I can’t wait for The Great Plumpkin to follow in coffee boy’s treasonous footsteps…
The entire nation should get credit for 18 months time served, no matter what they’ve done.
Georgie is possibly realizing that the Bro-stubble, Ray-Bans, and Russian trophy “wife” (handler) are still not going to protect him from the consequences of being a Stupid Guy Who Thought He Was Smart.
I really wish I’d been privy to the moment in which Simona chose these stripper heels to wear to the sentencing instead of the plexiglass pair.
I’m glad we’ve decided to go right to the heart of the matter - just how stupid they look. I’d like to thank @dr_coyote for the perma-stupid shout-out and @seamus42 for the heels. Now If @rascal_crone can weigh in on that bizarre faux-Barbara Stanwick pantsuit we’re good.
If you can’t ad hominem, join 'em.
Don’t be dissing Barbara Stanwyck. The Gods take note of such heresies.
Hey I love her. She’s rotten. Rotten to the core.
She probably doesn’t own dress shoes that have lower heels because she’s short, living in a world that prizes tall. The platforms make such shoes easier to wear, believe it or not.
Never thought about that but it makes sense, less angle of attack.
You’re not kidding:
“She publicly supported the investigations of the House Un-American Activities Committee, her husband Robert Taylor appearing to testify as a friendly witness. Stanwyck shared conservative Republican affiliation [and] was a fan of Objectivist author Ayn Rand, having persuaded Jack L. Warner at Warner Bros. to buy the rights to The Fountainhead before it was a best-seller, and writing to the author of her admiration of Atlas Shrugged.”
#SquirrelTears
Oh, I can believe it. I’m just being needlessly mean for the sake of humor. It’s one of the only useful weapons we’ve got against this relentless crew of miscreants.
Wish you’d tell me
what’s engraved on that anklet.
- Just my name.
- As, for instance?
- Phyllis.
- Phyllis, huh?
- I think I like that.
- But you’re not sure?
I’d have to drive it around
the block a couple of times.
Mr. Neff, why don’t you drop by
tomorrow evening around 8:30? - He’ll be in then.
- Who?
My husband. You were anxious
to talk to him, weren’t you?
Yeah, I was, but I’m sort of
getting over the idea…
if you know what I mean.
There’s a speed limit in this state,
Mr. Neff. 45 miles an hour. - How fast was I going, officer?
- I’d say around 90.
Suppose you get down off your
motorcycle and give me a ticket.
Suppose I let you off
with a warning this time.
Suppose it doesn’t take.
Suppose I have to whack you
over the knuckles.
Suppose I bust out crying
and put my head on your shoulder.
Suppose you try putting it
on my husband’s shoulder.
That tears it. - 8:30 tomorrow evening then.
- That’s what I suggested.
- Will you be here, too?
- I guess so, I usually am.
Same chair, same perfume,
same anklet?
I wonder if I know
what you mean.
I wonder if you wonder.
Oh hell.
Hey How 'bout that Obama huh?
One of the best written scenes ever.
I wonder if I know
what you mean.
I wonder if you wonder.
Best. Line. Ever.
I dated a newscaster once. Her motto: if it’s not cruel it’s not funny.
Mrs P was sporting a kicky pale gray sportsuit that did nothing to hide her ankles. Paired with that thin belt and those sky-high platforms, this is a gal that is going places.
Her husband not so much.