August 28, 2010
Theatre of Great Discomfort
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posted by Aaron Winslow in adventure, assholes, cities, comedy, crime, culture, dance, discovered, fail, found, geography, help me jesus, history, humans, humor, interviews, language, linguistics, love, not satire, pop culture, sexuality, sociology, theater, translation, travel, vomit | * | 9 comments
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Hi, Governor.
Oh, great. Now everyone in Brazil is going to think the word for carrot is biting
I can sleep soundly now that I know he’s an ass man.
Every time I see this guy young like this I think of the interview I saw once in which he was in the gym lifting weights. He was explaining how pumping weights “give you a feeling like when you come.” I also remember how Molly Ivins described him as a condom full of walnuts.
Is there a Bronx section of Austria?
Remember when Molly Ivins died?
I wish you tube had a way to easily capture screencaps and share them with others. I would screencap when he put his hands around his eyes and leaned over the woman to look at the other ladies behind.
Why would you attempt to teach someone the concept of ‘biting’? If you were going to teach someone any English at all?
Every woman in this video looks violently uncomfortable.
“In 1995, humorist Florence King wrote in a The American Enterprise column that Ivins had plagiarized King’s work and mis-stated a quotation from a King column in a 1988 Mother Jones article. David Rubien, writing in Salon, described the incident: “In a 1995 article for Mother Jones on Southern manners and mores, she extensively quoted, with affectionate attribution, statements from Florence King’s book Southern Ladies and Gentlemen. But for some careless reason Ivins still fails to comprehend, she left the attribution off a few King statements.” Ivins wrote a letter of apology to King, but characteristically ended it with:”…boy you really are a mean bitch, aren’t you? Sincerely, Molly Ivins, plagiarist.” King published Ivins’s apology and her own reply in a later article.” – wiki
I used to think Florence King was the funniest person ever, and spent many a happy hour reading her back page column in National Review. Oh to be twelve again.
The day Molly Ivins died was a sad, sad day.
I’m not the world’s biggest fan of walnuts (bad childhood experiences with walnut pies masquerading as pecan pies), but, still, I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to say about them.
Maybe he’s a condom full of rancid Brazil nuts.