Oh sure there is a sweet six foot five tranny in chiffon and glitter. A man child violently rocking back and forth to his own imaginary beat and of course the loud talkers in the corner. I for one would like to ram my right leg down their stupid-ass gape holes, just to give the rest of us a moment of silent bliss. Is that really to much to ask? Is there any reason at all that I should be privy to your life affirming conversation taking place forty feet across this once heavenly reading room? Yes, I am listening to you. Yes, you are a complete fucking moron. Yes, I am making fun of you. Dammit! We just made eye contact, which is obviously a form of encouragement because I have now been acknowledged numerous times with that side glance and escalated volume. Fuck me!
There are way more important things going on in this imploding world of ours; like Gallagher having a fucking stroke! Dude, jumping around on a big couch and smashing water melons can never get old in my humble opinion, but how can the Gaghs swing that mallet if he is all stroked out and shit? That won't be funny at all, unless he is side talking (like Kirk Douglas) and trying to pick that bludgeon up with his palsied hand and he can't but just keeps on struggling to show what a warrior he is and then his two assistants come out and one helps him hold the smasher while the other one throws the watermelon at it repeatedly... now that would be funny.
Oh, yeah some shit blew up, buses crashed, God punished the Japanese for Pokemon and a bunch of people died, but those damn loud talkers side tracked me again.
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