick I don't know anything about! Next thing you'll be soliciting for dudes! Outragious!'
'No, no! Hey, not chicks. I mean not girl chicks, babes, you know--not chicks like that!'
'What?'
'No, Bob wouldn't try to scam you for hot babes, chicks, you know!'
'Oh. Sorry.'
'FRFC is for chicks..you know baby chickens. Homeless little yellow fluffy baby chickens.'
'Oh.'
'Yeah'
'Oh; man, that is sad. Those poor baby chickens!'
'I'll send you some literature, man. Some pictures of your potential chick adoptee.'
'oh, yeah. I need a picture (sob) And i'm writing you a check for twelve thousand dollars! (sob).
'This chick will thank you forever. You are a true American hero!'
'OK, thank you for bringing this to my attention. (ding) Oop, kitchen timer, gotta go.'
'Thanks, man...enjoy your meal tonight.'
'Thank you, Bob; baked chicken with mashed potatoes. Goodnight!'

Johnny Boy Cobalt photostream, flcikr

Bring it on, old cold Winter!

My heart is turning grey with memories of winters past.

......a leaf, flush red, holding its last breath, straining for one last go...
...while the miscreants frolic in a silver maple cast-offs.

...can we learn from nature that death is just passage to another life?
While it can be harsh and unforgiving, sometimes brutally raw...There is a strange beauty in the circle of life.






....der.

ancient Chinese secrets

...so now i can't get
to Omegaworld,
Coffee Messiah, or
the Ancient Sword...
so i'm really hoping to get
this old Compaq switched
out for a newer model later
this week:
until then here's a
silly new bit
and some old doodles. Happy Sunday!

fix up your fixer-upper,

tend to that dromedary's drip,

imbibe daily in dastardly devices,

count your blessing heartily--

but don't drop dainty donuts.

These tidbits gathered from a wee birdy,

a bifurcating biennially binging

blue-footed booby.

Becoming indoctrinated to a self sacrificing

salad of sea bass

one must profess prolifically in spades,

sans sporks, regrettably forgoing prophylactics

for latex-free, syntax-free,

expletive-free condiments.

Actually, a blue balloon ballad becomes you,

so sing out loud, singularly, and

sock standerbys who stoically stare

at your pants--

with a pathetic pink poodle,

as well as peeled whole canned leeches.

Let lazy lactating larches lose leaves

while yellowing llamas yodel

meaningful Mendelian melodies to me:

Xow Chow Xi,

ex Xeroxing exchanger,

Keeper of Ancient Chinese Secret!

coming up roses

The Torpedo Revolution is upon us;

Coming up the lane is a box truck

Filled to the brimming lip

With a pancake contraption's

Excess...

Moronites--a faction, a sliver,

a falling out from the Brotherhood

of Ill Conceived Notions--

are dishing out ladelfuls

with an unearthly zeal

reserved usually for lambasted pirates

and golly girls in polka dot pajamas.

The Moronite porcelain sleeves hamper agility

while decorated in fleur de lis heavy

with cross to bearing decals.

They pack a pretty punch--

cherry flavored actually,

encased in finned canisters

dynamically polished for speedy airflow,

all the better to

percussionate the fringe-yakkers into

a pre-ordained funk.

The rationale of Moronites deem the tactic

worthy, thus forcing normality

into groggy inaction and reinforcing

tattooed porcelain sleeves into

retroactive positions:

Springy, podunctive and beyond.

Beware, then, and best of luck

fitting into your mortar jumpsuits,

engineered in the sixties

when the national robustness

measured under the radius of

Dirk Masterful's hat size.

Better to cower amongst

clover and broker peace with the rabbits

then face the Moronites,

and their mothers,

and the babies with incisors that rotate on bicycle chains built for two.

matt coats' photostream/flickr

Bummer and more Questions ?

...can't get into my documents, can't operate my printer/scanner, can't run a virus scan, can't figure this out; what's even scarier is that the Grooliog refegees from Ursa Minor are on their way and killer whales are secretly developing weapons of mass destruction--disguised as herrings. So do i take a chance and fix this 8 year old clunker or go out and get new? I mean, we're all doomed anyway...what to do, what to do!!!!

...driving fast will get you there quicker--good luck with that.

Quixotically

As Festive sat coherent

at the bloodstained booth,

her waitress mopping up

Johnny Depp's unfortunate extra,

Festive created a scenario

in which a nosey black dog

asked multiple questions about

her love life, while licking

dried salt from her post

workout calves.

Do you like tattoos? Are

sideburns a turn-on? From

whence do you come?

Woof? And others

mixed into broken metaphors,

obtusing her head into a pretzel.

Her ideal counterpart

contained no dog parts, but for a

dense tangle of poodle chest fur,

and was unachievable, though

on her treadmill of despair Festive

pursued her sweaty, darkly matted

obsession doggedly,
horsed dually on hie sneakers.

The dog daydreamed

at her feet

and lapped a puddle of

psuedo Depp,

thought himself out of existence;

Today she'd trade windmills for condiments.

Festive leaned on hands

and gleaned a smile

from a columnar flask of pureed tomato/stuff.